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Vellication Vignette: "Temporarily Tickled"

TeeHeeLawrence

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***The following is copyright 2010 by the author. All rights reserved.
***All characters are 18 years of age or over. If you're reading this, you should be, too. (Yeah! Stop laughing!)
***A VELLICATION VIGNETTE is a short, short story long on laughter. Its situation and characters will be simple and comfortably familiar. The situation's set-up will be quick, leading to what we all REALLY want.
***The author will try to post these VVs periodically just to keep his hand (and fingers and feathers) busy in the tickle fic game while his more ambitious epics glacially proceed.


VELLICATION VIGNETTE: “Temporarily Tickled”

By Tee Hee Lawrence

“Well,” yawned Cathy, indulging in a full stretch, “this must be the MOST boring job ever. The phone doesn’t ring. There are no faxes or e-mails. And I haven’t seen a soul since the boss let me in, told me my duties, such as they are, and left after five minutes. I’ll be absolutely tickled to death if ANYTHING happens.”

She really wasn’t complaining, much. As a temp, she had often been thrown into frenzied situations with little or no preparation: receptionist, salesperson, messenger, dispatcher, proofreader, restaurant hostess, gofer…she filled in for those jobs and more, and quite well, she thought. Employers asked for her by name when they called the temp agency for help. Her looks, pretty, pale, petite, with short, spiky fiery red hair and eloquent curves despite her mere 5‘, 2“, didn’t hurt her in the least.

This deathly quiet gig was indeed a change, but, she reasoned, I’m getting paid, and I can surf the Internet to my heart’s content. Still, after five hours, it was getting a little old. Her stomach growled. She was getting hungry, besides. The boss, a well-heeled blonde lady attorney named Astonopoulos, said she’d be back so Cathy could get lunch, but it was after two and there’d been no sign of her.

Cathy was so relaxed that she rocked back in her chair and lifted her lacy black-stockinged legs onto the desk and crossed them at the ankles. As she surveyed Facebook, she idly dangled her black and white checkerboard flats off of her petite, wiggly toes. One flat tumbled to the floor, though she made no move to recover it, and her toes continued to wiggle as if she were still balancing it upon them. A few minutes and web pages later, the second flat followed.

So, the abrupt arrival of three Southern Asian women--not just their dark complexions but the saris on two revealing their origins--into the office caught her, skirt up, in this carelessly casual position. She almost tipped over in the chair pulling her stocking feet back onto the floor. The women--one mature and barely 5’ tall but handsome in an aquamarine sari, the other two, tall and thin and much younger, perhaps late teens--all smirked at her slapstick.

“Um, how-how might I help you ladies?”

The elder, small but imposing, announced in precise, but accented, King‘s English, “I am Ms. Pranandra. We have come to see Ms. Astonopoulos. She has not done as she promised, to assure my daughters’ green cards.” One of the daughters--easily over a half-foot taller than her mother (Was her dad a giraffe?) and wearing a college tee shirt, a vivid sky blue silk scarf, jeans, and glittery flip-flops, reached down and came up holding Cathy’s flats. She glanced at Cathy but made no move to hand them over. Her mother demanded, “We want back our money and all the documents we have provided.”

Cathy, taken aback by the elder’s intensity and distracted by the blue-scarved daughter holding her shoes, sat up straight, recovering enough to say, “I’m sorry, but Ms. Astonopoulos is not in. I’m happy to take contact information from you so she might--”

“That is not acceptable. She does not return our calls or e-mails. She is never here when we visit. We have had enough. We are not leaving until we get our money and our documents.”

Cathy raised her hand to placate the woman. “I’m sorry, but I can’t help you. When she returns, I can pass your request to--”

“When?”

“Hmm?“ Cathy replied, distracted. Blue holding her flats had dropped one back to the floor and, from her movements, was clearly trying it on for size.

“When do you expect Ms. Astonopoulos to return?

Daughter Blue dropped Cathy’s second flat, and the other daughter--hardly shorter than her sister and clad in an orange sari--was clearly occupied slipping her foot out of her own golden flat and into Cathy‘s. Both looked down with interest, then murmured and giggled, glancing up at Cathy, who stammered, “Uh, well, lunchtime, so, uh, soon, I hope! I’ll ask her to call you as soon--”

“Nonsense! You will call her NOW and tell her we are here.”

The daughters, each one now holding one of Cathy’s flats, nodded in agreement and stared at her.

“I can’t do that, Ms. Pa...Panda…Pudenda--”

“Pranandra! And why not?

In a small voice, Cathy muttered, “She didn’t leave me a personal contact number.” It was only true. The lawyer had breezed out before Cathy could ask her how she could be reached, and neither the desktop on the PC nor the Rolodex on the desk listed a phone number for her other than that of the office.

“Ridiculous! I will find it.” She barked at the daughters in what Cathy assumed was Hindi.

She charged around the desk, stepping squarely on Cathy’s stocking toes. “OW!” Cathy, her throbbing right toes clutched in her hands, hopped to safety. “Look, you can’t just--” While the mother began manipulating the mouse of the PC, daughter Blue, after giving her sister Orange the other flat, began riffling through the Rolodex.

“Stop that, M‘am! You’ve no right---”

“Shh!” hissed the mother. “Zero!” snapped Blue, disgustedly tossing Rolodex back onto the desk, where, falling open, its contents spilled out.

Cathy, wincing, put weight on her sore toes. “Look, M’am, please step away from the computer.” She limped around the desk and snapped at Orange, holding her flats, “And, you! Give me back my shoes.” Orange beamed with mock innocence.

Cathy reached for them, but, instead of handing them over, Orange, giggling, held them behind her back. Cathy muttered a curse and tried to reach behind the girl, who, grinning with eyes flashing, turned deftly so the flats were still out of the little redhead’s reach. “C’mon! Give them to ME!” Cathy reached behind her again, but all she grasped were the girl’s hands. Stepping out from behind Orange a few feet away, Blue teasingly held up the flats.

Mom was still working the mouse, but she glanced up and said, clearly for Cathy’s benefit, “Good! Aindri! Ishani! Keep them until she tells us!”

“Oh, yeah, Ms. Puddytat?” Cathy sneered. “Give. Them. Back. NOW!” She made a grab at Blue, who raised the flats high over her head. She had quite a few inches on Cathy, who, on tiptoes, stretched up to snatch back her shoes.

Blue, however, tossed one over Cathy’s head to her sister, who deftly caught it. Cathy spun around with a curse and reached up to grab it from Orange. Before she could, Orange had tossed it back to Blue, who, as she caught it, tossed the other flat to Orange. Cathy, after spinning in frustration a few times as the sisters exchanged her flats over her head, was left empty-handed and out of breath, her white silk blouse disheveled and untucked from her black leather skirt. Blue smiled at her in triumph, both flats held high over her head.

“OK,” muttered Cathy. “I’ll get ‘em!” She darted her fingers under Blue’s arms, singing, “Kitchey-coo!”

Blue jerked her arms down, crying, “Aaahhhhh!” She held onto the flats, though, and danced away before Cathy could grab them.

“Ticklish, eh, hon’?” Cathy smirked. “You‘re MINE now, girl!”

Wiggling ten tickling fingers threateningly, she moved toward Blue, who, fully extending to hold the flats far up and back, looked suddenly fearful and bleated in protest at the approaching tickle. Cathy feinted tickling her underarms, but instead reached up as high as she could to grab the shoes. In her effort, the pale, bare skin of her middle could be seen between her untucked blouse and her skirt.

She actually had her hands on the shoes when she felt two hands grab and squeeze her unprotected sides.

“He-he-hey! Quit-it!” But the hands continued their mischief, slipping further under her blouse. Squealing, shoeless, Cathy collapsed back into Orange, the opportunistic tickler, herself grinning with delight.

“Teekleesh, eh, hon’? You’re MINE now, girl!” she taunted, digging her frisky fingers relentlessly into the redhead’s ribs.

Cathy was so ticklish that such a wicked assault left her immediately weakened, barely able to try and reach back and fend off Orange’s tickling fingers. Her resistance became virtually nil when Blue, grinning as broadly as her sister, tossed away the contested flats and began spiritedly poking at Cathy’s tummy and pinching her hips.

Cathy shrieked, “NoNOhahahahaaaa! Stahahahahappit! YOUHOOHOOSTAHAHAHAHAAAAAAA!”

She shimmied in place, face red, eyes squeezed shut, mouth wide open, between her two taller tickling tormentors. Orange had worked her hands so far up and under Cathy’s blouse that her fingers were maliciously stroking the redhead’s highly sensitive, smoothly shaven underarms. Blue was sliding her fingers onto Cathy’s bare tummy and, with obvious relish, teasing her tremulous belly button.

Under this double torment, Cathy screamed with laughter and flailed helplessly. When one of Orange’s knees pushed into the backs of hers, the petite redhead was in no condition to keep herself from tumbling to the floor onto her back. Her cruel ticklers followed her down, poking and prodding her middle and sides as she howled, futilely trying to fend them off.

So helpless was she that that sisters, alternating tickle attacks, were able to settle across her arms and legs, pinning her to the floor. While Blue--exuberantly singing “Teeckle-teeckle-teeckle” over and over--was squeezing the tops of Cathy’s hips, Orange had firmly grasped the redhead’s wrists. Orange stretched Cathy’s weakly resisting arms out and pinned them near the elbows under and between her sari-covered knees.

“AHHAHAHAHAANUHNONOOOHAHAHAHAA!”

Then, while Orange gleefully poked Cathy’s helpless underarms, Blue settled her long, strong torso across the tops of Cathy’s knees. Cathy’s legs were flailing in her hilarious torment, but Blue had her effectively pinned. Orange and Blue then proceeded to vigorously tickle their prisoner’s underarms, sides and tummy until she was quaking with silent laughter.

Suddenly, it all stopped.

Cathy, face tear-washed and red as a beet, drew much needed breath and begged, “Ohhoho, p-please, s-stahahop, s-stop! I-I reaheelly cahan’t h-help youhoo!” She blinked away tears and beheld the mother’s face hovering upside down above hers.

“And why can’t you help us, silly girl? Because you are a stooge for this Astonopoulos. You help her steal from hard working people like us. Well, you WILL help us.” She knelt beside the pinned Cathy and began to unbutton the helpless redhead’s blouse. “You WILL suffer UNTIL you help us.” She opened the blouse, revealing Cathy’s pale, trembling torso from tummy to throat. “We’ll do THIS until you do!”

The mother, eyes flashing, jaws set, danced her small but strong fingers, short, red-polished fingernails flashing, upon Cathy’s tender tummy, barely touching the skin but tickling her terribly. Cathy wriggled and wailed anew, her sputters and giggles giving way to full laughter when the two daughters added their fiendish efforts to her ordeal.

While her mother skated her fingers lightly but relentlessly upon Cathy’s middle from the top of her skirt to the lacy fringe of her bra, Orange was alternating circling one forefinger in the exposed soft hollows of the redhead’s underarms. This subtle teasing was causing the red and hilarious Cathy to vainly strain, attempting to chomp down on the cruelly teasing finger.

“Youhoohoo lihihl bit--NOOOOWAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAA! STAHAHAHAHAHA!”

Cathy was really hysterical and bucking now, and Orange and her mother grinned when they saw the reason why. Blue had rolled over onto Cathy’s shins and, still keeping the struggling legs effectively pinned, started vigorously stroking the tops and soles of the redhead’s nylon-sheathed feet.

The many quick, strong strokes, transmitted through the sheer nylon, were indeed driving the already tickle-addled Cathy into hysteria. When Blue’s fingers skittered under Cathy’s toes, the latter digits desperately scrunched closed. However, the fingers’ persistence in teasing her toe and foot tops and slaloming along her soles and the sides of her tender feet instantly saw them spasm open, ready to be tickled again and the cruel cycle renewed.

“HAHAAAAAHHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAA! NOOOOOOWHAHAHAHAHAAAA!”

Blue eventually found immense satisfaction in teasing some choice spots on Cathy’s soles. With two fingertips each, she would lightly but intently circle the balls of the redhead’s soles just below the toes. Then, she would move her fingers to the spots when arches met heels and circle teasingly the nylon-coated tenderness there. She alternated these teasing touches for long, delicious minutes.

So, as little, lovely Cathy screeched and roiled with laughter, Ms. Prenandra and her two daughters relentlessly applied these supremely subtle tortures. Orange traced delicate circles in Cathy’s soft, shaven underarms. Blue teased her soles electrically through the stroke-enhancing nylon. And Mother swirled her fingers deftly around their victim’s belly button and on the borders of the redhead’s hidden treasures.

Cathy laughed and laughed, her face beyond red, her breath ragged and desperate.

Again, it all stopped of a sudden. For long moments, all that could be heard was Cathy’s whimpers and gulps of air.

Ms. Pranandra loomed over her face. “Well, will you finally help us?”

Cathy managed a rueful smile, and, between gulps, croaked, “L-lady, I-I’ve b-been t-trying t-to tehell yoohoo….” And, forcing the words out past her rapid breathing, she gasped, “I’m a TEMP!”

A moment later, more collected, she added, “Look in my bag. You’ll see a printout from my agency, assigning me here today.”

The mother straightened up and moved quickly to find Cathy’s handbag beside the desk chair. She opened and rustled through it. Finding a folded sheet, she opened it, scanned it, and irritatedly stuffed it summarily back into the bag.

“Well, why didn’t you say SO?” she snapped. “Aindri! Ishani!”

Blue and Orange immediately released Cathy and got to their feet beside their mother. As they looked down at the exhausted temp, still stretched out on the floor, the mother sneered, “She is useless. She knows nothing. Let’s go, daughters!”

At the door, after Blue and Orange had gone out, the mother turned and said, “When you see Ms. Astonopoulos--IF you do, temporary worker--tell her we were here looking for her and demanding satisfaction. You can surely express to her HOW determined we are. Make it VERY clear!”

And, just like that, the door slammed and they were gone, and the office was quiet again.

Cathy took her time getting up, testing her sore limbs, and vainly adjusting her damp and disheveled clothing. She found her flats tossed in a corner, and slipped her still tingling feet--their stockings rife with runs-- into them.

Then, she collapsed exhaustedly into the chair, pulled her phone out of her bag, and checked her messages and the time. “They weren’t even here an hour,“ she marveled. “’Seemed like forever.” She surveyed the ruins of her makeup in her compact mirror, then fingered her phone.

“Who do I call? The agency…the cops? What do I say? I can see their faces when I mention the word ‘tickle’. THEY won’t stop laughing.”

She put away her phone and rocked back with a sigh into the chair. She did make a point, though, of getting up and throwing the latch on the office door. Then, she returned to the desk to again desultorily surf the ‘Net as the time crawled.

Echoing in her mind was an idle thought of an hour before: “I’ll be absolutely tickled to death if ANYTHING happens.” Cathy shivered and smiled wanly.

A little over three hours later, someone rattled the door. There was a knock, and a loud, “Hell-ooo!” Cathy sat transfixed, deciding whether to get up and unlock the door. A key turned in the lock, and the door opened.

The blonde, stylish Ms. Astonopoulos breezed in, fixing Cathy with a frown. “Why did you lock the door? I didn’t ask you to do that.” She tossed her key in her bag, which she dropped onto the desk. She motioned Cathy out of the chair, into which she dropped with relief. “Wow, am I tired!”

Noticing the time on the PC, she winked at Cathy. “’Sorry I’m late. I had to stop at the salon for a style and a pedicure.” She raised her right foot out of her Gucci platform sandal and wiggled her bare toes at Cathy. “Takes a while. My feet are real-ly sensitive.” She was checking something on the PC. “Anyone call for me while I was out?”

Cathy stared at the attorney’s wiggling toes and reported. “Yes, there was a woman, with her two daughters.”

“Oh?” the attorney replied, distracted. She slipped her other bare foot out of her sandal and crossed her legs at the ankles atop her desk, just as Cathy had done hours before.

Cathy quietly stepped to the door and locked it again. She KNEW what had to be done, even if it meant that she would never temp here again--or maybe anywhere else. She crept towards the desk, staring raptly at the blonde wiggling her painted toes and flexing her tanned feet.

Her eyes not leaving the screen, the attorney offered, “I’m sure you’re anxious to call it a day. You may leave. Do I need to sign anything?”

“Yes, thank you,” Cathy replied. “But, first, let me PASS ALONG your client’s message…”

Wiggling ten tickling fingers threateningly, she moved towards the blithely unaware attorney…


***Author's afterword: Be kind to temp workers. After all, in this economy, we're ALL sorta temps...










 
Last edited:
Very nice TeeHee...

Excellent tickling detail. Nice fore-shadowing within the first pharagraph.
I enjoyed reading this...
 
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