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Her comeuppance

Travis

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Sep 22, 2001
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Her comeuppance f/ff

Her Comeuppance
(Part 1?)
This is story number..5 from me, I think.
Hope you enjoy.

-----------------------

They weren’t by any means the first things you noticed about her, but sooner or later anyone who knew Catherine was bound to find out two facts about her that they often had cause to wish they hadn’t.

The first of these facts concerned her ticklishness. Or rather, lack of it, as Catherine was quite simply not ticklish anywhere. From the soft soles of her bare feet to the delicate curves of her underarms, to her taut midriff, all 5’2 inches of the mischievous beauty were as unsusceptible to the tickling touch as the Catholic Church is to rational scientific debate. She was not now, at 19, nor had she ever been ticklish. Not anywhere.

The second was, perhaps ironically, definitely somewhat cruelly, that she was a born tickler. As if to make up for her immunity she was often found reducing friends, co-workers and even boyfriends to hysterical messes. Any girlfriend who had spent any time with her would find herself on the receiving end of a calculated tickle attack, and sooner rather than later. She had been like this since school – her friends all had cause to blame her for consecutive detentions brought about by sudden laughter during silent class times, and pity anyone who had the misfortune to innocently go barefoot around her at a camp or slumber party.

The most unlikely victims were the boyfriends though, and probably her favourite. It wouldn’t be overstating the mark to say that Catherine loved tickling. Whilst it was uncertain whether she received any sexual kick out of it, she certainly loved the helplessness it evoked, the laughter, and the fact that the most confident person could be undone simply by inserting a finger lightly into a sensitive area. She loved it because she knew no one could ever get her back, and thus the most fun she ever had was in tickle-torturing someone who had tried unsuccessfully to tickle her.

Many an unwitting boyfriend had been unlucky enough to affect a joking tickle toward the diminutive bombshell, and often had cause to regret their actions as Catherine quickly turned the tables and reduced them to a quivering, laughing mess.

It wasn’t that she simply liked tickling; it was that she was so unnaturally good at it. Anyone who had ever been tickled by Catherine, even those who would have previously considered themselves to be not particularly sensitive soon found themselves laughing uncontrollably and beyond all resistance. She seemed to have a horrible gift of honing in on a person’s most vulnerable and sensitive areas, even if that person didn’t know of them themselves, and then tickling without mercy in just such a way as to inspire instant and total victory.

She was a tickling terror, and no one knew this better than Brooke and Ellie, her long-suffering best friends.

On the surface, these two people seemed about as unlikely a pairing as one could possibly imagine.

Ellie was the typical girl-next-door stereotype – 5’6, thin, perky, with ethereal green eyes and long blonde hair that she wore pulled back into a tight ponytail. She was pretty, and she knew it. Her power over boys her own age (and many that weren’t) was not to be underestimated, and her innocent features hid a strong, determined personality and the inner workings of a typical control freak.

Brooke, on the other hand, was 5’10, pale, with light blue eyes and harsh black hair that she wore in as many violently noticeable styles as possible. You see, Brooke was a Goth, and proud of it. She only ever wore black – with a preference for as much leather and lace as possible, and huge black army boots a few sizes too large, in contrast to Ellie’s pastel-coloured tank-tops and slip-on sandals. Looking at the two of them together was often like imagining the goddess of fun and laughter standing next to a vampire.

They were both extremely, utterly, unendurably ticklish.

Now, this isn’t a particularly distinguishing trait in itself. Lots of people are, particularly (or so we hope) young women such as these. Statistically most people are ticklish somewhere, and the chances of people being very ticklish are similarly high. It’s no big deal. Most people could know these two for their whole lives and never have cause to suspect, or care about such a revelation.

But not Catherine, not when you were her friends. You had no chance of keeping such a potentially embarrassing weakness a secret then, and you certainly had little chance of being able to avoid someone making use of it. Not when, like Ellie, you’d known Catherine since you both began school together and had been tickled to the virge of pain every day, including a particularly vicious Cat-led gang tickle on your 18th birthday that left your bladder empty, your boyfriend smiling knowingly, and your entire congregation of friends and enemies laughing behind your back.

Ellie had so hoped she’d grow out of being ticklish, but now at 20 she was just as sensitive as she had ever been. She may as well have been hoping for wings, or for Cat herself to suddenly tire of the agony she put her through. It just wasn’t going to happen.

Brooke, on the other hand, had met Cat rather more recently – in the last year of high school, and had followed her to the same university purely by chance.

Brooke loved university, and university loved her. She liked the course, and what’s more she developed a large group of similarly Gothic friends to hang out with. They would meet, daily, in one of the cafeterias dotted around the campus and smoke and discuss, well….whatever Goths really talk about these days. All the while looking very moribund, and angsty, never laughing, never smiling, the very epitome of the lifestyle they were striving to emulate.
And Brooke was happy, or rather, not happy, or as happy as she could afford to be whilst maintaining a general air of depression, boredom and despair.

Until one day Catherine joined her.

This wasn’t that much of a big deal at first. Catherine certainly didn’t look much like your standard Goth – she was 5’2, with medium length dark brown hair, and big brown eyes, and she wore blue and red and all the other colours of the spectrum that Brooke and her ilk had forbidden. She looked not entirely unlike a sort of colourful, bubbly yet slightly insane version of Winona Ryder.

She had strolled over just as Brooke had been finishing a particularly interesting discussion about The Cure and how Robert Smith wasn’t dark enough with Seth (real name, Keith), a dark and tortured poetic type. Though not, as it had been added by many, quite as dark and tortured as the people he actually inflicted his poetry on.

Catherine sat down next to Brooke, as if nothing was wrong.
“Hi Brooke,” she said. “You’re looking nice.”
Seth looked at her perplexed, trying to seem unfazed but with body language that distinctly screamed ‘Outsider! Outsider! Destroy the colours!’

Brooke tried to maintain the atmosphere. “Hello Catherine” she managed, and then launched into a conversation about Nine Inch Nails and something to do with roses.

“Are you wearing Winnie the Pooh underpants?” the jovial, happy voice butted in a few minutes later.

“What? No, of course not.” Brooke muttered distractedly.

“I’m sure you are, I can see.” Catherine said, and she began almost convincingly to poke and prod about Brooke’s waist, as if to expose the source of these decidedly un-Gothic undergarments.

Brooke had flashed Seth a look, as if to say “she’s a mad bitch, don’t worry about her” and the young man was continuing his spiel as Catherine deftly slipped her hands underneath Brooke’s shirt and began lightly stroking the bare skin of her tummy with practiced ease.
Brooke stiffened, already fighting back a smile. How could she? Was her supposed friend really tickling her in the middle of one of Seth’s more angst-ridden poems, at a GOTH meeting?

Jesus Christ, she was already starting to giggle! How dare she do this!

Brooke was biting her tongue and beginning to turn slightly red from the effort of holding back her own ticklish laughter, as Catherine began a full assault on her ticklish midriff with her soft, insanely tickly fingertips. Seth was carrying on, oblivious.

Brooke tried frantically to grab hold of Catherine’s hands, but it was useless, and she had no choice but to burst out laughing. A high, giggly, feminine squeal that sounded about as at home in the company of twenty brooding Gothic types as Hannibal Lecter in a meeting of strict Vegans.

She was humiliated. How un-gothic! The worst possible thing that could have happened, surely.

But not quite. Bolstered by her outburst Catherine had switched tactics and was now tickling her mercilessly beneath the table, taking in her tummy, her sides, and even her thighs. Brooke was soon in hysterics and powerless to do anything but laugh and struggle, oblivious to the pompous stares of those around her.

She was quickly reduced to a giggling heap, in what seemed like hours, but was in reality only about two minutes before Catherine rose, satisfied, and headed off with only a hasty “See-ya.”

Brooke was indignant, wiping tears of laughter from her face, her purple mascara having run everywhere now. She was humiliated. It was a fairly mild tickling as far as Catherine usually went, but it was the wrong place and certainly the wrong company.

As she ran off, devastated, and sought to compose herself in the toilets, one thought played heavily on her mind.

Revenge.
 
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Fine story.

By all means, make this part 1 and write several sequels.

Are you planning to have Brooke discover a medical treatment or potion that will make Catherine ticklish?
 
Travis,

Very well done. Would love to see sequels. Your writing is thoughtful, detailed and intelligent.

I'd love to see a build up toward people attempting to break Catherine. I don't know if that could possibly succeed since she has never, ever been ticklish. I certainly believe that "magic" is far too unrealistic a method for getting to Cat. My vote: Give us realism and believability.

We leave things to your fertile mind....

Thanks!

dig dug dog
 
Catherine should definitely be discovered to be ticklish....All you need is the perfect female tickler to tickle her just right...I am drooling for the sequal to this story!!!
 
Ok, the sequel should be along shortly.
As for 'magic' and other such things, I was planning on going down the well-trodden path, but in a completely different and perhaps not as obvious way...
Rest assured, there will at least be some very careful *attempts* at tickling her...we'll see.
 
Thanks Travis--go for it!

We await the results of your inspiration....

dig dug
 
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