• The TMF is sponsored by Clips4sale - By supporting them, you're supporting us.
  • >>> If you cannot get into your account email me at [email protected] <<<
    Don't forget to include your username

The TMF is sponsored by:

Clips4Sale Banner

repost: Tickle Pimp parts 1 & 2

Kid Indy

TMF Expert
Joined
Oct 12, 2001
Messages
365
Points
18
Tickle Pimp

Part I

By Kid Indy

Joy finished her stapling, dropped the report in the department head's in-box, and started for the elevator. It was 7:00, and once again the underpaid intern was the last one out of the office. This Thursday, the fourth straight day of staying late, she felt much older than her 25 years; she wanted little more than to get back to her apartment, do her yoga for the night, and turn in. She wondered whether the possibility of a corporate career was worth all this.

The drive to the outskirts of the city was uneventful; she listened to a mix tape from her college years, a recent re-discovery when she cleaned her apartment the previous weekend. The apartment, of course, was back to disarray. She pulled into her parking garage, got out of her car, and started walking towards another elevator. She did not even notice the white, windowless van parked three spots from her.

She heard a door slide open with force, and heavy footsteps soon followed. She reached for her purse to pull out a can of mace, but she was off her feet and pinned to the ground before she could even get the latch unlocked. The person who had knocked her down was quickly on his feet and straddling her, and she felt the electric shock of a stun gun. The air left in her lungs would not muster a scream. Helpless, she heard handcuffs click behind her back and felt the large individual hoist her off the ground and into the van. The door shut, and the man put a bag over her head and tied her ankles together with what felt like a bedsheet. It was not until the van started moving that she could even whimper.

After a ride that she only guessed took ten minutes, her feet were untied, and the man helped her onto the ground. "Don't make any noise and you won't get hurt. If you work with me I'll have you back to your apartment by midnight." Not convinced of this but certain that she had no other options, she cooperated as she was led up three stairs, through what felt like an air conditioned house, and down a flight of about a dozen more stairs. She heard a heavy door close and a bolt being thrown.

"Where am I?" was answered by the man sitting her down on what felt like a couch, except there was no back. He fitted two padded cuffs onto her forearms and unlocked the handcuffs. She started to rub the raw spots where the cuffs had rubbed, but the new, padded restraints suddenly pulled her arms above her head. "What are you doing to me?" was answered by the man fastening a set of stocks around her ankles and tightening them to the couch. Still the man was not talking.

Finally, she felt the bag being pulled off of her head. Her shoulder length brown hair fell down about the tanned skin of her neck, and she could see that her abductor was a large man, much taller than her and probably two hundred fifty lean pounds. He spoke quickly, before she could look around. "Look. You will not be injured, and you will return safely to your apartment. I am not asking any ransom of anyone, so don't bother bargaining. You will be here about two hours, then I'll take you back. Understand?" Joy nodded, fearing him. She looked around the room. The room was well lit, but there were no windows. The couch that she sat on was really more of a padded bench; the only cushion was directly beneath her. She looked up to see the man approaching with a pair of scissors. She screamed.

The large man shouted her down and said, "Stop screaming. This place is soundproof. Like I said, I'm not going to hurt you. I have some spare clothes to give you, and I'll give you money to replace your work clothes. Now hold still." He proceeded to cut away and remove her jacket, shirt, and skirt; he left her hose, bra, and panties. "Why are you doing this?" she started to whine. He walked towards a box in the corner of the room.

He returned wheeling what looked like a dentist's tool shelf. She looked around the surface of it and saw long stiff feathers, hair brushes, several cleaning implements, and a box of tissues. Her eyes widened as she wondered, but knew, what was to come next.

"You're already guessing what's coming. Now you might as well sit back and enjoy it, because I've still got a few hours before midnight. I promised I'd get you back on time, and I'm going to keep that promise. But for right now we're going to have some fun." Joy screamed, her cries going no further than the walls of the small room. "Like I said, only I can hear you, Joy." She stopped for a moment; he knew her name. Her silence soon turned to short shrieks as he started drawing the feathers across her belly. "Go ahead and try to keep screaming if you want; it won't take long before you're only making sounds that I want to hear."

Joy began to babble. "Please, please... I'll give you anything you want... we can work this out..." Her screaming voice soon became a giggling voice, and the man began to grin. He put the feathers down and began to wiggle his fingers inside the hollows of her armpits. The feeling was even more intense since she could not put her arms down. Although she could sway side to side, his hands were inescapable; her giggles turned into the silence of one who cannot breathe, and then into a gale of uncontrolled laughter. Her head tossed back and forth; her hair whipped through the air and against the man's face. He slowed down when she got used to the speed, only to accelerate when her defenses were coming back. Tears were now coming, though she still could not stop the laugh that was no longer her own. He continued just under her arms for what seemed forever, and well after she thought she would pass out, he relented.

Joy panted, trying to find words. "Please... no more... I'll do anything... do you want sex?" The man suddenly dropped his face level with hers. A stern look pierced through her and brought a fear that even up until then she had not felt. "Never offer sex. You are not being raped; you are being tickled. The two are not even close, Joy. Never forget that." Her bottom lip quivered, and he reached down to take off her shoes. As she began to beg again, he turned around to pick up two unused shower brushes. He made his way back toward her feet. "No, please... I'm sorry..." "This is not punishment for your offer, Joy. You were going to get this irrespective. Anyway, I'm a nice guy. So long as you don't do it again, we'll be alright." Joy wondered, just for a second, why he was so dead set against having sex with her. Her wondering only survived a moment.

When the thousand prickles of the shower brushes started rubbing against her hose, she could only maintain a scream for a second. The electric sensations on her soles combined with her earlier laughing, and her voice began to shift again. Before she knew it, she was back into the chest-heaving laughter, her voice soaring musically even as she feared for her breathing. He twisted them, dragged them up and down, worked them in tiny circles. When she expected a pattern, he changed the pattern. When she moved her feet to avoid the brushes, he would grab hold of the toes and pull them back, making her defenseless again. When she thought she could not maintain consciousness, he kept her ticklishly aware for quite some time. This man was doing things to her on a level that her childhood ticklings could not compare, and the sheer physical sensation was drowning out any fear, anger, or any other emotion that might have come. He worked it under her toes; he tormented her arches. After a while he set one brush down and began to squeeze her leg above the knee. The new sensation only added to the madness, and again her endless laugh was accompanied by tears down her face. And no matter how tired she became, her body continued to writhe, still trying to avoid the tickling. When she had passed beyond the hope of passing out, he relented again, wiping her cheeks with the tissue.

"I think you will do nicely. Let me tell you what I do." Joy only panted, relieved that the torture had stopped for the moment. "No, let me tell you what I do not do. I do not sell women for sex." Joy's curiosity jumped up again. Sell? "The business that I am in and you are about to join is about satisfying sexual urges without any actual sex. You see, there are certain people who derive great pleasure from tickling women. You have just been recruited to be one of those women."

Joy could not believe what she was hearing. "No, I don't want any of this. I just want to go--" The man put his large hand over her mouth. "You don't get that choice. After tonight, you're going to meet me in your apartment's parking garage Monday after you get off work, and we're coming back here. Don't object, and don't think of getting out of it." Joy scowled through his big hand. "And don't even think of calling the cops. If you do I'll have to spend my valuable time avoiding police pressure, and then bad things will happen to you."

He removed his hand and began walking around behind her. She quickly complained, "I thought you were done!" He chuckled and said, "Nope. We've still got a little time and some more of you to check out." She began to scream, "No," but his solid, nimble fingers had already started their assault on her ribs. He danced from ribs to sides to hips, trying out different pairings of left and right. Her reaction would not slow down, and the awful fingers pulled the shrieks and laughter out of her with quickness and certainty. Her hips especially made her buck and thrash; her attentive tormentor concentrated on them as he continued. Again she thought that she would lose consciousness, but he pushed her through and drove her on, his hands never tiring and her body never numbing. She could not tell how long he did this, but he finally stopped. "Alright, that ought to be enough for tonight."

He left the room, and after a few minutes he returned with some sweat pants, a long-sleeve T-shirt, and a pair of running shoes. "I'll go in the other room. Put these on, and knock on the door when you're done." He dropped the clothes on the floor, unlocked the stocks and cuffs, and left the room, taking his cart and locking the heavy door behind him. Joy got up and looked around. The cuffs were fur-lined on the inside, explaining why her hands never fell asleep. And the stocks were padded. There seemed to be two doors into the room, but neither would open when she pulled on them. She could also see a black plastic dome on the ceiling. Finally giving up on finding an escape route or a phone, she put on the clothes and shoes. They fit very well, and she knocked on the door. The large man appeared with the bag that had been over her head. "Sorry, Joy. I can't have you leading anyone here." She asked him, "What's your name?" "Jim."

Joy did not say a thing on the way home. Jim had placed her in a bucket seat with the same padded cuffs built into the armrests; she had no way to take the bag off of her head. She tried to keep track of how many times the van turned left and right, but she lost track after about fifteen minutes. Finally the van came to a stop. "Alright, Joy. Remember, don't stand me up Monday. Bad things will happen. And don't tell anyone about tonight. Bad things will happen. And by all means, don't call the police. If you do that, you wouldn't believe how bad things will get for you. Now let me get you out of that chair." Jim took great care to be gentle taking the cuffs and the bag off. He reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a small stack of bills. "Here's a hundred fifty bucks. Buy yourself a new outfit." Joy thought of throwing the money back in his face, but she was afraid of angering him. Besides, she was out a skirt suit. As she entered the elevator, Jim waved from the van. She shivered and wondered what would happen Monday night.

* * * * * * *

Tickle Pimp

Part II

by Kid Indy

Every person who shops in a mall on a weekend has secrets. Every secret is unique to a person. One shopper, an attractive aspiring advertiser, knew where her money came from but could not tell. Her name was Joy Evans, and her money had come from a tickle pimp. Her feet, now clad in running shoes and cotton socks, had just nights before endured a tickling that left her near the edge of sanity. They now carried her from department store to department store. The money that Jim, her kidnapper, had given her bought an outfit nicer than she lost when he cut her clothes off, but her skin tingled and remembered the tickling; she remembered the means through which she got the suit and dreaded a vision of a white van that was coming Monday night.

At work on Monday Joy was understandably preoccupied. She wore a pair of thick tights, hoping that they would not amplify the torture like her nylon hose had on Thursday. The men at the agency flirted and smiled as usual, but Joy had too much on her mind to make too much of an effort to return the attention. She plugged away at the statistical reports with her usual momentum, ate lunch alone at a local health food cafe, and finished her work day at about six o'clock. Hurrying to her car, she hoped that Jim would not be waiting for her.

After her drive back to the city's edge, Joy parked in the garage under her apartment and started walking towards the elevator. Her heart sunk when she saw Jim's van three spots from the elevator door. He was leaning against the back of the vehicle, and he opened the back hatch as she approached.

"You miss me?" he asked with a smirk. Joy just stepped up into the van with no back windows. Behind the two front seats was a small curtain, then an empty space with one bucket seat. She knew that the seat was hers. Resignedly, she sat in it, and Jim fastened the fur-lined cuffs around her wrists. He then produced a pillowcase from the front seat and pulled it down over her head. "You don't have to do this. I promise not to look." Jim only chuckled.

On the way to the site, Joy was more talkative this time. "So who is it that pays for all this?"

"Clients."

"What sorts of people are those?"

"Let me ask you this: Have you ever heard of professional card players, like in Las Vegas?"

"I've heard of them..."

"Did you ever wonder where their money comes from? I mean, if they only won money off of each other, there would only be that common pot, and then nobody could use that money to live off of."

Joy thought she might be understanding. "So their money comes from rich people who play in those games and lose money just for the thrill."

"Exactly. And those are the same kinds of people who finance my business. They come to tickle because they have the desire and the money to come and tickle. You'll see once the real money starts coming in, Joy. This isn't a bad business to be in."

A few minutes later they were at the site again. Jim led her up the three stairs, through the upper floor, and into a small room in the basement. He took the pillowcase off of her head and handed her a small shopping bag. Joy looked inside to find expensive-looking panties and a matching bra. "I'll go in the other room. Put these on and knock when you're done changing." He motioned to some hangers on a peg in the wall. "You can hang your clothes there so they don't get messed up." Joy looked around; this was a smaller room than the one she had been tickled in last time. "Oh, one more thing. Bare-legged tonight." He reached down and pulled on her tights. "These have to stay in here." Joy silently cursed, but when he shut the door she changed into the borrowed underwear anyway. It fit her quite nicely, and both pieces smelled freshly laundered. She knocked on the door, and Jim opened it.

"Who's going to be the client tonight?"

A grunt. "You aren't done training yet."

"What do you mean? You tickled me out of my mind last time."

"That's not all there is to this job. Now lie on your stomach on the bench." Joy looked, and the cuffs and stocks were in a different position.

"What gives? Why are you changing everything around? First you won't let me have my tights, and now--"

"Look, you aren't getting paid to do the same thing every time. Now lie on your stomach so I can explain to you." Joy began to comply, and Jim explained as he began to fasten the stocks around her ankles. "I have a catalog of positions for the ticklee. You were in the most common one Thursday, and this is another one. And as far as tickling you out of your mind, you have no idea just how ticklish you can become. Don't kid yourself into thinking you've had the worst." As he said this, he put a pair of padded cuffs on one of Joy's wrists, pulled both wrists over her head, and fastened a bungee cord to the cuffs and to a ring on the ground. Her chin was on a pillow, and she could bring her arms down below her head with some effort, but the cord's tension soon pulled them straight again. She noticed that she was closer to the ground this time. "So why are you showing me this position?"

"So I can do this!" He grabbed her on both sides of her belly, wriggling his fingers into her flesh. His close-cropped nails did not bite into her, and she felt no pain to balance out the maddening tickles. She shrieked in surpise and tried to make some kind of bargain, but once again she found herself laughing with a forced enthusiasm, her body overriding any willpower she once thought she had. This time there was no variation of speed; the surprise of the attack had broken her defenses in an instant, and he was going full throttle underneath her body. When her hips bucked up, he followed her belly with his strong, fast hands. When gravity pulled her down she fell down on those same tickling fingers. Her freedom of movement was much less than the last time, so the sensations were even more constant. Jim only kept this up for a few minutes, and he let Joy have a breather. Her skin, before exhibiting a pleasant light tan, now shone red with exertion. "You see, when you're on your stomach, it becomes much more sensitive than when you're sitting up. Besides, you couldn't see where I was going to go next, so you were more sensitive."

Joy was just getting her breath back. "I don't want to be in this business."

"You will once the money starts coming in. Most girls I've worked with have to be convinced to get out. Now, there are a few safety tools we've got here. You remember seeing the black dome on the ceiling?"

"Yes."

"That's a surveillance microphone. When you're in here with a client, I'll be in the other room, but I'll hear everything. So if your client starts getting rough, I'll be in here before you know it."

"That's reassuring." Joy was not sure how sarcastic she was being.

"I tell my clients that they may not strike you and that they may not touch your underwear or anything underneath it. If they start to, you have to say 'Nineveh'."

"Nineveh?"

"It's an ancient city. Biblical stuff." Joy wondered when this kidnapper had been studying ancient history. "If you say Nineveh, I come through the door. Now if you say that, and I don't think you had good reason, you don't get paid for the night. But if a client is trying to go past the line, that client is an enemy." As he was saying this, Joy heard him opening the tool case again. "Okay, enough talk for now. Let's get back to business." Joy felt his fingers again, this time on her soles.

Joy had the feet of a business woman; although the ball and heel of her slender feet had callouses from walking, the soles proper had been in shoes for so long that they had no defenses. And even though the bottoms of her toes were relatively tough, the rest of her toes, along with the skin between them, was very sensitive. Jim manipulated the skin of her soles with his fingertips until she was shrieking and giggling, then one hand reached for a tool that Joy could not see. "You like that, Joy?"

"No!"

"Good. Most of these guys want to put you through some torture anyway. Now you're going to feel the bare feet tools!" Joy suddenly felt the plastic teeth of a barber's comb running up and down her left sole. Jim had grabbed her toes so that she could not move; her senses were being overloaded by the awful raking. While he held her toes, he accordioned his fingers underneath them, compounding the tickles. Joy begged and giggled and burst into girlish shrieks. Her face, which had returned to her natural color before, was again red, and tears began to flow. He soon released that foot. She rotated the right as she could, but it too was soon under his control, and she was again in agony. She hauled on the bungee cord holding her wrists, but she could not bring her hands back in defense of her poor feet. He just kept tickling, even when she once again felt like she was going to pass into unconsciousness. Indeed, her luck would not run that way, but after much more laughter he stopped.

Joy again began to pant. "That was awful, but those brushes last night were worse."

Jim, who was already there wiping Joy's face with the tissue, replied, "You haven't experienced the real fun of barefooting." He walked back out of Joy's line of sight again. Joy began to giggle just thinking about what was coming next. "You won't think it's so funny once it's here, Joy." She wanted to say that she wasn't laughing for humor, but she suddenly felt Jim loop straps around her big toes. He pulled the straps down and forward so that her feet formed right angles with her calves, and he looped the strap around something Joy only guessed was a hook under the table. Her feet were now immobile, and her toes were spread apart.

"No, please, Jim, I can't take any--" The last syllable turned into a short scream as Jim inserted feathers between her second and third toes on each foot. With one he sawed back and forth with staccato strokes; the other he drew back and forth, the full length of the feather, each pass tickling her with all of the torturous quill. Joy's torso contracted and bucked, but she could not shake her toes loose. The tickling, already maddening, was now so intense that she could not even think. Jim alternated gaps and speeds, each feather's withdrawal soon followed by an excruciating re-entry. With those two feathers he drew laughter that started as her beautiful melodious giggle, drifted into a desperate breathless gasping, and travelled even further into a laugh of utter abandon. Joy, of course, could not appreciate these steps; she merely wished for an end until even her will to wish disappeared into the consuming tickling feeling. Her resolve broken and her limits pushed even further, Joy did not even feel full relief when he stopped.

"Now that's fun with barefooting." Joy could not respond; she was still coming back to herself. "Now of course, my clientele generally lacks the skill that I do, so you can rest assured that what you just experienced is about as bad as it will get."

"Does that mean that I can go now?"

"No, but since you asked that question, we're going one more round." Joy cried in despair, but his fingers under her arms quickly turned her cry into another round of ticklish laughs. She tried to pull on the bungee cord, but her strength had largely been drained by the awful toe-tickling, and besides, his hands were already there; if she tried to pull her arms to her sides, she only drove his hands in further. So Jim continued to explore her underarms, for what seemed forever, then stopped. He began to undo the stocks. "That does it for tonight, Joy." Joy did not answer; when he wiped her face off and loosed her hands, she curled up on the couch and remained in a fetal position for a few seconds.

"You still haven't experienced what a really good tickler can do to your body."

"But you said you don't get really good ticklers, right? I mean, as clients?" She had emerged from her ball and sat up.

"Naw. Over here in America the only really good ones are involved in a profession that involves tickling. Like me. You'll be at the hands of amateurs starting Friday."

That did provide some comfort, and Joy got up, went into her dressing room, and changed clothes.

On the ride back, Joy got curious again. "Why did you pick me out? Why not some runaway?"

"Because anyone can hire a drug-addicted runaway. People pay big bucks for healthy, good-looking professional women. It's part of the fantasy element."

"So why the avoidance of sex?"

"Because it makes it easier in the long run. Professionals, people who wouldn't have sex for pay, are just fine getting tickled. And besides, I wouldn't want my girlfriend screwing for money. I'm sure your boyfriend doesn't want that either."

"You have a girlfriend?"

"No, I'm just into my business."

Joy suddenly got bold. "You mean you get your own jollies listening to women get tickled."

"While the tickling is going on? You've got to be kidding me. If I have my pants down, I can't protect you if a client goes over the line. I prefer 'powerful emotions recalled in tranquility.' That's Wordsworth, you know." Joy wondered why a kidnapper and temp-slaver would be reading Wordsworth in his spare time. But she had no time to wonder. The van pulled into a parking space. Jim untied her, took the blindfold off, and sent her on her way. Her watch read 9:12.
 
Yippie Skippie!

I love this story. I remember reading it a while back. Can't wait to read the next 5 parts! :p
 
What's New

3/28/2024
Stop by the TMF Welcome Forum and take a second to say hello!
Tickle Experiment
Door 44
NEST 2024
Register here
The world's largest online clip store
Live Camgirls!
Live Camgirls
Streaming Videos
Pic of the Week
Pic of the Week
Congratulations to
*** brad1701 ***
The winner of our weekly Trivia, held every Sunday night at 11PM EST in our Chat Room
Back
Top