C.K. Storyteller
3rd Level Blue Feather
- Joined
- Mar 7, 2007
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Greetings once again, friends. I am The Storyteller
As you may recall from my first tale, I told you of Chuckle’s Salon, one of the most remarkable places that exists in the free world. Many of you read the story, and many left comments; to all of you, I am eternally grateful.
I also have heard the suggestions made, and it is these suggestions that have reminded me of another pivotal character in Chuckle’s lore. I would be remiss if I did not mention her now.
Today, I will tell you about Danielle.
Danielle was the first female to seek employment at Chuckle’s Salon. The story goes that she arrived at the original Chuckle’s early on in its existence, and was the first female who sought to elicit laughter instead of providing it. Needless to say, she was an immediate sensation, and has been making guest appearances at Chuckle’s across the country ever since.
You would not pick Danielle out of a line-up of prospective ticklers; in fact, she is one of the many women that most consider “girl next-door.” She has been likened to a soccer mom more times than I can count, and the fact that she is one in her daily life does not help the argument. However, one visit to Danielle and no other woman will suffice.
I will pause here to provide a physical description of her, just so we are all on the same page. Danielle is about 5’7”, short light brown hair with streaks of red and green eyes. She is an attractive woman, especially when she tickles. That’s when the 10,000 watt smile emerges.
You see, there are people who enjoy tickling others, there are people who love tickling others, and then there is Danielle. Man has yet to provide a measurement that can completely do justice for the joy that tickling someone to tears provides her. (It should be noted here that Danielle is not a paid employee of Chuckle’s. While all do it for the love of it, some receive financial benefits to make ends meet. Danielle has never, and will never ask for that. The laughter is her payment.)
Needless to say, Danielle is the tickler dreams are made of. And what do the ultimate ticklers dream of? Why, the yang to their yin of course. The ultimate ticklee.
Those with incredible memories recall that in our first story, Erin was chatted up by a man before entering Chris’ lair. (I’m serious; go back and check if you need to.) This man was getting his hair cut at the time Erin came to call, but that is not his only reason for being there. This is Bryson.
Bryson, like Danielle, was one of the first clients at Chuckle’s. Also like Danielle, the joy and love of tickling Bryson has is unmatched. The difference is that while Danielle is 100% tickler, Bryson would gladly choose to be tickled every minute for the rest of his life.
Naturally, Bryson and Danielle have known each other for quite some time. They are the standard with which almost all other tickle-philes at Chuckle’s are judged. In fact, there have been a series of public sessions between them that always result in huge attendance. Most people go to see who breaks first; the insatiable tickler, or the seemingly endless pile of laughter that makes up the ticklee.
So, I believe I have painted the verbal picture as well as I can. On with the tale.
Note: As both an experiment in prose and an attempt to paint both sides of the picture so all can enjoy, I will be telling this story from both perspectives. This will keep the dialogue to a minimum, and hopefully the torture to a maximum.
Danielle and Bryson have standing dates multiple times a year at Chuckle’s. Our story takes us to, amazingly enough, right around this time of year. It is time for their celebration of the Vernal Equinox, ringing in the spring season with gales of laughter.
Bryson arrives early in the afternoon, as always. He chats with Stacy (bonus point for those who remember her), and gets a trim specifically for the occasion. Too excited to concentrate on the barber, Bryson closes his eyes and daydreams of what his session will be like. Where will Danielle focus her efforts this time? (Ultimate ticklees are wildly ticklish everywhere, of course.) How long will she go for? He is so enamored with his fantasies, he doesn’t notice the personification of said fantasy until she is standing behind him, nails lightly dragging up and down the back of his neck.
Danielle feels the all too common rush as Bryson pitches forward in the barber chair, giggling helplessly. She follows him, nails now seeking out his sensitive ribcage, and she is delighted to hear him howl with laughter. By now, everyone in Chuckle’s is watching and laughing along with him. This is always must-see-tickling.
Bryson stands, arms folded around him in mock protection. He embraces Danielle, giggling again as her nails trail up and down his back. (Seriously, he is ticklish everywhere.) He watches his torturess greet everyone else in the salon, then beckon to him with one dangerous nail.
Danielle watches her tickle-toy as he heads to their favorite playroom. She has been planning her series of tortures for weeks now, ever since the last session went so spectacularly. (Daring to the end, both agreed to try an all-night session, which resulted in total exhaustion and a remarkable abdominal workout on both sides.) She was pleased to see the room exactly as she left it the night before; a perfect place for forcing Bryson to laugh hysterically.
Bryson took in the room slowly, turning around to see all the elements Danielle had prepared. The barber chair that was so commonplace in all the rooms had been removed, replaced with ::gasp:: a set of medieval stocks. Bryson’s blood boiled and ran ice cold at the same time. He was so taken aback by this change that he didn’t notice the series of mats spread out on the floor.
Danielle watched Bryson closely. This was one of the best parts; watching Bryson’s imagination run wild. He subconsciously covered his stomach when he saw the x-frame, and nervously began shuffling his feet when he saw the stocks. He looked quizzically at the mats, which Danielle had expected.
“You keep bragging about your wrestling skill. I figured we’d test it.”
Bryson smiled. He was a former high school wrestler (not a great one – balance was not one of his virtues), but he liked to appear at least moderately athletic to Danielle. He had already proven his stamina, but would he even be able to function in this state? All his fears subsided when Danielle slipped off her flip-flops and rolled onto the mat. They were replaced with an almost inhuman lurch of excitement. He kicked his shoes off and joined her.
Danielle knew this would be fun, but she didn’t expect it to be so easy. Bryson was impressive at first; she had barely reached a hand out before he had taken it and disappeared behind her. However, he wasn’t used to tickling being legal in wrestling, so she greedily spidered her fingers across his stomach, which dropped him to the mat in a second. Like a jungle cat, she pounced on him, tickling wildly across his stomach and sides, allowing his laughter to wash over her like the tide.
Amazingly enough, Bryson was feeling much the same way. The only exception was that he was allowing the tickling to wash over him. He didn’t know if you could be addicted to something like this, but if so, he certainly was glad to indulge. Danielle had been tickling him long enough to know his every weakness; he howled as she dug into his ribs, flailed madly as she trailed her fingers down his stomach, and shrieked as she wiggled a finger into his bellybutton.
Danielle was grinning like nobody’s business. This always happened every time she was in Bryson’s company. She considered herself to be an expert tickler, but even she had to admit it wasn’t very hard to tickle Bryson; he laughed when he knew Danielle was in the building. She amused herself for quite a while on his torso, then began sliding her nails down his legs, which resulted in more screaming and laughing. After a few minutes, she stopped, sitting near him and watching him come to his senses.
It took Bryson a minute to realize Danielle had stopped; her tickles took a while to subside. He giggled for another few seconds before looking at her, shuddering at the evil look on her face.
“Does that mean you win?”
Danielle laughed. She helped Bryson up, then led him over to the stocks. She felt his body tense against hers when she rested him against them, but he didn’t fight. He never did, and she loved him for it. He allowed her to guide him onto the bench, and willingly peeled off his socks and placed his ankles in the holes, which she quickly shut and locked.
Bryson had yet to catch his breath, but he was so excited now it didn’t matter much anyway. He had been in the barber stocks before, but these were completely new to him. He knew Danielle was a frequenter of Renfaire carnivals, and wondered how she had managed to borrow a set, but he wasn’t about to question it. He focused all his efforts on conserving energy, knowing full well that Danielle wasn’t a woman to tickle feet lightly.
He was right; Danielle loved tickling feet, and prided herself on being devastating at it. She waited a minute for Bryson to fully come to his senses and then began applying lotion to his soles. She smiled as his feet flexed naturally, and was delighted to see him already fighting back the giggles. He was especially sensitive today; how perfect.
Bryson was dying inside with the desire to laugh out loud, but he knew he had to keep it in. Better to fight it and make Danielle think it would be a challenge than admit defeat early and have her go easy on him. That’s when he noticed the silk cords. Just one at first, being looped around his big toes. Then another that tied his toes back to the stocks. A rush of panic set in; Danielle was serious about this. He might have wished she took it easy on him by the time she was done.
Danielle took a moment to watch her handiwork; Bryson’s feet were completely helpless. He could only wiggle his little toes, and she had more cords if that got too distracting. Pretty good job, though. Now she could begin. She reached out, dragging one nail down each sole experimentally. Bryson’s stifled scream and wriggling told her that this would be a fun few hours.
“Let’s get you laughing, my love.”
Bryson did his best to fight it off. He lasted less than five seconds. Danielle was expecting his stubbornness, and set to work on his feet’s most ticklish area; the balls. The toe-ties made them stand out fully exposed, and her nails raked across them with lightning speed. He sputtered out pleas for mercy in between peals of laughter, shaking and writhing for all he was worth. Danielle had left his hands untied, but his attempts to reach his feet were futile; she had him perfectly situated and was quickly rendering him helpless.
Danielle’s eyes flashed as she slid her nails effortlessly across his feet. Once she had sufficiently weakened his defenses, she was free to explore other ticklish spots on his feet. She scratched his heels heavily, laughing to herself as his bucking increased. She used his fingertips under his toes, making his laughter raise an octave or so. She then held his toes back even more and went to town on his lotioned arches and soles, stopping only when she felt his willpower give.
It is rumored that some people, when they are tickled, enter a state of mind where the sensations they are experiencing become the only thing they can concentrate on. Science has not given this term a name, nor have they proved that it exists, but I can tell you that it does exist and that I call it the “Bryson Effect.” You see, when Bryson has been tickled past his limits, he enters the previously mentioned zone. All attempts to free himself stop, all protests vanish. Bryson’s body simply surrenders itself to the torture, and he is in a state of bliss. Danielle knew about this, and wanted to test its limits.
She leapt over the stocks and sat on the bench behind Bryson, lifting his arms over his head. As she surmised, his arms stayed around her neck, even when she began tickling under his arms. Bryson continued laughing, rocking his head back on her shoulder and howling at the ceiling, but in no way did he move or try to stop her. Danielle had complete access to Bryson’s ticklish body for as long as she wanted.
Bryson felt Danielle sit behind her, but was too lost to the sensations to care. When he felt his arms being lifted, he assumed she had tied them, not that he would have been able to physically bring them down anyway. He was in a state of ticklish heaven he could only be in with Danielle, feeling the tickling as if it was vibrating off of every nerve in his body, and he had a limitless supply of oxygen with which to laugh.
Danielle was in ecstasy as well; a tickler’s ecstasy. She tickled anywhere she wished for what seemed like hours; knees, ribs, hips, underarms, stomach. Bryson laugh was infectious; Danielle found herself laughing alongside him for most of the time. Finally she felt both of their bodies tiring, and stopped, holding Bryson close against her as his laughter subsided.
When Bryson came back to his senses, he was a bit surprised to find Danielle behind him. He would have believed it if it were all a dream. He curled up against her, feeling her nails lightly drag against his skin, which gave him goosebumps. He was content to live out his days like this if it were possible.
Danielle released Bryson from his bonds, but not before another few seconds of foot tickling. Both found that the immense tickling had given them a second wind, and they chatted happily as Bryson put his shoes back on and they headed into the lobby. They were surprised to find that the sun had set while they were playing, and only a few customers remained. They set their next meeting and departed with another warm embrace, both happier than they had been in quite some time…
And there you have it. Two more characters to enter into the hallows of Chuckle’s fame. While I do not know if this salon had been made for Danielle and Bryson, I do know that there are no other two who used it with such passion and love for the reason it was created.
I hope you have enjoyed today’s tale. There are a limitless number of other stories which will be told in time. For now, we part. We shall meet again.
There is always a need for a storyteller.
As you may recall from my first tale, I told you of Chuckle’s Salon, one of the most remarkable places that exists in the free world. Many of you read the story, and many left comments; to all of you, I am eternally grateful.
I also have heard the suggestions made, and it is these suggestions that have reminded me of another pivotal character in Chuckle’s lore. I would be remiss if I did not mention her now.
Today, I will tell you about Danielle.
Danielle was the first female to seek employment at Chuckle’s Salon. The story goes that she arrived at the original Chuckle’s early on in its existence, and was the first female who sought to elicit laughter instead of providing it. Needless to say, she was an immediate sensation, and has been making guest appearances at Chuckle’s across the country ever since.
You would not pick Danielle out of a line-up of prospective ticklers; in fact, she is one of the many women that most consider “girl next-door.” She has been likened to a soccer mom more times than I can count, and the fact that she is one in her daily life does not help the argument. However, one visit to Danielle and no other woman will suffice.
I will pause here to provide a physical description of her, just so we are all on the same page. Danielle is about 5’7”, short light brown hair with streaks of red and green eyes. She is an attractive woman, especially when she tickles. That’s when the 10,000 watt smile emerges.
You see, there are people who enjoy tickling others, there are people who love tickling others, and then there is Danielle. Man has yet to provide a measurement that can completely do justice for the joy that tickling someone to tears provides her. (It should be noted here that Danielle is not a paid employee of Chuckle’s. While all do it for the love of it, some receive financial benefits to make ends meet. Danielle has never, and will never ask for that. The laughter is her payment.)
Needless to say, Danielle is the tickler dreams are made of. And what do the ultimate ticklers dream of? Why, the yang to their yin of course. The ultimate ticklee.
Those with incredible memories recall that in our first story, Erin was chatted up by a man before entering Chris’ lair. (I’m serious; go back and check if you need to.) This man was getting his hair cut at the time Erin came to call, but that is not his only reason for being there. This is Bryson.
Bryson, like Danielle, was one of the first clients at Chuckle’s. Also like Danielle, the joy and love of tickling Bryson has is unmatched. The difference is that while Danielle is 100% tickler, Bryson would gladly choose to be tickled every minute for the rest of his life.
Naturally, Bryson and Danielle have known each other for quite some time. They are the standard with which almost all other tickle-philes at Chuckle’s are judged. In fact, there have been a series of public sessions between them that always result in huge attendance. Most people go to see who breaks first; the insatiable tickler, or the seemingly endless pile of laughter that makes up the ticklee.
So, I believe I have painted the verbal picture as well as I can. On with the tale.
Note: As both an experiment in prose and an attempt to paint both sides of the picture so all can enjoy, I will be telling this story from both perspectives. This will keep the dialogue to a minimum, and hopefully the torture to a maximum.
Danielle and Bryson have standing dates multiple times a year at Chuckle’s. Our story takes us to, amazingly enough, right around this time of year. It is time for their celebration of the Vernal Equinox, ringing in the spring season with gales of laughter.
Bryson arrives early in the afternoon, as always. He chats with Stacy (bonus point for those who remember her), and gets a trim specifically for the occasion. Too excited to concentrate on the barber, Bryson closes his eyes and daydreams of what his session will be like. Where will Danielle focus her efforts this time? (Ultimate ticklees are wildly ticklish everywhere, of course.) How long will she go for? He is so enamored with his fantasies, he doesn’t notice the personification of said fantasy until she is standing behind him, nails lightly dragging up and down the back of his neck.
Danielle feels the all too common rush as Bryson pitches forward in the barber chair, giggling helplessly. She follows him, nails now seeking out his sensitive ribcage, and she is delighted to hear him howl with laughter. By now, everyone in Chuckle’s is watching and laughing along with him. This is always must-see-tickling.
Bryson stands, arms folded around him in mock protection. He embraces Danielle, giggling again as her nails trail up and down his back. (Seriously, he is ticklish everywhere.) He watches his torturess greet everyone else in the salon, then beckon to him with one dangerous nail.
Danielle watches her tickle-toy as he heads to their favorite playroom. She has been planning her series of tortures for weeks now, ever since the last session went so spectacularly. (Daring to the end, both agreed to try an all-night session, which resulted in total exhaustion and a remarkable abdominal workout on both sides.) She was pleased to see the room exactly as she left it the night before; a perfect place for forcing Bryson to laugh hysterically.
Bryson took in the room slowly, turning around to see all the elements Danielle had prepared. The barber chair that was so commonplace in all the rooms had been removed, replaced with ::gasp:: a set of medieval stocks. Bryson’s blood boiled and ran ice cold at the same time. He was so taken aback by this change that he didn’t notice the series of mats spread out on the floor.
Danielle watched Bryson closely. This was one of the best parts; watching Bryson’s imagination run wild. He subconsciously covered his stomach when he saw the x-frame, and nervously began shuffling his feet when he saw the stocks. He looked quizzically at the mats, which Danielle had expected.
“You keep bragging about your wrestling skill. I figured we’d test it.”
Bryson smiled. He was a former high school wrestler (not a great one – balance was not one of his virtues), but he liked to appear at least moderately athletic to Danielle. He had already proven his stamina, but would he even be able to function in this state? All his fears subsided when Danielle slipped off her flip-flops and rolled onto the mat. They were replaced with an almost inhuman lurch of excitement. He kicked his shoes off and joined her.
Danielle knew this would be fun, but she didn’t expect it to be so easy. Bryson was impressive at first; she had barely reached a hand out before he had taken it and disappeared behind her. However, he wasn’t used to tickling being legal in wrestling, so she greedily spidered her fingers across his stomach, which dropped him to the mat in a second. Like a jungle cat, she pounced on him, tickling wildly across his stomach and sides, allowing his laughter to wash over her like the tide.
Amazingly enough, Bryson was feeling much the same way. The only exception was that he was allowing the tickling to wash over him. He didn’t know if you could be addicted to something like this, but if so, he certainly was glad to indulge. Danielle had been tickling him long enough to know his every weakness; he howled as she dug into his ribs, flailed madly as she trailed her fingers down his stomach, and shrieked as she wiggled a finger into his bellybutton.
Danielle was grinning like nobody’s business. This always happened every time she was in Bryson’s company. She considered herself to be an expert tickler, but even she had to admit it wasn’t very hard to tickle Bryson; he laughed when he knew Danielle was in the building. She amused herself for quite a while on his torso, then began sliding her nails down his legs, which resulted in more screaming and laughing. After a few minutes, she stopped, sitting near him and watching him come to his senses.
It took Bryson a minute to realize Danielle had stopped; her tickles took a while to subside. He giggled for another few seconds before looking at her, shuddering at the evil look on her face.
“Does that mean you win?”
Danielle laughed. She helped Bryson up, then led him over to the stocks. She felt his body tense against hers when she rested him against them, but he didn’t fight. He never did, and she loved him for it. He allowed her to guide him onto the bench, and willingly peeled off his socks and placed his ankles in the holes, which she quickly shut and locked.
Bryson had yet to catch his breath, but he was so excited now it didn’t matter much anyway. He had been in the barber stocks before, but these were completely new to him. He knew Danielle was a frequenter of Renfaire carnivals, and wondered how she had managed to borrow a set, but he wasn’t about to question it. He focused all his efforts on conserving energy, knowing full well that Danielle wasn’t a woman to tickle feet lightly.
He was right; Danielle loved tickling feet, and prided herself on being devastating at it. She waited a minute for Bryson to fully come to his senses and then began applying lotion to his soles. She smiled as his feet flexed naturally, and was delighted to see him already fighting back the giggles. He was especially sensitive today; how perfect.
Bryson was dying inside with the desire to laugh out loud, but he knew he had to keep it in. Better to fight it and make Danielle think it would be a challenge than admit defeat early and have her go easy on him. That’s when he noticed the silk cords. Just one at first, being looped around his big toes. Then another that tied his toes back to the stocks. A rush of panic set in; Danielle was serious about this. He might have wished she took it easy on him by the time she was done.
Danielle took a moment to watch her handiwork; Bryson’s feet were completely helpless. He could only wiggle his little toes, and she had more cords if that got too distracting. Pretty good job, though. Now she could begin. She reached out, dragging one nail down each sole experimentally. Bryson’s stifled scream and wriggling told her that this would be a fun few hours.
“Let’s get you laughing, my love.”
Bryson did his best to fight it off. He lasted less than five seconds. Danielle was expecting his stubbornness, and set to work on his feet’s most ticklish area; the balls. The toe-ties made them stand out fully exposed, and her nails raked across them with lightning speed. He sputtered out pleas for mercy in between peals of laughter, shaking and writhing for all he was worth. Danielle had left his hands untied, but his attempts to reach his feet were futile; she had him perfectly situated and was quickly rendering him helpless.
Danielle’s eyes flashed as she slid her nails effortlessly across his feet. Once she had sufficiently weakened his defenses, she was free to explore other ticklish spots on his feet. She scratched his heels heavily, laughing to herself as his bucking increased. She used his fingertips under his toes, making his laughter raise an octave or so. She then held his toes back even more and went to town on his lotioned arches and soles, stopping only when she felt his willpower give.
It is rumored that some people, when they are tickled, enter a state of mind where the sensations they are experiencing become the only thing they can concentrate on. Science has not given this term a name, nor have they proved that it exists, but I can tell you that it does exist and that I call it the “Bryson Effect.” You see, when Bryson has been tickled past his limits, he enters the previously mentioned zone. All attempts to free himself stop, all protests vanish. Bryson’s body simply surrenders itself to the torture, and he is in a state of bliss. Danielle knew about this, and wanted to test its limits.
She leapt over the stocks and sat on the bench behind Bryson, lifting his arms over his head. As she surmised, his arms stayed around her neck, even when she began tickling under his arms. Bryson continued laughing, rocking his head back on her shoulder and howling at the ceiling, but in no way did he move or try to stop her. Danielle had complete access to Bryson’s ticklish body for as long as she wanted.
Bryson felt Danielle sit behind her, but was too lost to the sensations to care. When he felt his arms being lifted, he assumed she had tied them, not that he would have been able to physically bring them down anyway. He was in a state of ticklish heaven he could only be in with Danielle, feeling the tickling as if it was vibrating off of every nerve in his body, and he had a limitless supply of oxygen with which to laugh.
Danielle was in ecstasy as well; a tickler’s ecstasy. She tickled anywhere she wished for what seemed like hours; knees, ribs, hips, underarms, stomach. Bryson laugh was infectious; Danielle found herself laughing alongside him for most of the time. Finally she felt both of their bodies tiring, and stopped, holding Bryson close against her as his laughter subsided.
When Bryson came back to his senses, he was a bit surprised to find Danielle behind him. He would have believed it if it were all a dream. He curled up against her, feeling her nails lightly drag against his skin, which gave him goosebumps. He was content to live out his days like this if it were possible.
Danielle released Bryson from his bonds, but not before another few seconds of foot tickling. Both found that the immense tickling had given them a second wind, and they chatted happily as Bryson put his shoes back on and they headed into the lobby. They were surprised to find that the sun had set while they were playing, and only a few customers remained. They set their next meeting and departed with another warm embrace, both happier than they had been in quite some time…
And there you have it. Two more characters to enter into the hallows of Chuckle’s fame. While I do not know if this salon had been made for Danielle and Bryson, I do know that there are no other two who used it with such passion and love for the reason it was created.
I hope you have enjoyed today’s tale. There are a limitless number of other stories which will be told in time. For now, we part. We shall meet again.
There is always a need for a storyteller.
