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A touch of romance: "The Diary" (repost, M/F + F/F, 18+ only)

Haltickling

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This is a repost of an older story for those who love tickling with a touch of romance. It starts slowly, but accelerates continuously. Romance takes it’s time…

Important notice: I DO NOT advise nor condone non-consensual tickling in real life. And I totally disapprove of involving minors in any context, just to clarify. This is only a fantasy, and the flashback into adolescence is merely to explain the heroine’s history. And this story contains sexual elements, but not pornography in any way.


The Diary

Monday, May 8th , 2000

Dear Diary,

Nothing new nowhere, neither concerning a new model contract, nor a new presentable man. I’m starting to become a very lonely girl, despite my looking good enough to be a fashion model. Or is it because of that?

Sometimes I think all the men are just interested in having sex with me. But I don’t want to appear unjust: Probably the really nice, decent men are just too shy to approach a model. Whatever, nights can be cold in Munich, if a girl is only longing for some love and tenderness…


*

Susanne sighed at her friend’s endless chattering. Normally Claudia wasn’t that talkative, but today she seemed to need somebody to open her heart to. However improbable it might seem, Claudia appeared to be lonely, badly in need of love. Improbable? Well, Claudia was one of the best-looking girls Susanne knew. Tall, flowing and shiny gold-blond hair, incredibly slim at the waist but with the right curves at all the right places. Her brain was bright and quick, and her heart was at least as golden as her hair. She was the best friend any man or girl could have.

But nobody ever saw anything else in her than her superficial likeness to Claudia Schiffer, the world-famous fashion model. They even shared the same first name. However, nobody could mix up these two at a closer look. But nobody cared to take that closer look, so her friend’s real qualities were always boiled down to a Claudia Schiffer double, much cheaper and easier available than the real one.

The fashion world was cruel, Susanne knew that from her own experience. She had quit school to become a fashion model herself at the age of 18, and in the beginning she was even more successful than Claudia. But then the terrible motorbike accident had happened, and her left arm remained stiff and deeply scarred. Nobody wanted a model like that, and she had to start odd jobs to make her living. The only friend who really kept on caring for her was Claudia.

So Susanne listened to her friend’s chattering patiently, and she sympathized with her. Finally, the waiter brought the checks. Service at the Café Annast was slow as usual, but this was a good place for the young, the rich, and the beautiful to be seen in Munich. Together they stepped out into the crowded street. The taxi rank was empty, but there was a taxi approaching on the other side of the street. Claudia hurried across to catch it, waving back to Susanne, and then it happened: A big Mercedes sports car shot out of a parking lot, and Claudia ran straight into its side! She fell down with a nasty crash, her small fashionable rucksack flew high into the air, and she lay there, stunned by the impact.


Wednesday, May 10th , 2000

Dear Diary,

Finally, something has happened! Something terrible, and something wonderful! I was run over by a car when I left the Café Annast together with Susanne. My own fault, my attention was not on the traffic when I crossed the street. Oh, it hurt so bad, and my left side, knee and elbow still ache. But luckily, there where only a few harmless abrasions, and some colorful spots will develop over the next days.

How can a car accident be wonderful, you may ask, dear diary. Well, it’s actually the driver! What a man! Let me describe him to you: About 35, two inches taller than me (he was actually my own height when I had put my high heels back on), short dark-blond hair, lean trim but not too athletic body, in a black expensive tailor-cut three-piece-suit, an expressive face with some deep lines, cleanly shaven (oh God, how I hate these fashionable three-day-stubble-beards). His voice is masculine, his language educated and cultivated. And the best: his eyes! I’ve never seen more expressive dark-brown eyes, looking worried and a little sad when he helped me up from the tarmac. They lit up like flashlights when I told him I was okay, and they drilled a deep hole into my heart! I think I’m in love, yoohoo!

He handed me his business card (impressive managerial title), and he asked where he could reach me to inquire about my health condition in a few days. He didn’t wear a ring (I’ve had my share of married men), so I told him my phone number. Since then I have hardly left my phone, expecting his call any moment. Oh how I hope that Felix (that’s his name) feels the same for me! But I won’t call him myself, he simply HAS to make the first move.


*

Friday, May 12th , 2000

Dear Diary,

Yesss! He called me today, apologizing again for the accident, and inquiring how I was. My heart pounded so loud, I was afraid that it could be heard over the phone! But his calm and masculine voice helped me overcome my nervousness. We had a nice, almost humorous chat, and finally he asked me out to dinner, some time during the weekend. At first I pretended to be busy, but then (what a coincidence!) I found a few free hours on Saturday evening. He invited me to Munich’s oldest and best (probably also most expensive) Italian restaurant. I’m in heaven!


*

Saturday evening arrived, and Claudia had a wonderful dinner at the Osteria Italiana, Felix being the most attentive host to her; helping her out of her overcoat, adjusting her chair, filling up her glass before the waiters noticed it, providing a relaxed and most entertaining conversation. After dinner, he ordered a bottle of champagne, and touching their glasses, they decided to call each other by the first name (not so common in Germany). It seemed quite obvious that Felix had developed a crush for lovely Claudia, and he never even mentioned her likeness to Claudia Schiffer. Finally she had found somebody who respected her for her real self.

He drove her home in the Mercedes, but he didn’t ask to come upstairs with her. She didn’t invite him either; it was just not right for their first date to end in bed, she had had too many relations like that. Felix was special. But when she blew him a good-night kiss on the cheek, he shook his head, smiling at her: “Do you really think that’s enough?” he asked teasingly. They looked deeply into each others’ eyes, and at the same split-second, they embraced and exchanged a long, passionate kiss. His hands caressed her back during it, but then he came into contact with her ribs. She broke the kiss instantly and squealed: “No, you’re tickling me!”

He grinned like a school boy: “What’s so wrong about a little laughter?” She inhaled deeply, then she fled out of the car, running as fast as her high heels allowed her to. Later, in bed, she called herself a silly cow to react like that to a little harmless tickling, which might not even have happened intentionally. But then, she remembered Susanne mentioning how intensely Felix had stared at her stockinged feet when she had lost her pumps during the accident. She had shrugged this off by saying: “At least he wasn’t undressing me with his eyes!”

Could it be that the lovely Felix was actually a freak? Unthinkable. Nevertheless her fear of tickling was immense, after that incident in her youth, ten years ago. She had lived with her parents in a small town in the German Alps, called Berchtesgaden. It was a lovely, stylishly romantic village in untainted rural surroundings, the majestic mountains so impressive. Her schoolmates there were a mean bunch though, and especially the boys kept pestering her because of her striking looks.

She rummaged in her bedside table drawer to look for a much earlier diary. Finally, she found it, and she leafed through the yellowing pages to reread her traumatic experience with tickling:

Saturday, July 14th , 1990

Dear Diary,

Yesterday, it was truly Friday 13th! I’ll never forget what this dreadful Mitterhuber gang did to me! But let me start at the beginning:

After school, I went home as usual. In the afternoon, my friend Luise and I went into the forest to look for some raspberries, we wanted to bake a raspberry cake for the weekend. Luise always knew the right places to collect berries and mushrooms, so we quickly found a clearing with about a dozen bushes, full of ripe, delicious fruits.

We were so absorbed in our task and in our chat, we didn’t notice the six boys creeping up from behind. Suddenly they jumped on us, wrestling us down. It was those awful Mitterhuber twins and their friends, who never had anything but mischief on their minds. They had pinned us down to the ground easily, we were no match for six strong mountain farmer boys. Alois, their ‘chief’, started to question us: “Now, who of you was the traitor? Who told our teacher we were behind the mustard attack on her?”

Earlier that week, somebody had smeared mustard to the teacher desk’s underside, knowing that Miss Schneider’s skirt would get in contact with it when she crossed her legs under the desk as usual. When she had stood up to write something on the blackboard, we all saw the big green stain on her light-gray skirt. I didn’t even know who it was, although I had my suspicions. Luise declared herself innocent, too, but the boys didn’t believe us.

The evil twins straddled our hips while their friends continued to pin our arms and legs down. Then Alois snickered: “We will find out! All girls are ticklish, aren’t they?” And both twins started to knead our ribs and stomachs with their fingers. Oh God, how that tickled! And we weren’t able to move at all, just laughing our hearts out. After several minutes, we were granted a short break, only to be interrogated further. Then the tickle torture started again, this time in our armpits. The fingers danced madly about the delicate hollows, scratching and poking and tickling like hell! I was out of breath, but Luise was even more ticklish than me. She freaked out, thrashing about like crazy, until the torment finally stopped for another break.

“Now, who was it? We could go on all day long, you know. And we haven’t even started to tickle your feet yet, they will be next. Confess!” And Luise confessed. I was shocked! She had actually whispered the secret in Miss Schneider’s ear, giving away the evil boys. “Just don’t tickle me any more, please!” she whined and whimpered.

Smiling his most evil grin, Alois removed Luise’s sandals, and his brother joined him on the other foot, leaving my body. As grateful as I was for the relief, I felt so sorry for Luise who now experienced the foot tickling of her life. For full ten minutes, both boys traced her smooth bare soles with their fingers, dabbling under the toes, then scratching her arches again. Luise’s breath was nothing more than a faint squeaking, her shrill laughter had turned to soundless screams, tears streaming down her face. Finally, she almost fainted, and the twins stopped.

But the worst was still to come! Alois announced his verdict: “That wasn’t half the punishment you deserved. Both of you will spend a special night in the forest. Luise as the traitor, and oh so sweet and innocent Claudia for not telling us. Get them up!” The boys dragged us to our feet and led us to another small clearing nearby. My eyes widened with fear when I discovered the huge anthill there! They wouldn’t stick us in there, would they? But they had more devious plans.

They tied both of us to the trees nearest to the anthill. Our blouses had been taken off before, but luckily we both wore our first bras, of which we were so proud since our 14th birthdays earlier that year. The boys didn’t dare to take them off. They were evil, but not criminal. Ropes of all kinds were to be found on any farm, so it was no surprise that the boys were well equipped. They plugged short wooden pegs into the soft ground and tied our bare feet to them.

Alois continued his speech: “These ants are not dangerous or aggressive. Only very rarely, they bite, and then it just itches a little. We found that they really like our sweet Bavarian mustard, which isn’t hot at all. And they will find this delicacy on you soon. Bees and wasps will not molest you, they don’t like that mustard. But flies and ants just love it! We will come back tomorrow morning to release you!” And the boys smeared the dark-brown mustard all over our soles, the exposed bare ribcages and armpits. Just a thin layer. The smearing alone made us laugh, as all our ticklish spots were touched softly.

Then the boys disappeared in the forest, ignoring our desperate weeping and begging. We felt so lonely, helpless and abandoned, and we were very afraid of the ants, despite the boys’ statement that they weren’t dangerous. However, we didn’t feel anything for a long time. Suddenly Luise began to squirm. “Oh God, they have discovered my feet!” she exhaled. Our feet were pointing towards the anthill, so they were naturally the first body parts the animals found.

And the boys had tied us up cleverly. My legs were stretched out, and right in front of me Luise was kneeling between them, tied to her tree, her feet backward, her face towards me. We were able to watch each other, seeing the ants crawling over our neighbor’s skin. At first, there were just a few of them, but soon the trickling stream became stronger, hundreds of tiny legs on our feet, and then I felt them, too. The slight itch became real tickling soon, and we both were forced to laugh and giggle.

Our situation had another sadistic aspect: whenever we wriggled our toes too much, the ants started to bite us. It didn’t hurt, but soon our feet tingled like being treated with itching-powder. So we both tried to keep our feet as still as possible, despite the devilish tickling and itching!

Suddenly I had to scream: A big blue fly had settled down in my right armpit, its impact much stronger than the tiny ants’. It wandered leisurely about, devouring the sweet mustard which had become slightly dried and sticky. A second fly landed in my navel area, but my twitching stomach muscles scared it off again. It obviously called for reinforcement troops, and soon a dozen big flies danced mambo on my ribs and stomach, not to be shooed away that easily. I was laughing so much by now that I didn’t even notice Luise’s reactions, who had her own problems with some of my flies’ relatives.

But the winged tormentors lost interest and left. Thus I was able to watch the ants having built one of their typical ‘streets’ right between some of Luise’s toes, swarming all over and titillating the poor girl into tears. A similar street had formed on my left upper body side, from the jeans up to my bra, slowly approaching my armpit. I screamed and hollered for help, but nobody heard it. The ants probably were deaf anyway.

Luckily for us, the sun settled down after a few hours. The ants were only active during the daytime, so they left us two giggling wrecks alone for the night. Luise’s jeans were wet from her inner thighs down, the incessant tickling had caused her to pee! We were completely exhausted, and Luise fell asleep a few minutes before me.

We weren’t granted much rest though. I awoke from some intense tickling in my armpit! The moon shone bright enough to see who the tormentor was: A big night moth fluttered up and down my underarm, obviously enjoying the mustard taste, and tickling me into hysteria with its buzzing wings! Luise awoke from my screaming, needing some time to adjust to reality. Then, just as we both had fallen asleep again, Luise’s desperate squealing made me jump: A small mouse sniffed at her toes, but it fled from the loud noises. This way, our sleep was interrupted for several times. Once, Luise complained about the itch from her slowly drying jeans, and I felt my ant bites again instantly.

Night was over too soon, and with first light, the ants resumed their customary walk on their previous roads, some of them leading them to our bodies. Our torment began anew, but the mustard had dried out now, so it wasn’t that intense as yesterday. Enough to make us giggle and squirm again.

Much later, Alois and his brother appeared, both wearing huge grins. “Have you had an interesting night?” they inquired sarcastically. Alois actually had a jar of the mustard with him. “Do you swear not to tell anybody what happened here? If not, we’ve still much more of the mustard. My sister has already called your parents yesterday, so they won’t come looking for you today. You could easily spend another day here, and we’ll return to freshen up the mustard coating in the afternoon. What did you say? I can’t hear you!”

Luise swore to remain silent, and so did I. But Alois had another jar in his pocket: honey! He showed it to us, saying: “That’s what you’ll get if you don’t keep your promise. Believe me, we WILL find you, and then the honey will replace the mustard. No more protection against bees and wasps!”

Then they untied us, vanishing in the forest afterwards. We weren’t able to move our limbs for quite a while, but finally we managed to get up and walk home. Now, what else can happen on a Friday 13th?


Claudia closed her diary. She had lived through all the horrors once more while rereading it. Yes, that was the real reason why she was so afraid of tickling. Whenever some lover had tried to tickle her playfully, she had screamed and run away. It was traumatic. She couldn’t do anything about it. Once she had talked about this to a therapist, but he just had suggested that she should allow some tickling in a loving relationship with her boyfriend to get rid of her fears. She never managed to do this.

Maybe she should try it with Felix. He seemed such a gentle, considerate man. She allowed her mind to get carried away by the positive thoughts of their dinner together, and finally she drifted into sleep, snuggling her gorgeous body comfortably deeper into the cushions.

*

Wednesday, May 17th, 2000

Dear Diary,

Finally he called me again! He even apologized for having accidentally tickled me, and he asked me whether I was cross with him. I wasn’t, of course, but I told him sternly not to do this again, and he promised. After a nice little chat, we agreed to meet for another dinner next Saturday, this time in a cute little Spanish restaurant. I can’t wait to see him again!


*

Their next date was even more romantic than their first. The lights were dimmer in the restaurant, soft Spanish guitar music accompanied them, and they hand-fed each other some delicious prawns, just like teenagers in love sometimes did. Felix was even more attentive, his eyes not leaving hers for the shortest moment. The tickling wasn’t mentioned anymore, but he made her laugh with his witty remarks and his colorful way of telling funny stories.

Again he drove her home, and this time she didn’t need any encouragement to kiss him. He had his strong arms around her, holding her tightly, but careful not to tickle her again. She just melted away in his embrace, feeling so secure and comfortable.

And this time she invited him up for a cup of coffee. “But remember your promise!” she admonished him, even afraid of the mere word tickling. They chatted on her couch, and the kisses started again. Hot. Languorous. Feverish! And they flew away on a rosy cloud number nine, finally landing on her bed.

They made love, not just sex. She had never met a gentler man, or a more patient one. His own satisfaction seemed completely unimportant to him, he just wanted to see her happy. And her happiness was complete!

Later that night, Claudia awoke from a strange sound beside her. Felix had the bedside lamp on, reading a book, and he was actually chuckling. She rubbed her eyes, and she noticed her old diary in his hands! Oh God, she hadn’t put it back into the drawer, and he had found it. He was reading her most secret memories! Furiously, she grabbed at the book, but he withdrew it from her grasp swiftly.

“Calm down, sweetheart. I couldn’t sleep, so I took up the book from the bedside table, presuming it might be your favorite literature. I only noticed it was your diary when I actually opened it at the bookmark, but it was too late: I have already stumbled over your fear about tickling.” Claudia attacked him with her pillow. “How dare you…?”

He fought off the attack easily: “Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me. I’m very sorry, I didn’t mean to pry into your private life. But it has happened now. We should talk about this.” Claudia fled into the bathroom and locked herself in. She was overcome with shame and her fury about him! How could he do this to her?

Patiently, he talked her into leaving the bathroom. Soothing, gentling, comforting words. Finally she opened the door, and she wept her frustration into his shoulder. Her let her weep, just holding her, saying nothing. And she calmed down slowly.

About two hours of serious talking later, she let herself be convinced: She had to relive her traumatic tickling experience in a pleasurable atmosphere to get rid of her fears, or she would be haunted by the memory forever! It was basically the same that the therapist had told her, but from Felix’s mouth, the words sounded so much more credible.

However, she didn’t feel at all like being tickled now. She preferred to be cradled in the strong arms of Felix. He carried her to the bed, her arms still slung around his neck, and she wept herself into sleep.

In the morning, Felix was gone. He had left only a few hastily scribbled words on the notepad at her phone: “Beloved Claudia, I’m already late for an important meeting. I’ll give you a phone call later. Kisses, Felix.”

Monday, May 27th, 2000

Dear Diary,

More than a week has passed since Felix has sniffed into my secrets. I still can’t believe he did this to me! Last Monday, a big bunch of red roses arrived, along with a card from Felix that he had to travel to the United States on an unexpected, urgent business matter. On Thursday, I called his secretary, but she only said he’s still abroad, not knowing when he will return. No, she can’t reveal his number to anyone. Damn, there are phones in America, too! Why hasn’t he called me yet? I hate him but I love him but I hate him but I love him!!!


On Wednesday, she had dinner with her friend Susanne at a restaurant near her apartment. Around eleven Susanne took a taxi home, and Claudia left to go to sleep as well. At the building’s front door, she fumbled in her handbag for the keys. Suddenly she heard steps from behind; she only managed to turn around halfway, when an ugly-smelling burlap sack was put over her head and upper body, pinning her arms down helplessly struggling. A rope around her at elbow level ensured that she couldn’t wiggle off the sack somehow. Then a piece of cloth was tied around her mouth to muffle any scream. The shock had stunned her for a few seconds, and before she could recover, strong arms dragged her along. They heaved her into a car, and she heard the familiar sound of a van’s sliding door close.

She had lost all orientation and feeling for time. The world spun inside her head, and she screamed into her gag repeatedly. In vain. Half an eternity later, the van stopped, and four arms carried her into a house and then down a flight of stairs. She heard a heavy iron door slam. The ropes around her arms vanished, and the burlap sack was pulled upwards till only her head was covered by it. No, she couldn’t move her arms, somebody held them tight from behind. Quick hands started to undress her completely. Expert hands. “Probably a woman”, Claudia guessed.

In her birthday suit, she was put on a flat table covered with soft leather. Smooth but strong wristcuffs fixated her hands beside her head, and more straps immobilized her elbows, knees, and ankles. She heard a whispered conversation, then the heavy door slammed again. No sound at all was left. After some breathless listening, she started to scream for help, but the sound seemed to become swallowed before it could echo off the walls.

After a few minutes or so, the screaming exhausted her too much to continue. Silence again. From out of nowhere, she felt a soft touch on her right arch. Reflexively, she wiggled her foot a little, and the touch was gone. What had caused the reflex? Probably just her own nervousness. But then, the touch reappeared on her left, bare breast! She screamed and struggled, and she felt her breasts jiggle. As sudden as it had come, the touch was gone. Oh God, could it be a fly? Claudia began to remember her nightmare experience in the forest. Then, again an extremely soft touch right above her belly button.

In the middle of her scream, she heard a faint giggle. “Who’s there? What are you doing?” she demanded to know. A hoarse female voice answered: “Okay, as you know now you’re not alone, we can stop the silly hide-and-seek game.” The burlap sack was taken off, and for a few seconds, she was blinded by the bright light. Just when she could twinkle again, the blackness returned. Only her eyes were covered now, by some kind of airline sleeping mask. At least that dreadful smelly sack was gone!

The unknown woman continued: “Hmm, remarkable likeness to Claudia Schiffer, that’s right. I have heard you’re very ticklish. Is this true?” In utter panic, Claudia screamed: “Nooo! You can’t tickle me! Ah-haah-haaah-heee!” Too late, the strange woman dabbled her fingers over Claudia’s stomach, touching her very lightly but persistently. The flying fingertips wandered on to her sides, then upward towards the armpits.

Claudia hollered with each new touch. The woman’s nails delivered a sensation incomparable to the insects’ motions, as far as she could remember. It resembled a combination of a feathery-light surface stroking and a contact with some kind of wire charged by low-voltage electricity. And: the nearer the touch approached her armpits, the stronger the electricity seemed to become. The full intensity hit home when the nails arrived at the very center, and it even increased at the dabbling of the delicate, soft-skinned rims where no razor had ever touched her before! The neural shocks traveled through her, and her guffawing reached a cramped, agonizing level.

Then the woman changed her target. Suddenly Claudia felt two fingers on each hipbone. Painless squeezing followed, and again hyper-ticklish Claudia fell into a fit of hysteric laughter. She tried to buck her hips to get rid of the diabolical fingers, like a bronco at a rodeo would try to throw off the rider, but her attempts were utterly futile; the strap across her hips, just below the navel, prevented any efficient movements. Soon her head started to buzz, the sensations became too powerful to endure. She nurtured half a hope of fainting to escape the torture, but the woman stopped just in time. Through her own panting and gasping for oxygen, she heard the woman snicker: “Truly a woman’s funny bone…”

After a much too short break, her torment resumed, this time by gentle nails on the fine line between ribs and soft tummy. This touch would make even the most jaded hooker twitch, as it triggered contraction reflexes within the diaphragm. But sweet Claudia was far from being jaded; high pitched squeals escaped her, followed by continuous staccato giggling which even increased her helplessness. The single finger nail semicircle wandering over her midriff climaxed when a second nail touched her in the opposite direction, utterly out of rhythm; her laughter became completely soundless! Within her blindfold, Claudia observed galaxies of red and green spots produced by the enormous intensity of her involuntary mirth. They began to blur slowly, but again the woman denied her the relief of fainting by stopping the torture at just the right split-second. Another breather, thank God!

Precious seconds later, she felt the shift of targets once more. This time her feet got all the attention! That was exactly what she feared most: the return of the ants to her delicate soles! Oh well, she felt the difference precisely: those things touching her soft skin were not delivered by small instinct-driven creatures, but by the nails of a knowing female tickler. Okay, they touched her as lightly as ants sometimes, but they developed to heavy body-builder moths when she least expected it! And they knew all the horrible spots in detail: her delicate, high arches from the heels to the toe-balls, the tiny area just beneath the base of each toe, the excruciating outer rims of her hyper-ticklish soles. The nails’ dabbling felt soaringly light at her arches, but extremely heavy on toe-balls and heels, almost scratching. Then the damned lack of predictability: they appeared everywhere, seemingly ten nails at once, but then again, at a single most ticklish spot.

Claudia lost touch with the world. Her whole body had become one giant, hyper-ticklish foot, as each sensation traveled through her at light-speed. Not capable of focusing her concentration on other body parts, she drifted along the boundary of sanity. Only her toes had escaped from the torture so far, as she had curled them inward as strong as possible.

But this changed during her next breather: she felt something thin and strong wind around each toe, this touch alone driving her into new fits of laughter. Suddenly the length of a finger pressed down her toe-knuckles at the center, and this forced her toe clench to unlock. Immediately, she tried to curl them anew, but something made that impossible. “Fishing line”, commented the woman; “unbreakable, they are made of nylon, but much thicker in diameter. They won’t cut your expensive flesh, don’t you be afraid!” The other foot received the same constraints.

Just then, a completely new sensation hit home: her long, delicate tootsies were tickled by some instrument she couldn’t identify! One by one, around the fleshy tips, then downward along each separate segment, every square millimeter, suddenly on two toes simultaneously. Claudia didn’t have time to figure out the nature of the new torture device, she was much too busy to scream her lungs out. One torrid wave after the other rushed through her. She felt goosebumps build on her skin, but her body was in flames from the heat inside her. These conflicting sensations on her toes produced a huge sweet-sour smile on her beautiful face, like biting into a lemon while watching a funny movie. As the secret instruments slided between her toes, the ticklish agony turned her guffaws and squeals into a heavy hiccup. She couldn’t get enough air any more, she hysterically hyperventilated!

The torture stopped, and she heard a rustling sound. Unexpectedly, something was held over her mouth and nose, and she panicked: the woman would asphyxiate her! But she heard her soothing voice: “Just an ordinary supermarket paper bag, my dear; the best remedy against hyperventilation. Only a plastic bag would kill you, paper helps.” Indeed, her frantic gasping for air calmed down, and her heart rate slowly followed. This time, she was granted a much longer break.

Claudia dared to speak: “What – what was that on my toes?” – “ Oh, did you like my paintbrushes?” replied the woman. “They’re particularly efficient somewhere else, you’ll see…” The agonized victim pleaded: “Oh no, please don’t tickle me any more!!! Please, I’ll do everything you say, I’ll pay any sum for ransom, just stop the ticklinnnnng!!” Her teeth gritted as the finger nails started to roam her ribs again, and soon words became impossible. The flying finger tips landed just everywhere unexpectedly, jumping from one stomach side to the other, from armpits to loin crease, sometimes all of them attacking simultaneously on both ribcage halves. Claudia drowned in her own ticklishness, swamped by her own laughter, her mind drunk from sensations.

And then, the ultimate horror began. While the finger nails traveled down to her feet, slowly, tantalizingly playing with every nerve ending, Claudia felt a new touch: Two paintbrushes lingered down her loin creases towards her pubic mound. How was that possible? She could still feel ten fingers on her feet! Did the woman grow an extra pair of hands?

But Claudia couldn’t find the time to contemplate this absurd idea as two more paintbrushes replaced the finger tips on her toes, tickling away happily. And the loin touch moved southward constantly, now touching her outer labiae, meeting finally in extremely ticklish reunion on her perineum. Electric shockwaves jolted through Claudia, this she had never felt before! The combination of four pointed, soft but stiff brushes on her most ticklish spots drove her nuts!!!

The brushes paused briefly, only to continue their diabolical work with new intensity. The pubic area instruments slided up again, steadily along her private parts, and they found a new meeting place: Claudia’s clit! She had noticed its pulsations before, it seemed as excited as the rest of her, laughing, moaning, and screaming in unison with her. A different kind of heat built up inside her, while the toe tickling still racked through her spine in shivers. Once more, her voice lost its sound, rendering her cackling away silently. Gently, the brushes played in semicircles around her rosy cherry blossom, a mere whisper on top of her love pistil.

And then the Tsunami arrived. She had anticipated it coming since the first touch on her fragrant flower. But she had been unable to imagine its huge majesty! Slowly gaining height and width, growing like an avalanche, multiplying itself. When it had reached the top floor, its white-foaming crest burst into a billion sparkling diamonds, sponging up the last drop of her resistance strength. Magma crept up her spine, feeding a volcano of sensations. The whispers continued, and conjured up new Tsunamis over and over and over…

An indeterminable span of time later, the waves ebbed. She felt like after a marathon of aerobics, totally devoid of strength but strangely relaxed at the same time. Every muscle hurt, but there was only pleasure filling her, not pain. Then, she realized that the texture of her sleeping mask had changed: Instead of the soft velvety leather, a cold and moist towel covered her eyes, steadily reviving her wits. She wanted to take it off, but her arms couldn’t follow her brain’s orders. Oh no, not because of constraints fettering her to the torture rack, but because of utter weakness.

Soft lips touched hers, lingering in a somehow familiar kiss, and a merciful hand removed the towel. Still holding the kiss, she blinked into the eyes of – Felix!!! The turmoil of thoughts inside her equaled the previous intensity of tickling! But his kiss kept her from asking a million imminent questions.

Finally, she was able to speak again, and she uttered the one million dollar question: “Why?”

Felix cleared his throat and explained: “First of all, let me apologize. I never meant to hurt you, because I LOVE YOU!!! But you were so stuck up about my favorite foreplay: tickling. So I had to find a way through that barrier of traumatic experience from a decade ago. You’d never consent to tickling, I just knew. So during my trip to the States, I sought the advice of another experienced tickler whom I knew from Internet conversations. He provided me with the key to unlock you, to overcome your innermost fears.

“When I returned to Germany, I contacted my ex-wife Sabrina, and being a little tickle devil herself, she eagerly agreed to assist me. She’s the most skilful tickler I know, so she was the ideal choice. Her task was to pace you through so much tickling that your last drop of strength left you. Then I entered the stage to show you the erotic power of tickling. And it worked!”

Sabrina, her initial torturer, smiled shyly towards Claudia: “Sorry, and thanks. Felix has shown me the power of tickling during our marriage, but we broke up for entirely different reasons. I regret giving you so much torture, but I just knew you would appreciate afterwards. Don’t you?”

Claudia thought that over for several minutes, before she replied equally shyly: “Yes. Thank you!”

Sunday, November 12th, 2000

Dear Diary,

Hurray, we’re married! The most beautiful day in my life happened! I’m so drunk with happiness, and tipsy from all the champagne and kisses! Felix had continued to be my one and only love, despite the horrible but somehow miraculous torture session. He has given me so many reasons for happiness since then, and so many reasons to laugh… And you know what, dear Diary? Last week I found out that he’s terribly ticklish, too! Almost everywhere, just like me! And the best: If he’s too stressed or to tired for sex, the tickling works like this miraculous thing that switches the lights on whenever you clap your hands! Gotta go and do some handiwork now, I guess…
 
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