Prone_To_Laugh
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- Joined
- Jul 1, 2008
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MAC STRONG, TROUBLE SHOOTER
He was bored.
Tall, blond, buff, not much past 35, former college sports star, then corporate security operative, now free-lance muscle for hire. He was good-looking, in great shape, and wasn’t afraid of anything. (Well, almost anything. He figured no one could guess what it was. Someone would have to do a lot of work to find out, and he certainly wouldn’t tell.)
He yawned. He didn’t mind downtime between jobs. Sometimes they could be strenuous, if he were hired to
“acquire” software from a company or government, say, or the reverse: track down a “acquisitions expert” and prevent loss.
He was good. He’d made some enemies, he knew. But, now that he was rested up, and maybe a bit fat and happy, they didn’t seem dangerous. He could handle them, he was sure. He could handle anything.
He was just thinking about hitting the gym for a swim, and who he might ask out for dinner, when the doorbell rang. It was the FedEx guy, with a large carton on his hand truck.
--Where do you want this, Mac?
He stared at it for a moment before finally saying,
--Uh, sorry, set it down right there.
The guy set it down near the door. He signed the guy’s pad, still staring at the box. He didn’t even notice FedEx leaving.
He didn’t remember ordering anything--certainly not that big. The carton was about 4 feet long, 3 feet wide and nearly that high. It wasn’t his birthday, but grateful clients sometimes rewarded him. Usually they were eager to let him know, though, especially about something rich. The return address was Fuchou Industries in Shanghai. He’d never worked for that company, never even been to Shanghai.
He had tangled with some Chinese corporate spies trying to snatch a prototype from a Silicon Valley firm that hired him. He’d foiled that, and one of the Chinese, an older woman scientist, was spitting mad.
--You will pay! she’d snarled.
He’d laughed at her, as they led her away for deportation.
That was months ago, though, and this box is too neatly wrapped and too big for a bomb, he thought, chuckling. It probably WAS a gift from a client, and it was simply shipped from China. Still, he had some gear from a friend he could use to check the box out. Later. Now, there was a date to set up, and a swim to enjoy.
When he got back from the gym, not much more than an hour later, he was startled to find the empty cardboard carton, laying open by the door. The carton was flattened, as if it had simply fallen open, its substantial foam padding revealed.
He walked into the living room, and there, in the middle of the floor, was a grey metal and plastic box, virtually featureless, about 3 and a half feet long, 2 and a half feet wide, and that much high. The markings on the carpeting leading to the foyer looked like tread marks. Somehow, this box had gotten out of the carton and rolled into the middle of his living room. Whatever this thing was, and whomever it was from, it was weird. And, he had to assume, possibly dangerous.
He was walking out of the room to fetch that diagnostic gear, pulling out his phone to call a friend on the police force, when he heard hydraulic noises behind him. He stopped and turned, just in time to hear swooshing sounds and see something flash from the box. He felt something wrap tightly around each ankle
and yank, pulling him off his feet and flat on his back. His phone flew out of his hand, landing out of reach. He saw stars when the back of his head hit the carpet, and had his breath taken away for a moment, but didn’t pass out.
Looking towards his feet, he saw that a thin metal cable had extended from each of two new several-inch-square openings in the long side of the box, to wrap fast around his ankles. He tried to kick himself free, but the cables, probably tungsten steel were too strong.
He heard another hydraulic sound, and the cables began to pull him feet first towards the box. He really tried to pull free then, but it was no use. In less than a minute, the cables had pulled his feet into the openings in the box. Once his moccasins were completely within, panels slid down, trapping each ankle.
He felt the cables loosen, but he wasn’t able to pull his feet out of the box. He was trapped, but good, and baffled besides.
Sitting there on his butt and rubbing the back of his head, he watched in wonder as a small screen rose out of the top of the box to face him. Onscreen was the wickedly smiling face he knew all too well.
--Dr. Liu Ying! You bitch! What is this stupid thing?
She was an attractive woman with lacquered black bangs, deeply red lips, and apple cheeks, perhaps 50. She was beaming with satisfaction.
--Hello, Mr. Strong! How do you like my gift? She chuckled.
--When I get out of this Tinker Toy, Liu, I’m going to track you down and finger you for U.S. Homeland Security. This machine may be a joke, but it’s terrorism, and there are laws against it.
--Hehhehheh! My machine is not a joke, although, hehheh, it WILL make you laugh.
--Huh?
--Yes, laugh! Just the way you laughed at me when you interfered with our business in California, ruining our long, hard efforts. You will pay for laughing at me, by laughing!
--Lady, you’re clearly nuts. So you’ve got my feet in a box. Big deal!
--Ooooh, but it IS a big deal if you know what I know about you. I investigated your personal history. I was very thorough. I traced your girl friends and your ex-wife. They were very informative, your ex-wife especially, upon payment of a generous gratuity.
--That greedy bitch!
--From them, I learned your great weakness, your greatest fear. Can you guess what I know?
Mac tried once again to vainly pull his feet from the box.
--Who cares?
--Ooooh, YOU will, ver-ry soon. Let’s see if you can guess what I’m going to do to you. Let supreme Chinese cyber technology educate you.
From within the box came more hydraulic sounds. He felt his moccasins slowly pulled from his socked feet.
A panel opened up on top of the box behind the monitor. His shoes flew out of the box, nearly braining him when they landed. He had a bad feeling about this.
--Hey!
He felt the toes of his socks being clamped, and to more whrring, his socks being gradually pulled, first over his heels, then along his foot, past his toes, finally to be ejected from the box as well. No, he thought, this can’t be happening. Not this.
--There. Your handsome, helpless feet are quite bare. We Chinese have great understanding of how sensitive bare feet are. And how--with traditional herbs and oils--to make them even MORE so.
He was startled to feel something warm and wet being sprayed onto his bare feet, tops and bottoms, from toes to heel. He felt small rollers on each foot, painstakingly assuring that the spray coated every inch of his feet. As the rollers worked, he pressed his lips together. He wasn’t going to let her know this was driving him nuts, but he could take it. He had to.
--Can you guess now, Mr. Strong, what I’m going to do to you?
--Bite me, he growled, through clenched teeth.
His bare feet were beginning to tingle. He was wiggling them like mad, but he couldn’t move his feet close enough together to rub any of the liquid off.
--Oh, hehhehheh, no! Although I might WISH to if I were there. Instead, though, I want you to laugh, the way you laughed at me. And I CAN make you laugh, because I learned your weakness!
He was fighting the butterflies in his tummy. She wouldn’t--she couldn’t!
--Tell me, Mr. Strong, are you TICKLISH?
--NO!
--Oh, yes, she hissed.
That’s when heard more servos and felt his toes being clamped and pulled back. His bare feet now completely immobile, what felt like dozens of feathers begin stroking them. He erupted in giggles, incredulous. He WAS ticklish, yes, but this was ridiculous. The feathers in the box were breaking him almost immediately. He was beginning to laugh helplessly.
--NOhahahahahastophahahahahahhahow?ahahahahahaha!
He was bouncing on his butt, hilarious, as the feathers stroked his helpless toes. He screamed as the feathers swept up and down his soles, teasing his arches. He giggled as they brushed the tops of his feet.
--My simple preparation of traditional Chinese herbs and oils made your bare feet even more vulnerable to another Chinese tradition: classic feather torture. How do you like it, Mr. Strong? Do you like laughing now?
--AhhaheehohahaheehohoahhahahheeheehoPLEASEheeheehee! I-hehheh-CAN‘T-ahahanah-STAND-heehawed-IT! AHhahaheheehohoahhahahhaaaa!
An added torment was feathers sliding in-and-out between his toes. He was red and tummy sore from laughing so hard.
From speakers on either side of the box, a woman’s teasing, mocking voice began singing,
--Tickletickletickletickletickletickle!
over and over. It sounded like his ex-wife--the bitch. The sexy teasing made the foot tickling even more unbearable.
--You must laugh HARDER, Mr. Strong. My machine will HELP you.
As he continued to laugh helplessly, two thin metal cables snaked out from the short sides of the box and circled his wrists firmly. They retracted enough to stretch his arms out tautly towards the box and held them there, suspended away from his torso.
--It will find ALL of your ticklish places.
While the feathering of his bare feet continued relentlessly, several thin, segmented hydraulic metal arms unfolded from the endlessly accessorized box. Two worked at unbuckling his belt and pulling his pants down from his waist. Two others grabbed opposite sides of his shirt while two others deployed recessed blades to cut his Lacoste shirt down the middle. After more cutting and pulling, he was soon naked above the waist. Meanwhile, his pants had been tugged down to his knees, revealing black boxers. The tuggers and pullers descended upon the boxers, soon stripping them away, leaving him bare above the knees. Throughout this humiliating, methodical striptease, he laughed and laughed, as his bare feet were tickled and tickled.
--Now, Mr. Strong, laugh harder for me!
More arms rose out of the box. The feelers at the ends of the myriad arms sprouted feathers and brushes. They moved all over his naked body, into his exposed armpits, along his sides, atop his tummy, between his legs and began to spin their feathers and brushes on his bare skin.
He almost rose off of the floor, howling with laughter, not least because, in the box, the feathers had been replaced by simulacra of a woman’s hands, complete with soft fingers with sharp nails, stroking his sensitized soles from toes to heels.
Tickled mercilessly all over, his ex-wife’s voice teasing tickle-tickle, Mac laughed and cried helplessly.
--How do you say, Mr. Strong? Coo-chee-coo? Coo-chee-coo-coo-chee-coo? Hehhehheh! Laugh, Mr. Strong, laugh! Ah, but I see you actually may ENJOY laughing!
It was true. His exposed cock was hardening under the tickle onslaught, getting taller and straight by the tickle, by the minute.
--This is punishment. I don’t want you to enjoy yourself TOO much. So, my machine will now…
Two more arms rose from the box. One bore an alcohol swab, which it rubbed atop his restrained right upper arm. The second deployed a hypodermic syringe, the needle of which it plunged into a handy vein, and injected the syringe’s contents.
--Another traditional Chinese medicine. You will feel its effect almost immediately. But, my machine will test it.
One of the arms now bore a minute feather duster. It began to dust his cock and balls.
Mac gasped. His cock, already hard from so much tickle torture, began to throb with desire.
--HahahahahaYEAHYEAHhahahahahahYEAHMOREMOREheeheehohoahhahaha!
But, to his frustration, he would not come. His cock drooped a bit. The duster returned to tickle anew.
His cock hardened again, but he could not come. Tickle. Hard. Nada. Over and over.
--See, Mr. Strong! Excitement, yes endless excitement. But, thanks to the medicine,
No climax. NO relief, hehhehheh!
All this as fingernails tickled his bare soles and brushes spun in his armpits and feathers tickled his tummy.
He was being tickled all over until he was fit to burst but despite his excitement he couldn’t come and he laughed and cried and cursed and giggled and groaned and howled. Minute after torturous minute, hour after tickly hour.
--Coo-chee-coo, Mr. Strong! You will DIE laughing--unless you agree to my demand!
--HeeheehahahahdeeheeheeDEMAND?
Yet ANOTHER arm held a contract over Mac’s teary red face, while a second held a pen.
--Sign this personal services contract. You will work for me--or my machine will tickle you to death.
--HeeheeheehahahaI’LLSIGNI’LLSIGNhahahahahaha!
All of the tickling stopped. The pen was placed in Mac’s right hand as the cable released his wrist.
The contract was laid upon his chest. Breathing hard, Mac signed on the dotted line.
--Very good, Mr. Strong. You work for me now. In EVERY capacity. And if you don’t PLEASE me, I will make you laugh AGAIN.
The feathers returned to his toes. He burst into giggles.
--Understand?
--YEShahahahahahaYES! NOW STOP!
On screen, Dr. Liu grinned.
--Not just yet. This is too much fun! Coo-chee-coo!
The feathers began sweeping across his soles, and Mac was lost in laughter, again…
He was bored.
Tall, blond, buff, not much past 35, former college sports star, then corporate security operative, now free-lance muscle for hire. He was good-looking, in great shape, and wasn’t afraid of anything. (Well, almost anything. He figured no one could guess what it was. Someone would have to do a lot of work to find out, and he certainly wouldn’t tell.)
He yawned. He didn’t mind downtime between jobs. Sometimes they could be strenuous, if he were hired to
“acquire” software from a company or government, say, or the reverse: track down a “acquisitions expert” and prevent loss.
He was good. He’d made some enemies, he knew. But, now that he was rested up, and maybe a bit fat and happy, they didn’t seem dangerous. He could handle them, he was sure. He could handle anything.
He was just thinking about hitting the gym for a swim, and who he might ask out for dinner, when the doorbell rang. It was the FedEx guy, with a large carton on his hand truck.
--Where do you want this, Mac?
He stared at it for a moment before finally saying,
--Uh, sorry, set it down right there.
The guy set it down near the door. He signed the guy’s pad, still staring at the box. He didn’t even notice FedEx leaving.
He didn’t remember ordering anything--certainly not that big. The carton was about 4 feet long, 3 feet wide and nearly that high. It wasn’t his birthday, but grateful clients sometimes rewarded him. Usually they were eager to let him know, though, especially about something rich. The return address was Fuchou Industries in Shanghai. He’d never worked for that company, never even been to Shanghai.
He had tangled with some Chinese corporate spies trying to snatch a prototype from a Silicon Valley firm that hired him. He’d foiled that, and one of the Chinese, an older woman scientist, was spitting mad.
--You will pay! she’d snarled.
He’d laughed at her, as they led her away for deportation.
That was months ago, though, and this box is too neatly wrapped and too big for a bomb, he thought, chuckling. It probably WAS a gift from a client, and it was simply shipped from China. Still, he had some gear from a friend he could use to check the box out. Later. Now, there was a date to set up, and a swim to enjoy.
When he got back from the gym, not much more than an hour later, he was startled to find the empty cardboard carton, laying open by the door. The carton was flattened, as if it had simply fallen open, its substantial foam padding revealed.
He walked into the living room, and there, in the middle of the floor, was a grey metal and plastic box, virtually featureless, about 3 and a half feet long, 2 and a half feet wide, and that much high. The markings on the carpeting leading to the foyer looked like tread marks. Somehow, this box had gotten out of the carton and rolled into the middle of his living room. Whatever this thing was, and whomever it was from, it was weird. And, he had to assume, possibly dangerous.
He was walking out of the room to fetch that diagnostic gear, pulling out his phone to call a friend on the police force, when he heard hydraulic noises behind him. He stopped and turned, just in time to hear swooshing sounds and see something flash from the box. He felt something wrap tightly around each ankle
and yank, pulling him off his feet and flat on his back. His phone flew out of his hand, landing out of reach. He saw stars when the back of his head hit the carpet, and had his breath taken away for a moment, but didn’t pass out.
Looking towards his feet, he saw that a thin metal cable had extended from each of two new several-inch-square openings in the long side of the box, to wrap fast around his ankles. He tried to kick himself free, but the cables, probably tungsten steel were too strong.
He heard another hydraulic sound, and the cables began to pull him feet first towards the box. He really tried to pull free then, but it was no use. In less than a minute, the cables had pulled his feet into the openings in the box. Once his moccasins were completely within, panels slid down, trapping each ankle.
He felt the cables loosen, but he wasn’t able to pull his feet out of the box. He was trapped, but good, and baffled besides.
Sitting there on his butt and rubbing the back of his head, he watched in wonder as a small screen rose out of the top of the box to face him. Onscreen was the wickedly smiling face he knew all too well.
--Dr. Liu Ying! You bitch! What is this stupid thing?
She was an attractive woman with lacquered black bangs, deeply red lips, and apple cheeks, perhaps 50. She was beaming with satisfaction.
--Hello, Mr. Strong! How do you like my gift? She chuckled.
--When I get out of this Tinker Toy, Liu, I’m going to track you down and finger you for U.S. Homeland Security. This machine may be a joke, but it’s terrorism, and there are laws against it.
--Hehhehheh! My machine is not a joke, although, hehheh, it WILL make you laugh.
--Huh?
--Yes, laugh! Just the way you laughed at me when you interfered with our business in California, ruining our long, hard efforts. You will pay for laughing at me, by laughing!
--Lady, you’re clearly nuts. So you’ve got my feet in a box. Big deal!
--Ooooh, but it IS a big deal if you know what I know about you. I investigated your personal history. I was very thorough. I traced your girl friends and your ex-wife. They were very informative, your ex-wife especially, upon payment of a generous gratuity.
--That greedy bitch!
--From them, I learned your great weakness, your greatest fear. Can you guess what I know?
Mac tried once again to vainly pull his feet from the box.
--Who cares?
--Ooooh, YOU will, ver-ry soon. Let’s see if you can guess what I’m going to do to you. Let supreme Chinese cyber technology educate you.
From within the box came more hydraulic sounds. He felt his moccasins slowly pulled from his socked feet.
A panel opened up on top of the box behind the monitor. His shoes flew out of the box, nearly braining him when they landed. He had a bad feeling about this.
--Hey!
He felt the toes of his socks being clamped, and to more whrring, his socks being gradually pulled, first over his heels, then along his foot, past his toes, finally to be ejected from the box as well. No, he thought, this can’t be happening. Not this.
--There. Your handsome, helpless feet are quite bare. We Chinese have great understanding of how sensitive bare feet are. And how--with traditional herbs and oils--to make them even MORE so.
He was startled to feel something warm and wet being sprayed onto his bare feet, tops and bottoms, from toes to heel. He felt small rollers on each foot, painstakingly assuring that the spray coated every inch of his feet. As the rollers worked, he pressed his lips together. He wasn’t going to let her know this was driving him nuts, but he could take it. He had to.
--Can you guess now, Mr. Strong, what I’m going to do to you?
--Bite me, he growled, through clenched teeth.
His bare feet were beginning to tingle. He was wiggling them like mad, but he couldn’t move his feet close enough together to rub any of the liquid off.
--Oh, hehhehheh, no! Although I might WISH to if I were there. Instead, though, I want you to laugh, the way you laughed at me. And I CAN make you laugh, because I learned your weakness!
He was fighting the butterflies in his tummy. She wouldn’t--she couldn’t!
--Tell me, Mr. Strong, are you TICKLISH?
--NO!
--Oh, yes, she hissed.
That’s when heard more servos and felt his toes being clamped and pulled back. His bare feet now completely immobile, what felt like dozens of feathers begin stroking them. He erupted in giggles, incredulous. He WAS ticklish, yes, but this was ridiculous. The feathers in the box were breaking him almost immediately. He was beginning to laugh helplessly.
--NOhahahahahastophahahahahahhahow?ahahahahahaha!
He was bouncing on his butt, hilarious, as the feathers stroked his helpless toes. He screamed as the feathers swept up and down his soles, teasing his arches. He giggled as they brushed the tops of his feet.
--My simple preparation of traditional Chinese herbs and oils made your bare feet even more vulnerable to another Chinese tradition: classic feather torture. How do you like it, Mr. Strong? Do you like laughing now?
--AhhaheehohahaheehohoahhahahheeheehoPLEASEheeheehee! I-hehheh-CAN‘T-ahahanah-STAND-heehawed-IT! AHhahaheheehohoahhahahhaaaa!
An added torment was feathers sliding in-and-out between his toes. He was red and tummy sore from laughing so hard.
From speakers on either side of the box, a woman’s teasing, mocking voice began singing,
--Tickletickletickletickletickletickle!
over and over. It sounded like his ex-wife--the bitch. The sexy teasing made the foot tickling even more unbearable.
--You must laugh HARDER, Mr. Strong. My machine will HELP you.
As he continued to laugh helplessly, two thin metal cables snaked out from the short sides of the box and circled his wrists firmly. They retracted enough to stretch his arms out tautly towards the box and held them there, suspended away from his torso.
--It will find ALL of your ticklish places.
While the feathering of his bare feet continued relentlessly, several thin, segmented hydraulic metal arms unfolded from the endlessly accessorized box. Two worked at unbuckling his belt and pulling his pants down from his waist. Two others grabbed opposite sides of his shirt while two others deployed recessed blades to cut his Lacoste shirt down the middle. After more cutting and pulling, he was soon naked above the waist. Meanwhile, his pants had been tugged down to his knees, revealing black boxers. The tuggers and pullers descended upon the boxers, soon stripping them away, leaving him bare above the knees. Throughout this humiliating, methodical striptease, he laughed and laughed, as his bare feet were tickled and tickled.
--Now, Mr. Strong, laugh harder for me!
More arms rose out of the box. The feelers at the ends of the myriad arms sprouted feathers and brushes. They moved all over his naked body, into his exposed armpits, along his sides, atop his tummy, between his legs and began to spin their feathers and brushes on his bare skin.
He almost rose off of the floor, howling with laughter, not least because, in the box, the feathers had been replaced by simulacra of a woman’s hands, complete with soft fingers with sharp nails, stroking his sensitized soles from toes to heels.
Tickled mercilessly all over, his ex-wife’s voice teasing tickle-tickle, Mac laughed and cried helplessly.
--How do you say, Mr. Strong? Coo-chee-coo? Coo-chee-coo-coo-chee-coo? Hehhehheh! Laugh, Mr. Strong, laugh! Ah, but I see you actually may ENJOY laughing!
It was true. His exposed cock was hardening under the tickle onslaught, getting taller and straight by the tickle, by the minute.
--This is punishment. I don’t want you to enjoy yourself TOO much. So, my machine will now…
Two more arms rose from the box. One bore an alcohol swab, which it rubbed atop his restrained right upper arm. The second deployed a hypodermic syringe, the needle of which it plunged into a handy vein, and injected the syringe’s contents.
--Another traditional Chinese medicine. You will feel its effect almost immediately. But, my machine will test it.
One of the arms now bore a minute feather duster. It began to dust his cock and balls.
Mac gasped. His cock, already hard from so much tickle torture, began to throb with desire.
--HahahahahaYEAHYEAHhahahahahahYEAHMOREMOREheeheehohoahhahaha!
But, to his frustration, he would not come. His cock drooped a bit. The duster returned to tickle anew.
His cock hardened again, but he could not come. Tickle. Hard. Nada. Over and over.
--See, Mr. Strong! Excitement, yes endless excitement. But, thanks to the medicine,
No climax. NO relief, hehhehheh!
All this as fingernails tickled his bare soles and brushes spun in his armpits and feathers tickled his tummy.
He was being tickled all over until he was fit to burst but despite his excitement he couldn’t come and he laughed and cried and cursed and giggled and groaned and howled. Minute after torturous minute, hour after tickly hour.
--Coo-chee-coo, Mr. Strong! You will DIE laughing--unless you agree to my demand!
--HeeheehahahahdeeheeheeDEMAND?
Yet ANOTHER arm held a contract over Mac’s teary red face, while a second held a pen.
--Sign this personal services contract. You will work for me--or my machine will tickle you to death.
--HeeheeheehahahaI’LLSIGNI’LLSIGNhahahahahaha!
All of the tickling stopped. The pen was placed in Mac’s right hand as the cable released his wrist.
The contract was laid upon his chest. Breathing hard, Mac signed on the dotted line.
--Very good, Mr. Strong. You work for me now. In EVERY capacity. And if you don’t PLEASE me, I will make you laugh AGAIN.
The feathers returned to his toes. He burst into giggles.
--Understand?
--YEShahahahahahaYES! NOW STOP!
On screen, Dr. Liu grinned.
--Not just yet. This is too much fun! Coo-chee-coo!
The feathers began sweeping across his soles, and Mac was lost in laughter, again…
I hope there will be a sequel.
