arachnid95
2nd Level Orange Feather
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You know, I joined this site not too long ago with the intention of sharing the stories I've written. Then I read a few of the stories that were posted here... After wiping the aroused nosebleed off of my face, my first thought was, "DAMN. I am soooo out of my league..."
But then I decided, screw it. Maybe there's a place for less hot-n-steamy tickle stories here. So, here I give you the polar opposite: a tickle story so adorable and clean you'll want to vomit.
Enjoy. XD
P.S. This story is also posted on TT and on DA, and my username is the same for both. Just so you know.
---
The House of Laughs
I stood in front of the clear glass doors, each one decorated with the same logo—a curly-cue “HoL,” underlined by a thin pink feather. The House of Laughs—a business that hid nothing. No secrecy, no cutesy euphemisms. I was about to enter what can only be described as a “tickle spa.”
My friend Mickie had recommended it to me. “It’s a little girly,” she had said, “But don’t let that stop you, they cater to guys too!”
“And by “cater to,” you mean… tickle?” I had said, unable to keep the skepticism out of my voice. Not skepticism as to the place’s existence—I’d heard of these kinds of places cropping up recently—but skepticism as to the idea that I would ever set foot into such a place willingly.
“Yup! You just go in, answer a few questions, and get your custom treatment!”
“I don’t know, Mickie. I mean, pay to be tickle tortured?”
At this she had huffed indignantly. “It’s not torture! It’s a wonderful way to relieve stress, and it has a whole buttload of other health benefits! Besides, the first treatment is free.”
“I just don’t know, Mick. I’m not sure I could ever do something like that…”
“Aw come on, aren’t you always saying how much you love it when I tickle you?”
“When you tickle me, yeah. Playfully, unrestrained, a few minutes at a time, with the promise of revenge. Not tied up and tickled without mercy for an hour and a half!”
“Two hours,” she had corrected.
“Whatever. I’m not doing it.”
“Pleeeeease? Just give it a try!”
“No! I’m not going to this place, and there’s no way you’re going to convince me otherwise!”
But she had fixed me with the puppy-dog eyes. Those damned puppy-dog eyes. The ones you can only resist for so long before you cave. And so that’s how I came to be in front of The House of Laughs, wondering what must be wrong with my sanity as I pushed through the doors.
Mickie had been right—the place was pretty girly. The walls were a bright but soothing shade of pink, and in each corner stood a potted plant. Like, a ficus, or something. On top of that, the whole place smelled like some kind of perfume. Still, it wasn’t unpleasant, and I’m not really a “macho man.”
A female voice interrupted my thoughts. “May I help you sir?”
I started and looked around for the source of the voice. My eyes soon lit upon the customer service desk, at which a pretty young receptionist sat. Her blonde hair framed her smiling face nicely, and her hands were folded neatly in front of her on the desk. The uniform she wore was the same shade of pink as the walls, and was cut low to show her ample cleavage.
“Um, yeah,” I said, tearing my eyes away from her chest and praying she hadn’t noticed me looking. “I, uh, I believe I have an appointment?”
“Hmm, let me take a look,” she said, tapping a few keys on a laptop that was positioned slightly to her left on the desk. “Oh, Mickie sent you! She’s one of our best customers, you know.”
“Yeah,” I said, chuckling. “She loves this place. Admittedly, she had to twist my arm a bit to get me to come here…”
The receptionist smiled. “You wouldn’t be the first, sweetie! But don’t you worry, I personally promise that you’ll love it just as much as she does. Now then, I’m just going to ask you a few questions so we can set you up with your perfect treatment. Just answer them as honestly as you can, and don’t worry—we won’t tell anyone.” She giggled and winked at this. “Ready?”
“Alright,” I said. “Start asking.”
“Okay, question number one: where on your body are you most ticklish?”
“That’s easy: my feet. I’m not really ticklish anywhere else.”
“Oooh, ticklish tootsies, huh? Are they more ticklish bare, or with socks on?”
“Um, bare, I think?” I had to think about that one. Mickie had tickled my feet plenty of times, but she usually yanked off my socks before doing so.
“Hehe, my favorite!” she said, winking again. “Now, is tickling a sexual turn-on for you?”
I blushed heavily. “S-Sexual? Um, not really, I mean, I guess I think it’s a cute way to flirt, but…”
“Mm-hm…” she said, writing typing all my answers on her keyboard. “Next, are you in any way claustrophobic?”
“Um, a bit. Like, as long as I’ve got some room to move around, I guess I’m okay…”
“Do you or your family have a history of heart problems?”
“Um… no?”
“Good, good…” she said, typing rapidly. I couldn’t help but wonder what effect my answers would be having on my experience. Really though, I just hoped I wasn’t telling her anything that would make this any more torturous than I already expected it to be…
After a few more questions, she said, “Alright, let’s see what kind of treatment you get!” She hit the enter key and looked over the screen, then giggled. “Ooh, you’ve got a good one!”
“W-What?” I stammered, trying to look at the screen. She playfully pushed me back with a smirk.
“Now now, you’ll see in a minute!” She hit the enter key again, and the screen went black. The printer spit out a small slip of paper with the number 26 on it, which she handed to me. “Just head down the hallway over there and look for this room number. One of our ticklers will be with you shortly. Have fun!” She giggled yet again—my, she was giggly—and gave me a wave as I started down the hall she had indicated.
As I walked, I couldn’t help but grow more and more nervous. I couldn’t believe I was actually doing this. I considered turning around and bailing—after all, there was nothing saying I absolutely had to go through with this. But for whatever reason, I didn’t turn around. I just kept walking down the door-lined hall, looking for door number 26. Along the way, I heard laughter, both male and female, coming through some of the doors. Some of the things I heard sent thrills of anxiety down my spine.
“AHAHAHAHAHAHA!! Ohohoho god, not the bruhuhush!” begged a girl from room number four.
“Nonono, not THEEEEHEHEHEHERE!!” screamed a young-sounding guy in room fifteen.
“Oh plehehehehehease!! Ahahahahaha I cahan’t tahahake it! NO! No more feheheheathers!!” came the voice of a man in room nineteen.
“Oh god, what is that? *whirrrrrrrr* Oh god, nononononono
NAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHHAAHHAHAHA!!” Some woman in room twenty-two.
By the time I reached room number 26, my nervousness had elevated to terror. This is crazy, I thought. No way am I doing this. I’m going to turn right around and walk—no, run. Yes, run out of this place right now, and never come back.
Apparently my body didn’t get this message though, because despite my brain’s protests, my hand lifted, rested on the doorknob, turned, pushed…
And then I was standing in a small room, about the size of a smallish bedroom. The walls here, surprisingly enough, were not pink but a calming shade of green. A dome light hung from the ceiling, casting a warm yellow glow over the room, and on a couple of walls were small, framed pictures of beaches and lighthouses and kitschy stuff like that. Just looking at it all eased my nerves a tiny bit. Then I saw what the room had for furniture and my nerves came back with a vengeance.
Against one wall was a poofy, burgundy leather armchair. It looked like it might have been comfortable as hell, if not for the black straps on the arms. In front of it was a black pair of stocks, the leg holes padded with the same red leather as the chair. And in front of that was a short stool—presumably for my tickler to sit on. Directly to its side was a small table. There were things on it, but they were obscured by a white cloth that revealed only the vaguest shapes of the table’s contents. I could guess, though, that those were tools—implements of torture that were about to be used on me.
I’m not proud of it, but I panicked. I would have left right then, would have sprinted out of the building like I’d been telling myself to do this whole time, would have run all the way home and whacked Mickie on the back of the head for being so crazy, would have never written this story at all, had not my sharp one-eighty turn brought me face-to-face with a very, very pretty girl.
“Whoop! Hey there, cutie!” she said, holding her hands out to prevent me from smacking into her. She had straight, shoulder-length red hair and wide green eyes, a smattering of freckles across her cute button nose, and an endearingly-crooked smile. “You the guy Mickie sent?”
It took me a second to find my voice. “Um, uh... yeah. Yes. Yes I am.”
She giggled sweetly. The receptionist’s giggles had been almost artificially cute, but this girl was the real deal. “Well, my name’s Leslie, and I’ll be your tickler for today. Why don’t you have yourself a seat, and we’ll get you set up?”
She gestured to the poofy armchair, and my plans of escape were forgotten as I walked in a trance towards it. I lowered myself into its embrace—yup, comfy as hell.
“So what’s your name?” asked Leslie conversationally as she walked over to the door and shut it.
“Uh, Michael…” I told her.
“Well, Michael, is this your first time?”
“Um, yeah. I’m kinda nervous, to be honest…” Understatement of the year.
Leslie smiled at me. “Well, don’t worry. You’re gonna love this!”
“Yeah, that’s what people keep telling me…” I muttered. I still wasn’t sure about this at all, but it looked like I was going through with it, one way or another.
Leslie approached the left side of the chair and held the strap open for me. Wordlessly, I lifted my wrist and allowed her to fasten it down. Instinctively I tugged at the strap. Naturally, it held fast. “Oh boy…” I whimpered as she moved around to the other side and strapped my right wrist down.
“Hehe, no escape for you!” she giggled. I swallowed hard and smiled weakly.
“Alright honey, now for the big step.” She unlocked the stocks by pulling up a little latch, and held them open for me. “Last chance to chicken out.”
Yes, said my brain. She’s giving you a chance. Take it. For the love of god, take it! You’ve got nothing to prove! You’re not a proud man! Just ask her to undo the arm straps and get out of here!
But of course, for the umpteenth time that day, my body refused to listen to my brain. Slowly, hesitantly, I lifted my legs and rested my ankles in the open leg holes.
Leslie smiled and shut the stocks with a loud, final-sounding clunk, followed by the click of the latch as she locked them again. “Attaboy! No turning back now! Hehe…”
I moved my legs, testing the stocks. They clattered a little, but their grip was firm. “L-Looks like it…” I stuttered.
“Now then, let’s see what we’re gonna be using on you, shall we?”
“Using on me? W-What do you mean?”
Leslie grinned and, with a flourish, lifted the cloth from the little table. My blood ran cold as my eyes fell on the tools it had concealed.
There were a number of feathers, of different colors and types, laid out in a row, at the end of which was a bug, fluffy feather duster. In a little cup of water were a few small paintbrushes. Then there was an electric toothbrush, a pair of soft-bristled scrubby-type brushes, what looked like a motorized rotating scrub brush, and a pair of hard-bristled hairbrushes. There were also several bottles of varying size and color, containing lotions and oils.
It was at this point that my brain began to metaphorically slap the crap out of my body for not listening to it.
“Ta-da!” exclaimed Leslie. “What do you think?”
“I think I should never have walked through the front doors,” I responded weakly.
“Oh, hush,” she reprimanded playfully. “You’re gonna be okay. We won’t be using all of these tools, and nearly everybody who comes in here loves their treatment!”
“Oh yeah? What about all the begging I heard coming down the hall? It sounded like that scene from Hostel!”
Leslie laughed. “Oh, nearly everyone begs! It’s a reflex. You’ll beg too, I’m sure of it. But don’t worry, we have a safe word system in place. If any of those people hadn’t been enjoying themselves, they’d have shouted the safe word.”
This wasn’t much of a reassurance, but I kept quiet.
“Now then, it’s time to get you really ready! First off, these’ll have to go.” My heart dropped about a half-inch as Leslie untied my shoelaces and began to pull off my shoes.
“W-Wait!” I stammered as I felt my only protection slipping from my feet. “I’m not sure I’m r-ready for this…”
“It’s okay, Michael,” she said, her voice smooth and soothing. “Everyone’s scared their first time. But I promise, you’ll be begging for more by the end of it.”
I said nothing, just bit my lower lip and watched helplessly as she finished taking off my chucks and slowly peeled off my socks. The minute I felt the cool air on my bare feet, I gasped and shivered a little, and my toes curled instinctively.
“Awww, they’re so cute!” gushed Leslie. “You must take good care of your feet. They look so smooth, and so soft…”
I blushed hard. I had received compliments from girls before, but never about my feet. In truth I’d never given them much thought, except when Mickie tickled them. “Erm, thanks, I guess…” I wiggled my toes for her viewing pleasure, earning a girlish squeal from her.
“Alright,” she said when she had composed herself. “Time to start. Your session will last about two hours, plus breaks, which should give us plenty of time to use all the recommended tools.”
“Recommended? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Based on the questions you answered, we’ve determined exactly the right tools to use to make sure your experience is nothing but perfect!” She smiled sweetly.
“Well, that’s a relief…” I mumbled sarcastically. I couldn’t imagine myself enjoying any of the tools lying on that table.
“But first, I like to start out a little more personal…” She wiggled her fingers at me and grinned mischievously. At least we were starting in familiar territory.
“Your safe word is ‘mayday,’ got it?”
“Mayday… okay…”
“You ready for this?” Her fingers were poised mere inches from my bare soles. This was it. I was committed. There was no getting out of it now.
I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. “Okay. G-Go ahead.”
A moment’s pause, then…
“PFFFFAhehehehehehehehehehehahahahaha!!” Her long nails had begun to lightly dance and skitter up and down my soles, sending ticklish giggles pouring from my mouth like water. “NAhahahahahahaha!! Ohoho my god, it tihihihickles!”
“Well, that’s kinda the point, silly!” Leslie giggled and continued to spider her fingers across the bottoms of my feet.
I tugged involuntarily at my restraints, desperately trying to free my arms, to get my feet away from the tickles, but neither straps nor stocks yielded. I could only thrash as far as they would let me as her fingers delicately skipped over my soles.
“Tickle tickle tickle!” she teased, giggling. “See? It’s not so bad, is it?”
“Ahahahahahahahahaha!! Ihit’s tohohortuhuhure!! Ahahahaha stahahap!”
“Oh, it’s torture, huh?” she said, one eyebrow raised. “I haven’t heard the word ‘mayday’ yet!”
She was kind of right. So far the tickling wasn’t too bad, but then again, this was just her fingers. I’d been tickled by fingers before, by Mickie, but she’d never used tools on me…
All of a sudden, my laughter shot up in volume—Leslie had begun to dig in, scratching my soft soles with her nails. “YAAAhahahahahahahahahaha!! Ohohoho god, stahahahahahap!!”
“Aww, little Michael’s got ticklish feetsies! Maybe he wants his toes tickled?”
“Ahahahahahaha!! No! Dohon’t tickle my tohohoes!!”
“Yes tickle your toes? Okay!” Unheeding of my plea, she began to play with my frantically wiggling toes. My voice got embarrassingly high at this point.
“EEEEYahahahahahahahahahaha!!! Nohohoho, stahahahahap!!”
The tickling went on, despite my protests. After what felt like forever, she finally stopped. “Okay,” she said. “That’s what five minutes of tickling feels like.”
“What?!” I exclaimed as I caught my breath. “That was only five minutes?? Oh god, I’m gonna diiiie!”
Leslie clicked her tongue. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic!” she chided playfully. “We’ve only just started, and you’re already falling apart!”
I groaned. “Oh god, why did I let Mickie talk me into this?”
“It was the puppy-dog eyes,” she reminded me. “Impossible to resist.”
“Oh yeah… wait, how do you know that?”
“She once turned them on me so I’d give her an extra half-hour of tickling.”
“Oh.”
She giggled and turned to her table of tools. “Now, since I’m a nice girl, I’m gonna let you pick what feather I use.”
I would rather she not have used feathers at all, but I knew I was going to get feathered anyway. I looked at the assortment of plumes laid out on the table. One of them was a peacock tail feather—no frigging way. There was also a turkey feather, which looked only slightly better. Finally, I settled on what looked to be a white chicken tail feather. “That one,” I said, pointing it out and hoping she wouldn’t be a smart ass and pretend to think I had pointed to the peacock feather.
Luckily, she had no such designs. She picked up the chicken feather and held it up. “This one?”
I nodded. “Yeah, that’s the one. It doesn’t look too bad…”
Leslie just smiled. “Appearances can be deceiving when it comes to feathers. Fortunately for you, you’re right about this one. It’s a good feather for first-timers—just the right mix of soft and stiff.”
She twirled it between her thumb and forefinger smiling at me. “You ready for this?”
I sighed. “No, but go ahead and do it anyway…”
Leslie giggled. “You’re just too cute!” Then she struck. She began to gently stroke the tip of the feather up and down my soles, from my heels to the base of my toes. It was super gentle, a light caress, really. But that didn’t stop me bursting into laughter at its touch.
“NAhahahahahahahahahahahaha!! Ohoho my gahahahahahad!” The feather’s light kiss was maddening, drawing more laughter out of me than I ever would have thought possible from such a soft touch.
“Hehe, amazing what even a feather can do, isn’t it?” Leslie teased, swirling the feather in figure eights on the soles of my feet.
“Aaaaahahahahahahahaha!! Plehehehehehehease, stahahahahap!”
“Nothing doing, not until I hear the magic word.” She grinned and began to sweep the feather across my toes, forcing my laughter up an octave.
“Noooooooahahahahahahahahaha!! Stahahap tihihickling my tohohohoes!!”
“I’ll stop tickling your toes,” she replied, a mischievous smirk on her pretty face, “When they stop being so adorably ticklish!”
Then she started to saw the feather in and out between my toes, and I thought for sure I was going to crawl out of my skin. I could only sit there and laugh my head off, unable to stop the horrible ticklish blitzkrieg on my sensitive toes.
Finally, just when I thought I could take no more, she stopped. “Right, so that’s one feather. But before we move on, I wanna see what you think of a few dozen!”
With that, she put down the feather—and picked up the feather duster. It was big, it was fluffy, it was eye-wateringly pink, and it was, quite frankly, terrifying.
“No! No, please—NAAAAHahahahaahahahahahaha!!” The duster’s many
feathers had begun to dance across my poor bare feet. Indeed, there were so many of them that they all seemed to caress my feet, seeming to find every single ticklish spot of skin at once—they even worked their way into my toes, and wiggling them only made it worse. There was no escaping them; no matter where my feet moved to, the feathers were there.
“Hehe, I’ve always loved this feather duster! It never fails to get the best giggles.”
“Ahahahahahahahaha!! Plehehehehease, make it stahahahahap!!”
After another infinity under the power of the feather duster, she finally ceased her tickling. “Well, that’s another five minutes gone! Just one hour, fifty minutes left to go!”
I groaned loudly, curling my toes, which were still haunted by the ghosts of tickles past. “Oh god, I don’t know how I’m going to survive this!”
“You know,” said Leslie as she set the feather duster back down among its mates, “You could have said the safe word. You could have stopped me tickling you at any time.”
“I, uh, forgot what it was…” I responded, blushing. That wasn’t entirely true, I knew.
She raised an eyebrow skeptically and gave me an incredulous smile. “Oh really?”
“Well… Okay, I’ll admit that it wasn’t too bad…” I muttered, my face hot. “At least, when it was just on my soles. But it sucked when you started tickling my toes!”
Leslie giggled. “So, this right here, this you like?” She picked the chicken feather back up and tickled my soles with it once again.
“Hehehehehahahahahahaha!! I dihidn’t sahahay I lihihiked it!”
“Hmm, well maybe I should try your toes again…”
“NO! Alrihihight, I kihihinda like thihihis!”
Triumphant in her quest to have gotten an admission from me, she stopped tickling and put the feather back down. “See, it’s little tidbits of feedback like that that help us make sure your next visit is totally perfect.”
“Yeah, well…” I looked down and away, still embarrassed. “I’m still not sure there’ll be a next visit…”
“Well, I hope there is, because you’re just too much fun to tickle!” Smiling sweetly, she plucked two paintbrushes out of their cup of liquid. I eyed them and whimpered.
“C-Can’t we just use the feather for the rest of the time? I-I don’t want to try anything else…”
“Nuh-uh. We’re gonna go through everything the computer told us you’d like. And besides, isn’t life all about trying new things?” Smiling, she touched the soft, wet bristles to my heels and began to slowly, gently “paint” the soles of my feet.
I instantly burst into hysterical laughter as I was transported to a world of hellish… no, actually, it wasn’t that bad. Truth be told, it kind of felt good. But I’m not one to readily admit these things.
“NAheheheheheheheheahahahaha!! Ohohohoh jeez!” My toes wiggled a little as the cold, wet bristles glided across my soles.
“Aww, I think someone likes this one, too!” Leslie giggled that adorable giggle of hers again as she continued to brush my feet.
“Ahahahahaha!! Yeheheah, you!” I retorted, blushing.
“Uh-huh, suuuure…” She smirked and paused just long enough to dip the paintbrushes into the liquid before returning to my feet. “You’re just embarrassed ‘cause you came in here, making the biggest stink about not wanting to be tickled, and now you’re too proud to admit you’re loving it!”
“Ahahahaha, I aham nohohot!!” She had, of course, hit the nail on the head; already she had tickled me in three different ways, and thus far I hadn’t encountered anything legitimately unpleasant.
“Oh no?” she said, smiling mischievously, before turning the wet bristles onto my toes.
“YAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! Nohohohoho, not my tohohoes agahahain!!”
“I’ll stop tickling your toes when you admit that you like my paintbrushes!” She swirled the bristles between my wiggling toes and in the space underneath them, causing me to squeal with laughter.
“AAAAAHahahahahahaha!! Okahahay! Ahahahahahahahahaha I like thehehem!! Just not on my tooohohohohoes!!!”
“Hehe, alright, fair enough…” She grinned and lowered the paintbrushes back down to my soft soles.
A few minutes of ticklish laughter later, she placed the brushes back into their cup of liquid. She sat watching me as I panted, curling my wet toes.
“How are you holding up, cutie?” she said, smiling and gently rubbing the soles of my feet with her fingertips.
“Ugh… I don’t know how much more I can take!”
“Oh, I don’t know, you’ve been taking it like a champ so far!” She smiled at me and continued to massage my feet.
“Well… yeah, sure, but you still haven’t used those yet.” I nodded towards the remaining items lying on the table, looking every bit as evil as a tray of dentist’s tools.
“Very true! How about we try a few of those?” Leslie grinned and picked up a pair of electric toothbrushes.
“What? No! That’s not what I meant!” I had never before been tickled by electric toothbrushes, but I could still imagine that they were pretty evil. I desperately tried to pull my feet backwards through the stocks, but, as you might imagine, my attempts were unsuccessful.
“Alright, Michael, here are the first of the big boys,” she said, flipping the switches on the toothbrushes. The rotating bristles buzzed to life, emitting the most terrifying high-pitched whirring sound I’d ever heard in my life. “Let’s see how you handle them, hm?”
“No! No, please!!”
Too late. Leslie touched the spinning brushes down on my heels, and any further begging I might have spouted was at that point drowned in my own hysterical laughter as she slowly ran the toothbrushes up my soles.
“YAAAAAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! Ohohoho god that’s teheherrible!! Ahahahahahaha plehehease, make it stahahahahap!!”
“Sorry, honey, but I’ve got to give you five minutes of these, just like the rest…” She began to move the spinning bristles in little circles right in the center of my arches, causing me to emit a very unmanly shriek.
“EEEEEEEEEENONONNONONOOOOHOHOHOOHOHAHAHAHAHA!! Plehehehease, no mohohohohohore!!”
Alright, so her fingers had been okay. The paintbrushes hadn’t been too bad. The feathers were almost pleasant. But these toothbrushes were downright torturous, no two ways about it.
So why the hell, asked my brain, aren’t you screaming “mayday” at the top of your lungs?
“And now for your favorite spot!” giggled Leslie, interrupting my thoughts, before turning the horrible buzzing brushes onto my wiggling toes.
“NOOOOOOOOHOHOHOHOHOAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! NOT THEHEHEHEHERE AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!” I thrashed and writhed in my seat like a madman, tears rolling down my cheeks as my oh-so sensitive toes were subjected to their most horrifically ticklish torment yet.
“Wow, you really are ticklish there, huh? Maybe I should try my toothbrushes in between them…”
Before I could unleash my extremely vehement “no,” she had already inserted the business ends of the toothbrushes into the tender trench between my big and second toes. At that point my laughter went silent, and the only sounds emanating from my mouth were this barely-audible wheezing and the occasional gasp for breath.
Finally, just when I thought I was going to die laughing, she turned off the toothbrushes and put them back down.
“Hehe, you okay?” she asked as she gently massaged my feet.
“H… Huhhh… H-Holy… shit…” was all I managed to gasp in response.
“Hmm, that bad, huh?”
“That… th-that was horrible!”
“Then why didn’t you cry mayday?”
Why indeed? Part of me was telling me that the toothbrushes had been torture, but was I really enjoying it subconsciously?
“Alright, I’m gonna give you a little break. And then I promise, nothing else between your toes—unless you ask for it…” She winked and giggled at this.
I scoffed. “Psht, f-fat chance of that… That was h-horrible!”
Leslie shrugged. “Hey, you never know. What you consider torture now might grow to be one of your favorite methods down the road. I see it happen all the time. Hell, even Mickie had something she couldn’t stand at first, but then she grew to like it, and now she requests it every time!”
“Oh? And what might that be?”
At this, she simply smiled at me mysteriously and said, “Oh, you’ll find out…”
I didn’t question her further. I probably should have, but I didn’t. For the moment, I was content to sit back and let her soft fingers knead my sensitive soles. To my embarrassment, I couldn’t stop a few murmurs of pleasure from escaping my lips.
“Hehe, you enjoying this?” She smiled at me and applied a bit more pressure.
“Mmmm…yeah… let’s just do this the rest of the time…”
Leslie chuckled. “Sorry Michael, no can do. This is the House of Laughs, after all…” After a while, she stopped massaging my feet and picked up a pair of soft-bristled scrub brushes.
When she saw my worried expression, she said, “Don’t worry, these are actually not as bad as the electric toothbrushes. Plus, look how wide they are—no chance of getting these between your toes!”
This last bit reassured me, so I relaxed a little. “Alright, I suppose you can try those…”
“Pfft, like it’s your call…” She stuck her tongue out at me teasingly and held the brushes up in front of my feet. “You ready for this?”
“Y-Yeah,” I said, bracing myself.
A moment later, I exploded into laughter as the brushes began to scrub up and down the soles of my feet.
“KYAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! Ohohoho jehehesus that tihihihickles!!” Each soft, pliant bristle stroked the skin on the bottoms of my feet like a tiny finger, and with a thousand bristles per brush, that’s an awful lot of tickle power. Still, she was right about one thing: these brushes weren’t nearly as unbearable as the electric toothbrushes.
“Coochie coochie coo! Hehe, gotta get these feetsies clean…” Leslie’s singsong voice somehow magically amplified the power of the brushes, forcing my laughter up to a higher pitch than my masculine ego would care to admit.
“NAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! Nohohoho, stahahap teheheasing mehehe!!”
“Aww, but why? It makes you blush, and you’re so cute when you blush!”
This, of course, only made me blush even more. Ah well, whatever keeps her happy…
Then I squealed loudly as she began to scrub my toes. “EEEEEEYAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! Hehehehey, yohohou said nohoho more tihickling on my tohohoes!!”
“Nuh-uh!” she denied. “I said no more tickling between your toes! I’m just scrubbing on them!”
“YAhahahahahahahahahaha!! C-Clohohose enohohohough!! STAHAHAHAP!!” Despite her assurances that the scrub brushes couldn’t tickle me between my toes, a few of their soft bristles did manage to find their way into those sensitive zones. Still, it wasn’t enough to make me cry mayday, so the brushing of my poor ticklish feet went on for the typical five minutes.
“Alright,” she said, putting the brushes down, “Time to give you a real break.” To my surprise, she unlocked and opened the stocks, then came around to the chair and undid the wrist straps.
“W-What? We… we’re done?” I wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed.
“Of course not, silly! I’m just letting you out for a bit so you can stretch, get some blood flowing back into your limbs.
I still wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed.
I did get up and stretch, though; I didn’t realize it until I stood up, but my feet were starting to tingle from being elevated in the stocks this whole time. I wiggled my toes as the blood reentered my feet.
“Aww, do it again!” Leslie giggled. “I love seeing your toes wiggle like that!”
I felt my face redden yet again, but I did as she asked. “Forgive me for asking, but I’m curious: do you have, like… a foot fetish, or something?”
“Nah,” she said nonchalantly. “I just think feet are cute. Same with tickling. You did say during your little interview that tickling wasn’t a turn-on for you?”
Thinking back to my initial questioning, I did remember being asked that question, and giving an answer pretty much on par with the one Leslie had just given me. “So, if I had said yes… they’d have paired me with a tickler who was… turned on by tickling?”
“Probably. Not necessarily though.” As she spoke, Leslie walked over to a small table in a corner, on which sat a pitcher of water and a glass. She continued her explanation as she poured water from the pitcher into the glass. “Customers who are into tickling sexually usually already know what they want, so they’d be able to choose the temperament of their tickler. But yeah, we do have some erotic-type ticklers who do kinkier sessions for their customers.” The ease with which she talked about such an awkward subject astounded me. It was as if she thought it the most normal thing in the world.
She handed me the glass of water, which I drank gratefully; all this laughing had dried my throat out immensely. “Umm. Thanks, I needed that. Any way I could get another glass?”
Giggling, she refilled my glass and handed it back to me. “No more, though. The last thing we want is for you to pee your pants; after all, we’re still far from done…”
“Mm, true…” I sat back down in the chair with my water, feeling refreshed. “Alright, now what?”
“Now,” she said, picking up a bottle of lotion off the table, “We get those feet nice and soft and ticklish again! Just rest your ankles in the stocks, I won’t lock them up again just yet.”
I did as she said, my bare feet once again propped up in their now familiar position. “What do you mean by making them ticklish again though? I’m pretty sure my feet are still ticklish…”
She squirted a bit of white lotion into her hands and rubbed them together. “You’d be surprised at how desensitized your feet can get from non-stop tickling. This lotion should reawaken those nerves, so you don’t miss a tickle!” With that, she began to rub the lotion into the soles of my feet, eliciting embarrassing but inevitable moans of pleasure from me.
“Mmmmmm… g-great, yeah… wouldn’t want to miss a t-tickle…” My toes curled a little as her warm, soft hands glided over my feet.
“Oh, poo! You know you love it!” She smirked at me as her fingers gently rubbed my toes. Ticklish as they are I couldn’t help but jump and gasp a little.
“Ah! Oooooooohh… Y-Yeah, well… I’m still a little afraid of what’s left on the table…”
Indeed, the remaining tools—the rotary brush and the hairbrushes—looked terrifying beyond belief, not to mention the bottles of oil still waiting to be employed…
“Aw, don’t worry! You’ve made it this far, haven’t you?” She finished rubbing the lotion on my feet and wiped her hands off on a towel. “If it makes you feel any better, we’re don’t have much farther to go.”
I took a deep, bracing breath and sat back. “Alright, I guess it’s time to continue then…”
“Right you are!” she answered with a grin, then clapped the stocks shut around my ankles. “We’ve still got the best tools ahead of us, and I’m saving the very best for last—and I’ve got a feeling, that last one at least will guarantee that I get to tickle you again!”
“Oh yeah?” I asked as she refastened the arm straps around my wrists. “What is it?”
“It’s a surprise,” she responded with a wink, then sat back down on her little stool and gave my soles a quick little tickle with her fingers. “Back to full ticklish capacity?”
“YAhahahahahaha!! Yehes, I think so!” My toes wiggled and curled nervously.
Leslie grinned. “Good! Because I want you to feel every bit of this one…” She picked up the rotary brush. Its body looked a little like that of a hand mixer, complete with a switch that allowed the brush to operate on two settings—low and high. The business end, however, was a circular scrub brush, about four inches in diameter and covered in hundreds of pliant, soft-looking bristles.
“Tell you what,” I said, looking at the brush as one might look at a venomous snake, “Let’s skip his one and just pretend you used it on me. I won’t tell a soul, I swear!”
Leslie just clicked her tongue at me. “You haven’t learned a thing, have you? You’re gonna try whatever tools I wanna use on you,, and you’re gonna love every moment of it!” She flipped the switch on the brush to the “low” setting and it started to spin, emitting a whir that was deeper than that of the electric toothbrushes, but no less terrifying. The sound of it sent electric shocks up and down my spine and made my toes curl in fear.
“No! Please, don’t use that on me, I’m begging you!”
“Oh, alright…” Leslie pouted and moved the brush away from me.
I sighed and relaxed, the danger past. “Thank you so much! You know, for a moment there I thought you were—“
“PSYCH!” She suddenly lunged forward with the brush and swiftly applied it to my heels, then immediately began to move it up and down the soles of my bare feet.
“NOOOOOHOHOHOHOHOHOHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! Yohohohou sneheaky little bihihihitch!!” Without a doubt, this spinning brush was almost as ticklish as the toothbrushes had been, its effect lessened slightly by the fact that it was spread out over a larger area.
“Aw, now that’s not very nice!” Leslie admonished as she mercilessly scrubbed my poor soles. “Maybe I should give these toes some attention too, as punishment…”
“NO!! OKAHAHAY!! I’m sahahahaharry ahahahahahaha!! Dohohohon’t tickle my tohohohoes!!”
“What’s that? Tickle your toes?” Her mouth was curved into a mischievous, teasing smile.
“Nohohoh, dohohon’t!”
“Don’t what?”
“Tickle my tohohohoes!”
“Oh, but of course! I’d be more than happy to tickle your toes!”
“Nohoho, thahat’s not whahat I—NYAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHA!!” Once again, she had failed to listen and had turned the rapidly rotating bristles on my toes.
“Oooh, listen to my little baby laugh!” she teased, giggling. “Are you sorry you called me a bitch?”
“AHAAHAHAHA YEHEHEHES!! AHAHAHAHA I’M SOHORRY!!”
“Mmm, I don’t think you are…” She flipped the switch to its high setting, sending the brush’s whir up an octave, and ran it up one foot and down the other, covering both my soles and toes.
“YAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! I AHAHAHAM!! AHAHAHAHA I’M SOHOHORRY!! AHAHAHAHA I SWEHEHEHEAR!!”
“You’re sorry for what?” Leslie was obviously enjoying herself immensely.
“NAHAHAHAHA I’M SORRY I CAHALLED YOU A BIHIHIHIHITCH!! NOW PLEHEASE STAHAHAHAHAHAHAP!!”
“Mmmm… alright, I suppose I can accept that apology!” At last, she flipped the switch back to “off” and put the brush down. “That one’s fun, huh?”
“O-Oh jeez…” I wheezed. “That thing… is f-frigging… evil!”
“You think that was bad, just you wait until the next one!” Giggling, she picked up a small length of string from the table.
“Is… Is that it?” I asked. “D-Doesn’t look… like it t-tickles much…”
“It’s not supposed to, smarty!” she replied, then used the string to tie my big toes together and pull them back, tying them to eyelets on top of the stocks. “It’s to keep you still, because the next tool is most effective when your feet can’t move.”
I tried to move my feet, but found them to be just as immobile as Leslie claimed them to be. I could barely even wiggle my toes. “Um, Leslie? I don’t like this…”
“Oh, you’ll be alright. Your lack of mobility is gonna be the least of your worries in a minute…” She picked up a bottle from the table—baby oil, by the looks of it—and poured some into a little paper cup.
“W-What’s that for?” I couldn’t keep the tremor out of my voice; I had no idea what oil would do, but I had the nasty feeling it wouldn’t be good.
“You’ll see in a minute,” she said, smiling. When she saw the look of anxiety on my face, though, her expression turned to one of sympathy. “Look, I’ll even put it on you with one of your favorites, ‘kay?” She plucked a paintbrush out of their water, a wide one with really soft-looking bristles.
I swallowed, but nodded; I did like the paintbrushes. “Alright, I guess that’ll be okay…”
Leslie smiled again, dipped the brush into the oil, and began to coat my soles in it. I shivered a little as the cold liquid touched my soles and started to giggle as the bristles of the brush began to tickle my feet.
“Hehehehahahahaha!! J-Juhust keheep awahay from my tohohoes!”
“Oh don’t worry, this next tool is for your soles only, I swear!”
Well, that was some relief. Still, I dreaded the inevitable end of this soft, gentle tickling—and the start of whatever torturous tool she would use on me next.
Or did I? Truth be told, my tickle torture thus far hadn’t been as torturous as I’d expected. Could Mickie have been right? Was I really… enjoying this?
After a while, Leslie put down the paintbrush and smiled at me. “There we go! All prepped and ready!”
“S-So, what’s the oil for?” I asked tremulously, not sure I wanted to know.
“Well,” she said, her smile growing mischievous, “It makes your feet all slippery, so that tools slide over your soles easier! So if I do this…” She suddenly slid a single finger up my right foot, making me burst out laughing.
“YAHAHAHAHA!! W-Whahat??!”
“It tickles more, doesn’t it?” Leslie giggled. “That’s what the oil’s for!”
“T-To make my feet more ticklish?? Are you serious?!” I started to panic a little; whatever she had planned next, I didn’t want to have to experience it with double the ticklishness! “I’m way too ticklish as it is!”
“Oh hush,” she said, picking up one of the hard-bristled hairbrushes. “It makes it more fun!”
“Oh Christ, please don’t…”
She lowered the brush slowly towards my feet.
“Seriously, p-put it away! Don’t do this!”
The bristles touched down on my heels, and she held them there.
“PLEASE, DON’T TICKLE ME! LET ME GO!”
Grinning, Leslie began to scrub the brush up and down my oiled soles.
“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! OMIGODITTIHIHIHIHIHIHICKLESAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!”
Oh god, was it torture! I bucked and thrashed harder than ever as the bristles of the brush raked and glided smoothly over my slick bare feet, tears streaming down my face. It was the most torturous thing that had been inflicted on my poor feet so far.
And I loved it.
Yeah, that’s right. It confused the hell out of me, too. Somehow, despite how horrible the brush’s tickling was, it still felt… good.
“Oooh, looks like someone’s really sensitive to this one!” Leslie picked up the other brush and vigorously scrubbed both my soles, one brush per foot, driving my laughter up even higher.
“YAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAA!! NOHOHOHOHO, DON’T!! AHAHAHAHH STAHAHAHAHAP!!”
“What’s that? Don’t stop?” She brushed the soles of my feet even faster. I had known she wouldn’t stop, of course; my hidden plea for more had had the exact effect I’d hoped it would…
After the usual five minutes, she finally stopped and put down the brushes. My face felt hot and red, and I was drenched with sweat, but no doubt about it—I had enjoyed it. I just hoped Leslie wouldn’t figure that out…
“You loved it, didn’t you?”
“What?? How did you—I mean, no!”
“Then why are you still smiling?”
Dammit. “I, uh… I mean, what… shit. Alright, yeah, I… I guess that was okay…” My one consolation was that she couldn’t see me blush through my flushed face.
Leslie grinned. “Come on, Michael!” she chastised playfully. “You should know by now that honesty is the best policy here!”
“Well… okay, yeah. That felt pretty good.” I smiled a little, in spite of my embarrassment.
“Uh-huh, I thought so!” She grinned at me, clearly enjoying my embarrassment. “Well, you’ll be happy to know that we’ve got just one final thing to do.” Smiling, she picked up the towel and wiped off the remaining oil, then untied my toes. “Remember what I said earlier, about the thing that Mickie hated but now it’s her favorite?”
“Yeeeeeaah…?” I looked at her apprehensively, my now-dry toes curling a little as they were freed.
“Well, I’m gonna do it for you now, and if my guess is correct—and my guesses always are—you’re gonna love it right away.”
“Oh really? Just what exactly is it?”
“Close your eyes and relax, and I’ll show you.”
I hesitated a beat, then did as she said, letting my eyelids close as I leaned back in my seat.
A moment later, I felt it. Something warm and wet touched the heel of my right foot and slid up my sole to the base of my toes, and I exploded into laughter.
“YAHAHAHAHAHA!! Whahat the hehehell??!” My eyes bugged out and revealed that Leslie had begun to slowly lick the soles of my feet.
The feeling was unreal—it tickled more than anything else had, and yet between my peals of laughter, I found myself… moaning.
“G-GAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! Mmmmmmmmmmahahahahahahahaha!! Ohhhh gahahahad it tihihihickles!”
“Mmm… well? Was I right?” She paused in her licking long enough to smile cheekily at me before continuing to run her tongue across the bottoms of my feet.
She was, of course. I couldn’t deny it any longer. Loathe though I was to admit it, I loved every second her tongue spent on my feet.
Even when she started to lick my toes, launching me to new heights of ticklish hysteria, I didn’t want her to stop.
“NYAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! OHOHOHO JEHESUS YEHEHEHES!!”
“What was that? Was that a ‘yes?’” She grinned broadly. “You love this, don’t you!”
“YEHEHEHEHEHES!! AHAHAHAHAHA I AHADMIHIHIT IT AHAHAHAHAHA!! TAHAHAT FEELS AMAHAHAHAZING!!”
“See? What did I tell you? And I’ll bet you’re gonna love this even more!” She took my toes into her mouth and began to suck on them, her tongue slipping between them as they wiggled.
By this point my laughter was silent; I couldn’t beg her to stop if I wanted to. I was helpless, melting in my chair as my bare feet were subjected to the greatest tickling sensation I had ever felt.
Finally, after the shortest eternity ever, she pulled her mouth away from my feet. “You alright Michael?” she said, beaming.
I nodded. “Oh g-god… do… do that… again!”
Leslie laughed. “Sorry Michael, I’d love to, but your time is up!”
“What?” I glanced at my watch. No doubt about it, my two hours were up. “Can’t we go just a little longer?”
“What happened to the guy who walked in here, the guy who didn’t want to be tickled at all?” She smirked as she dried off my feet and unlocked the stocks. Reluctantly, I lifted my feet out of them and lowered them to the floor as she undid the straps on the arms of the chair.
“I… I guess Mickie was right,” I said sheepishly. “Gah, how will I ever live it down?”
Leslie shrugged. “I’m sure you can tell her. After all, she loves it too! And y’know, we do couples’ tickling too; maybe sometime you guys can come together, and I’ll get to tickle both of you!”
I chuckled as I pulled my socks and shoes back on, my toes still tingling from the last two hours’ events. “Well, maybe…”
“You are gonna come back, right?” She sounded hopeful, and the look on her face was one I couldn’t refuse even if I wanted to.
“Well… yeah, I think I will.” I gave her a smile as I stood up, stretching my legs.
She squealed and hugged me. “Yay! I can’t wait to tickle you again; you’ve got to be one of my favorite clients yet!”
I blushed once again and returned her hug. Having disengaged myself, we exchanged one last wave before I walked out of the room, closing the door behind me.
“Well?” Mickie said the next day as we sat on her couch. “How was it? It was great, right?”
“It was… interesting…” I was still too embarrassed to admit she had been right. Besides, I just had to give her a hard time…
“Oh come on, you loved it and you know it! Did she lick your feet? Huh? Did she? It was awesome, wasn’t it?”
“Maybe she did, maybe she didn’t…”
She growled with frustration. “Dammit, Michael! Quit being so evasive! Just admit it, I was right and you loved every minute of your session!”
“I will admit no such thing.”
Mickie pouted—then, slowly, started to grin. “Well then, I guess I’ll just have to make you admit it!”
I knew exactly where she was going, of course, but I took the bait anyway. “And how exactly do you plan to do that?”
A moment later and she was on my calves, yanking off my shoes and socks. When I felt her tongue touch my bare soles, I burst out laughing like a maniac—and this time, I hoped she wouldn’t stop for some time…
The End
But then I decided, screw it. Maybe there's a place for less hot-n-steamy tickle stories here. So, here I give you the polar opposite: a tickle story so adorable and clean you'll want to vomit.
Enjoy. XD
P.S. This story is also posted on TT and on DA, and my username is the same for both. Just so you know.
---
The House of Laughs
I stood in front of the clear glass doors, each one decorated with the same logo—a curly-cue “HoL,” underlined by a thin pink feather. The House of Laughs—a business that hid nothing. No secrecy, no cutesy euphemisms. I was about to enter what can only be described as a “tickle spa.”
My friend Mickie had recommended it to me. “It’s a little girly,” she had said, “But don’t let that stop you, they cater to guys too!”
“And by “cater to,” you mean… tickle?” I had said, unable to keep the skepticism out of my voice. Not skepticism as to the place’s existence—I’d heard of these kinds of places cropping up recently—but skepticism as to the idea that I would ever set foot into such a place willingly.
“Yup! You just go in, answer a few questions, and get your custom treatment!”
“I don’t know, Mickie. I mean, pay to be tickle tortured?”
At this she had huffed indignantly. “It’s not torture! It’s a wonderful way to relieve stress, and it has a whole buttload of other health benefits! Besides, the first treatment is free.”
“I just don’t know, Mick. I’m not sure I could ever do something like that…”
“Aw come on, aren’t you always saying how much you love it when I tickle you?”
“When you tickle me, yeah. Playfully, unrestrained, a few minutes at a time, with the promise of revenge. Not tied up and tickled without mercy for an hour and a half!”
“Two hours,” she had corrected.
“Whatever. I’m not doing it.”
“Pleeeeease? Just give it a try!”
“No! I’m not going to this place, and there’s no way you’re going to convince me otherwise!”
But she had fixed me with the puppy-dog eyes. Those damned puppy-dog eyes. The ones you can only resist for so long before you cave. And so that’s how I came to be in front of The House of Laughs, wondering what must be wrong with my sanity as I pushed through the doors.
Mickie had been right—the place was pretty girly. The walls were a bright but soothing shade of pink, and in each corner stood a potted plant. Like, a ficus, or something. On top of that, the whole place smelled like some kind of perfume. Still, it wasn’t unpleasant, and I’m not really a “macho man.”
A female voice interrupted my thoughts. “May I help you sir?”
I started and looked around for the source of the voice. My eyes soon lit upon the customer service desk, at which a pretty young receptionist sat. Her blonde hair framed her smiling face nicely, and her hands were folded neatly in front of her on the desk. The uniform she wore was the same shade of pink as the walls, and was cut low to show her ample cleavage.
“Um, yeah,” I said, tearing my eyes away from her chest and praying she hadn’t noticed me looking. “I, uh, I believe I have an appointment?”
“Hmm, let me take a look,” she said, tapping a few keys on a laptop that was positioned slightly to her left on the desk. “Oh, Mickie sent you! She’s one of our best customers, you know.”
“Yeah,” I said, chuckling. “She loves this place. Admittedly, she had to twist my arm a bit to get me to come here…”
The receptionist smiled. “You wouldn’t be the first, sweetie! But don’t you worry, I personally promise that you’ll love it just as much as she does. Now then, I’m just going to ask you a few questions so we can set you up with your perfect treatment. Just answer them as honestly as you can, and don’t worry—we won’t tell anyone.” She giggled and winked at this. “Ready?”
“Alright,” I said. “Start asking.”
“Okay, question number one: where on your body are you most ticklish?”
“That’s easy: my feet. I’m not really ticklish anywhere else.”
“Oooh, ticklish tootsies, huh? Are they more ticklish bare, or with socks on?”
“Um, bare, I think?” I had to think about that one. Mickie had tickled my feet plenty of times, but she usually yanked off my socks before doing so.
“Hehe, my favorite!” she said, winking again. “Now, is tickling a sexual turn-on for you?”
I blushed heavily. “S-Sexual? Um, not really, I mean, I guess I think it’s a cute way to flirt, but…”
“Mm-hm…” she said, writing typing all my answers on her keyboard. “Next, are you in any way claustrophobic?”
“Um, a bit. Like, as long as I’ve got some room to move around, I guess I’m okay…”
“Do you or your family have a history of heart problems?”
“Um… no?”
“Good, good…” she said, typing rapidly. I couldn’t help but wonder what effect my answers would be having on my experience. Really though, I just hoped I wasn’t telling her anything that would make this any more torturous than I already expected it to be…
After a few more questions, she said, “Alright, let’s see what kind of treatment you get!” She hit the enter key and looked over the screen, then giggled. “Ooh, you’ve got a good one!”
“W-What?” I stammered, trying to look at the screen. She playfully pushed me back with a smirk.
“Now now, you’ll see in a minute!” She hit the enter key again, and the screen went black. The printer spit out a small slip of paper with the number 26 on it, which she handed to me. “Just head down the hallway over there and look for this room number. One of our ticklers will be with you shortly. Have fun!” She giggled yet again—my, she was giggly—and gave me a wave as I started down the hall she had indicated.
As I walked, I couldn’t help but grow more and more nervous. I couldn’t believe I was actually doing this. I considered turning around and bailing—after all, there was nothing saying I absolutely had to go through with this. But for whatever reason, I didn’t turn around. I just kept walking down the door-lined hall, looking for door number 26. Along the way, I heard laughter, both male and female, coming through some of the doors. Some of the things I heard sent thrills of anxiety down my spine.
“AHAHAHAHAHAHA!! Ohohoho god, not the bruhuhush!” begged a girl from room number four.
“Nonono, not THEEEEHEHEHEHERE!!” screamed a young-sounding guy in room fifteen.
“Oh plehehehehehease!! Ahahahahaha I cahan’t tahahake it! NO! No more feheheheathers!!” came the voice of a man in room nineteen.
“Oh god, what is that? *whirrrrrrrr* Oh god, nononononono
NAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHHAAHHAHAHA!!” Some woman in room twenty-two.
By the time I reached room number 26, my nervousness had elevated to terror. This is crazy, I thought. No way am I doing this. I’m going to turn right around and walk—no, run. Yes, run out of this place right now, and never come back.
Apparently my body didn’t get this message though, because despite my brain’s protests, my hand lifted, rested on the doorknob, turned, pushed…
And then I was standing in a small room, about the size of a smallish bedroom. The walls here, surprisingly enough, were not pink but a calming shade of green. A dome light hung from the ceiling, casting a warm yellow glow over the room, and on a couple of walls were small, framed pictures of beaches and lighthouses and kitschy stuff like that. Just looking at it all eased my nerves a tiny bit. Then I saw what the room had for furniture and my nerves came back with a vengeance.
Against one wall was a poofy, burgundy leather armchair. It looked like it might have been comfortable as hell, if not for the black straps on the arms. In front of it was a black pair of stocks, the leg holes padded with the same red leather as the chair. And in front of that was a short stool—presumably for my tickler to sit on. Directly to its side was a small table. There were things on it, but they were obscured by a white cloth that revealed only the vaguest shapes of the table’s contents. I could guess, though, that those were tools—implements of torture that were about to be used on me.
I’m not proud of it, but I panicked. I would have left right then, would have sprinted out of the building like I’d been telling myself to do this whole time, would have run all the way home and whacked Mickie on the back of the head for being so crazy, would have never written this story at all, had not my sharp one-eighty turn brought me face-to-face with a very, very pretty girl.
“Whoop! Hey there, cutie!” she said, holding her hands out to prevent me from smacking into her. She had straight, shoulder-length red hair and wide green eyes, a smattering of freckles across her cute button nose, and an endearingly-crooked smile. “You the guy Mickie sent?”
It took me a second to find my voice. “Um, uh... yeah. Yes. Yes I am.”
She giggled sweetly. The receptionist’s giggles had been almost artificially cute, but this girl was the real deal. “Well, my name’s Leslie, and I’ll be your tickler for today. Why don’t you have yourself a seat, and we’ll get you set up?”
She gestured to the poofy armchair, and my plans of escape were forgotten as I walked in a trance towards it. I lowered myself into its embrace—yup, comfy as hell.
“So what’s your name?” asked Leslie conversationally as she walked over to the door and shut it.
“Uh, Michael…” I told her.
“Well, Michael, is this your first time?”
“Um, yeah. I’m kinda nervous, to be honest…” Understatement of the year.
Leslie smiled at me. “Well, don’t worry. You’re gonna love this!”
“Yeah, that’s what people keep telling me…” I muttered. I still wasn’t sure about this at all, but it looked like I was going through with it, one way or another.
Leslie approached the left side of the chair and held the strap open for me. Wordlessly, I lifted my wrist and allowed her to fasten it down. Instinctively I tugged at the strap. Naturally, it held fast. “Oh boy…” I whimpered as she moved around to the other side and strapped my right wrist down.
“Hehe, no escape for you!” she giggled. I swallowed hard and smiled weakly.
“Alright honey, now for the big step.” She unlocked the stocks by pulling up a little latch, and held them open for me. “Last chance to chicken out.”
Yes, said my brain. She’s giving you a chance. Take it. For the love of god, take it! You’ve got nothing to prove! You’re not a proud man! Just ask her to undo the arm straps and get out of here!
But of course, for the umpteenth time that day, my body refused to listen to my brain. Slowly, hesitantly, I lifted my legs and rested my ankles in the open leg holes.
Leslie smiled and shut the stocks with a loud, final-sounding clunk, followed by the click of the latch as she locked them again. “Attaboy! No turning back now! Hehe…”
I moved my legs, testing the stocks. They clattered a little, but their grip was firm. “L-Looks like it…” I stuttered.
“Now then, let’s see what we’re gonna be using on you, shall we?”
“Using on me? W-What do you mean?”
Leslie grinned and, with a flourish, lifted the cloth from the little table. My blood ran cold as my eyes fell on the tools it had concealed.
There were a number of feathers, of different colors and types, laid out in a row, at the end of which was a bug, fluffy feather duster. In a little cup of water were a few small paintbrushes. Then there was an electric toothbrush, a pair of soft-bristled scrubby-type brushes, what looked like a motorized rotating scrub brush, and a pair of hard-bristled hairbrushes. There were also several bottles of varying size and color, containing lotions and oils.
It was at this point that my brain began to metaphorically slap the crap out of my body for not listening to it.
“Ta-da!” exclaimed Leslie. “What do you think?”
“I think I should never have walked through the front doors,” I responded weakly.
“Oh, hush,” she reprimanded playfully. “You’re gonna be okay. We won’t be using all of these tools, and nearly everybody who comes in here loves their treatment!”
“Oh yeah? What about all the begging I heard coming down the hall? It sounded like that scene from Hostel!”
Leslie laughed. “Oh, nearly everyone begs! It’s a reflex. You’ll beg too, I’m sure of it. But don’t worry, we have a safe word system in place. If any of those people hadn’t been enjoying themselves, they’d have shouted the safe word.”
This wasn’t much of a reassurance, but I kept quiet.
“Now then, it’s time to get you really ready! First off, these’ll have to go.” My heart dropped about a half-inch as Leslie untied my shoelaces and began to pull off my shoes.
“W-Wait!” I stammered as I felt my only protection slipping from my feet. “I’m not sure I’m r-ready for this…”
“It’s okay, Michael,” she said, her voice smooth and soothing. “Everyone’s scared their first time. But I promise, you’ll be begging for more by the end of it.”
I said nothing, just bit my lower lip and watched helplessly as she finished taking off my chucks and slowly peeled off my socks. The minute I felt the cool air on my bare feet, I gasped and shivered a little, and my toes curled instinctively.
“Awww, they’re so cute!” gushed Leslie. “You must take good care of your feet. They look so smooth, and so soft…”
I blushed hard. I had received compliments from girls before, but never about my feet. In truth I’d never given them much thought, except when Mickie tickled them. “Erm, thanks, I guess…” I wiggled my toes for her viewing pleasure, earning a girlish squeal from her.
“Alright,” she said when she had composed herself. “Time to start. Your session will last about two hours, plus breaks, which should give us plenty of time to use all the recommended tools.”
“Recommended? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Based on the questions you answered, we’ve determined exactly the right tools to use to make sure your experience is nothing but perfect!” She smiled sweetly.
“Well, that’s a relief…” I mumbled sarcastically. I couldn’t imagine myself enjoying any of the tools lying on that table.
“But first, I like to start out a little more personal…” She wiggled her fingers at me and grinned mischievously. At least we were starting in familiar territory.
“Your safe word is ‘mayday,’ got it?”
“Mayday… okay…”
“You ready for this?” Her fingers were poised mere inches from my bare soles. This was it. I was committed. There was no getting out of it now.
I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. “Okay. G-Go ahead.”
A moment’s pause, then…
“PFFFFAhehehehehehehehehehehahahahaha!!” Her long nails had begun to lightly dance and skitter up and down my soles, sending ticklish giggles pouring from my mouth like water. “NAhahahahahahaha!! Ohoho my god, it tihihihickles!”
“Well, that’s kinda the point, silly!” Leslie giggled and continued to spider her fingers across the bottoms of my feet.
I tugged involuntarily at my restraints, desperately trying to free my arms, to get my feet away from the tickles, but neither straps nor stocks yielded. I could only thrash as far as they would let me as her fingers delicately skipped over my soles.
“Tickle tickle tickle!” she teased, giggling. “See? It’s not so bad, is it?”
“Ahahahahahahahahaha!! Ihit’s tohohortuhuhure!! Ahahahaha stahahap!”
“Oh, it’s torture, huh?” she said, one eyebrow raised. “I haven’t heard the word ‘mayday’ yet!”
She was kind of right. So far the tickling wasn’t too bad, but then again, this was just her fingers. I’d been tickled by fingers before, by Mickie, but she’d never used tools on me…
All of a sudden, my laughter shot up in volume—Leslie had begun to dig in, scratching my soft soles with her nails. “YAAAhahahahahahahahahaha!! Ohohoho god, stahahahahahap!!”
“Aww, little Michael’s got ticklish feetsies! Maybe he wants his toes tickled?”
“Ahahahahahaha!! No! Dohon’t tickle my tohohoes!!”
“Yes tickle your toes? Okay!” Unheeding of my plea, she began to play with my frantically wiggling toes. My voice got embarrassingly high at this point.
“EEEEYahahahahahahahahahaha!!! Nohohoho, stahahahahap!!”
The tickling went on, despite my protests. After what felt like forever, she finally stopped. “Okay,” she said. “That’s what five minutes of tickling feels like.”
“What?!” I exclaimed as I caught my breath. “That was only five minutes?? Oh god, I’m gonna diiiie!”
Leslie clicked her tongue. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic!” she chided playfully. “We’ve only just started, and you’re already falling apart!”
I groaned. “Oh god, why did I let Mickie talk me into this?”
“It was the puppy-dog eyes,” she reminded me. “Impossible to resist.”
“Oh yeah… wait, how do you know that?”
“She once turned them on me so I’d give her an extra half-hour of tickling.”
“Oh.”
She giggled and turned to her table of tools. “Now, since I’m a nice girl, I’m gonna let you pick what feather I use.”
I would rather she not have used feathers at all, but I knew I was going to get feathered anyway. I looked at the assortment of plumes laid out on the table. One of them was a peacock tail feather—no frigging way. There was also a turkey feather, which looked only slightly better. Finally, I settled on what looked to be a white chicken tail feather. “That one,” I said, pointing it out and hoping she wouldn’t be a smart ass and pretend to think I had pointed to the peacock feather.
Luckily, she had no such designs. She picked up the chicken feather and held it up. “This one?”
I nodded. “Yeah, that’s the one. It doesn’t look too bad…”
Leslie just smiled. “Appearances can be deceiving when it comes to feathers. Fortunately for you, you’re right about this one. It’s a good feather for first-timers—just the right mix of soft and stiff.”
She twirled it between her thumb and forefinger smiling at me. “You ready for this?”
I sighed. “No, but go ahead and do it anyway…”
Leslie giggled. “You’re just too cute!” Then she struck. She began to gently stroke the tip of the feather up and down my soles, from my heels to the base of my toes. It was super gentle, a light caress, really. But that didn’t stop me bursting into laughter at its touch.
“NAhahahahahahahahahahahaha!! Ohoho my gahahahahahad!” The feather’s light kiss was maddening, drawing more laughter out of me than I ever would have thought possible from such a soft touch.
“Hehe, amazing what even a feather can do, isn’t it?” Leslie teased, swirling the feather in figure eights on the soles of my feet.
“Aaaaahahahahahahahaha!! Plehehehehehehease, stahahahahap!”
“Nothing doing, not until I hear the magic word.” She grinned and began to sweep the feather across my toes, forcing my laughter up an octave.
“Noooooooahahahahahahahahaha!! Stahahap tihihickling my tohohohoes!!”
“I’ll stop tickling your toes,” she replied, a mischievous smirk on her pretty face, “When they stop being so adorably ticklish!”
Then she started to saw the feather in and out between my toes, and I thought for sure I was going to crawl out of my skin. I could only sit there and laugh my head off, unable to stop the horrible ticklish blitzkrieg on my sensitive toes.
Finally, just when I thought I could take no more, she stopped. “Right, so that’s one feather. But before we move on, I wanna see what you think of a few dozen!”
With that, she put down the feather—and picked up the feather duster. It was big, it was fluffy, it was eye-wateringly pink, and it was, quite frankly, terrifying.
“No! No, please—NAAAAHahahahaahahahahahaha!!” The duster’s many
feathers had begun to dance across my poor bare feet. Indeed, there were so many of them that they all seemed to caress my feet, seeming to find every single ticklish spot of skin at once—they even worked their way into my toes, and wiggling them only made it worse. There was no escaping them; no matter where my feet moved to, the feathers were there.
“Hehe, I’ve always loved this feather duster! It never fails to get the best giggles.”
“Ahahahahahahahaha!! Plehehehehease, make it stahahahahap!!”
After another infinity under the power of the feather duster, she finally ceased her tickling. “Well, that’s another five minutes gone! Just one hour, fifty minutes left to go!”
I groaned loudly, curling my toes, which were still haunted by the ghosts of tickles past. “Oh god, I don’t know how I’m going to survive this!”
“You know,” said Leslie as she set the feather duster back down among its mates, “You could have said the safe word. You could have stopped me tickling you at any time.”
“I, uh, forgot what it was…” I responded, blushing. That wasn’t entirely true, I knew.
She raised an eyebrow skeptically and gave me an incredulous smile. “Oh really?”
“Well… Okay, I’ll admit that it wasn’t too bad…” I muttered, my face hot. “At least, when it was just on my soles. But it sucked when you started tickling my toes!”
Leslie giggled. “So, this right here, this you like?” She picked the chicken feather back up and tickled my soles with it once again.
“Hehehehehahahahahahaha!! I dihidn’t sahahay I lihihiked it!”
“Hmm, well maybe I should try your toes again…”
“NO! Alrihihight, I kihihinda like thihihis!”
Triumphant in her quest to have gotten an admission from me, she stopped tickling and put the feather back down. “See, it’s little tidbits of feedback like that that help us make sure your next visit is totally perfect.”
“Yeah, well…” I looked down and away, still embarrassed. “I’m still not sure there’ll be a next visit…”
“Well, I hope there is, because you’re just too much fun to tickle!” Smiling sweetly, she plucked two paintbrushes out of their cup of liquid. I eyed them and whimpered.
“C-Can’t we just use the feather for the rest of the time? I-I don’t want to try anything else…”
“Nuh-uh. We’re gonna go through everything the computer told us you’d like. And besides, isn’t life all about trying new things?” Smiling, she touched the soft, wet bristles to my heels and began to slowly, gently “paint” the soles of my feet.
I instantly burst into hysterical laughter as I was transported to a world of hellish… no, actually, it wasn’t that bad. Truth be told, it kind of felt good. But I’m not one to readily admit these things.
“NAheheheheheheheheahahahaha!! Ohohohoh jeez!” My toes wiggled a little as the cold, wet bristles glided across my soles.
“Aww, I think someone likes this one, too!” Leslie giggled that adorable giggle of hers again as she continued to brush my feet.
“Ahahahahaha!! Yeheheah, you!” I retorted, blushing.
“Uh-huh, suuuure…” She smirked and paused just long enough to dip the paintbrushes into the liquid before returning to my feet. “You’re just embarrassed ‘cause you came in here, making the biggest stink about not wanting to be tickled, and now you’re too proud to admit you’re loving it!”
“Ahahahaha, I aham nohohot!!” She had, of course, hit the nail on the head; already she had tickled me in three different ways, and thus far I hadn’t encountered anything legitimately unpleasant.
“Oh no?” she said, smiling mischievously, before turning the wet bristles onto my toes.
“YAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! Nohohohoho, not my tohohoes agahahain!!”
“I’ll stop tickling your toes when you admit that you like my paintbrushes!” She swirled the bristles between my wiggling toes and in the space underneath them, causing me to squeal with laughter.
“AAAAAHahahahahahaha!! Okahahay! Ahahahahahahahahaha I like thehehem!! Just not on my tooohohohohoes!!!”
“Hehe, alright, fair enough…” She grinned and lowered the paintbrushes back down to my soft soles.
A few minutes of ticklish laughter later, she placed the brushes back into their cup of liquid. She sat watching me as I panted, curling my wet toes.
“How are you holding up, cutie?” she said, smiling and gently rubbing the soles of my feet with her fingertips.
“Ugh… I don’t know how much more I can take!”
“Oh, I don’t know, you’ve been taking it like a champ so far!” She smiled at me and continued to massage my feet.
“Well… yeah, sure, but you still haven’t used those yet.” I nodded towards the remaining items lying on the table, looking every bit as evil as a tray of dentist’s tools.
“Very true! How about we try a few of those?” Leslie grinned and picked up a pair of electric toothbrushes.
“What? No! That’s not what I meant!” I had never before been tickled by electric toothbrushes, but I could still imagine that they were pretty evil. I desperately tried to pull my feet backwards through the stocks, but, as you might imagine, my attempts were unsuccessful.
“Alright, Michael, here are the first of the big boys,” she said, flipping the switches on the toothbrushes. The rotating bristles buzzed to life, emitting the most terrifying high-pitched whirring sound I’d ever heard in my life. “Let’s see how you handle them, hm?”
“No! No, please!!”
Too late. Leslie touched the spinning brushes down on my heels, and any further begging I might have spouted was at that point drowned in my own hysterical laughter as she slowly ran the toothbrushes up my soles.
“YAAAAAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! Ohohoho god that’s teheherrible!! Ahahahahahaha plehehease, make it stahahahahap!!”
“Sorry, honey, but I’ve got to give you five minutes of these, just like the rest…” She began to move the spinning bristles in little circles right in the center of my arches, causing me to emit a very unmanly shriek.
“EEEEEEEEEENONONNONONOOOOHOHOHOOHOHAHAHAHAHA!! Plehehehease, no mohohohohohore!!”
Alright, so her fingers had been okay. The paintbrushes hadn’t been too bad. The feathers were almost pleasant. But these toothbrushes were downright torturous, no two ways about it.
So why the hell, asked my brain, aren’t you screaming “mayday” at the top of your lungs?
“And now for your favorite spot!” giggled Leslie, interrupting my thoughts, before turning the horrible buzzing brushes onto my wiggling toes.
“NOOOOOOOOHOHOHOHOHOAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! NOT THEHEHEHEHERE AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!” I thrashed and writhed in my seat like a madman, tears rolling down my cheeks as my oh-so sensitive toes were subjected to their most horrifically ticklish torment yet.
“Wow, you really are ticklish there, huh? Maybe I should try my toothbrushes in between them…”
Before I could unleash my extremely vehement “no,” she had already inserted the business ends of the toothbrushes into the tender trench between my big and second toes. At that point my laughter went silent, and the only sounds emanating from my mouth were this barely-audible wheezing and the occasional gasp for breath.
Finally, just when I thought I was going to die laughing, she turned off the toothbrushes and put them back down.
“Hehe, you okay?” she asked as she gently massaged my feet.
“H… Huhhh… H-Holy… shit…” was all I managed to gasp in response.
“Hmm, that bad, huh?”
“That… th-that was horrible!”
“Then why didn’t you cry mayday?”
Why indeed? Part of me was telling me that the toothbrushes had been torture, but was I really enjoying it subconsciously?
“Alright, I’m gonna give you a little break. And then I promise, nothing else between your toes—unless you ask for it…” She winked and giggled at this.
I scoffed. “Psht, f-fat chance of that… That was h-horrible!”
Leslie shrugged. “Hey, you never know. What you consider torture now might grow to be one of your favorite methods down the road. I see it happen all the time. Hell, even Mickie had something she couldn’t stand at first, but then she grew to like it, and now she requests it every time!”
“Oh? And what might that be?”
At this, she simply smiled at me mysteriously and said, “Oh, you’ll find out…”
I didn’t question her further. I probably should have, but I didn’t. For the moment, I was content to sit back and let her soft fingers knead my sensitive soles. To my embarrassment, I couldn’t stop a few murmurs of pleasure from escaping my lips.
“Hehe, you enjoying this?” She smiled at me and applied a bit more pressure.
“Mmmm…yeah… let’s just do this the rest of the time…”
Leslie chuckled. “Sorry Michael, no can do. This is the House of Laughs, after all…” After a while, she stopped massaging my feet and picked up a pair of soft-bristled scrub brushes.
When she saw my worried expression, she said, “Don’t worry, these are actually not as bad as the electric toothbrushes. Plus, look how wide they are—no chance of getting these between your toes!”
This last bit reassured me, so I relaxed a little. “Alright, I suppose you can try those…”
“Pfft, like it’s your call…” She stuck her tongue out at me teasingly and held the brushes up in front of my feet. “You ready for this?”
“Y-Yeah,” I said, bracing myself.
A moment later, I exploded into laughter as the brushes began to scrub up and down the soles of my feet.
“KYAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! Ohohoho jehehesus that tihihihickles!!” Each soft, pliant bristle stroked the skin on the bottoms of my feet like a tiny finger, and with a thousand bristles per brush, that’s an awful lot of tickle power. Still, she was right about one thing: these brushes weren’t nearly as unbearable as the electric toothbrushes.
“Coochie coochie coo! Hehe, gotta get these feetsies clean…” Leslie’s singsong voice somehow magically amplified the power of the brushes, forcing my laughter up to a higher pitch than my masculine ego would care to admit.
“NAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! Nohohoho, stahahap teheheasing mehehe!!”
“Aww, but why? It makes you blush, and you’re so cute when you blush!”
This, of course, only made me blush even more. Ah well, whatever keeps her happy…
Then I squealed loudly as she began to scrub my toes. “EEEEEEYAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! Hehehehey, yohohou said nohoho more tihickling on my tohohoes!!”
“Nuh-uh!” she denied. “I said no more tickling between your toes! I’m just scrubbing on them!”
“YAhahahahahahahahahaha!! C-Clohohose enohohohough!! STAHAHAHAP!!” Despite her assurances that the scrub brushes couldn’t tickle me between my toes, a few of their soft bristles did manage to find their way into those sensitive zones. Still, it wasn’t enough to make me cry mayday, so the brushing of my poor ticklish feet went on for the typical five minutes.
“Alright,” she said, putting the brushes down, “Time to give you a real break.” To my surprise, she unlocked and opened the stocks, then came around to the chair and undid the wrist straps.
“W-What? We… we’re done?” I wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed.
“Of course not, silly! I’m just letting you out for a bit so you can stretch, get some blood flowing back into your limbs.
I still wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed.
I did get up and stretch, though; I didn’t realize it until I stood up, but my feet were starting to tingle from being elevated in the stocks this whole time. I wiggled my toes as the blood reentered my feet.
“Aww, do it again!” Leslie giggled. “I love seeing your toes wiggle like that!”
I felt my face redden yet again, but I did as she asked. “Forgive me for asking, but I’m curious: do you have, like… a foot fetish, or something?”
“Nah,” she said nonchalantly. “I just think feet are cute. Same with tickling. You did say during your little interview that tickling wasn’t a turn-on for you?”
Thinking back to my initial questioning, I did remember being asked that question, and giving an answer pretty much on par with the one Leslie had just given me. “So, if I had said yes… they’d have paired me with a tickler who was… turned on by tickling?”
“Probably. Not necessarily though.” As she spoke, Leslie walked over to a small table in a corner, on which sat a pitcher of water and a glass. She continued her explanation as she poured water from the pitcher into the glass. “Customers who are into tickling sexually usually already know what they want, so they’d be able to choose the temperament of their tickler. But yeah, we do have some erotic-type ticklers who do kinkier sessions for their customers.” The ease with which she talked about such an awkward subject astounded me. It was as if she thought it the most normal thing in the world.
She handed me the glass of water, which I drank gratefully; all this laughing had dried my throat out immensely. “Umm. Thanks, I needed that. Any way I could get another glass?”
Giggling, she refilled my glass and handed it back to me. “No more, though. The last thing we want is for you to pee your pants; after all, we’re still far from done…”
“Mm, true…” I sat back down in the chair with my water, feeling refreshed. “Alright, now what?”
“Now,” she said, picking up a bottle of lotion off the table, “We get those feet nice and soft and ticklish again! Just rest your ankles in the stocks, I won’t lock them up again just yet.”
I did as she said, my bare feet once again propped up in their now familiar position. “What do you mean by making them ticklish again though? I’m pretty sure my feet are still ticklish…”
She squirted a bit of white lotion into her hands and rubbed them together. “You’d be surprised at how desensitized your feet can get from non-stop tickling. This lotion should reawaken those nerves, so you don’t miss a tickle!” With that, she began to rub the lotion into the soles of my feet, eliciting embarrassing but inevitable moans of pleasure from me.
“Mmmmmm… g-great, yeah… wouldn’t want to miss a t-tickle…” My toes curled a little as her warm, soft hands glided over my feet.
“Oh, poo! You know you love it!” She smirked at me as her fingers gently rubbed my toes. Ticklish as they are I couldn’t help but jump and gasp a little.
“Ah! Oooooooohh… Y-Yeah, well… I’m still a little afraid of what’s left on the table…”
Indeed, the remaining tools—the rotary brush and the hairbrushes—looked terrifying beyond belief, not to mention the bottles of oil still waiting to be employed…
“Aw, don’t worry! You’ve made it this far, haven’t you?” She finished rubbing the lotion on my feet and wiped her hands off on a towel. “If it makes you feel any better, we’re don’t have much farther to go.”
I took a deep, bracing breath and sat back. “Alright, I guess it’s time to continue then…”
“Right you are!” she answered with a grin, then clapped the stocks shut around my ankles. “We’ve still got the best tools ahead of us, and I’m saving the very best for last—and I’ve got a feeling, that last one at least will guarantee that I get to tickle you again!”
“Oh yeah?” I asked as she refastened the arm straps around my wrists. “What is it?”
“It’s a surprise,” she responded with a wink, then sat back down on her little stool and gave my soles a quick little tickle with her fingers. “Back to full ticklish capacity?”
“YAhahahahahaha!! Yehes, I think so!” My toes wiggled and curled nervously.
Leslie grinned. “Good! Because I want you to feel every bit of this one…” She picked up the rotary brush. Its body looked a little like that of a hand mixer, complete with a switch that allowed the brush to operate on two settings—low and high. The business end, however, was a circular scrub brush, about four inches in diameter and covered in hundreds of pliant, soft-looking bristles.
“Tell you what,” I said, looking at the brush as one might look at a venomous snake, “Let’s skip his one and just pretend you used it on me. I won’t tell a soul, I swear!”
Leslie just clicked her tongue at me. “You haven’t learned a thing, have you? You’re gonna try whatever tools I wanna use on you,, and you’re gonna love every moment of it!” She flipped the switch on the brush to the “low” setting and it started to spin, emitting a whir that was deeper than that of the electric toothbrushes, but no less terrifying. The sound of it sent electric shocks up and down my spine and made my toes curl in fear.
“No! Please, don’t use that on me, I’m begging you!”
“Oh, alright…” Leslie pouted and moved the brush away from me.
I sighed and relaxed, the danger past. “Thank you so much! You know, for a moment there I thought you were—“
“PSYCH!” She suddenly lunged forward with the brush and swiftly applied it to my heels, then immediately began to move it up and down the soles of my bare feet.
“NOOOOOHOHOHOHOHOHOHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! Yohohohou sneheaky little bihihihitch!!” Without a doubt, this spinning brush was almost as ticklish as the toothbrushes had been, its effect lessened slightly by the fact that it was spread out over a larger area.
“Aw, now that’s not very nice!” Leslie admonished as she mercilessly scrubbed my poor soles. “Maybe I should give these toes some attention too, as punishment…”
“NO!! OKAHAHAY!! I’m sahahahaharry ahahahahahaha!! Dohohohon’t tickle my tohohohoes!!”
“What’s that? Tickle your toes?” Her mouth was curved into a mischievous, teasing smile.
“Nohohoh, dohohon’t!”
“Don’t what?”
“Tickle my tohohohoes!”
“Oh, but of course! I’d be more than happy to tickle your toes!”
“Nohoho, thahat’s not whahat I—NYAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHA!!” Once again, she had failed to listen and had turned the rapidly rotating bristles on my toes.
“Oooh, listen to my little baby laugh!” she teased, giggling. “Are you sorry you called me a bitch?”
“AHAAHAHAHA YEHEHEHES!! AHAHAHAHA I’M SOHORRY!!”
“Mmm, I don’t think you are…” She flipped the switch to its high setting, sending the brush’s whir up an octave, and ran it up one foot and down the other, covering both my soles and toes.
“YAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! I AHAHAHAM!! AHAHAHAHA I’M SOHOHORRY!! AHAHAHAHA I SWEHEHEHEAR!!”
“You’re sorry for what?” Leslie was obviously enjoying herself immensely.
“NAHAHAHAHA I’M SORRY I CAHALLED YOU A BIHIHIHIHITCH!! NOW PLEHEASE STAHAHAHAHAHAHAP!!”
“Mmmm… alright, I suppose I can accept that apology!” At last, she flipped the switch back to “off” and put the brush down. “That one’s fun, huh?”
“O-Oh jeez…” I wheezed. “That thing… is f-frigging… evil!”
“You think that was bad, just you wait until the next one!” Giggling, she picked up a small length of string from the table.
“Is… Is that it?” I asked. “D-Doesn’t look… like it t-tickles much…”
“It’s not supposed to, smarty!” she replied, then used the string to tie my big toes together and pull them back, tying them to eyelets on top of the stocks. “It’s to keep you still, because the next tool is most effective when your feet can’t move.”
I tried to move my feet, but found them to be just as immobile as Leslie claimed them to be. I could barely even wiggle my toes. “Um, Leslie? I don’t like this…”
“Oh, you’ll be alright. Your lack of mobility is gonna be the least of your worries in a minute…” She picked up a bottle from the table—baby oil, by the looks of it—and poured some into a little paper cup.
“W-What’s that for?” I couldn’t keep the tremor out of my voice; I had no idea what oil would do, but I had the nasty feeling it wouldn’t be good.
“You’ll see in a minute,” she said, smiling. When she saw the look of anxiety on my face, though, her expression turned to one of sympathy. “Look, I’ll even put it on you with one of your favorites, ‘kay?” She plucked a paintbrush out of their water, a wide one with really soft-looking bristles.
I swallowed, but nodded; I did like the paintbrushes. “Alright, I guess that’ll be okay…”
Leslie smiled again, dipped the brush into the oil, and began to coat my soles in it. I shivered a little as the cold liquid touched my soles and started to giggle as the bristles of the brush began to tickle my feet.
“Hehehehahahahaha!! J-Juhust keheep awahay from my tohohoes!”
“Oh don’t worry, this next tool is for your soles only, I swear!”
Well, that was some relief. Still, I dreaded the inevitable end of this soft, gentle tickling—and the start of whatever torturous tool she would use on me next.
Or did I? Truth be told, my tickle torture thus far hadn’t been as torturous as I’d expected. Could Mickie have been right? Was I really… enjoying this?
After a while, Leslie put down the paintbrush and smiled at me. “There we go! All prepped and ready!”
“S-So, what’s the oil for?” I asked tremulously, not sure I wanted to know.
“Well,” she said, her smile growing mischievous, “It makes your feet all slippery, so that tools slide over your soles easier! So if I do this…” She suddenly slid a single finger up my right foot, making me burst out laughing.
“YAHAHAHAHA!! W-Whahat??!”
“It tickles more, doesn’t it?” Leslie giggled. “That’s what the oil’s for!”
“T-To make my feet more ticklish?? Are you serious?!” I started to panic a little; whatever she had planned next, I didn’t want to have to experience it with double the ticklishness! “I’m way too ticklish as it is!”
“Oh hush,” she said, picking up one of the hard-bristled hairbrushes. “It makes it more fun!”
“Oh Christ, please don’t…”
She lowered the brush slowly towards my feet.
“Seriously, p-put it away! Don’t do this!”
The bristles touched down on my heels, and she held them there.
“PLEASE, DON’T TICKLE ME! LET ME GO!”
Grinning, Leslie began to scrub the brush up and down my oiled soles.
“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! OMIGODITTIHIHIHIHIHIHICKLESAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!”
Oh god, was it torture! I bucked and thrashed harder than ever as the bristles of the brush raked and glided smoothly over my slick bare feet, tears streaming down my face. It was the most torturous thing that had been inflicted on my poor feet so far.
And I loved it.
Yeah, that’s right. It confused the hell out of me, too. Somehow, despite how horrible the brush’s tickling was, it still felt… good.
“Oooh, looks like someone’s really sensitive to this one!” Leslie picked up the other brush and vigorously scrubbed both my soles, one brush per foot, driving my laughter up even higher.
“YAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAA!! NOHOHOHOHO, DON’T!! AHAHAHAHH STAHAHAHAHAP!!”
“What’s that? Don’t stop?” She brushed the soles of my feet even faster. I had known she wouldn’t stop, of course; my hidden plea for more had had the exact effect I’d hoped it would…
After the usual five minutes, she finally stopped and put down the brushes. My face felt hot and red, and I was drenched with sweat, but no doubt about it—I had enjoyed it. I just hoped Leslie wouldn’t figure that out…
“You loved it, didn’t you?”
“What?? How did you—I mean, no!”
“Then why are you still smiling?”
Dammit. “I, uh… I mean, what… shit. Alright, yeah, I… I guess that was okay…” My one consolation was that she couldn’t see me blush through my flushed face.
Leslie grinned. “Come on, Michael!” she chastised playfully. “You should know by now that honesty is the best policy here!”
“Well… okay, yeah. That felt pretty good.” I smiled a little, in spite of my embarrassment.
“Uh-huh, I thought so!” She grinned at me, clearly enjoying my embarrassment. “Well, you’ll be happy to know that we’ve got just one final thing to do.” Smiling, she picked up the towel and wiped off the remaining oil, then untied my toes. “Remember what I said earlier, about the thing that Mickie hated but now it’s her favorite?”
“Yeeeeeaah…?” I looked at her apprehensively, my now-dry toes curling a little as they were freed.
“Well, I’m gonna do it for you now, and if my guess is correct—and my guesses always are—you’re gonna love it right away.”
“Oh really? Just what exactly is it?”
“Close your eyes and relax, and I’ll show you.”
I hesitated a beat, then did as she said, letting my eyelids close as I leaned back in my seat.
A moment later, I felt it. Something warm and wet touched the heel of my right foot and slid up my sole to the base of my toes, and I exploded into laughter.
“YAHAHAHAHAHA!! Whahat the hehehell??!” My eyes bugged out and revealed that Leslie had begun to slowly lick the soles of my feet.
The feeling was unreal—it tickled more than anything else had, and yet between my peals of laughter, I found myself… moaning.
“G-GAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! Mmmmmmmmmmahahahahahahahaha!! Ohhhh gahahahad it tihihihickles!”
“Mmm… well? Was I right?” She paused in her licking long enough to smile cheekily at me before continuing to run her tongue across the bottoms of my feet.
She was, of course. I couldn’t deny it any longer. Loathe though I was to admit it, I loved every second her tongue spent on my feet.
Even when she started to lick my toes, launching me to new heights of ticklish hysteria, I didn’t want her to stop.
“NYAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! OHOHOHO JEHESUS YEHEHEHES!!”
“What was that? Was that a ‘yes?’” She grinned broadly. “You love this, don’t you!”
“YEHEHEHEHEHES!! AHAHAHAHAHA I AHADMIHIHIT IT AHAHAHAHAHA!! TAHAHAT FEELS AMAHAHAHAZING!!”
“See? What did I tell you? And I’ll bet you’re gonna love this even more!” She took my toes into her mouth and began to suck on them, her tongue slipping between them as they wiggled.
By this point my laughter was silent; I couldn’t beg her to stop if I wanted to. I was helpless, melting in my chair as my bare feet were subjected to the greatest tickling sensation I had ever felt.
Finally, after the shortest eternity ever, she pulled her mouth away from my feet. “You alright Michael?” she said, beaming.
I nodded. “Oh g-god… do… do that… again!”
Leslie laughed. “Sorry Michael, I’d love to, but your time is up!”
“What?” I glanced at my watch. No doubt about it, my two hours were up. “Can’t we go just a little longer?”
“What happened to the guy who walked in here, the guy who didn’t want to be tickled at all?” She smirked as she dried off my feet and unlocked the stocks. Reluctantly, I lifted my feet out of them and lowered them to the floor as she undid the straps on the arms of the chair.
“I… I guess Mickie was right,” I said sheepishly. “Gah, how will I ever live it down?”
Leslie shrugged. “I’m sure you can tell her. After all, she loves it too! And y’know, we do couples’ tickling too; maybe sometime you guys can come together, and I’ll get to tickle both of you!”
I chuckled as I pulled my socks and shoes back on, my toes still tingling from the last two hours’ events. “Well, maybe…”
“You are gonna come back, right?” She sounded hopeful, and the look on her face was one I couldn’t refuse even if I wanted to.
“Well… yeah, I think I will.” I gave her a smile as I stood up, stretching my legs.
She squealed and hugged me. “Yay! I can’t wait to tickle you again; you’ve got to be one of my favorite clients yet!”
I blushed once again and returned her hug. Having disengaged myself, we exchanged one last wave before I walked out of the room, closing the door behind me.
“Well?” Mickie said the next day as we sat on her couch. “How was it? It was great, right?”
“It was… interesting…” I was still too embarrassed to admit she had been right. Besides, I just had to give her a hard time…
“Oh come on, you loved it and you know it! Did she lick your feet? Huh? Did she? It was awesome, wasn’t it?”
“Maybe she did, maybe she didn’t…”
She growled with frustration. “Dammit, Michael! Quit being so evasive! Just admit it, I was right and you loved every minute of your session!”
“I will admit no such thing.”
Mickie pouted—then, slowly, started to grin. “Well then, I guess I’ll just have to make you admit it!”
I knew exactly where she was going, of course, but I took the bait anyway. “And how exactly do you plan to do that?”
A moment later and she was on my calves, yanking off my shoes and socks. When I felt her tongue touch my bare soles, I burst out laughing like a maniac—and this time, I hoped she wouldn’t stop for some time…
The End
