clean_kitchen
TMF Poster
- Joined
- Aug 14, 2002
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Here's one I had knocking around in my head for a while in kind of a horror/Halloween vein.
* * *
The job should have been easy. I had babysat and watched people's kids many times. It's not my favorite, but it's doable. And Sid wasn't a child. At nineteen, the only reason he even needed a "sitter" was because of the accident. Actually, that's not true. The reason he needed a "sitter" was because his overprotective mom insisted on it.
She still babied him. The accident left him quadriplegic, and his mom had devoted herself to caring for him around the clock these past ten years, so I suppose I can understand it to a point. But it bordered on the creepy. In her eyes he could never do any wrong. If she ever did something that wasn't exactly how she knew he wanted it, she apologized almost desperately and promised to fix it right away. I suppose she maybe felt guilty about his condition? I was never real clear on the details of the accident, and it seemed a touchy subject, so I never asked.
His dad, Peter, was the same way when he was around. His job required a lot of travel, so he was away a lot. That made it even harder on Jamie, who rarely had much help taking care of Sid. She got out, of course, to run errands, but she rarely had much time to herself.
It didn't surprise me, then, when they asked me to come over that night so they could have a rare date night. Our families had been neighbors for years. I didn't know Sid well. He always seemed a little withdrawn and depressed to me, but who could blame him? His mom insisted on calling me a "sitter," but I figured Sid was an adult, so it just would just amount to going over and hanging out for a while.
Jamie seemed nervous when I came over, like a new mother leaving her baby with someone else for the first time. She gave me way too many instructions, and seemed reluctant to leave. Sid barked from the living room about not having his drink nearby. It sounded rude to me. I couldn't talk to my mom like that even now. But Jamie sweetly apologized for the mistake and quickly brought Sid's drink over to him. He didn't even thank her.
I refused the money they tried to pay me. I didn't want to take advantage of the situation. I said they could just leave some money for pizza, and we'd be fine. This led to a fifteen minute conversation about how Sid liked his pizza, delivered with the urgency of someone conveying a life-saving procedure. This lady was over the top. I was starting to empathize with Sid's lack of patience with this mom.
After a final round of good-byes, they finally left. AS they walked out the door, Peter put his hand on my shoulder, looked me in the eye, and said, "Remember: everything's always OK," with an earnestness that caught me off-guard. Then they were gone.
I walked into the living room where Sid was watching TV.
"Well, they're gone," I said. "You need anything?"
"Did I ask for anything?"
"No."
"Then shut up and let me watch the show."
So that was how it was going to be, huh? If it was anyone else, I might have punched him right in the face. But seeing as it wouldn't look to good for me to punch a guy in a wheelchair, I decided to swallow it and take the calmer road.
I stood between him and the TV because he clearly had no intention of turning his eyes away from the screen.
"Look, I'm not your mom, OK? How you talk to her is between you guys. Whatever. But don't talk to me like that. I'm just trying to help out."
Sid looked up at me without raising his head, "Everything is OK."
"No, everything is not OK. You're not going to talk to me like that!"
"I think you need to relax."
It sounded like a threat, but instead of getting angrier I found myself suddenly calm.
"Tell you what," he continued, "why don't you take that money mom left for pizza and make an appointment at the spa? You'll find the number on the inside of the pantry door. Tell her Jamie sent you. She goes there a lot."
Looking back on it, that was about the strangest thing he could have said. Who just tells someone to go make an "appointment at the spa." But at the time, it seemed like the most reasonable thing in the world to do. Of course I needed to go to the spa! What kind of crazy person would not go to the spa right freakin' now?
I went right to the pantry, called the number, and made an appointment. At first they said they couldn't get me in until Saturday, but when I told them Jamie recommended them to me they found a spot for me right away.
Now, before you think I'm a horrible, irresponsible person, I want to say that I knew I shouldn't go. They whole time I knew I should stay, and that I didn't want to go to some spa. That's not even a thing I do. And yet I couldn't help myself. I had an overwhelming drive to get to that spa. It was almost like I was watching myself in a movie, yelling at the screen to not be such an unbelievable idiot, but having no power to direct the outcome.
I picked up my keys and the money Jamie left. "You sure you'll be OK?"
"I'm nineteen," Sid answered flatly, "I'll be fine for a couple hours. Like I said, my mom does it all the time."
"Well, OK then," I thought to myself, and I headed out the door.
A tiny grin crept its way onto the corner of Sid's mouth as he changed the channel.
* * *
It only took about five minutes to get to the spa, but it took another 5 to find it. It wasn't a big fancy place like I was expecting. It looked more like one of those manicure places you see in strip malls, but not even that nice.
I was greeted at the desk my an older gentleman. I told him my name and that I had just made an appointment.
"Oh, Jamie's friend?" The man seemed to perk up. "How's Sid?"
"He's doing very well. I just came from there, in fact."
"Good to hear."
His tone became noticeably more hushed. "I suppose you'll want Jamie's and Peter's regular session, then?"
"Yes," I replied confidently, not knowing why. I didn't know this place, and wasn't sure I was liking the looks of it. I didn't know what Jamie and Peter came here for, but I somehow knew for sure that's exactly what I wanted.
"Gina!" The man called to the back of the shop. "I normally handle Jamie's treatment, but my wife here handles Peter. I trust that will be OK for you?"
"Perfect," I said, again much more sure of my decision than I was.
A shorter, slight woman appeared from the back. She was older --- probably in her later 50s --- but in good shape and not unattractive. She walked me to a private room in the back where she told me to undress to the level of my comfort and lay face down on a massage table in the room.
I undressed to my boxers and got on the table. I still couldn't explain to myself why I was here, but a massage might be nice. I laid down on the table.
Gina came back in. "I assume you'll want me to tie you down?"
"You know it!" I said, almost cheerily.
What. The. Hell. There was no WAY I wanted to be tied down by this lady in some spa I didn't even want to be in. I was getting scared, and yet I found I could do nothing but act like this is exactly what I wanted to happen. My brain wanted to grab my clothes and run straight out of the room. But I could not.
The table was longer than most --- long enough for her to strap my wrists at one end and my ankles at the other, leaving me stretched out and prone. Inside I was freaking out. The bonds were strong, so she could do anything to me. My brain tried to tell my mouth to demand to be let go, but I remained silent.
"As you probably know, this session will last for one hour, or until you ask me to stop, whichever comes first. But you pay for the whole hour either way."
"Well, stop then!" I was yelling in my mind, but somehow what came out of my mouth was a playful, "An hour it is, then."
She smiled a little smile as she walked down to the end of the table by my feet. I couldn't see her, which only added to my panic. Then, without another word from her I felt it. It was light at first, but I jumped and yelped in surprise. She was tickling my feet with her fingers!
"Oh, are you too ticklish for this?" she mocked.
"Let's see what you've got!" I challenged through the first giggles.
I couldn't believe what I was saying! There was no way I wanted to be tickled by this loon. Is this what Jamie and Peter came here for? That's fine for them, but I didn't want this.
She began tickling me for real. All ten fingers were gliding up and down my feet. I could tell it was her fingers, but I had never felt nails like that before. I don't think anything had ever tickled so bad. I tried to move away, but the bonds wouldn't let me. I tried to beg for it to stop, but my mouth wouldn't respond. All I could do was laugh like a madman.
"AAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! YES! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHA!"
Every second she tickled my feet was a second I couldn't stand. I didn't understand why I was here or how this was happening. And that made me feel even more desperate and vulnerable.
For her part, Gina was obviously a pro. Her tickling wasn't playful or clumsy. It was precise in a way that maximized the sensation. Every new touch was more ticklish than the next. Sometimes she would settle into a pattern, keeping me in a steady stream of laughter, but it was never long until she switched to a new tactic, making me buck and scream.
After I don't know how long, she paused and asked if I wanted her to stop. God, yes! I wanted her to stop. Anything but more tickling! But again my mouth betrayed me.
"Not ... a chance! Are you going to tickle me ... or not?"
"Very well," she conceded and went back to work on my feet.
I lost it. My mind was already blown by the situation, and the tickling drove away any possibility of processing what was happening. It seemed like every brain cell was frantically screaming, "It tickles! It tickles! It tickles!" expecting me to do something about it. But all I did was laugh and beg for more.
I lost my breath for a while as Gina discovered how ticklish the tops and sides of my feet are. I didn't even know it, but it was horrible. She focused on one foot a time, holding the foot still with the heel of her hand and dancing her fingers up and down both sides of the foot. Then she pulled the toes toward my sole to get at the top of my foot. I don't think a foot has ever been so thoroughly tickled as mine was. And then she did the other one.
By now I had mostly stopped struggling from exhaustion, trying anything I could think of to block out the sensations coming from my feet, but it was no use. Al I could do was laugh and take it.
She paused again after another indeterminate amount of time. Surely the hour was almost up. I managed to twist and look at the clock and instantly wished I hadn't. Fifteen minutes. Not fifteen minutes remaining; fifteen minutes had passed. Inside I almost wanted to cry. I couldn't take one more minute, and I had 45 left.
The fact that I couldn't seem to ask for it to stop added insult to injury and another level of desperation. I was being tickled mercilessly by this woman, and as far as she knew I was enjoying it! I could be done if I just told her to stop. That's what she said, right? But as much as I wanted to, I just couldn't form the words. Instead I was asking for more.
"That ... was awesome. I've got to feel ... those nails ... on my legs next."
I had never really been tickled on my legs, but they were feeling especially sensitive right now. I had no idea if it would be bad or not, but at least it wasn't my feet, right?
Gina started with her nails where my legs meet my rear and drug them slowly all the way down the back of my legs, down my calves to my ankles. My God, who even knew that was ticklish? I bucked and struggled and screamed and laughed. It wasn't quite as bad as my feet, but it was still way more than I could handle.
And what was worse was that I kept egging her on in spite of myself. I was even directing her to the spots that tickled the worst!
"Just above my knee. Yeah, right therAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"
Her fingers danced and glided all over my legs. I had never felt anything like it, and I never wanted to again, but I kept telling her to tickle me more and more. The worse I wanted to beg for mercy the more I found myself begging for more.
She stopped again after what turned out to be another fifteen minutes. My legs weren't quite as unbearable as my feet, so she was able to go longer without giving me a break. But I was only half way done. I had already endured the worst tickling I could have imagined, and the clock told me I had to endure the same thing again.
"You're really ticklish. Are you sure you don't want me to stop?" I was too spent to give it much attention, but I could hear a twinge of concern. She wasn't new to this. She knew how bad she was tickling me. I found myself wondering if she had experienced this herself. I wondered if the old man ever got her back here and tickled the living crap out of her. Was she wondering if she could last as long as I had? Maybe she liked it as much as I was unwillingly telling her I liked it.
I didn't really care. I was just delirious from the tickling. I wanted off that table worse than I had ever wanted anything. And yet I felt an overwhelming compulsion to see it through in spite of all rational thought.
"You've been pretty good, but if you really want to get me bad, you'll have to tickle my sides. The clock's running. Let me have it!"
Sh**! Sh**! Sh**! Sh**! What was I saying! There was no way I just told this lady to tickle my sides as bad as she could. The absurdity of the situation gave way to genuine panic as I felt her weight on my hips. I could already feel those fingers I was already giggling before she even touched me. And when those nails hit my skin, I did everything I could to buck her right off that table.
"AAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! YES! AHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! THAT'S IT!"
I started at hysterical and lost control from there. Her nails skittered and spidered up and down my sides from under my arms to my hips and up and down my back. This was the worst yet. I wanted to jump right out of skin. She alternated between maddeningly light caresses and unbearable squeezing and prodding. At one point she found a spot on my sides just below my armpits that drove me absolutely wild. I, of course, emphasized how good a spot that was and encouraged her to stay there a while.
I honestly don't remember much more of that time. The tickles were the only think my brain could handle, shoving everything else out. I don't know, but I think it's the closest I came to passing out the whole time. There aren't words for how badly I got tickled.
I don't know when she stopped or how long she paused. When I regained my senses the clock read ten minutes left. Gina was gently massaging my back, apparently waiting for me to calm down enough to be coherent. I was exhausted, and everything inside me wanted to fall asleep. I didn't even care that I was still tied down on the "massage" table. I was too tired to even try to protest.
But once again I felt that familiar (and by now sickening) compulsion to finish the session. It seemed to give me new energy, but that wasn't a good thing.
"We're not done," I heard my self saying. "My feet need a little more attention. We've only got five or ten minutes left, so make it count."
"Only" five or ten minutes? That was more than I could take at the beginning of the session, and that's before she tortured the rest of my body. I couldn't stand it when I was fresh. What chance did I have now?
But I knew by now it didn't matter. Something had compelled me to come here. Something had compelled me to agree to a ruthless tickling. Something continued to compel me to insist that it continue in spite of every desperate desire for it to end. I knew that I couldn't take what she was about to do to me, but I knew that I asked her to do it and I wouldn't stop it from happening.
All because Sid suggested I come here. Wait a minute ... Sid? What if ...
The idea would have to wait for later as any remnant of coherent though was ejected from my head by Gina's nails on my feet.
* * *
She eventually stopped tickling me when the hour came to a close. She untied me, but it was some time before I could muster the strength to collect my things and leave. I left the spa as quickly as I could without making contact with the old man or his wife.
I drove back to Sid's house for reasons I don't understand. I became certain during the drive home that Sid did this to me. I don't know how I'm sure, but I assume it's because he wanted me to know. Or maybe I'm crazy. I don't know. To be honest, I don't know what I know anymore.
The rest of the night was uneventful. I made a point to stay on Sid's good side. We didn't talk about it, but Sid would occasionally look at me, then the pantry door with the spa's number, and then back at me. We both knew what it meant.
When Jamie and Peter returned they acted nervous. When they asked how things went, I found myself glancing at the pantry door. Jamie noticed and gave me a sympathetic, apologetic look. She seemed embarrassed, but didn't say anything about it out loud. I don't blame her. Sid said she goes to the spa often.
As Peter showed me to the door, he put his hand on my shoulder and made a point of asking how Sid was tonight.
"Everything is OK," I replied loud enough for everyone to hear. And I left.
//CK
* * *
The job should have been easy. I had babysat and watched people's kids many times. It's not my favorite, but it's doable. And Sid wasn't a child. At nineteen, the only reason he even needed a "sitter" was because of the accident. Actually, that's not true. The reason he needed a "sitter" was because his overprotective mom insisted on it.
She still babied him. The accident left him quadriplegic, and his mom had devoted herself to caring for him around the clock these past ten years, so I suppose I can understand it to a point. But it bordered on the creepy. In her eyes he could never do any wrong. If she ever did something that wasn't exactly how she knew he wanted it, she apologized almost desperately and promised to fix it right away. I suppose she maybe felt guilty about his condition? I was never real clear on the details of the accident, and it seemed a touchy subject, so I never asked.
His dad, Peter, was the same way when he was around. His job required a lot of travel, so he was away a lot. That made it even harder on Jamie, who rarely had much help taking care of Sid. She got out, of course, to run errands, but she rarely had much time to herself.
It didn't surprise me, then, when they asked me to come over that night so they could have a rare date night. Our families had been neighbors for years. I didn't know Sid well. He always seemed a little withdrawn and depressed to me, but who could blame him? His mom insisted on calling me a "sitter," but I figured Sid was an adult, so it just would just amount to going over and hanging out for a while.
Jamie seemed nervous when I came over, like a new mother leaving her baby with someone else for the first time. She gave me way too many instructions, and seemed reluctant to leave. Sid barked from the living room about not having his drink nearby. It sounded rude to me. I couldn't talk to my mom like that even now. But Jamie sweetly apologized for the mistake and quickly brought Sid's drink over to him. He didn't even thank her.
I refused the money they tried to pay me. I didn't want to take advantage of the situation. I said they could just leave some money for pizza, and we'd be fine. This led to a fifteen minute conversation about how Sid liked his pizza, delivered with the urgency of someone conveying a life-saving procedure. This lady was over the top. I was starting to empathize with Sid's lack of patience with this mom.
After a final round of good-byes, they finally left. AS they walked out the door, Peter put his hand on my shoulder, looked me in the eye, and said, "Remember: everything's always OK," with an earnestness that caught me off-guard. Then they were gone.
I walked into the living room where Sid was watching TV.
"Well, they're gone," I said. "You need anything?"
"Did I ask for anything?"
"No."
"Then shut up and let me watch the show."
So that was how it was going to be, huh? If it was anyone else, I might have punched him right in the face. But seeing as it wouldn't look to good for me to punch a guy in a wheelchair, I decided to swallow it and take the calmer road.
I stood between him and the TV because he clearly had no intention of turning his eyes away from the screen.
"Look, I'm not your mom, OK? How you talk to her is between you guys. Whatever. But don't talk to me like that. I'm just trying to help out."
Sid looked up at me without raising his head, "Everything is OK."
"No, everything is not OK. You're not going to talk to me like that!"
"I think you need to relax."
It sounded like a threat, but instead of getting angrier I found myself suddenly calm.
"Tell you what," he continued, "why don't you take that money mom left for pizza and make an appointment at the spa? You'll find the number on the inside of the pantry door. Tell her Jamie sent you. She goes there a lot."
Looking back on it, that was about the strangest thing he could have said. Who just tells someone to go make an "appointment at the spa." But at the time, it seemed like the most reasonable thing in the world to do. Of course I needed to go to the spa! What kind of crazy person would not go to the spa right freakin' now?
I went right to the pantry, called the number, and made an appointment. At first they said they couldn't get me in until Saturday, but when I told them Jamie recommended them to me they found a spot for me right away.
Now, before you think I'm a horrible, irresponsible person, I want to say that I knew I shouldn't go. They whole time I knew I should stay, and that I didn't want to go to some spa. That's not even a thing I do. And yet I couldn't help myself. I had an overwhelming drive to get to that spa. It was almost like I was watching myself in a movie, yelling at the screen to not be such an unbelievable idiot, but having no power to direct the outcome.
I picked up my keys and the money Jamie left. "You sure you'll be OK?"
"I'm nineteen," Sid answered flatly, "I'll be fine for a couple hours. Like I said, my mom does it all the time."
"Well, OK then," I thought to myself, and I headed out the door.
A tiny grin crept its way onto the corner of Sid's mouth as he changed the channel.
* * *
It only took about five minutes to get to the spa, but it took another 5 to find it. It wasn't a big fancy place like I was expecting. It looked more like one of those manicure places you see in strip malls, but not even that nice.
I was greeted at the desk my an older gentleman. I told him my name and that I had just made an appointment.
"Oh, Jamie's friend?" The man seemed to perk up. "How's Sid?"
"He's doing very well. I just came from there, in fact."
"Good to hear."
His tone became noticeably more hushed. "I suppose you'll want Jamie's and Peter's regular session, then?"
"Yes," I replied confidently, not knowing why. I didn't know this place, and wasn't sure I was liking the looks of it. I didn't know what Jamie and Peter came here for, but I somehow knew for sure that's exactly what I wanted.
"Gina!" The man called to the back of the shop. "I normally handle Jamie's treatment, but my wife here handles Peter. I trust that will be OK for you?"
"Perfect," I said, again much more sure of my decision than I was.
A shorter, slight woman appeared from the back. She was older --- probably in her later 50s --- but in good shape and not unattractive. She walked me to a private room in the back where she told me to undress to the level of my comfort and lay face down on a massage table in the room.
I undressed to my boxers and got on the table. I still couldn't explain to myself why I was here, but a massage might be nice. I laid down on the table.
Gina came back in. "I assume you'll want me to tie you down?"
"You know it!" I said, almost cheerily.
What. The. Hell. There was no WAY I wanted to be tied down by this lady in some spa I didn't even want to be in. I was getting scared, and yet I found I could do nothing but act like this is exactly what I wanted to happen. My brain wanted to grab my clothes and run straight out of the room. But I could not.
The table was longer than most --- long enough for her to strap my wrists at one end and my ankles at the other, leaving me stretched out and prone. Inside I was freaking out. The bonds were strong, so she could do anything to me. My brain tried to tell my mouth to demand to be let go, but I remained silent.
"As you probably know, this session will last for one hour, or until you ask me to stop, whichever comes first. But you pay for the whole hour either way."
"Well, stop then!" I was yelling in my mind, but somehow what came out of my mouth was a playful, "An hour it is, then."
She smiled a little smile as she walked down to the end of the table by my feet. I couldn't see her, which only added to my panic. Then, without another word from her I felt it. It was light at first, but I jumped and yelped in surprise. She was tickling my feet with her fingers!
"Oh, are you too ticklish for this?" she mocked.
"Let's see what you've got!" I challenged through the first giggles.
I couldn't believe what I was saying! There was no way I wanted to be tickled by this loon. Is this what Jamie and Peter came here for? That's fine for them, but I didn't want this.
She began tickling me for real. All ten fingers were gliding up and down my feet. I could tell it was her fingers, but I had never felt nails like that before. I don't think anything had ever tickled so bad. I tried to move away, but the bonds wouldn't let me. I tried to beg for it to stop, but my mouth wouldn't respond. All I could do was laugh like a madman.
"AAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! YES! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHA!"
Every second she tickled my feet was a second I couldn't stand. I didn't understand why I was here or how this was happening. And that made me feel even more desperate and vulnerable.
For her part, Gina was obviously a pro. Her tickling wasn't playful or clumsy. It was precise in a way that maximized the sensation. Every new touch was more ticklish than the next. Sometimes she would settle into a pattern, keeping me in a steady stream of laughter, but it was never long until she switched to a new tactic, making me buck and scream.
After I don't know how long, she paused and asked if I wanted her to stop. God, yes! I wanted her to stop. Anything but more tickling! But again my mouth betrayed me.
"Not ... a chance! Are you going to tickle me ... or not?"
"Very well," she conceded and went back to work on my feet.
I lost it. My mind was already blown by the situation, and the tickling drove away any possibility of processing what was happening. It seemed like every brain cell was frantically screaming, "It tickles! It tickles! It tickles!" expecting me to do something about it. But all I did was laugh and beg for more.
I lost my breath for a while as Gina discovered how ticklish the tops and sides of my feet are. I didn't even know it, but it was horrible. She focused on one foot a time, holding the foot still with the heel of her hand and dancing her fingers up and down both sides of the foot. Then she pulled the toes toward my sole to get at the top of my foot. I don't think a foot has ever been so thoroughly tickled as mine was. And then she did the other one.
By now I had mostly stopped struggling from exhaustion, trying anything I could think of to block out the sensations coming from my feet, but it was no use. Al I could do was laugh and take it.
She paused again after another indeterminate amount of time. Surely the hour was almost up. I managed to twist and look at the clock and instantly wished I hadn't. Fifteen minutes. Not fifteen minutes remaining; fifteen minutes had passed. Inside I almost wanted to cry. I couldn't take one more minute, and I had 45 left.
The fact that I couldn't seem to ask for it to stop added insult to injury and another level of desperation. I was being tickled mercilessly by this woman, and as far as she knew I was enjoying it! I could be done if I just told her to stop. That's what she said, right? But as much as I wanted to, I just couldn't form the words. Instead I was asking for more.
"That ... was awesome. I've got to feel ... those nails ... on my legs next."
I had never really been tickled on my legs, but they were feeling especially sensitive right now. I had no idea if it would be bad or not, but at least it wasn't my feet, right?
Gina started with her nails where my legs meet my rear and drug them slowly all the way down the back of my legs, down my calves to my ankles. My God, who even knew that was ticklish? I bucked and struggled and screamed and laughed. It wasn't quite as bad as my feet, but it was still way more than I could handle.
And what was worse was that I kept egging her on in spite of myself. I was even directing her to the spots that tickled the worst!
"Just above my knee. Yeah, right therAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"
Her fingers danced and glided all over my legs. I had never felt anything like it, and I never wanted to again, but I kept telling her to tickle me more and more. The worse I wanted to beg for mercy the more I found myself begging for more.
She stopped again after what turned out to be another fifteen minutes. My legs weren't quite as unbearable as my feet, so she was able to go longer without giving me a break. But I was only half way done. I had already endured the worst tickling I could have imagined, and the clock told me I had to endure the same thing again.
"You're really ticklish. Are you sure you don't want me to stop?" I was too spent to give it much attention, but I could hear a twinge of concern. She wasn't new to this. She knew how bad she was tickling me. I found myself wondering if she had experienced this herself. I wondered if the old man ever got her back here and tickled the living crap out of her. Was she wondering if she could last as long as I had? Maybe she liked it as much as I was unwillingly telling her I liked it.
I didn't really care. I was just delirious from the tickling. I wanted off that table worse than I had ever wanted anything. And yet I felt an overwhelming compulsion to see it through in spite of all rational thought.
"You've been pretty good, but if you really want to get me bad, you'll have to tickle my sides. The clock's running. Let me have it!"
Sh**! Sh**! Sh**! Sh**! What was I saying! There was no way I just told this lady to tickle my sides as bad as she could. The absurdity of the situation gave way to genuine panic as I felt her weight on my hips. I could already feel those fingers I was already giggling before she even touched me. And when those nails hit my skin, I did everything I could to buck her right off that table.
"AAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! YES! AHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! THAT'S IT!"
I started at hysterical and lost control from there. Her nails skittered and spidered up and down my sides from under my arms to my hips and up and down my back. This was the worst yet. I wanted to jump right out of skin. She alternated between maddeningly light caresses and unbearable squeezing and prodding. At one point she found a spot on my sides just below my armpits that drove me absolutely wild. I, of course, emphasized how good a spot that was and encouraged her to stay there a while.
I honestly don't remember much more of that time. The tickles were the only think my brain could handle, shoving everything else out. I don't know, but I think it's the closest I came to passing out the whole time. There aren't words for how badly I got tickled.
I don't know when she stopped or how long she paused. When I regained my senses the clock read ten minutes left. Gina was gently massaging my back, apparently waiting for me to calm down enough to be coherent. I was exhausted, and everything inside me wanted to fall asleep. I didn't even care that I was still tied down on the "massage" table. I was too tired to even try to protest.
But once again I felt that familiar (and by now sickening) compulsion to finish the session. It seemed to give me new energy, but that wasn't a good thing.
"We're not done," I heard my self saying. "My feet need a little more attention. We've only got five or ten minutes left, so make it count."
"Only" five or ten minutes? That was more than I could take at the beginning of the session, and that's before she tortured the rest of my body. I couldn't stand it when I was fresh. What chance did I have now?
But I knew by now it didn't matter. Something had compelled me to come here. Something had compelled me to agree to a ruthless tickling. Something continued to compel me to insist that it continue in spite of every desperate desire for it to end. I knew that I couldn't take what she was about to do to me, but I knew that I asked her to do it and I wouldn't stop it from happening.
All because Sid suggested I come here. Wait a minute ... Sid? What if ...
The idea would have to wait for later as any remnant of coherent though was ejected from my head by Gina's nails on my feet.
* * *
She eventually stopped tickling me when the hour came to a close. She untied me, but it was some time before I could muster the strength to collect my things and leave. I left the spa as quickly as I could without making contact with the old man or his wife.
I drove back to Sid's house for reasons I don't understand. I became certain during the drive home that Sid did this to me. I don't know how I'm sure, but I assume it's because he wanted me to know. Or maybe I'm crazy. I don't know. To be honest, I don't know what I know anymore.
The rest of the night was uneventful. I made a point to stay on Sid's good side. We didn't talk about it, but Sid would occasionally look at me, then the pantry door with the spa's number, and then back at me. We both knew what it meant.
When Jamie and Peter returned they acted nervous. When they asked how things went, I found myself glancing at the pantry door. Jamie noticed and gave me a sympathetic, apologetic look. She seemed embarrassed, but didn't say anything about it out loud. I don't blame her. Sid said she goes to the spa often.
As Peter showed me to the door, he put his hand on my shoulder and made a point of asking how Sid was tonight.
"Everything is OK," I replied loud enough for everyone to hear. And I left.
//CK
