Tickle Pimp
Part V
By Kid Indy
Voices sound familiar to people all the time, but to Joy Evans, one voice at an interdepartmental meeting seemed very familiar. As Mark, one of the accountants working for the ad agency, presented the numerical rundown of a possible spread in the daily paper, Joy knew that even though she had never paired the voice and the face, she could now tell at least one person who had tied her up one Friday evening. Joy now knew her first client; Mark had been patronizing a tickle pimp.
Joy walked up to him after the morning meeting, confident that in the open, she would have the upper hand. "How have you been, Mark?" The accountant did a too-noticeable double take before answering.
"Fine. What's your name again?"
"I think you know my name. What do you do for fun, Mark?" He now had an obvious look of panic on his face.
"Can we talk about this somewhere else?"
"No need. Just remember that I know. And if I want to, I can put you in big trouble." She turned on her heel and walked out of the meeting, a confident grin making her already-beautiful face glow. Of course, Mark did not see this, but he enjoyed looking at her suit-clad retreating figure and those so-ticklish legs in their hose so much that he did not hear a question that an ad writer was asking him. Big trouble indeed.*
After work she drove home, knowing that Jim would be around to pick her up at 8:30. She wondered exactly what was in store tonight; after all, Jim had never before mentioned what she should wear. He had always provided outfits, so the clothes that she wore in the van were largely irrelevant. Her second client, the eccentric Elena, had been a skillful tickler, but still not as torturous as Jim. She had paid well, though; Joy had made a thousand dollars for the half-hour of pure torture. Joy wondered who would be the client tonight.
Joy chose a black evening gown that made her slim waist seem even slimmer and gave her curves that were nothing short of dangerous. She wore black hose and black heels, and she wore her hair up and put on a pearl necklace that on old boyfriend had given her. She was surprised that the process was almost fun; living in this strange fantasy world, she almost wanted to dress up for her client.
When Jim picked her up, he was in a double-breasted suit that gave his massive frame a stateliness that Joy could only call handsome. "So who is this client that I have to dress up for? And why are you all decked out?"
"No client tonight, Joy. Are you hungry?"
"Are you taking me on a date?"
"I'm buying you dinner if you get in the van." Jim smiled a half smile; Joy could not tell whether he was being serious or not. But she got into the passenger seat of the van, leaving the isolation chamber behind her. They pulled out of her apartment building's parking garage and started across town, and Joy was fascinated.
"Do you always do this for your tickle-girls?" She got a chuckle for that one.
"No, not always. I just wanted to apologize for not telling you about Elena." Joy wondered how often this hulk of a man apologized for anything.
"That was a nasty surprise."
"But not out of your bounds, was it?"
"For that kind of money? Bring her back whenever you want!" Joy was startled for a moment at the enthusiasm that the cash brought into her voice. She covered her mouth for a moment, and Jim laughed out loud. The rest of the trip they chatted about her experiences, and before long they pulled into a high-class Italian restaurant. "Now this is a step up from McDonald's, Jim!"
"I thought you might like it." They went inside. Jim acted the perfect gentleman, holding doors and pulling out Joy's chair and everything. Joy wondered exactly what he was after doing all this. She decided to take the initiative in conversation.
"So what did you do before you started..." She could not find a good way to say it. "...doing what you're doing?"
"I worked for the government."
"Like in the military?"
"Like CIA." Joy showed a little surprise at this, but she then thought that this made some sense. "And yes, I was an interrogator."
"Is that where you learned--"
"How to tickle people? Yeah, eventually. Of course, not everyone needed that. If we captured a soldier, I would just slap him around. And if we caught a spy, we had electro-shock. But it wasn't interrogations that led me down that road-less-travelled."
"What do you read in your spare time?"
This got a laugh out of Jim. "I was an English major in college. ROTC, of course, but I studied literature. Does that surprise you?"
"Yeah, somewhat. But you were saying? Why did you learn the secret art of tickling?"
"You really want to know that, don't you? I usually don't talk about this, but I guess you know about my line of work. So here goes." He shifted in his seat, scooting his once-pasta-laden plate away from him. "Like I said, we could do pretty much what we had to with enemy soldiers. The press isn't going to whine too much if we beat up a kid in Hussein's army. But internal threats were different. The government always keeps a list of the most dangerous leftists in the nation, the kinds who could end up leading revolutions. Many of them are college students."
"And you couldn't go Kent State on them."
"Precisely. So we have to convince them to take on safe, conventional careers. There's no danger in a lawyer who's left wing. They're too tied to the money. So in a few cases, we had to talk the really bright left-wingers into entering conventional fields."
"So you'd grab them, right?"
"That's right. And that's why I tell you that you really haven't experienced what a really good tickler can do to your body. I've tickled some college girls all through the night. You've experienced forty-five minutes once."
"So why didn't I hear about any of this?"
"First, because we're good. Second, because you were at Ohio State. Third, because you were an advertising major!" He laughed at himself with this last remark. Joy was not as amused.
"So where did you grab them from?"
"Mostly the high-end schools. I tickled a couple from Harvard, one from Yale, all kinds of girls from Berkeley. Once I had given them the tickling of their lives, I returned them to their apartments and told them that if they weren't on track to entering a respectable profession by the end of the semester, I would be back. Of course, they all tried to report it to the cops. But the cops usually didn't believe them, and besides, our op center was long gone just a few hours after I finished the job; the cops had nothing to find."
"Have any of them turned out dangerous?"
"Not one. There was one from Columbia, though, who was more trouble than most."
Joy found herself getting more excited about this than she felt comfortable with. She wondered whether Elena really had gotten to her, but her curiosity about the Columbia girl was even more pressing. "Tell me about that one."
Jim grinned at her; he could see her face getting flushed, and that meant that she was starting to get into this. "Okay, I'll tell you. We kept monitoring her after my first visit. She was a sociology major, the kind who either turns conservative after graduation or tries to go to Latin America to change the world. I pegged her for the second type. So we grabbed her one weekend, and I gave her a four-hour tickling. That's usually enough to straighten out anyone, but she was hardheaded." Joy was leaning in closer.
"So a year after the first visit, I grabbed her again. A partner of mine came along with me to play the good cop, so we had the psychological war planned out. She forged a note to the college girl's roommate saying that she was going out of town for the weekend."
"You had her for a whole weekend?"
"Yeah. So we took her to a bomb shelter in upstate New York. The first night I gave her another four hour treatment. But then I left her in her underwear in the bedroom in that bomb shelter and went to a motel for the night. My partner came in and played slumber party with her. She was the sympathetic ear, you see. They talked about life, about the poor starving kids in China and all that. They went to sleep, and my partner left in the morning. Then I came back."
"I gave her fifteen on, five off for the entire morning. I tied her face up, face down, in a chair, probably ten different positions. And every time I'd give her a five minute break after fifteen minutes of tickling, just so she wouldn't pass out on me. Some of the time I'd just leave her untied and wrestle her to the ground and tickle her. That's even worse for the soul, you know. You feel like you should fight back, but you're fighting someone bigger and stronger who is tickling you so badly that you don't have any strength." Joy's eyes were positively glowing.
"So then my partner came in with some lunch for her. She talked to her about how much good she could do as a government social worker there in New York, how starting revolutions in Nicaragua would only get people killed. This girl was taking it in hook, line, and sinker. But then after a potty break, I came back in."
"You did this to her for hours on end?"
"Absolutely. Fifteen on, five off. If you'll notice, that's how I did you those first two nights. Of course, I only gave you three rounds each time. Except for a couple short ones the second night, of course."
"And that almost broke me."
"You have no idea. Anyway, I gave it to Columbia girl fifteen on, five off from lunchtime until about seven at night. She was sweating like a pig by then. She was offering money, sex, her roommate, anything I wanted. I had her broken. But after my partner had dinner with her, I gave her another four hour treatment. And the after-dinner tickling I did blindfolded and almost exclusively with tools. She had lost her voice, but I kept on going. And Sunday morning we dropped her off."
Joy was breathing more quickly than she realized. She stopped herself and asked, "What happened then?"
"We monitored her. She married straight out of college and runs a soup kitchen in the Bronx. I like to think of her as my Pygmalion project; I took a blooming revolutionary and made her a model citizen." Jim grinned in triumph.
"So why did you get out of the CIA?"
"Got tired of answering to Uncle Sam. So now I'm a businessman."
They finished with an ice cream dessert, and before long they were on the way back to Joy's apartment. "Why did you really take me out tonight?"
"What, do you think this was a date or something?"
"Well, maybe."
"Think I want a goodnight kiss from you?"
Joy looked at him slyly. "Maybe..."
Jim pulled the van into a parking space at her apartment. "Well, I'm sorry, kid. That's not what I was after tonight. I mainly wanted to make up for not telling you about Elena."
"So you aren't attracted to me at all?"
"Good night, Joy. Be ready after work Friday."
Joy stepped out of the van and shut the door. "Christ, I shouldn't be wanting to date some pimp anyway. What was I thinking?" She walked over to the elevator door and pushed the button.
She heard Jim call to her. "Joy!" She turned around. He winked and said, "Good night."
*See Tickle Pimp part 3 for the previous appearance of this character.
Tickle Pimp
Part V
By Kid Indy
Voices sound familiar to people all the time, but to Joy Evans, one voice at an interdepartmental meeting seemed very familiar. As Mark, one of the accountants working for the ad agency, presented the numerical rundown of a possible spread in the daily paper, Joy knew that even though she had never paired the voice and the face, she could now tell at least one person who had tied her up one Friday evening. Joy now knew her first client; Mark had been patronizing a tickle pimp.
Joy walked up to him after the morning meeting, confident that in the open, she would have the upper hand. "How have you been, Mark?" The accountant did a too-noticeable double take before answering.
"Fine. What's your name again?"
"I think you know my name. What do you do for fun, Mark?" He now had an obvious look of panic on his face.
"Can we talk about this somewhere else?"
"No need. Just remember that I know. And if I want to, I can put you in big trouble." She turned on her heel and walked out of the meeting, a confident grin making her already-beautiful face glow. Of course, Mark did not see this, but he enjoyed looking at her suit-clad retreating figure and those so-ticklish legs in their hose so much that he did not hear a question that an ad writer was asking him. Big trouble indeed.*
After work she drove home, knowing that Jim would be around to pick her up at 8:30. She wondered exactly what was in store tonight; after all, Jim had never before mentioned what she should wear. He had always provided outfits, so the clothes that she wore in the van were largely irrelevant. Her second client, the eccentric Elena, had been a skillful tickler, but still not as torturous as Jim. She had paid well, though; Joy had made a thousand dollars for the half-hour of pure torture. Joy wondered who would be the client tonight.
Joy chose a black evening gown that made her slim waist seem even slimmer and gave her curves that were nothing short of dangerous. She wore black hose and black heels, and she wore her hair up and put on a pearl necklace that on old boyfriend had given her. She was surprised that the process was almost fun; living in this strange fantasy world, she almost wanted to dress up for her client.
When Jim picked her up, he was in a double-breasted suit that gave his massive frame a stateliness that Joy could only call handsome. "So who is this client that I have to dress up for? And why are you all decked out?"
"No client tonight, Joy. Are you hungry?"
"Are you taking me on a date?"
"I'm buying you dinner if you get in the van." Jim smiled a half smile; Joy could not tell whether he was being serious or not. But she got into the passenger seat of the van, leaving the isolation chamber behind her. They pulled out of her apartment building's parking garage and started across town, and Joy was fascinated.
"Do you always do this for your tickle-girls?" She got a chuckle for that one.
"No, not always. I just wanted to apologize for not telling you about Elena." Joy wondered how often this hulk of a man apologized for anything.
"That was a nasty surprise."
"But not out of your bounds, was it?"
"For that kind of money? Bring her back whenever you want!" Joy was startled for a moment at the enthusiasm that the cash brought into her voice. She covered her mouth for a moment, and Jim laughed out loud. The rest of the trip they chatted about her experiences, and before long they pulled into a high-class Italian restaurant. "Now this is a step up from McDonald's, Jim!"
"I thought you might like it." They went inside. Jim acted the perfect gentleman, holding doors and pulling out Joy's chair and everything. Joy wondered exactly what he was after doing all this. She decided to take the initiative in conversation.
"So what did you do before you started..." She could not find a good way to say it. "...doing what you're doing?"
"I worked for the government."
"Like in the military?"
"Like CIA." Joy showed a little surprise at this, but she then thought that this made some sense. "And yes, I was an interrogator."
"Is that where you learned--"
"How to tickle people? Yeah, eventually. Of course, not everyone needed that. If we captured a soldier, I would just slap him around. And if we caught a spy, we had electro-shock. But it wasn't interrogations that led me down that road-less-travelled."
"What do you read in your spare time?"
This got a laugh out of Jim. "I was an English major in college. ROTC, of course, but I studied literature. Does that surprise you?"
"Yeah, somewhat. But you were saying? Why did you learn the secret art of tickling?"
"You really want to know that, don't you? I usually don't talk about this, but I guess you know about my line of work. So here goes." He shifted in his seat, scooting his once-pasta-laden plate away from him. "Like I said, we could do pretty much what we had to with enemy soldiers. The press isn't going to whine too much if we beat up a kid in Hussein's army. But internal threats were different. The government always keeps a list of the most dangerous leftists in the nation, the kinds who could end up leading revolutions. Many of them are college students."
"And you couldn't go Kent State on them."
"Precisely. So we have to convince them to take on safe, conventional careers. There's no danger in a lawyer who's left wing. They're too tied to the money. So in a few cases, we had to talk the really bright left-wingers into entering conventional fields."
"So you'd grab them, right?"
"That's right. And that's why I tell you that you really haven't experienced what a really good tickler can do to your body. I've tickled some college girls all through the night. You've experienced forty-five minutes once."
"So why didn't I hear about any of this?"
"First, because we're good. Second, because you were at Ohio State. Third, because you were an advertising major!" He laughed at himself with this last remark. Joy was not as amused.
"So where did you grab them from?"
"Mostly the high-end schools. I tickled a couple from Harvard, one from Yale, all kinds of girls from Berkeley. Once I had given them the tickling of their lives, I returned them to their apartments and told them that if they weren't on track to entering a respectable profession by the end of the semester, I would be back. Of course, they all tried to report it to the cops. But the cops usually didn't believe them, and besides, our op center was long gone just a few hours after I finished the job; the cops had nothing to find."
"Have any of them turned out dangerous?"
"Not one. There was one from Columbia, though, who was more trouble than most."
Joy found herself getting more excited about this than she felt comfortable with. She wondered whether Elena really had gotten to her, but her curiosity about the Columbia girl was even more pressing. "Tell me about that one."
Jim grinned at her; he could see her face getting flushed, and that meant that she was starting to get into this. "Okay, I'll tell you. We kept monitoring her after my first visit. She was a sociology major, the kind who either turns conservative after graduation or tries to go to Latin America to change the world. I pegged her for the second type. So we grabbed her one weekend, and I gave her a four-hour tickling. That's usually enough to straighten out anyone, but she was hardheaded." Joy was leaning in closer.
"So a year after the first visit, I grabbed her again. A partner of mine came along with me to play the good cop, so we had the psychological war planned out. She forged a note to the college girl's roommate saying that she was going out of town for the weekend."
"You had her for a whole weekend?"
"Yeah. So we took her to a bomb shelter in upstate New York. The first night I gave her another four hour treatment. But then I left her in her underwear in the bedroom in that bomb shelter and went to a motel for the night. My partner came in and played slumber party with her. She was the sympathetic ear, you see. They talked about life, about the poor starving kids in China and all that. They went to sleep, and my partner left in the morning. Then I came back."
"I gave her fifteen on, five off for the entire morning. I tied her face up, face down, in a chair, probably ten different positions. And every time I'd give her a five minute break after fifteen minutes of tickling, just so she wouldn't pass out on me. Some of the time I'd just leave her untied and wrestle her to the ground and tickle her. That's even worse for the soul, you know. You feel like you should fight back, but you're fighting someone bigger and stronger who is tickling you so badly that you don't have any strength." Joy's eyes were positively glowing.
"So then my partner came in with some lunch for her. She talked to her about how much good she could do as a government social worker there in New York, how starting revolutions in Nicaragua would only get people killed. This girl was taking it in hook, line, and sinker. But then after a potty break, I came back in."
"You did this to her for hours on end?"
"Absolutely. Fifteen on, five off. If you'll notice, that's how I did you those first two nights. Of course, I only gave you three rounds each time. Except for a couple short ones the second night, of course."
"And that almost broke me."
"You have no idea. Anyway, I gave it to Columbia girl fifteen on, five off from lunchtime until about seven at night. She was sweating like a pig by then. She was offering money, sex, her roommate, anything I wanted. I had her broken. But after my partner had dinner with her, I gave her another four hour treatment. And the after-dinner tickling I did blindfolded and almost exclusively with tools. She had lost her voice, but I kept on going. And Sunday morning we dropped her off."
Joy was breathing more quickly than she realized. She stopped herself and asked, "What happened then?"
"We monitored her. She married straight out of college and runs a soup kitchen in the Bronx. I like to think of her as my Pygmalion project; I took a blooming revolutionary and made her a model citizen." Jim grinned in triumph.
"So why did you get out of the CIA?"
"Got tired of answering to Uncle Sam. So now I'm a businessman."
They finished with an ice cream dessert, and before long they were on the way back to Joy's apartment. "Why did you really take me out tonight?"
"What, do you think this was a date or something?"
"Well, maybe."
"Think I want a goodnight kiss from you?"
Joy looked at him slyly. "Maybe..."
Jim pulled the van into a parking space at her apartment. "Well, I'm sorry, kid. That's not what I was after tonight. I mainly wanted to make up for not telling you about Elena."
"So you aren't attracted to me at all?"
"Good night, Joy. Be ready after work Friday."
Joy stepped out of the van and shut the door. "Christ, I shouldn't be wanting to date some pimp anyway. What was I thinking?" She walked over to the elevator door and pushed the button.
She heard Jim call to her. "Joy!" She turned around. He winked and said, "Good night."
*See Tickle Pimp part 3 for the previous appearance of this character.Tickle Pimp
Part V
By Kid Indy
Voices sound familiar to people all the time, but to Joy Evans, one voice at an interdepartmental meeting seemed very familiar. As Mark, one of the accountants working for the ad agency, presented the numerical rundown of a possible spread in the daily paper, Joy knew that even though she had never paired the voice and the face, she could now tell at least one person who had tied her up one Friday evening. Joy now knew her first client; Mark had been patronizing a tickle pimp.
Joy walked up to him after the morning meeting, confident that in the open, she would have the upper hand. "How have you been, Mark?" The accountant did a too-noticeable double take before answering.
"Fine. What's your name again?"
"I think you know my name. What do you do for fun, Mark?" He now had an obvious look of panic on his face.
"Can we talk about this somewhere else?"
"No need. Just remember that I know. And if I want to, I can put you in big trouble." She turned on her heel and walked out of the meeting, a confident grin making her already-beautiful face glow. Of course, Mark did not see this, but he enjoyed looking at her suit-clad retreating figure and those so-ticklish legs in their hose so much that he did not hear a question that an ad writer was asking him. Big trouble indeed.*
After work she drove home, knowing that Jim would be around to pick her up at 8:30. She wondered exactly what was in store tonight; after all, Jim had never before mentioned what she should wear. He had always provided outfits, so the clothes that she wore in the van were largely irrelevant. Her second client, the eccentric Elena, had been a skillful tickler, but still not as torturous as Jim. She had paid well, though; Joy had made a thousand dollars for the half-hour of pure torture. Joy wondered who would be the client tonight.
Joy chose a black evening gown that made her slim waist seem even slimmer and gave her curves that were nothing short of dangerous. She wore black hose and black heels, and she wore her hair up and put on a pearl necklace that on old boyfriend had given her. She was surprised that the process was almost fun; living in this strange fantasy world, she almost wanted to dress up for her client.
When Jim picked her up, he was in a double-breasted suit that gave his massive frame a stateliness that Joy could only call handsome. "So who is this client that I have to dress up for? And why are you all decked out?"
"No client tonight, Joy. Are you hungry?"
"Are you taking me on a date?"
"I'm buying you dinner if you get in the van." Jim smiled a half smile; Joy could not tell whether he was being serious or not. But she got into the passenger seat of the van, leaving the isolation chamber behind her. They pulled out of her apartment building's parking garage and started across town, and Joy was fascinated.
"Do you always do this for your tickle-girls?" She got a chuckle for that one.
"No, not always. I just wanted to apologize for not telling you about Elena." Joy wondered how often this hulk of a man apologized for anything.
"That was a nasty surprise."
"But not out of your bounds, was it?"
"For that kind of money? Bring her back whenever you want!" Joy was startled for a moment at the enthusiasm that the cash brought into her voice. She covered her mouth for a moment, and Jim laughed out loud. The rest of the trip they chatted about her experiences, and before long they pulled into a high-class Italian restaurant. "Now this is a step up from McDonald's, Jim!"
"I thought you might like it." They went inside. Jim acted the perfect gentleman, holding doors and pulling out Joy's chair and everything. Joy wondered exactly what he was after doing all this. She decided to take the initiative in conversation.
"So what did you do before you started..." She could not find a good way to say it. "...doing what you're doing?"
"I worked for the government."
"Like in the military?"
"Like CIA." Joy showed a little surprise at this, but she then thought that this made some sense. "And yes, I was an interrogator."
"Is that where you learned--"
"How to tickle people? Yeah, eventually. Of course, not everyone needed that. If we captured a soldier, I would just slap him around. And if we caught a spy, we had electro-shock. But it wasn't interrogations that led me down that road-less-travelled."
"What do you read in your spare time?"
This got a laugh out of Jim. "I was an English major in college. ROTC, of course, but I studied literature. Does that surprise you?"
"Yeah, somewhat. But you were saying? Why did you learn the secret art of tickling?"
"You really want to know that, don't you? I usually don't talk about this, but I guess you know about my line of work. So here goes." He shifted in his seat, scooting his once-pasta-laden plate away from him. "Like I said, we could do pretty much what we had to with enemy soldiers. The press isn't going to whine too much if we beat up a kid in Hussein's army. But internal threats were different. The government always keeps a list of the most dangerous leftists in the nation, the kinds who could end up leading revolutions. Many of them are college students."
"And you couldn't go Kent State on them."
"Precisely. So we have to convince them to take on safe, conventional careers. There's no danger in a lawyer who's left wing. They're too tied to the money. So in a few cases, we had to talk the really bright left-wingers into entering conventional fields."
"So you'd grab them, right?"
"That's right. And that's why I tell you that you really haven't experienced what a really good tickler can do to your body. I've tickled some college girls all through the night. You've experienced forty-five minutes once."
"So why didn't I hear about any of this?"
"First, because we're good. Second, because you were at Ohio State. Third, because you were an advertising major!" He laughed at himself with this last remark. Joy was not as amused.
"So where did you grab them from?"
"Mostly the high-end schools. I tickled a couple from Harvard, one from Yale, all kinds of girls from Berkeley. Once I had given them the tickling of their lives, I returned them to their apartments and told them that if they weren't on track to entering a respectable profession by the end of the semester, I would be back. Of course, they all tried to report it to the cops. But the cops usually didn't believe them, and besides, our op center was long gone just a few hours after I finished the job; the cops had nothing to find."
"Have any of them turned out dangerous?"
"Not one. There was one from Columbia, though, who was more trouble than most."
Joy found herself getting more excited about this than she felt comfortable with. She wondered whether Elena really had gotten to her, but her curiosity about the Columbia girl was even more pressing. "Tell me about that one."
Jim grinned at her; he could see her face getting flushed, and that meant that she was starting to get into this. "Okay, I'll tell you. We kept monitoring her after my first visit. She was a sociology major, the kind who either turns conservative after graduation or tries to go to Latin America to change the world. I pegged her for the second type. So we grabbed her one weekend, and I gave her a four-hour tickling. That's usually enough to straighten out anyone, but she was hardheaded." Joy was leaning in closer.
"So a year after the first visit, I grabbed her again. A partner of mine came along with me to play the good cop, so we had the psychological war planned out. She forged a note to the college girl's roommate saying that she was going out of town for the weekend."
"You had her for a whole weekend?"
"Yeah. So we took her to a bomb shelter in upstate New York. The first night I gave her another four hour treatment. But then I left her in her underwear in the bedroom in that bomb shelter and went to a motel for the night. My partner came in and played slumber party with her. She was the sympathetic ear, you see. They talked about life, about the poor starving kids in China and all that. They went to sleep, and my partner left in the morning. Then I came back."
"I gave her fifteen on, five off for the entire morning. I tied her face up, face down, in a chair, probably ten different positions. And every time I'd give her a five minute break after fifteen minutes of tickling, just so she wouldn't pass out on me. Some of the time I'd just leave her untied and wrestle her to the ground and tickle her. That's even worse for the soul, you know. You feel like you should fight back, but you're fighting someone bigger and stronger who is tickling you so badly that you don't have any strength." Joy's eyes were positively glowing.
"So then my partner came in with some lunch for her. She talked to her about how much good she could do as a government social worker there in New York, how starting revolutions in Nicaragua would only get people killed. This girl was taking it in hook, line, and sinker. But then after a potty break, I came back in."
"You did this to her for hours on end?"
"Absolutely. Fifteen on, five off. If you'll notice, that's how I did you those first two nights. Of course, I only gave you three rounds each time. Except for a couple short ones the second night, of course."
"And that almost broke me."
"You have no idea. Anyway, I gave it to Columbia girl fifteen on, five off from lunchtime until about seven at night. She was sweating like a pig by then. She was offering money, sex, her roommate, anything I wanted. I had her broken. But after my partner had dinner with her, I gave her another four hour treatment. And the after-dinner tickling I did blindfolded and almost exclusively with tools. She had lost her voice, but I kept on going. And Sunday morning we dropped her off."
Joy was breathing more quickly than she realized. She stopped herself and asked, "What happened then?"
"We monitored her. She married straight out of college and runs a soup kitchen in the Bronx. I like to think of her as my Pygmalion project; I took a blooming revolutionary and made her a model citizen." Jim grinned in triumph.
"So why did you get out of the CIA?"
"Got tired of answering to Uncle Sam. So now I'm a businessman."
They finished with an ice cream dessert, and before long they were on the way back to Joy's apartment. "Why did you really take me out tonight?"
"What, do you think this was a date or something?"
"Well, maybe."
"Think I want a goodnight kiss from you?"
Joy looked at him slyly. "Maybe..."
Jim pulled the van into a parking space at her apartment. "Well, I'm sorry, kid. That's not what I was after tonight. I mainly wanted to make up for not telling you about Elena."
"So you aren't attracted to me at all?"
"Good night, Joy. Be ready after work Friday."
Joy stepped out of the van and shut the door. "Christ, I shouldn't be wanting to date some pimp anyway. What was I thinking?" She walked over to the elevator door and pushed the button.
She heard Jim call to her. "Joy!" She turned around. He winked and said, "Good night."
*See Tickle Pimp part 3 for the previous appearance of this character.Tickle Pimp
Part VI
By Kid Indy
Adam and Eve had it good, but what got them in trouble is when they wanted control. As Joy Evans donned a purple bra and matching panties in a basement in a part of the city that she did not know, she was already hatching schemes to take control of her own fate. Her popularity among the clients was growing, and the money was getting really good. But Joy wanted control. And that just isn't something you can take from a Tickle Pimp.
She knocked on the dressing room door, and Jim promptly answered. She stepped into the main room, her bare feet feeling good on the gymnastic mat floor. The bench and stocks invited her to take a sitting position, and she was very cooperative as Jim strapped her in. Two weeks and six clients had passed since her dinner with Jim, and she was becoming quite the professional. She was also scheming to get in on the business end of the operation.
Mark the accountant, Joy's first client, just could not keep his mouth shut. She had discovered his identity at work, and now she had hatched a plan to leverage Jim. On threats to expose him, Mark had promised to drive Joy, without blindfold, to the tickling brothel. She knew it was a house, and she knew that Mark knew where it was. And three days from then she would take pictures of a drop-off. And then, she would let Jim know that she had pictures. The big jerk would not get away with making her a piece of tickle-meat.
"Big night tonight, Joy." Jim snapped her out of her reverie as he finished tying on the blindfold. "It's your sponsor coming in tonight."
"Do I need to do anything special?" Joy had managed to keep a poker face while she was scheming, and the new announcement would not faze her.
"No, he's been looking forward to this. And the money is going to be really good tonight." Not as good as when we're partners, Joy thought. But she still acted excited, keeping up her false innocence.
"Who is he?"
"I'm sure he'll introduce himself." Jim chuckled as he rolled the cart up next to her and walked towards the door. Joy's tanned skin tensed up as it always did when Jim left the room. The silence between Jim's departure and the client's arrival, although a welcome rest, always brought an apprehension to Joy's mind.
"Well," she thought, "I've been tickled by six men, two women, and Jim. This couldn't be too new." She heard the door reopen, and Jim's speech began. But he was not saying the usual things.
"Since you are Joy's sponsor, you get her for one hour and fifteen minutes. Just remember that I'll be in every fifteen to change her position and to enforce the five minute break." Joy began to panic; she had become very used to the half hour session. "All my tools are at your disposal, and Joy here just can't wait to begin." Joy heard Jim's laughing-at-his-own-joke chuckle, but it was joined by a laugh that sounded very familiar. "Time starts now." Even though she had become somewhat seasoned, this new set of rules threw her off immensely. Footsteps approached.
"I hope you can guess my name, Joy. It would make this so much more fun." Not from work... not from the fitness club... A hand suddenly grabbed her just above the hip and began to squeeze without mercy. Joy jumped and squealed as the other hand began working the flesh under her other arm. This one was not wasting time with warmup or fingertips; Joy was unprepared for the intensity of the start, and she broke out into laughter before she could even think of resisting. The hand that started on her hip moved down to squeeze her leg above the knee, and the change in pace had her thrashing to get away. Every tickling was intense and roused a desire to flee, but Joy felt like these hands knew exactly where to go to torture her the most quickly.
"Plea-he-he-hease..." She tried to beg, but her laughter would not let her form a sentence. His hands continued to grab her sides, her ribs, her underarms, her knees. This was what ticklers usually worked up to, and Joy thought that this tickler might really knock her out if he kept going. Or at least she thought so. Joy was already sweating heavily when the tickler stopped.
The tickler's hands were big, maybe not as big as Jim's, but close. She heard footsteps moving around her. One of the large hands suddenly had a hold on her hip again, and she started jumping. The other hand was scratching her inner thigh as she jumped, and her own motion was adding to the tickling there. Even though the areas were not new, this client seemed to know which order of spots would get her the most, and he was exploiting it. Joy's arms flailed even though they were suspended from the upper pulley, and her head was bucking back and forth. Her laugh, now a familiar sound even if not welcome, was rhythmic and natural; this guy was getting her good. He moved quickly from knee to hip to thigh, always moving his hands but never in a predictable order. If she had any thought of mentally guarding any tickle spot, the blindfold and his quickness rapidly dispelled it. As suddenly as it had started, the tickling stopped.
"Who..." Joy's breath allowed only a bit of talking now... "are you?" Silence. The footsteps again moved, this time behind her. Joy began to pull in vain at the wrist cuffs, but she could not pull her tired body off the bench to guard her underarms. But the hands went first to her hips and sides, squeezing and kneading with strength and speed. Joy's head whipped back, and she hit a large mass. This guy was big, alright. She jumped and bounced, and the tickling did not relent. Then, just as she had gotten into the rhythm of the hip tickles, his hands simultaneously moved up to her armpits and began digging in. She screamed in surprise but quickly slipped back into the forced laughter, loving and hating the awful sensations. Her feet twitched as the man tickled and tickled, and soon the tears began to come again. She could barely hear when Jim opened the door.
"Alright. Fifteen minutes up. Break time."
"Cool with me, Jim. I think I want the blindfold off now." Joy was beginning really to recognize the voice, and she was terrified of who she thought it was. She felt Jim take off the blindfold, and standing before her eyes was Chuck.
Chuck Bowling was the starting outside linebacker for the Indianapolis Colts, a former Ohio State standout, and Joy's ex-boyfriend. He grinned a grin of revenge as Joy's eyes flew open and her jaw dropped. "Chuck, why are you doing this to me?"
Chuck let out his low-pitched laugh. "It's payback time, Joy, and now you're my toy." They had dated for a year and a half at Ohio State, but Joy left him when his arrogance and strange fetish had driven her away. "Jim tells me that you're really getting to like this. Don't you see the charm now?" He leaned in as he said this, and Joy could smell his strong cologne; some things hadn't changed since college.
"Jim, what did I do to you?"
"You dumped me, Joy. And you told your friends that I was brainless and that I was going nowhere and that I had a tickling fetish. I guess you got one of three right." He again let out his laugh. "Jim," he said as he looked over his shoulder briefly, "I'm going to use tools for this fifteen minutes."
Jim, standing in the corner silently, replied, "You're the client." Jim walked out of the door and shut it behind him.
"I remember the old days, Joy. You used to scream whenever I touched" he scraped a nail up her sole "these feet of yours."
Joy's defiant look reappeared as she shook off the tickling. "Chuck, you're still sick. I don't care if you do have NFL money."
"Now, Joy, that's hardly something to say to someone who has you tied up. Like I said, I dreamed about this in college. Now it's time to really do it. I think I'll start out with just fingers. That way it'll be like when we were dating."
"Don't you dare, Jim! I'll--" Joy could not complete her vain threat; Jim was running his fingers over both her soles. She shrieked and tried to move her feet clear. Jim just followed her flailing feet with his persistent fingers. Joy screamed, but she knew that the laugh was coming on. This one she hated more than any others; she did not want to let Chuck make her laugh, but her body would not hold out. She tried begging, tried threatening, tried just saying Chuck's name. Nothing would work. The laugh was coming.
Like a battering ram, the tickling crept up Joy's torso and towards her throat. She could tangibly feel the urge to laugh as it threatened to drown her. She wanted to fight, and fight she did, but eventually the laugh came. It was all the more uncontrollable because she had held it back so long, and she caught Chuck's eye just as it began. He was loving this, and as she laughed and laughed, she hated the situation all the more.
After just a few minutes, he stopped. She craned her neck to see what he was doing, and he saw a shower brush in his left hand. She squealed as he grabbed the heel of her left foot, and the squeal rose in pitch and faded into the laugh as he began to run it over the ball of her foot. The tiny torturing bristles scraped her soles, and she could not stop them. They slipped between her toes and brought into being feelings that she could not control, no matter how much she hated her tickler. "I know you love this, Joy. You wish that I had done this back in college, don't you?" Joy tried to scream "no," but it blended in with her laugh so that it seemed like no answer at all. He scrubbed and scrubbed, and just when her left foot felt like it might get a little numb, he switched hands and grabbed her right heel.
"Please, Chuck, no!"
"Come on, Joy! Loosen up!" He began to run the brush and its unyielding plastic bristles over Joy's other foot, and Joy's laugh was again coming in streams. She could hardly even think about hating Chuck now; the tickling was just too much. Before too long the tickling stopped again, and he put down the shower brush. "How are you liking this, Joy?"
She was still getting her breath back, but she managed to say, "Never again."
"What do you mean, never again? Jim's a pro, Joy. You should know that. Whenever the Colts are playing in town you can expect a visit. And once the season ends, I'm coming here any time I want a bit of revenge."
Joy knew that once she had moved in on the business end, that would be the end of Chuck's ticking. Her mind was even more set on it. She looked up, and the big linebacker was sliding a batting glove over his hand. On the end of each of the fingers was a plastic prod. "These things make up for the fact that I have no nails, Joy." He started to make his way behind her.
"Jim, you're going to pay for this!"
"Already have, Joy. And it's worth every penny." With that he started teasing her sides with the plastic tips. Even though the feeling was not overwhelming like he started, her will had been weakened by the previous tickling, and she began laughing lightly. This was even worse; her breathing was normal, but it was coming out in laughs, and she could not stop it. His fingers and the plastic tips danced up and down her ribs, into her armpits, and onto her hips, and she was giggling like a teenager hearing gossip. One hand started working around to the front of her, and soon he was tracing ticklish circles around her belly button. Her normally confident voice was awash in ticklish nervous giggles. The powerlessness was now definitely worse than the actual tickling; that brainless oaf was humiliating her, and all she could do was keep tittering like a brainless bimbo.
This kept up for several minutes, and when Jim walked in, she was still giggling after Chuck stopped. "Jim, I want out."
"Joy, come on. You know that isn't part of the job. And besides, Chuck here is your sponsor. We certainly have to make sure he gets his money out of this."
"Jim."
"Chuck."
"I want to wrestle." Joy's horror only grew; she remembered what Jim had said about tickle-wrestling and how torturous it was for the ticklee.
"You know the rules. I stay in the room, and you have to back off if I tap you."
"I'm game."
"And the same rules about contact areas still apply. You can tickle her, but no groping. Even for ex-boyfriends."
"Let's go."
"Alright. Let me set up." Jim unstrapped Joy and escorted her over to the corner. She trembled at the sight of Chuck; he was stretching his overdeveloped muscles, and she knew that she stood no chance. She wanted to hurt him like she never had before, but looking at his body, she knew that she likely would be unable. Jim scooted the cart and the table out of the way, and he he escorted Joy back to the center of the floor. The gymnastics mats started to make some more sense.
"Okay, Chuck. Fifteen more minutes. She's all yours." Jim scooted back against the wall to begin observing.
Chuck started bouncing up and down like a boxer. "Come on, Joy. Now's your chance to hit me. You want to hit me, don't you?" Joy knew that it was a trap, but her anger started getting the best of her. She threw a wide right punch. Jim ducked under it and came up on her other side, still bouncing. She wondered how he could get that low that fast. "Come on, you can do better than that!" His hands were still up in guard position like a boxer's.
Joy started to fake a punch but instead snapped a kick at Chuck's groin. His fast hand had her calf before she knew it, and he quickly slide-tackled the other leg to take her down. Joy slapped the ground to break the fall, but now both her feet were down by Chuck. He immediately began to tickle the foot that he caught, and Joy screamed. She tried to stretch around and hit him, but all she could do was flail weakly at his back while he gave her foot a four-finger shuffle. He hooked her other leg, and now he gave his fingers' attention to both soles. She tried to flail, but her body just would not respond. This was even worse. She felt like she should be able to do something.
Chuck rolled off, and Joy put her hand on the mat to begin hoisting herself up. She soon realized the mistake in that when Chuck hooked his arm under hers and began tickling her armpit. Now his huge torso was against hers, and she could not move to escape. Her free arm tried to grab at his face, but he soon hooked that one and gave its armpit the same treatment. And when she thought he was done, he reached down and began squeezing the back of her leg, making her dance even as she tried to fight him. She was screeching and laughing; the tickling was not constant enough to get her laughing out of control, but she still had little defense left. He quickly dropped her, and she rolled away from him and stood up. He was on his feet even more quickly, and he was the one darting around again.
"Come on, Joy... I'm going to get you again!" He lunged forward, then sidestepped. Joy knew that he could grab her whenever he wanted, but he was toying with her now. On one of his lunges, he grabbed her wrist and spun her around. His hands were immediately on her sides again, and he squeezed them with electric results. She squealed in unwanted delight, her hands instinctively moving down to pry the impossible hands from her waist. He wrapped one arm around her waist and sat down, pulling her onto his lap. His hands could now reach anywhere, and her defense of pulling her arms in to her sides was not helping out. He would get one hand under her arm and tickle for several seconds, then squeeze her hip or knee until she was squealing from the sudden tickle. Joy almost wished she could stop defending herself, but her instincts would not let her, and the torture of being tickled by a man she now hated was too much. Had she been a communist, this kind of treatment would make her subscribe to the Wall Street Journal.
Jim toyed and teased and tickled for what seemed forever, and finally Jim stepped in and tapped him on the back. "Fifteen minutes, Chuck." Joy was a bundle of nerves on the floor. Her body was exhausted, and she could not imagine being tickled any longer.
"Okay, Jim, I want you to stay in here for the last segment too." Joy's horror became a lead weight in her stomach; she knew that another round of wrestling would really drive her crazy.
"Jim, don't let him do that again. Please, I beg you!"
"Jim, I don't want to wrestle. I want to tie her in a chair and do a bonus round."
Jim and Joy asked together, "Bonus round?"
"Yeah, bonus round. I'm going to tickle her right armpit, then her left armpit, then her belly, then her right leg, then her left leg, then her right foot, then her left foot."
Jim sounded skeptical. "So what makes it a bonus round?"
"If Joy can make it two minutes on each part without saying 'stop,' I'll give her five hundred cash right here and right now. Five hundred per part. That's the bonus."
"All I have to do is last two minutes?"
"Well, that's not all. You also have to tell me that you love it and want more. Now if you don't say that, I won't tickle any more, but you won't get the five hundred. But if you do, I may or may not tickle some more, and I won't stop even if you beg me to."
Joy's mind was reeling; she knew that she could use the money, but she was almost out of steam. She didn't want this to scar her forever. "Alright. You're on." She regretted it almost as soon as she said it.
"Jim, you stand there and be the judge. Oh, and tie her in the chair." Jim pulled a padded office chair out of the corner. Its armrests were high, and Joy knew that she was in trouble. He tied her to it and wheeled the tool cart over.
"Okay, Jim. Start the clock for pit one." Chuck quickly pulled the fingertip glove onto his hand and started working on her right armpit. His movements were frantic, and they tickled terribly. Joy bucked and squealed and moved the office chair, but he kept on tickling her sensitive underarm. After a period, Jim said, "Time's up."
"Do you like that? Do you want more?"
Joy wanted nothing less than more tickling, but she knew that she was already this man's property. "Yes, I love it! I want more!" Joy surprised even herself with her enthusiasm.
"Well, that's too bad, because I'm not going to give you more. Jim, write down five hundred for Joy." He stepped around to the other side and began to dig into her armpit. Joy's sweat had dried in layers, and she could feel the drops carving canyons into the layers of salt as he tickled wickedly her smooth skin. Joy screamed and laughed, but she did not say stop, and after a while Jim said, "Time's up."
"Do you like that? Do you want more?"
A thousand dollars. That's a lot of money. "Yes, I love it! I want more!"
"Well, that's too bad, because I'm not going to give you more. Jim, write down a thousand." Leaving the glove on, he stepped to Joy's midsection and began scraping the plastic tips over her belly. This one felt like a piece of cake compared to the last two, and Joy made it through the two minutes easily. "Time's up."
"Do you like that? Do you want more?"
"Yes, I love it! I want more!"
"Well, that's too bad, because I'm not going to give you more. Jim, fifteen hundred." Without moving very far at all, he began to scrape at the inside of Joy's right thigh. He saw that the money and the tickling combined had started to moisten Joy up, and that made him all the more earnest a tickler. He squeezed her knee and scratched her inner thigh, drawing laughs that the belly had not even approached. This one seemed like it lasted longer, but in his professional voice, Jim eventually said, "Time's up."
"Do you like that? Do you want more?"
"Yes, I love it! I want more!"
"Well, that's too bad, because I'm not going to give you more." The same thing happened with the other leg, Joy's laughter becoming a bit hoarse as her voice started to show strain from all the laughing. When he finished he asked the same question and got the same answer. "Twenty-five hundred, Jim. That's a good sum of money. But well worth it." He started to move down toward Joy's feet.
Joy's reserves were beyond gone when he started sawing back and forth between her toes with a feather. He held her big toe back, immobilizing her foot. Her laugh was becoming that of a madwoman, and she knew that she had had enough. "Stop!!!"
Chuck stopped. "Alright, Joy. No money for that foot. Now on to the other."
Joy could not take this. "Stop! Stop! I'll just take the twenty-five hundred!"
Chuck laughed again, his now-sweaty face crossed with a huge grin. "Now I know that you're at the edge, Joy. You never should have given that away. How much time left, Jim?"
"Four minutes."
"Good." Chuck started to strap Joy's big toes to the central post of the office chair. Her screams were loud, desparate, and in vain. He pulled out two feathers and started in on her feet. His technique with the feathers was much like Jim's, and this time Joy had nothing left. Her laughing sounded like it was coming from another room as her begging and even language drifted off and became part of another world. Joy could not even tell that it was her laughing when Jim finally tapped Chuck on the shoulder.
"Time's up."
Jim and Chuck exchanged a handshake, and the linebacker pointed to Joy. "Remember, keep an eye on the NFL, Joy. Whenever I come to play, I also come to tickle. Have fun!" He turned to Jim. "Thanks, Jim." He reached into his wallet and counted out twenty-five hundred dollar bills. "This ought to cover our bonus round." He swaggered out of the room and shut the door behind him; Joy had recovered just enough consciousness to hate him again.
On the van ride home, Joy again talked to Jim. "How did he know I was here?"
"Private investigator. And he knew me from the Internet."
"The Internet?"
"Yeah, there's a whole subculture of tickling fetishists. I contact the ones who have the will and the desire to do it for real, and thus my business."
"You contacted him over the Internet?"
"That's right. And because of that, we made a load of money tonight." When Joy left the van, she did not even look back at Jim.
That night in her apartment, Joy counted out three thousand dollars in addition to the twenty-five hundred. If this was what a lady of the night made, she could only dream of what a part-owner would make. She went over in her mind once more how she would become a tickle pimp.
Part V
By Kid Indy
Voices sound familiar to people all the time, but to Joy Evans, one voice at an interdepartmental meeting seemed very familiar. As Mark, one of the accountants working for the ad agency, presented the numerical rundown of a possible spread in the daily paper, Joy knew that even though she had never paired the voice and the face, she could now tell at least one person who had tied her up one Friday evening. Joy now knew her first client; Mark had been patronizing a tickle pimp.
Joy walked up to him after the morning meeting, confident that in the open, she would have the upper hand. "How have you been, Mark?" The accountant did a too-noticeable double take before answering.
"Fine. What's your name again?"
"I think you know my name. What do you do for fun, Mark?" He now had an obvious look of panic on his face.
"Can we talk about this somewhere else?"
"No need. Just remember that I know. And if I want to, I can put you in big trouble." She turned on her heel and walked out of the meeting, a confident grin making her already-beautiful face glow. Of course, Mark did not see this, but he enjoyed looking at her suit-clad retreating figure and those so-ticklish legs in their hose so much that he did not hear a question that an ad writer was asking him. Big trouble indeed.*
After work she drove home, knowing that Jim would be around to pick her up at 8:30. She wondered exactly what was in store tonight; after all, Jim had never before mentioned what she should wear. He had always provided outfits, so the clothes that she wore in the van were largely irrelevant. Her second client, the eccentric Elena, had been a skillful tickler, but still not as torturous as Jim. She had paid well, though; Joy had made a thousand dollars for the half-hour of pure torture. Joy wondered who would be the client tonight.
Joy chose a black evening gown that made her slim waist seem even slimmer and gave her curves that were nothing short of dangerous. She wore black hose and black heels, and she wore her hair up and put on a pearl necklace that on old boyfriend had given her. She was surprised that the process was almost fun; living in this strange fantasy world, she almost wanted to dress up for her client.
When Jim picked her up, he was in a double-breasted suit that gave his massive frame a stateliness that Joy could only call handsome. "So who is this client that I have to dress up for? And why are you all decked out?"
"No client tonight, Joy. Are you hungry?"
"Are you taking me on a date?"
"I'm buying you dinner if you get in the van." Jim smiled a half smile; Joy could not tell whether he was being serious or not. But she got into the passenger seat of the van, leaving the isolation chamber behind her. They pulled out of her apartment building's parking garage and started across town, and Joy was fascinated.
"Do you always do this for your tickle-girls?" She got a chuckle for that one.
"No, not always. I just wanted to apologize for not telling you about Elena." Joy wondered how often this hulk of a man apologized for anything.
"That was a nasty surprise."
"But not out of your bounds, was it?"
"For that kind of money? Bring her back whenever you want!" Joy was startled for a moment at the enthusiasm that the cash brought into her voice. She covered her mouth for a moment, and Jim laughed out loud. The rest of the trip they chatted about her experiences, and before long they pulled into a high-class Italian restaurant. "Now this is a step up from McDonald's, Jim!"
"I thought you might like it." They went inside. Jim acted the perfect gentleman, holding doors and pulling out Joy's chair and everything. Joy wondered exactly what he was after doing all this. She decided to take the initiative in conversation.
"So what did you do before you started..." She could not find a good way to say it. "...doing what you're doing?"
"I worked for the government."
"Like in the military?"
"Like CIA." Joy showed a little surprise at this, but she then thought that this made some sense. "And yes, I was an interrogator."
"Is that where you learned--"
"How to tickle people? Yeah, eventually. Of course, not everyone needed that. If we captured a soldier, I would just slap him around. And if we caught a spy, we had electro-shock. But it wasn't interrogations that led me down that road-less-travelled."
"What do you read in your spare time?"
This got a laugh out of Jim. "I was an English major in college. ROTC, of course, but I studied literature. Does that surprise you?"
"Yeah, somewhat. But you were saying? Why did you learn the secret art of tickling?"
"You really want to know that, don't you? I usually don't talk about this, but I guess you know about my line of work. So here goes." He shifted in his seat, scooting his once-pasta-laden plate away from him. "Like I said, we could do pretty much what we had to with enemy soldiers. The press isn't going to whine too much if we beat up a kid in Hussein's army. But internal threats were different. The government always keeps a list of the most dangerous leftists in the nation, the kinds who could end up leading revolutions. Many of them are college students."
"And you couldn't go Kent State on them."
"Precisely. So we have to convince them to take on safe, conventional careers. There's no danger in a lawyer who's left wing. They're too tied to the money. So in a few cases, we had to talk the really bright left-wingers into entering conventional fields."
"So you'd grab them, right?"
"That's right. And that's why I tell you that you really haven't experienced what a really good tickler can do to your body. I've tickled some college girls all through the night. You've experienced forty-five minutes once."
"So why didn't I hear about any of this?"
"First, because we're good. Second, because you were at Ohio State. Third, because you were an advertising major!" He laughed at himself with this last remark. Joy was not as amused.
"So where did you grab them from?"
"Mostly the high-end schools. I tickled a couple from Harvard, one from Yale, all kinds of girls from Berkeley. Once I had given them the tickling of their lives, I returned them to their apartments and told them that if they weren't on track to entering a respectable profession by the end of the semester, I would be back. Of course, they all tried to report it to the cops. But the cops usually didn't believe them, and besides, our op center was long gone just a few hours after I finished the job; the cops had nothing to find."
"Have any of them turned out dangerous?"
"Not one. There was one from Columbia, though, who was more trouble than most."
Joy found herself getting more excited about this than she felt comfortable with. She wondered whether Elena really had gotten to her, but her curiosity about the Columbia girl was even more pressing. "Tell me about that one."
Jim grinned at her; he could see her face getting flushed, and that meant that she was starting to get into this. "Okay, I'll tell you. We kept monitoring her after my first visit. She was a sociology major, the kind who either turns conservative after graduation or tries to go to Latin America to change the world. I pegged her for the second type. So we grabbed her one weekend, and I gave her a four-hour tickling. That's usually enough to straighten out anyone, but she was hardheaded." Joy was leaning in closer.
"So a year after the first visit, I grabbed her again. A partner of mine came along with me to play the good cop, so we had the psychological war planned out. She forged a note to the college girl's roommate saying that she was going out of town for the weekend."
"You had her for a whole weekend?"
"Yeah. So we took her to a bomb shelter in upstate New York. The first night I gave her another four hour treatment. But then I left her in her underwear in the bedroom in that bomb shelter and went to a motel for the night. My partner came in and played slumber party with her. She was the sympathetic ear, you see. They talked about life, about the poor starving kids in China and all that. They went to sleep, and my partner left in the morning. Then I came back."
"I gave her fifteen on, five off for the entire morning. I tied her face up, face down, in a chair, probably ten different positions. And every time I'd give her a five minute break after fifteen minutes of tickling, just so she wouldn't pass out on me. Some of the time I'd just leave her untied and wrestle her to the ground and tickle her. That's even worse for the soul, you know. You feel like you should fight back, but you're fighting someone bigger and stronger who is tickling you so badly that you don't have any strength." Joy's eyes were positively glowing.
"So then my partner came in with some lunch for her. She talked to her about how much good she could do as a government social worker there in New York, how starting revolutions in Nicaragua would only get people killed. This girl was taking it in hook, line, and sinker. But then after a potty break, I came back in."
"You did this to her for hours on end?"
"Absolutely. Fifteen on, five off. If you'll notice, that's how I did you those first two nights. Of course, I only gave you three rounds each time. Except for a couple short ones the second night, of course."
"And that almost broke me."
"You have no idea. Anyway, I gave it to Columbia girl fifteen on, five off from lunchtime until about seven at night. She was sweating like a pig by then. She was offering money, sex, her roommate, anything I wanted. I had her broken. But after my partner had dinner with her, I gave her another four hour treatment. And the after-dinner tickling I did blindfolded and almost exclusively with tools. She had lost her voice, but I kept on going. And Sunday morning we dropped her off."
Joy was breathing more quickly than she realized. She stopped herself and asked, "What happened then?"
"We monitored her. She married straight out of college and runs a soup kitchen in the Bronx. I like to think of her as my Pygmalion project; I took a blooming revolutionary and made her a model citizen." Jim grinned in triumph.
"So why did you get out of the CIA?"
"Got tired of answering to Uncle Sam. So now I'm a businessman."
They finished with an ice cream dessert, and before long they were on the way back to Joy's apartment. "Why did you really take me out tonight?"
"What, do you think this was a date or something?"
"Well, maybe."
"Think I want a goodnight kiss from you?"
Joy looked at him slyly. "Maybe..."
Jim pulled the van into a parking space at her apartment. "Well, I'm sorry, kid. That's not what I was after tonight. I mainly wanted to make up for not telling you about Elena."
"So you aren't attracted to me at all?"
"Good night, Joy. Be ready after work Friday."
Joy stepped out of the van and shut the door. "Christ, I shouldn't be wanting to date some pimp anyway. What was I thinking?" She walked over to the elevator door and pushed the button.
She heard Jim call to her. "Joy!" She turned around. He winked and said, "Good night."
*See Tickle Pimp part 3 for the previous appearance of this character.
Tickle Pimp
Part V
By Kid Indy
Voices sound familiar to people all the time, but to Joy Evans, one voice at an interdepartmental meeting seemed very familiar. As Mark, one of the accountants working for the ad agency, presented the numerical rundown of a possible spread in the daily paper, Joy knew that even though she had never paired the voice and the face, she could now tell at least one person who had tied her up one Friday evening. Joy now knew her first client; Mark had been patronizing a tickle pimp.
Joy walked up to him after the morning meeting, confident that in the open, she would have the upper hand. "How have you been, Mark?" The accountant did a too-noticeable double take before answering.
"Fine. What's your name again?"
"I think you know my name. What do you do for fun, Mark?" He now had an obvious look of panic on his face.
"Can we talk about this somewhere else?"
"No need. Just remember that I know. And if I want to, I can put you in big trouble." She turned on her heel and walked out of the meeting, a confident grin making her already-beautiful face glow. Of course, Mark did not see this, but he enjoyed looking at her suit-clad retreating figure and those so-ticklish legs in their hose so much that he did not hear a question that an ad writer was asking him. Big trouble indeed.*
After work she drove home, knowing that Jim would be around to pick her up at 8:30. She wondered exactly what was in store tonight; after all, Jim had never before mentioned what she should wear. He had always provided outfits, so the clothes that she wore in the van were largely irrelevant. Her second client, the eccentric Elena, had been a skillful tickler, but still not as torturous as Jim. She had paid well, though; Joy had made a thousand dollars for the half-hour of pure torture. Joy wondered who would be the client tonight.
Joy chose a black evening gown that made her slim waist seem even slimmer and gave her curves that were nothing short of dangerous. She wore black hose and black heels, and she wore her hair up and put on a pearl necklace that on old boyfriend had given her. She was surprised that the process was almost fun; living in this strange fantasy world, she almost wanted to dress up for her client.
When Jim picked her up, he was in a double-breasted suit that gave his massive frame a stateliness that Joy could only call handsome. "So who is this client that I have to dress up for? And why are you all decked out?"
"No client tonight, Joy. Are you hungry?"
"Are you taking me on a date?"
"I'm buying you dinner if you get in the van." Jim smiled a half smile; Joy could not tell whether he was being serious or not. But she got into the passenger seat of the van, leaving the isolation chamber behind her. They pulled out of her apartment building's parking garage and started across town, and Joy was fascinated.
"Do you always do this for your tickle-girls?" She got a chuckle for that one.
"No, not always. I just wanted to apologize for not telling you about Elena." Joy wondered how often this hulk of a man apologized for anything.
"That was a nasty surprise."
"But not out of your bounds, was it?"
"For that kind of money? Bring her back whenever you want!" Joy was startled for a moment at the enthusiasm that the cash brought into her voice. She covered her mouth for a moment, and Jim laughed out loud. The rest of the trip they chatted about her experiences, and before long they pulled into a high-class Italian restaurant. "Now this is a step up from McDonald's, Jim!"
"I thought you might like it." They went inside. Jim acted the perfect gentleman, holding doors and pulling out Joy's chair and everything. Joy wondered exactly what he was after doing all this. She decided to take the initiative in conversation.
"So what did you do before you started..." She could not find a good way to say it. "...doing what you're doing?"
"I worked for the government."
"Like in the military?"
"Like CIA." Joy showed a little surprise at this, but she then thought that this made some sense. "And yes, I was an interrogator."
"Is that where you learned--"
"How to tickle people? Yeah, eventually. Of course, not everyone needed that. If we captured a soldier, I would just slap him around. And if we caught a spy, we had electro-shock. But it wasn't interrogations that led me down that road-less-travelled."
"What do you read in your spare time?"
This got a laugh out of Jim. "I was an English major in college. ROTC, of course, but I studied literature. Does that surprise you?"
"Yeah, somewhat. But you were saying? Why did you learn the secret art of tickling?"
"You really want to know that, don't you? I usually don't talk about this, but I guess you know about my line of work. So here goes." He shifted in his seat, scooting his once-pasta-laden plate away from him. "Like I said, we could do pretty much what we had to with enemy soldiers. The press isn't going to whine too much if we beat up a kid in Hussein's army. But internal threats were different. The government always keeps a list of the most dangerous leftists in the nation, the kinds who could end up leading revolutions. Many of them are college students."
"And you couldn't go Kent State on them."
"Precisely. So we have to convince them to take on safe, conventional careers. There's no danger in a lawyer who's left wing. They're too tied to the money. So in a few cases, we had to talk the really bright left-wingers into entering conventional fields."
"So you'd grab them, right?"
"That's right. And that's why I tell you that you really haven't experienced what a really good tickler can do to your body. I've tickled some college girls all through the night. You've experienced forty-five minutes once."
"So why didn't I hear about any of this?"
"First, because we're good. Second, because you were at Ohio State. Third, because you were an advertising major!" He laughed at himself with this last remark. Joy was not as amused.
"So where did you grab them from?"
"Mostly the high-end schools. I tickled a couple from Harvard, one from Yale, all kinds of girls from Berkeley. Once I had given them the tickling of their lives, I returned them to their apartments and told them that if they weren't on track to entering a respectable profession by the end of the semester, I would be back. Of course, they all tried to report it to the cops. But the cops usually didn't believe them, and besides, our op center was long gone just a few hours after I finished the job; the cops had nothing to find."
"Have any of them turned out dangerous?"
"Not one. There was one from Columbia, though, who was more trouble than most."
Joy found herself getting more excited about this than she felt comfortable with. She wondered whether Elena really had gotten to her, but her curiosity about the Columbia girl was even more pressing. "Tell me about that one."
Jim grinned at her; he could see her face getting flushed, and that meant that she was starting to get into this. "Okay, I'll tell you. We kept monitoring her after my first visit. She was a sociology major, the kind who either turns conservative after graduation or tries to go to Latin America to change the world. I pegged her for the second type. So we grabbed her one weekend, and I gave her a four-hour tickling. That's usually enough to straighten out anyone, but she was hardheaded." Joy was leaning in closer.
"So a year after the first visit, I grabbed her again. A partner of mine came along with me to play the good cop, so we had the psychological war planned out. She forged a note to the college girl's roommate saying that she was going out of town for the weekend."
"You had her for a whole weekend?"
"Yeah. So we took her to a bomb shelter in upstate New York. The first night I gave her another four hour treatment. But then I left her in her underwear in the bedroom in that bomb shelter and went to a motel for the night. My partner came in and played slumber party with her. She was the sympathetic ear, you see. They talked about life, about the poor starving kids in China and all that. They went to sleep, and my partner left in the morning. Then I came back."
"I gave her fifteen on, five off for the entire morning. I tied her face up, face down, in a chair, probably ten different positions. And every time I'd give her a five minute break after fifteen minutes of tickling, just so she wouldn't pass out on me. Some of the time I'd just leave her untied and wrestle her to the ground and tickle her. That's even worse for the soul, you know. You feel like you should fight back, but you're fighting someone bigger and stronger who is tickling you so badly that you don't have any strength." Joy's eyes were positively glowing.
"So then my partner came in with some lunch for her. She talked to her about how much good she could do as a government social worker there in New York, how starting revolutions in Nicaragua would only get people killed. This girl was taking it in hook, line, and sinker. But then after a potty break, I came back in."
"You did this to her for hours on end?"
"Absolutely. Fifteen on, five off. If you'll notice, that's how I did you those first two nights. Of course, I only gave you three rounds each time. Except for a couple short ones the second night, of course."
"And that almost broke me."
"You have no idea. Anyway, I gave it to Columbia girl fifteen on, five off from lunchtime until about seven at night. She was sweating like a pig by then. She was offering money, sex, her roommate, anything I wanted. I had her broken. But after my partner had dinner with her, I gave her another four hour treatment. And the after-dinner tickling I did blindfolded and almost exclusively with tools. She had lost her voice, but I kept on going. And Sunday morning we dropped her off."
Joy was breathing more quickly than she realized. She stopped herself and asked, "What happened then?"
"We monitored her. She married straight out of college and runs a soup kitchen in the Bronx. I like to think of her as my Pygmalion project; I took a blooming revolutionary and made her a model citizen." Jim grinned in triumph.
"So why did you get out of the CIA?"
"Got tired of answering to Uncle Sam. So now I'm a businessman."
They finished with an ice cream dessert, and before long they were on the way back to Joy's apartment. "Why did you really take me out tonight?"
"What, do you think this was a date or something?"
"Well, maybe."
"Think I want a goodnight kiss from you?"
Joy looked at him slyly. "Maybe..."
Jim pulled the van into a parking space at her apartment. "Well, I'm sorry, kid. That's not what I was after tonight. I mainly wanted to make up for not telling you about Elena."
"So you aren't attracted to me at all?"
"Good night, Joy. Be ready after work Friday."
Joy stepped out of the van and shut the door. "Christ, I shouldn't be wanting to date some pimp anyway. What was I thinking?" She walked over to the elevator door and pushed the button.
She heard Jim call to her. "Joy!" She turned around. He winked and said, "Good night."
*See Tickle Pimp part 3 for the previous appearance of this character.Tickle Pimp
Part V
By Kid Indy
Voices sound familiar to people all the time, but to Joy Evans, one voice at an interdepartmental meeting seemed very familiar. As Mark, one of the accountants working for the ad agency, presented the numerical rundown of a possible spread in the daily paper, Joy knew that even though she had never paired the voice and the face, she could now tell at least one person who had tied her up one Friday evening. Joy now knew her first client; Mark had been patronizing a tickle pimp.
Joy walked up to him after the morning meeting, confident that in the open, she would have the upper hand. "How have you been, Mark?" The accountant did a too-noticeable double take before answering.
"Fine. What's your name again?"
"I think you know my name. What do you do for fun, Mark?" He now had an obvious look of panic on his face.
"Can we talk about this somewhere else?"
"No need. Just remember that I know. And if I want to, I can put you in big trouble." She turned on her heel and walked out of the meeting, a confident grin making her already-beautiful face glow. Of course, Mark did not see this, but he enjoyed looking at her suit-clad retreating figure and those so-ticklish legs in their hose so much that he did not hear a question that an ad writer was asking him. Big trouble indeed.*
After work she drove home, knowing that Jim would be around to pick her up at 8:30. She wondered exactly what was in store tonight; after all, Jim had never before mentioned what she should wear. He had always provided outfits, so the clothes that she wore in the van were largely irrelevant. Her second client, the eccentric Elena, had been a skillful tickler, but still not as torturous as Jim. She had paid well, though; Joy had made a thousand dollars for the half-hour of pure torture. Joy wondered who would be the client tonight.
Joy chose a black evening gown that made her slim waist seem even slimmer and gave her curves that were nothing short of dangerous. She wore black hose and black heels, and she wore her hair up and put on a pearl necklace that on old boyfriend had given her. She was surprised that the process was almost fun; living in this strange fantasy world, she almost wanted to dress up for her client.
When Jim picked her up, he was in a double-breasted suit that gave his massive frame a stateliness that Joy could only call handsome. "So who is this client that I have to dress up for? And why are you all decked out?"
"No client tonight, Joy. Are you hungry?"
"Are you taking me on a date?"
"I'm buying you dinner if you get in the van." Jim smiled a half smile; Joy could not tell whether he was being serious or not. But she got into the passenger seat of the van, leaving the isolation chamber behind her. They pulled out of her apartment building's parking garage and started across town, and Joy was fascinated.
"Do you always do this for your tickle-girls?" She got a chuckle for that one.
"No, not always. I just wanted to apologize for not telling you about Elena." Joy wondered how often this hulk of a man apologized for anything.
"That was a nasty surprise."
"But not out of your bounds, was it?"
"For that kind of money? Bring her back whenever you want!" Joy was startled for a moment at the enthusiasm that the cash brought into her voice. She covered her mouth for a moment, and Jim laughed out loud. The rest of the trip they chatted about her experiences, and before long they pulled into a high-class Italian restaurant. "Now this is a step up from McDonald's, Jim!"
"I thought you might like it." They went inside. Jim acted the perfect gentleman, holding doors and pulling out Joy's chair and everything. Joy wondered exactly what he was after doing all this. She decided to take the initiative in conversation.
"So what did you do before you started..." She could not find a good way to say it. "...doing what you're doing?"
"I worked for the government."
"Like in the military?"
"Like CIA." Joy showed a little surprise at this, but she then thought that this made some sense. "And yes, I was an interrogator."
"Is that where you learned--"
"How to tickle people? Yeah, eventually. Of course, not everyone needed that. If we captured a soldier, I would just slap him around. And if we caught a spy, we had electro-shock. But it wasn't interrogations that led me down that road-less-travelled."
"What do you read in your spare time?"
This got a laugh out of Jim. "I was an English major in college. ROTC, of course, but I studied literature. Does that surprise you?"
"Yeah, somewhat. But you were saying? Why did you learn the secret art of tickling?"
"You really want to know that, don't you? I usually don't talk about this, but I guess you know about my line of work. So here goes." He shifted in his seat, scooting his once-pasta-laden plate away from him. "Like I said, we could do pretty much what we had to with enemy soldiers. The press isn't going to whine too much if we beat up a kid in Hussein's army. But internal threats were different. The government always keeps a list of the most dangerous leftists in the nation, the kinds who could end up leading revolutions. Many of them are college students."
"And you couldn't go Kent State on them."
"Precisely. So we have to convince them to take on safe, conventional careers. There's no danger in a lawyer who's left wing. They're too tied to the money. So in a few cases, we had to talk the really bright left-wingers into entering conventional fields."
"So you'd grab them, right?"
"That's right. And that's why I tell you that you really haven't experienced what a really good tickler can do to your body. I've tickled some college girls all through the night. You've experienced forty-five minutes once."
"So why didn't I hear about any of this?"
"First, because we're good. Second, because you were at Ohio State. Third, because you were an advertising major!" He laughed at himself with this last remark. Joy was not as amused.
"So where did you grab them from?"
"Mostly the high-end schools. I tickled a couple from Harvard, one from Yale, all kinds of girls from Berkeley. Once I had given them the tickling of their lives, I returned them to their apartments and told them that if they weren't on track to entering a respectable profession by the end of the semester, I would be back. Of course, they all tried to report it to the cops. But the cops usually didn't believe them, and besides, our op center was long gone just a few hours after I finished the job; the cops had nothing to find."
"Have any of them turned out dangerous?"
"Not one. There was one from Columbia, though, who was more trouble than most."
Joy found herself getting more excited about this than she felt comfortable with. She wondered whether Elena really had gotten to her, but her curiosity about the Columbia girl was even more pressing. "Tell me about that one."
Jim grinned at her; he could see her face getting flushed, and that meant that she was starting to get into this. "Okay, I'll tell you. We kept monitoring her after my first visit. She was a sociology major, the kind who either turns conservative after graduation or tries to go to Latin America to change the world. I pegged her for the second type. So we grabbed her one weekend, and I gave her a four-hour tickling. That's usually enough to straighten out anyone, but she was hardheaded." Joy was leaning in closer.
"So a year after the first visit, I grabbed her again. A partner of mine came along with me to play the good cop, so we had the psychological war planned out. She forged a note to the college girl's roommate saying that she was going out of town for the weekend."
"You had her for a whole weekend?"
"Yeah. So we took her to a bomb shelter in upstate New York. The first night I gave her another four hour treatment. But then I left her in her underwear in the bedroom in that bomb shelter and went to a motel for the night. My partner came in and played slumber party with her. She was the sympathetic ear, you see. They talked about life, about the poor starving kids in China and all that. They went to sleep, and my partner left in the morning. Then I came back."
"I gave her fifteen on, five off for the entire morning. I tied her face up, face down, in a chair, probably ten different positions. And every time I'd give her a five minute break after fifteen minutes of tickling, just so she wouldn't pass out on me. Some of the time I'd just leave her untied and wrestle her to the ground and tickle her. That's even worse for the soul, you know. You feel like you should fight back, but you're fighting someone bigger and stronger who is tickling you so badly that you don't have any strength." Joy's eyes were positively glowing.
"So then my partner came in with some lunch for her. She talked to her about how much good she could do as a government social worker there in New York, how starting revolutions in Nicaragua would only get people killed. This girl was taking it in hook, line, and sinker. But then after a potty break, I came back in."
"You did this to her for hours on end?"
"Absolutely. Fifteen on, five off. If you'll notice, that's how I did you those first two nights. Of course, I only gave you three rounds each time. Except for a couple short ones the second night, of course."
"And that almost broke me."
"You have no idea. Anyway, I gave it to Columbia girl fifteen on, five off from lunchtime until about seven at night. She was sweating like a pig by then. She was offering money, sex, her roommate, anything I wanted. I had her broken. But after my partner had dinner with her, I gave her another four hour treatment. And the after-dinner tickling I did blindfolded and almost exclusively with tools. She had lost her voice, but I kept on going. And Sunday morning we dropped her off."
Joy was breathing more quickly than she realized. She stopped herself and asked, "What happened then?"
"We monitored her. She married straight out of college and runs a soup kitchen in the Bronx. I like to think of her as my Pygmalion project; I took a blooming revolutionary and made her a model citizen." Jim grinned in triumph.
"So why did you get out of the CIA?"
"Got tired of answering to Uncle Sam. So now I'm a businessman."
They finished with an ice cream dessert, and before long they were on the way back to Joy's apartment. "Why did you really take me out tonight?"
"What, do you think this was a date or something?"
"Well, maybe."
"Think I want a goodnight kiss from you?"
Joy looked at him slyly. "Maybe..."
Jim pulled the van into a parking space at her apartment. "Well, I'm sorry, kid. That's not what I was after tonight. I mainly wanted to make up for not telling you about Elena."
"So you aren't attracted to me at all?"
"Good night, Joy. Be ready after work Friday."
Joy stepped out of the van and shut the door. "Christ, I shouldn't be wanting to date some pimp anyway. What was I thinking?" She walked over to the elevator door and pushed the button.
She heard Jim call to her. "Joy!" She turned around. He winked and said, "Good night."
*See Tickle Pimp part 3 for the previous appearance of this character.Tickle Pimp
Part VI
By Kid Indy
Adam and Eve had it good, but what got them in trouble is when they wanted control. As Joy Evans donned a purple bra and matching panties in a basement in a part of the city that she did not know, she was already hatching schemes to take control of her own fate. Her popularity among the clients was growing, and the money was getting really good. But Joy wanted control. And that just isn't something you can take from a Tickle Pimp.
She knocked on the dressing room door, and Jim promptly answered. She stepped into the main room, her bare feet feeling good on the gymnastic mat floor. The bench and stocks invited her to take a sitting position, and she was very cooperative as Jim strapped her in. Two weeks and six clients had passed since her dinner with Jim, and she was becoming quite the professional. She was also scheming to get in on the business end of the operation.
Mark the accountant, Joy's first client, just could not keep his mouth shut. She had discovered his identity at work, and now she had hatched a plan to leverage Jim. On threats to expose him, Mark had promised to drive Joy, without blindfold, to the tickling brothel. She knew it was a house, and she knew that Mark knew where it was. And three days from then she would take pictures of a drop-off. And then, she would let Jim know that she had pictures. The big jerk would not get away with making her a piece of tickle-meat.
"Big night tonight, Joy." Jim snapped her out of her reverie as he finished tying on the blindfold. "It's your sponsor coming in tonight."
"Do I need to do anything special?" Joy had managed to keep a poker face while she was scheming, and the new announcement would not faze her.
"No, he's been looking forward to this. And the money is going to be really good tonight." Not as good as when we're partners, Joy thought. But she still acted excited, keeping up her false innocence.
"Who is he?"
"I'm sure he'll introduce himself." Jim chuckled as he rolled the cart up next to her and walked towards the door. Joy's tanned skin tensed up as it always did when Jim left the room. The silence between Jim's departure and the client's arrival, although a welcome rest, always brought an apprehension to Joy's mind.
"Well," she thought, "I've been tickled by six men, two women, and Jim. This couldn't be too new." She heard the door reopen, and Jim's speech began. But he was not saying the usual things.
"Since you are Joy's sponsor, you get her for one hour and fifteen minutes. Just remember that I'll be in every fifteen to change her position and to enforce the five minute break." Joy began to panic; she had become very used to the half hour session. "All my tools are at your disposal, and Joy here just can't wait to begin." Joy heard Jim's laughing-at-his-own-joke chuckle, but it was joined by a laugh that sounded very familiar. "Time starts now." Even though she had become somewhat seasoned, this new set of rules threw her off immensely. Footsteps approached.
"I hope you can guess my name, Joy. It would make this so much more fun." Not from work... not from the fitness club... A hand suddenly grabbed her just above the hip and began to squeeze without mercy. Joy jumped and squealed as the other hand began working the flesh under her other arm. This one was not wasting time with warmup or fingertips; Joy was unprepared for the intensity of the start, and she broke out into laughter before she could even think of resisting. The hand that started on her hip moved down to squeeze her leg above the knee, and the change in pace had her thrashing to get away. Every tickling was intense and roused a desire to flee, but Joy felt like these hands knew exactly where to go to torture her the most quickly.
"Plea-he-he-hease..." She tried to beg, but her laughter would not let her form a sentence. His hands continued to grab her sides, her ribs, her underarms, her knees. This was what ticklers usually worked up to, and Joy thought that this tickler might really knock her out if he kept going. Or at least she thought so. Joy was already sweating heavily when the tickler stopped.
The tickler's hands were big, maybe not as big as Jim's, but close. She heard footsteps moving around her. One of the large hands suddenly had a hold on her hip again, and she started jumping. The other hand was scratching her inner thigh as she jumped, and her own motion was adding to the tickling there. Even though the areas were not new, this client seemed to know which order of spots would get her the most, and he was exploiting it. Joy's arms flailed even though they were suspended from the upper pulley, and her head was bucking back and forth. Her laugh, now a familiar sound even if not welcome, was rhythmic and natural; this guy was getting her good. He moved quickly from knee to hip to thigh, always moving his hands but never in a predictable order. If she had any thought of mentally guarding any tickle spot, the blindfold and his quickness rapidly dispelled it. As suddenly as it had started, the tickling stopped.
"Who..." Joy's breath allowed only a bit of talking now... "are you?" Silence. The footsteps again moved, this time behind her. Joy began to pull in vain at the wrist cuffs, but she could not pull her tired body off the bench to guard her underarms. But the hands went first to her hips and sides, squeezing and kneading with strength and speed. Joy's head whipped back, and she hit a large mass. This guy was big, alright. She jumped and bounced, and the tickling did not relent. Then, just as she had gotten into the rhythm of the hip tickles, his hands simultaneously moved up to her armpits and began digging in. She screamed in surprise but quickly slipped back into the forced laughter, loving and hating the awful sensations. Her feet twitched as the man tickled and tickled, and soon the tears began to come again. She could barely hear when Jim opened the door.
"Alright. Fifteen minutes up. Break time."
"Cool with me, Jim. I think I want the blindfold off now." Joy was beginning really to recognize the voice, and she was terrified of who she thought it was. She felt Jim take off the blindfold, and standing before her eyes was Chuck.
Chuck Bowling was the starting outside linebacker for the Indianapolis Colts, a former Ohio State standout, and Joy's ex-boyfriend. He grinned a grin of revenge as Joy's eyes flew open and her jaw dropped. "Chuck, why are you doing this to me?"
Chuck let out his low-pitched laugh. "It's payback time, Joy, and now you're my toy." They had dated for a year and a half at Ohio State, but Joy left him when his arrogance and strange fetish had driven her away. "Jim tells me that you're really getting to like this. Don't you see the charm now?" He leaned in as he said this, and Joy could smell his strong cologne; some things hadn't changed since college.
"Jim, what did I do to you?"
"You dumped me, Joy. And you told your friends that I was brainless and that I was going nowhere and that I had a tickling fetish. I guess you got one of three right." He again let out his laugh. "Jim," he said as he looked over his shoulder briefly, "I'm going to use tools for this fifteen minutes."
Jim, standing in the corner silently, replied, "You're the client." Jim walked out of the door and shut it behind him.
"I remember the old days, Joy. You used to scream whenever I touched" he scraped a nail up her sole "these feet of yours."
Joy's defiant look reappeared as she shook off the tickling. "Chuck, you're still sick. I don't care if you do have NFL money."
"Now, Joy, that's hardly something to say to someone who has you tied up. Like I said, I dreamed about this in college. Now it's time to really do it. I think I'll start out with just fingers. That way it'll be like when we were dating."
"Don't you dare, Jim! I'll--" Joy could not complete her vain threat; Jim was running his fingers over both her soles. She shrieked and tried to move her feet clear. Jim just followed her flailing feet with his persistent fingers. Joy screamed, but she knew that the laugh was coming on. This one she hated more than any others; she did not want to let Chuck make her laugh, but her body would not hold out. She tried begging, tried threatening, tried just saying Chuck's name. Nothing would work. The laugh was coming.
Like a battering ram, the tickling crept up Joy's torso and towards her throat. She could tangibly feel the urge to laugh as it threatened to drown her. She wanted to fight, and fight she did, but eventually the laugh came. It was all the more uncontrollable because she had held it back so long, and she caught Chuck's eye just as it began. He was loving this, and as she laughed and laughed, she hated the situation all the more.
After just a few minutes, he stopped. She craned her neck to see what he was doing, and he saw a shower brush in his left hand. She squealed as he grabbed the heel of her left foot, and the squeal rose in pitch and faded into the laugh as he began to run it over the ball of her foot. The tiny torturing bristles scraped her soles, and she could not stop them. They slipped between her toes and brought into being feelings that she could not control, no matter how much she hated her tickler. "I know you love this, Joy. You wish that I had done this back in college, don't you?" Joy tried to scream "no," but it blended in with her laugh so that it seemed like no answer at all. He scrubbed and scrubbed, and just when her left foot felt like it might get a little numb, he switched hands and grabbed her right heel.
"Please, Chuck, no!"
"Come on, Joy! Loosen up!" He began to run the brush and its unyielding plastic bristles over Joy's other foot, and Joy's laugh was again coming in streams. She could hardly even think about hating Chuck now; the tickling was just too much. Before too long the tickling stopped again, and he put down the shower brush. "How are you liking this, Joy?"
She was still getting her breath back, but she managed to say, "Never again."
"What do you mean, never again? Jim's a pro, Joy. You should know that. Whenever the Colts are playing in town you can expect a visit. And once the season ends, I'm coming here any time I want a bit of revenge."
Joy knew that once she had moved in on the business end, that would be the end of Chuck's ticking. Her mind was even more set on it. She looked up, and the big linebacker was sliding a batting glove over his hand. On the end of each of the fingers was a plastic prod. "These things make up for the fact that I have no nails, Joy." He started to make his way behind her.
"Jim, you're going to pay for this!"
"Already have, Joy. And it's worth every penny." With that he started teasing her sides with the plastic tips. Even though the feeling was not overwhelming like he started, her will had been weakened by the previous tickling, and she began laughing lightly. This was even worse; her breathing was normal, but it was coming out in laughs, and she could not stop it. His fingers and the plastic tips danced up and down her ribs, into her armpits, and onto her hips, and she was giggling like a teenager hearing gossip. One hand started working around to the front of her, and soon he was tracing ticklish circles around her belly button. Her normally confident voice was awash in ticklish nervous giggles. The powerlessness was now definitely worse than the actual tickling; that brainless oaf was humiliating her, and all she could do was keep tittering like a brainless bimbo.
This kept up for several minutes, and when Jim walked in, she was still giggling after Chuck stopped. "Jim, I want out."
"Joy, come on. You know that isn't part of the job. And besides, Chuck here is your sponsor. We certainly have to make sure he gets his money out of this."
"Jim."
"Chuck."
"I want to wrestle." Joy's horror only grew; she remembered what Jim had said about tickle-wrestling and how torturous it was for the ticklee.
"You know the rules. I stay in the room, and you have to back off if I tap you."
"I'm game."
"And the same rules about contact areas still apply. You can tickle her, but no groping. Even for ex-boyfriends."
"Let's go."
"Alright. Let me set up." Jim unstrapped Joy and escorted her over to the corner. She trembled at the sight of Chuck; he was stretching his overdeveloped muscles, and she knew that she stood no chance. She wanted to hurt him like she never had before, but looking at his body, she knew that she likely would be unable. Jim scooted the cart and the table out of the way, and he he escorted Joy back to the center of the floor. The gymnastics mats started to make some more sense.
"Okay, Chuck. Fifteen more minutes. She's all yours." Jim scooted back against the wall to begin observing.
Chuck started bouncing up and down like a boxer. "Come on, Joy. Now's your chance to hit me. You want to hit me, don't you?" Joy knew that it was a trap, but her anger started getting the best of her. She threw a wide right punch. Jim ducked under it and came up on her other side, still bouncing. She wondered how he could get that low that fast. "Come on, you can do better than that!" His hands were still up in guard position like a boxer's.
Joy started to fake a punch but instead snapped a kick at Chuck's groin. His fast hand had her calf before she knew it, and he quickly slide-tackled the other leg to take her down. Joy slapped the ground to break the fall, but now both her feet were down by Chuck. He immediately began to tickle the foot that he caught, and Joy screamed. She tried to stretch around and hit him, but all she could do was flail weakly at his back while he gave her foot a four-finger shuffle. He hooked her other leg, and now he gave his fingers' attention to both soles. She tried to flail, but her body just would not respond. This was even worse. She felt like she should be able to do something.
Chuck rolled off, and Joy put her hand on the mat to begin hoisting herself up. She soon realized the mistake in that when Chuck hooked his arm under hers and began tickling her armpit. Now his huge torso was against hers, and she could not move to escape. Her free arm tried to grab at his face, but he soon hooked that one and gave its armpit the same treatment. And when she thought he was done, he reached down and began squeezing the back of her leg, making her dance even as she tried to fight him. She was screeching and laughing; the tickling was not constant enough to get her laughing out of control, but she still had little defense left. He quickly dropped her, and she rolled away from him and stood up. He was on his feet even more quickly, and he was the one darting around again.
"Come on, Joy... I'm going to get you again!" He lunged forward, then sidestepped. Joy knew that he could grab her whenever he wanted, but he was toying with her now. On one of his lunges, he grabbed her wrist and spun her around. His hands were immediately on her sides again, and he squeezed them with electric results. She squealed in unwanted delight, her hands instinctively moving down to pry the impossible hands from her waist. He wrapped one arm around her waist and sat down, pulling her onto his lap. His hands could now reach anywhere, and her defense of pulling her arms in to her sides was not helping out. He would get one hand under her arm and tickle for several seconds, then squeeze her hip or knee until she was squealing from the sudden tickle. Joy almost wished she could stop defending herself, but her instincts would not let her, and the torture of being tickled by a man she now hated was too much. Had she been a communist, this kind of treatment would make her subscribe to the Wall Street Journal.
Jim toyed and teased and tickled for what seemed forever, and finally Jim stepped in and tapped him on the back. "Fifteen minutes, Chuck." Joy was a bundle of nerves on the floor. Her body was exhausted, and she could not imagine being tickled any longer.
"Okay, Jim, I want you to stay in here for the last segment too." Joy's horror became a lead weight in her stomach; she knew that another round of wrestling would really drive her crazy.
"Jim, don't let him do that again. Please, I beg you!"
"Jim, I don't want to wrestle. I want to tie her in a chair and do a bonus round."
Jim and Joy asked together, "Bonus round?"
"Yeah, bonus round. I'm going to tickle her right armpit, then her left armpit, then her belly, then her right leg, then her left leg, then her right foot, then her left foot."
Jim sounded skeptical. "So what makes it a bonus round?"
"If Joy can make it two minutes on each part without saying 'stop,' I'll give her five hundred cash right here and right now. Five hundred per part. That's the bonus."
"All I have to do is last two minutes?"
"Well, that's not all. You also have to tell me that you love it and want more. Now if you don't say that, I won't tickle any more, but you won't get the five hundred. But if you do, I may or may not tickle some more, and I won't stop even if you beg me to."
Joy's mind was reeling; she knew that she could use the money, but she was almost out of steam. She didn't want this to scar her forever. "Alright. You're on." She regretted it almost as soon as she said it.
"Jim, you stand there and be the judge. Oh, and tie her in the chair." Jim pulled a padded office chair out of the corner. Its armrests were high, and Joy knew that she was in trouble. He tied her to it and wheeled the tool cart over.
"Okay, Jim. Start the clock for pit one." Chuck quickly pulled the fingertip glove onto his hand and started working on her right armpit. His movements were frantic, and they tickled terribly. Joy bucked and squealed and moved the office chair, but he kept on tickling her sensitive underarm. After a period, Jim said, "Time's up."
"Do you like that? Do you want more?"
Joy wanted nothing less than more tickling, but she knew that she was already this man's property. "Yes, I love it! I want more!" Joy surprised even herself with her enthusiasm.
"Well, that's too bad, because I'm not going to give you more. Jim, write down five hundred for Joy." He stepped around to the other side and began to dig into her armpit. Joy's sweat had dried in layers, and she could feel the drops carving canyons into the layers of salt as he tickled wickedly her smooth skin. Joy screamed and laughed, but she did not say stop, and after a while Jim said, "Time's up."
"Do you like that? Do you want more?"
A thousand dollars. That's a lot of money. "Yes, I love it! I want more!"
"Well, that's too bad, because I'm not going to give you more. Jim, write down a thousand." Leaving the glove on, he stepped to Joy's midsection and began scraping the plastic tips over her belly. This one felt like a piece of cake compared to the last two, and Joy made it through the two minutes easily. "Time's up."
"Do you like that? Do you want more?"
"Yes, I love it! I want more!"
"Well, that's too bad, because I'm not going to give you more. Jim, fifteen hundred." Without moving very far at all, he began to scrape at the inside of Joy's right thigh. He saw that the money and the tickling combined had started to moisten Joy up, and that made him all the more earnest a tickler. He squeezed her knee and scratched her inner thigh, drawing laughs that the belly had not even approached. This one seemed like it lasted longer, but in his professional voice, Jim eventually said, "Time's up."
"Do you like that? Do you want more?"
"Yes, I love it! I want more!"
"Well, that's too bad, because I'm not going to give you more." The same thing happened with the other leg, Joy's laughter becoming a bit hoarse as her voice started to show strain from all the laughing. When he finished he asked the same question and got the same answer. "Twenty-five hundred, Jim. That's a good sum of money. But well worth it." He started to move down toward Joy's feet.
Joy's reserves were beyond gone when he started sawing back and forth between her toes with a feather. He held her big toe back, immobilizing her foot. Her laugh was becoming that of a madwoman, and she knew that she had had enough. "Stop!!!"
Chuck stopped. "Alright, Joy. No money for that foot. Now on to the other."
Joy could not take this. "Stop! Stop! I'll just take the twenty-five hundred!"
Chuck laughed again, his now-sweaty face crossed with a huge grin. "Now I know that you're at the edge, Joy. You never should have given that away. How much time left, Jim?"
"Four minutes."
"Good." Chuck started to strap Joy's big toes to the central post of the office chair. Her screams were loud, desparate, and in vain. He pulled out two feathers and started in on her feet. His technique with the feathers was much like Jim's, and this time Joy had nothing left. Her laughing sounded like it was coming from another room as her begging and even language drifted off and became part of another world. Joy could not even tell that it was her laughing when Jim finally tapped Chuck on the shoulder.
"Time's up."
Jim and Chuck exchanged a handshake, and the linebacker pointed to Joy. "Remember, keep an eye on the NFL, Joy. Whenever I come to play, I also come to tickle. Have fun!" He turned to Jim. "Thanks, Jim." He reached into his wallet and counted out twenty-five hundred dollar bills. "This ought to cover our bonus round." He swaggered out of the room and shut the door behind him; Joy had recovered just enough consciousness to hate him again.
On the van ride home, Joy again talked to Jim. "How did he know I was here?"
"Private investigator. And he knew me from the Internet."
"The Internet?"
"Yeah, there's a whole subculture of tickling fetishists. I contact the ones who have the will and the desire to do it for real, and thus my business."
"You contacted him over the Internet?"
"That's right. And because of that, we made a load of money tonight." When Joy left the van, she did not even look back at Jim.
That night in her apartment, Joy counted out three thousand dollars in addition to the twenty-five hundred. If this was what a lady of the night made, she could only dream of what a part-owner would make. She went over in her mind once more how she would become a tickle pimp.
