Myriads
Tzar of the TMF
- Joined
- Apr 2, 2001
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Tickle Strip
Tickle Strip by: Jeff McN
The Group had picked out Cindy as their victim for the evening.
Francine had spotted her first, at the beginning of the evening. She was a lovely thing, a pert little brunette freshman with big eyes and a pixie face, her dark hair swept back into a playful ponytail.
Francine studied her calculatingly during the party. She watched her dance, listened to her laugh, took in her appearance from head to toe--the airy pink silk scarf wrapped around her neck, the blue denim jacket and miniskirt; the frilly white blouse opened just far enough and the bit of lace peeking out between her full round breasts; the laced-up pumps and sheer, chocolate-colored stockings, with lacy garter tops that you could just glimpse now and then under the hem of her tight skirt.
Such a tantalizing dish--Francine felt a tingling in all the right places and decided Cindy was the perfect toy for their little monthly game.
She didn't notice Paul coming up beside her. "You can't go girl-watching without a bra, babe."
Francine blushed and quickly folded her arms over the front of her sweater. "Bastard."
Paul followed her stare, and whistled silently. "Oh, yeees," he said. "Very pretty."
"I thought you'd like her," Francine said with a wicked grin.
Paul nuzzled her ear and whispered, "She'd look even better with some of those clothes off, wouldn't she. Squirming on the table."
Francine nodded. "Let's test her."
A little while later, Cindy was wandering through the party looking for someone she knew, without much luck. She loved parties, but she was a bit of a stranger at this one. She knew that if some activity were to start up, maybe then she'd have an in. But this didn't seem like the right crowd for games.Then she noticed a very attractive, honey-blonde girl smiling at her from across the room. She stood almost a head taller than Cindy in her suede boots, which she wore with black nylon hose over her long, shapely legs. Cindy could tell she was a looker; the hot pants and snug white turtleneck didn't hurt either.
Cindy grinned and waved.
"Hi, I'm Francine," the blonde said. "New in town?"
"I'm Cindy," she replied, a bit shyly. "I came with a few friends and they all disappeared. I think--I'm kind of lost."
"Have no fear, you're in good hands now." Francine grinned. "I'm a senior. My boyfriend's somewhere around, getting beers. We always make a point of going to welcome-week parties--see the new faces, make them feel at home."
"You sure are dressed for it," Cindy said with a giggle.
"You don't look so bad yourself," Francine replied, with a bit of a leer that wasn't quite a joke. Cindy grinned and looked embarrassed.
"Oh, just my party clothes," she said. "You never know what's going to happen."
"How true," Francine said, grinning ear to ear.
Suddenly Cindy shrieked and nearly jumped out of her shoes. Francine and a few others standing around all started asking what the matter was as she contorted herself and nearly fell to the floor, wriggling furiously and trying to claw at her back through her clothes.
She excused herself, blushing, and almost ran for the bathroom.
Paul smiled at Francine, from where he had been standing behind Cindy. "Well, her *back* is very ticklish," he said.
Francine was getting very excited. "Let's get the others."
"I'll do it. Keep an eye on her."
Cindy came back out in a few minutes, having managed to dislodge the mysterious piece of fluff that had fallen down her collar. She marvelled at how it had seemed to seek out the very person, the very bit of skin that could stand it the least.
She searched the rooms for Francine. She didn't want to lose her; she seemed like a good person to get in with--someone who knew how to have fun.
She found her in the hallway. She looked relieved to see Cindy. "There you are. Everything okay?"
"Oh, yeah, sure," Cindy said, giggling nervously. "Something fell down my blouse."
"Yipes. Good thing it didn't get any lower," Francine said with a devilish grin. She watched with hidden glee the reaction Cindy had to that idea.
Then Paul sidled up holding a couple of beers. "Hey babe. Who's your friend?"
"You are, silly. And this is Cindy. Cindy--Paul."
"Hi, Paul," Cindy said.
"Greetings," Paul said. "Welcome to the realm of higher learning."
The three of them drank and chatted for a while, getting quite chummy. Then Paul said to Francine, in an audible sotto voce, "Speaking of new faces, we're one short for the game later on. I can't find anyone."
"On no!" Francine said.
Cindy perked right up. "A game? What game?" she asked.
Francine looked around and spoke in the same low tone. "Oh, um, we try to keep it a secret. Everybody always wants to play, but we don't want just anybody."
"What is it?" Cindy said excitedly.
"*You* know. *The* game."
Paul whispered conspiratorially, "T.S."
"But the players have to be just right for it," Francine said, "or it just doesn't work."
"George has everything set in the basement," Paul said, before Cindy could say a word. "But we're still looking. It's not easy keeping it a secret."
"T.S.?" Cindy said.
"Yeah," Francine said enthusiastically, "we play downstairs, while the party's going on--without anyone even knowing about it."
"Good sound-proofing," Paul said. "They'd kill to get in on it." Cindy stared at both of them, wondering if she should pursue it. She was dying to ask how you played, but didn't dare--since it was something *everyone* knew. There was only one way to find out.
"God, I'd *love* to play," she said. "I haven't played it in *so* long." She paused, and added nonchalantly, "I used to be pretty good."
Francine looked sharply at her, then at Paul. "What do you think?"
"I don't know, we'd have to ask the others. She does *look* perfect for it."
Cindy almost bounced up and down, making her ponytail wave from side to side. "Oh please, I'd really love to. I won't tell anyone."
Francine giggled. "I'll bet you won't."
Paul nodded. "Okay, hang on, I'll check with George and Tricia."
Cindy beamed as Paul dashed out of the room. Francine smiled at her, and oddly enough, seemed to be looking her up and down. Cindy gave her a quick look.
"I'm not--uh, dressed wrong for it, am I?" she said anxiously.
Francine grinned. "Oh no, you're absolutely perfect." Then she frowned a bit. "Don't you know?"
Cindy caught herself. "Well, yeah, of course. Uh, I just meant, maybe for *you*..."
"How long ago did you play last?"
"Well, let's see..." Cindy mumbled. "In my, uh, last year at..."
Francine eyed her sternly. "Cindy, tell me the truth," she said, "you don't know the game, do you?"
Cindy looked crestfallen. "Oh!... well... not really."
"Oh, Cindy," Francine said with a disappointed look.
"Please let me play," Cindy pleaded. "I pick things up very quickly. I promise. Please don't tell them."
Francine thought about it. "I don't know..."
"Please, please, Francine--really, you just have to give me the basics--I'm very good with games--"
Francine looked at her, softening, and suddenly she grinned. "I'll bet you are. Okay. We'll keep it a secret. I'll clue you in and give you some pointers. You'll catch on fast." She grinned again. "Real fast."
"Oh, good! Thank you," Cindy said. "Okay--so tell me--what do I-- what happens first?"
"Well, first," Francine said, "we pick a victim--"
"A what?"
Francine laughed. "Oh, that's just what we call her--I mean, it. We pick the person who--" She waved across the room. "There's Paul."
Paul was giving a thumbs up and motioning for them to come. "Okay, I'll fill you in while we play." Francine whispered. "Come on."
Cindy followed, a little nervously. They went into the kitchen, where Francine and Paul introduced her to George and Tricia. George, tall and long-haired, she had already met. Tricia was a very pretty redhead, about her height, dressed similarly to Francine, with cut-off blue jeans, lavender hose and pumps.
They waited until no one else was in the room, and then George opened the door to the cellar, and they all filed into a pitch black stairwell. Francine took Cindy by the hand and led her in, and George followed, locking the door behind them and then padding it with sound proofing foam while Cindy tried to make out what he was doing.
"The game gets pretty noisy," Francine explained.
George flicked on a flashlight and led the way down. "Watch your step, guys."
"Quick," Cindy whispered. "Tell me what to do."
"You might not have to do anything," Francine replied mischievously."It's easy to play if you get picked."
"Picked for what?"
"That's how the game starts, you draw lots to pick a victim."
Cindy felt her heart beating faster. She squeezed Francine's hand in the dark and asked, "What--what happens to the--the victim?"
"T.S.," Francine replied. "Also known as Tickle Strip."
*"What?"*
Francine giggled. "Any part of you that shows can be tickled. The more you're ticklish, the more you take off." She squeezed Cindy's hand. "And the more you take off, the more you get tickled."
Cindy gasped. They had reached the basement, a small room moodily lit by a few track lights. It was plush-carpeted and sparsely furnished with a few chairs, a long, polished table--and a number of silk ropes hanging from sturdy hooks in the concrete ceiling. On a wall rack across the room Cindy saw an array of instruments that made her go weak at the knees--artist brushes and shaving brushes, Q-tips and broom straws, a rather large collection of feathers of all types, a smaller one of real feather dusters.
Cindy took it all in, and a cold sweat ran down her back. What had she gotten herself into?
*Tickle Strip*. Her limbs to jelly.
"Okay, let's play," George said, and produced a deck of cards, began shuffling it. "Ace of spades is the victim. Cindy, as our guest player, would you care to cut the cards?"
"Uh... sure," she said. She looked at Francine, who smiled encouragingly.
Well, she thought, there's five of us. My chances are pretty good. This could be a lot of fun...
She cut the cards and they all stood around the table while George dealt them out, face up. Tricia watched Cindy, then looked at Francine, who winked back. George, of course, could make a deck of cards do whatever he wanted.
Nervously at first, Cindy watched the cards go round the table once, then twice, and was almost beginning to enjoy the fearful anticipation, when the Black Ace landed right in front of her.
She stared at it and her heart froze. She looked desperately at Francine, who grinned back--then at the door--but there was no way she could back out now. *Tickle Strip...*
She swallowed hard. They were all looking at her.
Redheaded Tricia approached her, and Cindy instinctively wrapped her arms around herself. "Hey, hey, don't do that," Tricia purred. "You know the rules, hon."
Cindy stared at her, guessing what she meant. She let her arms fall and looked at her submissively, trembling.
"Good girl," Tricia said, looking her up and down. "I've got a king--I start?"
"She's all yours," George said, clearing the table.
Cindy looked around frantically. "But--but--"
"But what, honey?" Tricia stage-whispered. She blew a few strands of hair from Cindy's face. "You look cute in a ponytail. Doesn't she have pretty ears?"
Without warning Tricia's hands shot out and fluttered two little downy feathers behind Cindy's ears. Cindy sputtered and giggled involuntarily. "Hee-hee-heee! Stoop!"
"Good girl. You lose." Tricia began unwinding her scarf from around her neck.
"What?" Cindy gasped, as her delicate neck was bared. "But--"Francine nodded at Paul. Paul took firm hold of both Cindy's arms and Francine moved behind her, and began to gently run her long fingernails up and down the back of Cindy's neck.
"See, honey," Francine whispered in her ear, "there are three magic words: 'no,' 'stop,' and 'uncle.' Every time you say any of them, you lose another piece of clothing. The more ticklish you are, the farther you strip."
Cindy gulped. "How f-far?" she whispered back urgently, "D-d-down to... my underwear?"
Francine giggled. "Down to your birthday suit, sweetie. And we can tickle you anywhere we can see skin."
Cindy gasped. "*Anywhere?*"
"Yeeeess," Francine purred. "Once you lose your undies it gets a *lot* of fun."
Cindy's eyes went wide with horror--and then Francine attacked her with her fingernails.
"Eeeeeee! Eeeeee!" Cindy convulsed and squealed. Francine flicked all ten fingers down her neck and inside her collar, and Cindy writhed in a childish giggling fit. "Eeeee-hee-hee! Eeeee-hee-hee-hee-hee-hee! Sto-o-o-op!"
"What did you say, Cindy?" Francine asked, pausing briefly. Cindy caught herself, her heart pounding. "Uuuh--I--" The fingers wriggled down her neck again and she exploded. "Eeeeeeeeeeeh! Uncle! U-u-uncl-le!"
"Nice try, Cindy," Francine cooed. "We'll have you down to your stockings in no time."
*Oh my God!* thought Cindy. *I have to get out of this!!!* She blushed furiously as Francine slipped her out of her denim jacket. *I have to keep control!*
The sleeves of her blouse were conveniently rolled up above her elbows. Paul gripped her just above her left wrist, and with his other hand he produced a Q-tip. He grinned. "Most women don't know how sensitive they are here," he said.
Cindy stared fearfully as the cotton tip neared the delicate flesh of her wrist. Her ears reddened and she fought an irresistible urge to squirm. Then the Q-tip slid down the inside of her forearm--she gasped in surprise. It sent shock waves down her body--she bit her lip and began to whimper. Paul grinned and began swirling the cotton tip inside her elbow, and Cindy's knees buckled. She couldn't take it! It was excruciating!
She tried to wiggle her arm free but Paul held it firmly while expertly dabbing her skin with the wicked cotton tip. She fell to her knees.
She heard herself moan, "Ooh! Oooh! Oh my gooosh!" Then Paul flicked the tip rapidly just below her hand and she lost all control, contorting her body, tossing her head back and forth in a loud fit of squeals.
"Aaaaah! Eeeeeh! Eeeeeeeeh! Sto-o-o-op!"
"Off comes your blouse," Paul said in triumph, as Cindy gasped for breath. Francine held Cindy's arms to her sides as Paul unbuttoned her. Cindy watched helplessly as her blouse opened down the front and revealed her white cotton bra.
Francine let go of her arms and her blouse slid to the floor. Cindy's brassiere gleamed against her flushed skin as they lifted her to her feet. George took her bare arms and brought them together at the wrists. She saw the silk cord hanging in front of her and let out a shriek. "Oh--God no--please not that!"
As she stared in helpless horror George quickly and expertly bound her wrists together, pulled the cord taut and tied it to the hook in the ceiling, leaving Cindy, ribs and underarms exposed, teetering perilously on the toes of her booties. "Comfie? Now for the real thing," George said with glee, and the others grinned and watched.
Cindy was barely breathing now, and sweat was trickling down her pink armpits. She watched helpless and terror-stricken as George approached with two pointy feathers he had selected from the rack on the wall. "Oh, no--oh, no--please no--"
"Don't say that yet, babe," George chided. "You'll lose your skirt." Cindy eyes went wide, and she swallowed and crossed her legs by reflex. She knew she didn't have a chance. *Pleasepleaseplease let me hold on--* The feathers touched her skin and she gasped and jerked away spasmodically. Then George ran them slowly up her sides. Up to her elbows, and then down to her waist, where they lingered for a few playful flicks.
"Eeeh! Aaaah!" Cindy squealed and contorted herself to escape the feathers. Then George slid them back up her sides and she gasped. Then back down her arms; she was trembling and recrossing her legs in anticipation. Back and forth, a little further up, a little further down--until she was thoroughly flushed and her heart was pounding--and finally they grazed her smooth, moist armpits.
Cindy instantly exploded in frantic squeals. She danced and giggled uncontrollably, straining at the rope, as George tickled her underarms, driving her completely insane--she'd never been this helpless! The feather-tips twirled under her arms and she squealed like a child. "Eeee-eeee-e-e-e-eh! Eeeeeeeeeeee-e-eyaaeeeyaaeyaaaah!"
George flicked the feathers down her glistening sides and under her ribs, which brought her to convulsive giggles. "Eeee-hee-hee! Eee-hee-hee-heee! Plee-hee-heease sst--" Ohmigod! She'd barely caught herself! "Aaaa-ha-ha-haaa!"
"That was close, Cindy," George said with glee. He slid the feathers along her bra strap, and then down the curve of her back--she jerked and twisted in the air in helpless spasms. "Ooo-o-o-e-e-hee-hee-hee-hee-hee-hee!" She desperately wanted to say the magic word--*I can't! I'll lose my skirt!*
The feathers flicked back up her sides--and once again found the pink hollows of her armpits. Cindy was gurgling, her face beet red, and she crossed and uncrossed her dangling legs under her miniskirt. She couldn't stand anymore! "Eee-he-he-he-he-heeeee! N-n-noo! Nooo! Ooooheee-he-he-he-heeee! U-u-u-uncllle!"
"I think you lose," George said.
Cindy hung from the ceiling, unable to stand, and felt her waistband being unhooked, and the zipper come down. *Noooooo!*
"You won't be needing this any more." George dabbed the feathers around her waist, making her squeal and wriggle--and shake her miniskirt down her bum. He kept tickling her until it slid to the floor.
Cindy looked around at the group, her face turning beet red as she dangled from the ceiling, in her undies, stockings and shoes, in front of four fully-dressed strangers--she thought she'd pee with embarrassment!
"Get the table," Tricia said. George and Paul grabbed Cindy's ankles and pulled her feet out from under her. Cindy shrieked in surprise and fear, swinging helplessly in mid-air as Tricia and Francine dragged the table under her dangling bottom. Tricia pulled a stiff-bristled artist's brush from the rack and climbed on top of her.
"W-what are you *doing?*" Cindy whimpered.
Tricia grinned wickedly, running the brush over her white cotton panties. "Don't worry, honey. I'm just going to tickle your tummy."
"Please--no--" Cindy panted, "I c-can't--"
"Sshhh! Haven't started yet!" Tricia traced the bristles over Cindy's naked belly, slowly, back and forth. "Is tummy ticklish?"
"A-a-a-a-ah-- e-e-eh-- g-gee-hee-hee--"
"Oooooh, yes it is!" Cindy tried to twist away from the brush, but Tricia was sitting between her legs, pinning Cindy's thighs under her knees. "Hold on, sweetie," Tricia teased, "This is a big one. We're playing for your shoes." She dabbed at Cindy's pink flesh, just above her panty line.
"Ee-he-he-he-hee! Do-o-ho-ho-ho-hon't!" Cindy giggled childishly. "Oh ple-he-he-he-hease! Hee-hee-heeeee!" Tricia was merciless. She flicked the brush just above her hip, and then followed her panty line all the way across her belly and back again. Cindy shrieked and twisted helplessly.
"Oh, I'll bet you've got a real ticklish belly-button," Tricia said.
Cindy squirmed from side to side. "Nnnnn--dooon't! G-g-gaaa-ha-ha-ha-haaaa!"
Tricia slipped the tip of the brush into Cindy's little hole; Cindy shrieked and wiggled her pantied bottom as Tricia twirled the bristles mercilessly. "Aaaah! Aaaaah! Aaaa-haa-haa-haaa! N-n-n-n--nnaaaa-haa-haa-haa-haaa!
"That was very close," said Tricia, "but I think I'll give it to you." Tricia kept twirling the brush and reached down with her other hand between Cindy's legs, running her fingernail along the top of her stocking. Cindy gasped and struggled to free her legs to no avail. The brush tortured her belly as Tricia's nails attacked her inner thighs and she started shrieking with laughter. "Aa-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! Aaaa-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!"
Tickle Strip by: Jeff McN
The Group had picked out Cindy as their victim for the evening.
Francine had spotted her first, at the beginning of the evening. She was a lovely thing, a pert little brunette freshman with big eyes and a pixie face, her dark hair swept back into a playful ponytail.
Francine studied her calculatingly during the party. She watched her dance, listened to her laugh, took in her appearance from head to toe--the airy pink silk scarf wrapped around her neck, the blue denim jacket and miniskirt; the frilly white blouse opened just far enough and the bit of lace peeking out between her full round breasts; the laced-up pumps and sheer, chocolate-colored stockings, with lacy garter tops that you could just glimpse now and then under the hem of her tight skirt.
Such a tantalizing dish--Francine felt a tingling in all the right places and decided Cindy was the perfect toy for their little monthly game.
She didn't notice Paul coming up beside her. "You can't go girl-watching without a bra, babe."
Francine blushed and quickly folded her arms over the front of her sweater. "Bastard."
Paul followed her stare, and whistled silently. "Oh, yeees," he said. "Very pretty."
"I thought you'd like her," Francine said with a wicked grin.
Paul nuzzled her ear and whispered, "She'd look even better with some of those clothes off, wouldn't she. Squirming on the table."
Francine nodded. "Let's test her."
A little while later, Cindy was wandering through the party looking for someone she knew, without much luck. She loved parties, but she was a bit of a stranger at this one. She knew that if some activity were to start up, maybe then she'd have an in. But this didn't seem like the right crowd for games.Then she noticed a very attractive, honey-blonde girl smiling at her from across the room. She stood almost a head taller than Cindy in her suede boots, which she wore with black nylon hose over her long, shapely legs. Cindy could tell she was a looker; the hot pants and snug white turtleneck didn't hurt either.
Cindy grinned and waved.
"Hi, I'm Francine," the blonde said. "New in town?"
"I'm Cindy," she replied, a bit shyly. "I came with a few friends and they all disappeared. I think--I'm kind of lost."
"Have no fear, you're in good hands now." Francine grinned. "I'm a senior. My boyfriend's somewhere around, getting beers. We always make a point of going to welcome-week parties--see the new faces, make them feel at home."
"You sure are dressed for it," Cindy said with a giggle.
"You don't look so bad yourself," Francine replied, with a bit of a leer that wasn't quite a joke. Cindy grinned and looked embarrassed.
"Oh, just my party clothes," she said. "You never know what's going to happen."
"How true," Francine said, grinning ear to ear.
Suddenly Cindy shrieked and nearly jumped out of her shoes. Francine and a few others standing around all started asking what the matter was as she contorted herself and nearly fell to the floor, wriggling furiously and trying to claw at her back through her clothes.
She excused herself, blushing, and almost ran for the bathroom.
Paul smiled at Francine, from where he had been standing behind Cindy. "Well, her *back* is very ticklish," he said.
Francine was getting very excited. "Let's get the others."
"I'll do it. Keep an eye on her."
Cindy came back out in a few minutes, having managed to dislodge the mysterious piece of fluff that had fallen down her collar. She marvelled at how it had seemed to seek out the very person, the very bit of skin that could stand it the least.
She searched the rooms for Francine. She didn't want to lose her; she seemed like a good person to get in with--someone who knew how to have fun.
She found her in the hallway. She looked relieved to see Cindy. "There you are. Everything okay?"
"Oh, yeah, sure," Cindy said, giggling nervously. "Something fell down my blouse."
"Yipes. Good thing it didn't get any lower," Francine said with a devilish grin. She watched with hidden glee the reaction Cindy had to that idea.
Then Paul sidled up holding a couple of beers. "Hey babe. Who's your friend?"
"You are, silly. And this is Cindy. Cindy--Paul."
"Hi, Paul," Cindy said.
"Greetings," Paul said. "Welcome to the realm of higher learning."
The three of them drank and chatted for a while, getting quite chummy. Then Paul said to Francine, in an audible sotto voce, "Speaking of new faces, we're one short for the game later on. I can't find anyone."
"On no!" Francine said.
Cindy perked right up. "A game? What game?" she asked.
Francine looked around and spoke in the same low tone. "Oh, um, we try to keep it a secret. Everybody always wants to play, but we don't want just anybody."
"What is it?" Cindy said excitedly.
"*You* know. *The* game."
Paul whispered conspiratorially, "T.S."
"But the players have to be just right for it," Francine said, "or it just doesn't work."
"George has everything set in the basement," Paul said, before Cindy could say a word. "But we're still looking. It's not easy keeping it a secret."
"T.S.?" Cindy said.
"Yeah," Francine said enthusiastically, "we play downstairs, while the party's going on--without anyone even knowing about it."
"Good sound-proofing," Paul said. "They'd kill to get in on it." Cindy stared at both of them, wondering if she should pursue it. She was dying to ask how you played, but didn't dare--since it was something *everyone* knew. There was only one way to find out.
"God, I'd *love* to play," she said. "I haven't played it in *so* long." She paused, and added nonchalantly, "I used to be pretty good."
Francine looked sharply at her, then at Paul. "What do you think?"
"I don't know, we'd have to ask the others. She does *look* perfect for it."
Cindy almost bounced up and down, making her ponytail wave from side to side. "Oh please, I'd really love to. I won't tell anyone."
Francine giggled. "I'll bet you won't."
Paul nodded. "Okay, hang on, I'll check with George and Tricia."
Cindy beamed as Paul dashed out of the room. Francine smiled at her, and oddly enough, seemed to be looking her up and down. Cindy gave her a quick look.
"I'm not--uh, dressed wrong for it, am I?" she said anxiously.
Francine grinned. "Oh no, you're absolutely perfect." Then she frowned a bit. "Don't you know?"
Cindy caught herself. "Well, yeah, of course. Uh, I just meant, maybe for *you*..."
"How long ago did you play last?"
"Well, let's see..." Cindy mumbled. "In my, uh, last year at..."
Francine eyed her sternly. "Cindy, tell me the truth," she said, "you don't know the game, do you?"
Cindy looked crestfallen. "Oh!... well... not really."
"Oh, Cindy," Francine said with a disappointed look.
"Please let me play," Cindy pleaded. "I pick things up very quickly. I promise. Please don't tell them."
Francine thought about it. "I don't know..."
"Please, please, Francine--really, you just have to give me the basics--I'm very good with games--"
Francine looked at her, softening, and suddenly she grinned. "I'll bet you are. Okay. We'll keep it a secret. I'll clue you in and give you some pointers. You'll catch on fast." She grinned again. "Real fast."
"Oh, good! Thank you," Cindy said. "Okay--so tell me--what do I-- what happens first?"
"Well, first," Francine said, "we pick a victim--"
"A what?"
Francine laughed. "Oh, that's just what we call her--I mean, it. We pick the person who--" She waved across the room. "There's Paul."
Paul was giving a thumbs up and motioning for them to come. "Okay, I'll fill you in while we play." Francine whispered. "Come on."
Cindy followed, a little nervously. They went into the kitchen, where Francine and Paul introduced her to George and Tricia. George, tall and long-haired, she had already met. Tricia was a very pretty redhead, about her height, dressed similarly to Francine, with cut-off blue jeans, lavender hose and pumps.
They waited until no one else was in the room, and then George opened the door to the cellar, and they all filed into a pitch black stairwell. Francine took Cindy by the hand and led her in, and George followed, locking the door behind them and then padding it with sound proofing foam while Cindy tried to make out what he was doing.
"The game gets pretty noisy," Francine explained.
George flicked on a flashlight and led the way down. "Watch your step, guys."
"Quick," Cindy whispered. "Tell me what to do."
"You might not have to do anything," Francine replied mischievously."It's easy to play if you get picked."
"Picked for what?"
"That's how the game starts, you draw lots to pick a victim."
Cindy felt her heart beating faster. She squeezed Francine's hand in the dark and asked, "What--what happens to the--the victim?"
"T.S.," Francine replied. "Also known as Tickle Strip."
*"What?"*
Francine giggled. "Any part of you that shows can be tickled. The more you're ticklish, the more you take off." She squeezed Cindy's hand. "And the more you take off, the more you get tickled."
Cindy gasped. They had reached the basement, a small room moodily lit by a few track lights. It was plush-carpeted and sparsely furnished with a few chairs, a long, polished table--and a number of silk ropes hanging from sturdy hooks in the concrete ceiling. On a wall rack across the room Cindy saw an array of instruments that made her go weak at the knees--artist brushes and shaving brushes, Q-tips and broom straws, a rather large collection of feathers of all types, a smaller one of real feather dusters.
Cindy took it all in, and a cold sweat ran down her back. What had she gotten herself into?
*Tickle Strip*. Her limbs to jelly.
"Okay, let's play," George said, and produced a deck of cards, began shuffling it. "Ace of spades is the victim. Cindy, as our guest player, would you care to cut the cards?"
"Uh... sure," she said. She looked at Francine, who smiled encouragingly.
Well, she thought, there's five of us. My chances are pretty good. This could be a lot of fun...
She cut the cards and they all stood around the table while George dealt them out, face up. Tricia watched Cindy, then looked at Francine, who winked back. George, of course, could make a deck of cards do whatever he wanted.
Nervously at first, Cindy watched the cards go round the table once, then twice, and was almost beginning to enjoy the fearful anticipation, when the Black Ace landed right in front of her.
She stared at it and her heart froze. She looked desperately at Francine, who grinned back--then at the door--but there was no way she could back out now. *Tickle Strip...*
She swallowed hard. They were all looking at her.
Redheaded Tricia approached her, and Cindy instinctively wrapped her arms around herself. "Hey, hey, don't do that," Tricia purred. "You know the rules, hon."
Cindy stared at her, guessing what she meant. She let her arms fall and looked at her submissively, trembling.
"Good girl," Tricia said, looking her up and down. "I've got a king--I start?"
"She's all yours," George said, clearing the table.
Cindy looked around frantically. "But--but--"
"But what, honey?" Tricia stage-whispered. She blew a few strands of hair from Cindy's face. "You look cute in a ponytail. Doesn't she have pretty ears?"
Without warning Tricia's hands shot out and fluttered two little downy feathers behind Cindy's ears. Cindy sputtered and giggled involuntarily. "Hee-hee-heee! Stoop!"
"Good girl. You lose." Tricia began unwinding her scarf from around her neck.
"What?" Cindy gasped, as her delicate neck was bared. "But--"Francine nodded at Paul. Paul took firm hold of both Cindy's arms and Francine moved behind her, and began to gently run her long fingernails up and down the back of Cindy's neck.
"See, honey," Francine whispered in her ear, "there are three magic words: 'no,' 'stop,' and 'uncle.' Every time you say any of them, you lose another piece of clothing. The more ticklish you are, the farther you strip."
Cindy gulped. "How f-far?" she whispered back urgently, "D-d-down to... my underwear?"
Francine giggled. "Down to your birthday suit, sweetie. And we can tickle you anywhere we can see skin."
Cindy gasped. "*Anywhere?*"
"Yeeeess," Francine purred. "Once you lose your undies it gets a *lot* of fun."
Cindy's eyes went wide with horror--and then Francine attacked her with her fingernails.
"Eeeeeee! Eeeeee!" Cindy convulsed and squealed. Francine flicked all ten fingers down her neck and inside her collar, and Cindy writhed in a childish giggling fit. "Eeeee-hee-hee! Eeeee-hee-hee-hee-hee-hee! Sto-o-o-op!"
"What did you say, Cindy?" Francine asked, pausing briefly. Cindy caught herself, her heart pounding. "Uuuh--I--" The fingers wriggled down her neck again and she exploded. "Eeeeeeeeeeeh! Uncle! U-u-uncl-le!"
"Nice try, Cindy," Francine cooed. "We'll have you down to your stockings in no time."
*Oh my God!* thought Cindy. *I have to get out of this!!!* She blushed furiously as Francine slipped her out of her denim jacket. *I have to keep control!*
The sleeves of her blouse were conveniently rolled up above her elbows. Paul gripped her just above her left wrist, and with his other hand he produced a Q-tip. He grinned. "Most women don't know how sensitive they are here," he said.
Cindy stared fearfully as the cotton tip neared the delicate flesh of her wrist. Her ears reddened and she fought an irresistible urge to squirm. Then the Q-tip slid down the inside of her forearm--she gasped in surprise. It sent shock waves down her body--she bit her lip and began to whimper. Paul grinned and began swirling the cotton tip inside her elbow, and Cindy's knees buckled. She couldn't take it! It was excruciating!
She tried to wiggle her arm free but Paul held it firmly while expertly dabbing her skin with the wicked cotton tip. She fell to her knees.
She heard herself moan, "Ooh! Oooh! Oh my gooosh!" Then Paul flicked the tip rapidly just below her hand and she lost all control, contorting her body, tossing her head back and forth in a loud fit of squeals.
"Aaaaah! Eeeeeh! Eeeeeeeeh! Sto-o-o-op!"
"Off comes your blouse," Paul said in triumph, as Cindy gasped for breath. Francine held Cindy's arms to her sides as Paul unbuttoned her. Cindy watched helplessly as her blouse opened down the front and revealed her white cotton bra.
Francine let go of her arms and her blouse slid to the floor. Cindy's brassiere gleamed against her flushed skin as they lifted her to her feet. George took her bare arms and brought them together at the wrists. She saw the silk cord hanging in front of her and let out a shriek. "Oh--God no--please not that!"
As she stared in helpless horror George quickly and expertly bound her wrists together, pulled the cord taut and tied it to the hook in the ceiling, leaving Cindy, ribs and underarms exposed, teetering perilously on the toes of her booties. "Comfie? Now for the real thing," George said with glee, and the others grinned and watched.
Cindy was barely breathing now, and sweat was trickling down her pink armpits. She watched helpless and terror-stricken as George approached with two pointy feathers he had selected from the rack on the wall. "Oh, no--oh, no--please no--"
"Don't say that yet, babe," George chided. "You'll lose your skirt." Cindy eyes went wide, and she swallowed and crossed her legs by reflex. She knew she didn't have a chance. *Pleasepleaseplease let me hold on--* The feathers touched her skin and she gasped and jerked away spasmodically. Then George ran them slowly up her sides. Up to her elbows, and then down to her waist, where they lingered for a few playful flicks.
"Eeeh! Aaaah!" Cindy squealed and contorted herself to escape the feathers. Then George slid them back up her sides and she gasped. Then back down her arms; she was trembling and recrossing her legs in anticipation. Back and forth, a little further up, a little further down--until she was thoroughly flushed and her heart was pounding--and finally they grazed her smooth, moist armpits.
Cindy instantly exploded in frantic squeals. She danced and giggled uncontrollably, straining at the rope, as George tickled her underarms, driving her completely insane--she'd never been this helpless! The feather-tips twirled under her arms and she squealed like a child. "Eeee-eeee-e-e-e-eh! Eeeeeeeeeeee-e-eyaaeeeyaaeyaaaah!"
George flicked the feathers down her glistening sides and under her ribs, which brought her to convulsive giggles. "Eeee-hee-hee! Eee-hee-hee-heee! Plee-hee-heease sst--" Ohmigod! She'd barely caught herself! "Aaaa-ha-ha-haaa!"
"That was close, Cindy," George said with glee. He slid the feathers along her bra strap, and then down the curve of her back--she jerked and twisted in the air in helpless spasms. "Ooo-o-o-e-e-hee-hee-hee-hee-hee-hee!" She desperately wanted to say the magic word--*I can't! I'll lose my skirt!*
The feathers flicked back up her sides--and once again found the pink hollows of her armpits. Cindy was gurgling, her face beet red, and she crossed and uncrossed her dangling legs under her miniskirt. She couldn't stand anymore! "Eee-he-he-he-he-heeeee! N-n-noo! Nooo! Ooooheee-he-he-he-heeee! U-u-u-uncllle!"
"I think you lose," George said.
Cindy hung from the ceiling, unable to stand, and felt her waistband being unhooked, and the zipper come down. *Noooooo!*
"You won't be needing this any more." George dabbed the feathers around her waist, making her squeal and wriggle--and shake her miniskirt down her bum. He kept tickling her until it slid to the floor.
Cindy looked around at the group, her face turning beet red as she dangled from the ceiling, in her undies, stockings and shoes, in front of four fully-dressed strangers--she thought she'd pee with embarrassment!
"Get the table," Tricia said. George and Paul grabbed Cindy's ankles and pulled her feet out from under her. Cindy shrieked in surprise and fear, swinging helplessly in mid-air as Tricia and Francine dragged the table under her dangling bottom. Tricia pulled a stiff-bristled artist's brush from the rack and climbed on top of her.
"W-what are you *doing?*" Cindy whimpered.
Tricia grinned wickedly, running the brush over her white cotton panties. "Don't worry, honey. I'm just going to tickle your tummy."
"Please--no--" Cindy panted, "I c-can't--"
"Sshhh! Haven't started yet!" Tricia traced the bristles over Cindy's naked belly, slowly, back and forth. "Is tummy ticklish?"
"A-a-a-a-ah-- e-e-eh-- g-gee-hee-hee--"
"Oooooh, yes it is!" Cindy tried to twist away from the brush, but Tricia was sitting between her legs, pinning Cindy's thighs under her knees. "Hold on, sweetie," Tricia teased, "This is a big one. We're playing for your shoes." She dabbed at Cindy's pink flesh, just above her panty line.
"Ee-he-he-he-hee! Do-o-ho-ho-ho-hon't!" Cindy giggled childishly. "Oh ple-he-he-he-hease! Hee-hee-heeeee!" Tricia was merciless. She flicked the brush just above her hip, and then followed her panty line all the way across her belly and back again. Cindy shrieked and twisted helplessly.
"Oh, I'll bet you've got a real ticklish belly-button," Tricia said.
Cindy squirmed from side to side. "Nnnnn--dooon't! G-g-gaaa-ha-ha-ha-haaaa!"
Tricia slipped the tip of the brush into Cindy's little hole; Cindy shrieked and wiggled her pantied bottom as Tricia twirled the bristles mercilessly. "Aaaah! Aaaaah! Aaaa-haa-haa-haaa! N-n-n-n--nnaaaa-haa-haa-haa-haaa!
"That was very close," said Tricia, "but I think I'll give it to you." Tricia kept twirling the brush and reached down with her other hand between Cindy's legs, running her fingernail along the top of her stocking. Cindy gasped and struggled to free her legs to no avail. The brush tortured her belly as Tricia's nails attacked her inner thighs and she started shrieking with laughter. "Aa-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! Aaaa-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!"