The Ticklish Badass Multiple MF/F Foot/Upper Body (Part 2)

And to the Encore! Michelle Rodriguez, the Ticklish Badass!

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Privately, the woman had to confess to a bead of sweat trickling down her back by the end of the first little session with her feet. That had been a close call, and she was now hitting the longer sessions. It wasn't so much a loss of face, or actual losing that Michelle feared...

Not that, no. Just... 'Shit. I'm fuckin' ticklish.' The thought hadn't really occurred previously; she'd even been a part of a behind-the-scenes tickling restraint much like the one being applied to her now in her own turn, while on one of the Fast & Furious sets. Five minutes later, the girl was drinking, and Michelle hadn't thought about it again because...

It just wasn't a thing that people thought about. Right?

There wasn't a lot of lead-up, this time around; the crowd's chant had faded into the background for Michelle as she prepared herself for round three. Thirty straight seconds; the coin flip came up heads, with no gymnastics on Bill's part needed to keep things in check this time... if only because he slapped the coin down almost immediately.

For Bill, the call of the crowd was a different story. He wasn't the center of attention; the pretty girl grinding her teeth to resist a serious case of the giggles was. But she was drinking a beer and a shot in between each session, and he was confident that she would crack before long.

'The others all caved in before now, and just let it happen...' The woman, it seemed, deserved her tough reputation, and Bill was more than happy to hear it. This was a dream for him, it was all a little surreal, and Michelle was proving to be worth every moment.

The countdown hit 'one,' and Michelle waited for those nails digging in under her arms. Instead, Bill pulled her shirt up several inches; even as one of the marines stared at Michelle's well-defined four-pack abs, Bill started to spider-walk his nails up her naked sides, slipping the ends under her shirt at rib-level to flicker quickly and lightly over the lowest rib on either side.

Then, he dragged his way down, until he was poised just below her rubs... and he started to give a quick, firm series of shallow jabs underneath her ribcage, more towards the front of her body than along the sides.

Michelle had sweat trickling down either side of her head. "F-fffff-fffuhhh..." But she kept the laughter in, though her mouth was pulled up at either corner. Lips pulled apart, to reveal bright white teeth clenched tightly together. As Bill's fingernails lightly teased their way down to tickle around the outline of her abdominal muscles, the pretty Latina tossed her head from side, to side, and her body undulated like a belly dancer's. Just, once...

'Fuck... got like... fiftee--'

And, just like that, the shit hit the fan.

She'd been thinking 'fifteen seconds,' but that was when Bill decided to break the rules in earnest. Truth be told, it wasn't even playful; he simply dropped down to kneel in front of the woman, giving Michelle about a second and a half to breathe as his one marine body clenched an arm tightly about her ankles, bringing his other around to grip her far ankle... tightly.

That was when Bill dug his fingernails in under toes that weren't clenched in preparation, and dragged several furrows down the bottoms of either buttery-soft naked sole, right down to her ankles.

She wasn't ready; her eyes popped wide open, and she dropped her jaw to give him a stern reprimand. But what came out next was not quite a harsh critique, it was more along the lines of...

"HAAA-ha-haaieee-hee-HEE-YAAA-HAHAHA, WAHAHASTAAAHP! You-hoo, you BAHAHAHASTARD! STOPPIT!"

She was twisting in her seat, head tilted back, alternately moving forward so she could holler at him again, then falling back all over again. Her ass nearly slipped off the stool, if not for the two strong men both holding her still and -- now -- keeping her from hitting the ground.

For the last fifteen seconds, Bill's nails crawled and raked over Michelle Rodriguez's helpless bare feet, those naked size sevens exposed and shaking, muscles quivering under his assault. And Michelle howled her glee for all to hear, although more than a few heads were shaking at the unfairness of it, and there was at least a cry or two of "Aw, c'mon, man..."

When it finally drew to an end, Michelle's feet were lowered, and she was allowed to regain her bearings as her chest heaved for air. "You..." She breathed, and this time, an ever so slightly small portion of her previous goodwill was gone; "You little... little, shit..."

Bill just grinned, seeming impervious to the jeers of the crowd; "aw, don't be mad; hey, we won't count that one..." but some of his previous charm was ebbing, now. Fortunately for him, Michelle herself was determined enough to continue having a good time and keeping the night rolling every onward.

She gestured with her elbows, as her wrists were still trapped... indicating the very two men who were holding her in place. "Boys... c'mere... huddle;" and the two marines leaned into a football-type pose... eyes downcast and everything, though given the view at that point, it was hardly disagreeable. It sure beat the football field.

When they backed off, Michelle gave the visibly uncertain Bill a stern, glowering look; "Right-o, boy; here's how it is. I get an extra round, and this one doesn't count against me... but if you pull that shit again, we all gonna kick your ass." There were hoots of agreement from the onlookers... not to mention grins from Michelle's new friends.

"Usurper," Bill snickered, but then he shrugged. "Hey, don't let me threaten a good time, right? Go on... order up, chica; there's still time for me to beat you legit!"

Despite his bravado, he was beginning to look a bit uncertain.

Perhaps the alcohol wasn't the best recourse for her though, she noted that as her lapses of concentration also came from that swirling feeling that started originally at the pit of her stomach, and slowly made its way north. By the time she was on the next shot, the tilt back of her head caused that swim to escalate, and she even found that shapes and images were almost just 'slightly' blurry... not full scale. Just enough that 'aww, fucking hell' was willing and able to roll off from her.

No, she wasn't about to ruin a good time, but she had special instruction to follow... something that she and her cohorts were in agreement on. Plus... let's face it... there were other people hoping for a turn, right?

The shot was down though, and the budding warmth ridded her of her original animosity from the cheater... however, just as Bill pulled out the coin... "CHANGE IN LINEUP!" Michelle suddenly shouted. Her tone following... well it sounded like she had been taking partial command, and there wasn't a Marine holding her down who looked to be at odds with her request: "For your indiscretion you get the next round at a penalty of ten seconds, making it a full twenty seconds. Following another penalty, the time is reduced, and you'll only have one more strike," holding up a finger on her right hand, "before I'm allowed to pick another for the contest. And you lose the bet by default by paying for all the drinks."

That caught Bill off-guard... but even though he felt like his own game was being taken over... well shit, this was just... fucking awesome! "So then what happens to our other original bet?"

For a moment?... well... Michelle fell into silence. Glancing about the crowd who was so engrossed it was as though they were watching 'So who wants to be a Millionaire' live. 'At this point does it matter?' Her prior concerns still paramount, she just had to take her chances.

She set her jaw firm and raised her chin just slightly. Nope, let's just roll with this. "Original bet still stands... if I lose, even if not to you, the hoodie goes."

There was confusion about that one. Hell, could see it on the face of every guy here--and some girls too... they thought it was some kind of strip bet, and though people weren't openly asking about it, there had grown a community of hushed whispers to try and decipher what exactly the hidden codex meant.

'This isn't fucking DaVinci code people...' she thought wryly, but smirked on through it before shaking her head a bit, and curling and uncurling her fingertips as if mentally prepping herself.

"Flip the coin."

It flipped... shinning in the light above as Michelle felt her toes curling at just the thought of it. She stopped noticing long ago how even the Marine on one knee was staring hungry at them, but duty-bound... he never once moved in position or swayed from his assigned task. That was straight dedication.

The coin was caught! This time a seamless catch and slap against the back of Bill's hand as he only winced slightly at the feel of it... and as time passed...

..."Head's again." And cheers followed suit.

Michelle just grinned. "Better luck next time, right?"

Twenty seconds on the clock, and this time Bill was guided behind Michelle as he stood over her, hands reaching down between as her arms were raised just enough that underarms were left exposed. Her face was set in stone now, a slight forlorn look etching her features as she gazed skyward, blowing out quick gusts of air while she waited for the countdown.

Five... four... three... just a blur of words and movement, she only heard it, muted in the back of her mind. Two...

ONE!

Bill didn't go indecent like before--perhaps he was afraid he'd lose his spot in this, or his turn altogether--but he did raise her shirt up enough that the six pack went exposed, fingertips reaching for her sides now.

His tactics had changed... perhaps inspired by that Belly-dancer delight as he poked, softly clawed, and raked along her naked sides... the left at first, then the right, then just as time went and he was going left again--just a soft stroke, as if encouraging her stomach to skip away--he drove her side straight into waiting fingers as he stuck to left.

And BOY was Michelle dancing... she didn't even hide the wide smile on her face anymore, grinning from ear to ear as her head hung down, and she danced, twitched, pulled and pushed... her hands splaying out, fingers curled upwards before a fist would clench again.

This time though, she was locked down tight... her lips suddenly pursing as more than once she coughed, even hiccuped... spurts of noise while equally glad suddenly that she had two Marines to hold her... their upper arms provided cushion when she suddenly swung her head violently, turning it into a sea of black crimson with the occasional mixed 'WHUMP' of her head.

Slipping... slipping--GOD... oh God he's... no, don't... not the armpits... not the pits....

Higher up his hands went, guided under her shirt as she almost caught her breath in a 'HUNGH...." of a gasp, perhaps waiting to see if he would break those rules... Her fingertips were trembling now, not loose, twitching and spasming as she felt him growing closer.

Her eyes went wide in a state of ticklish panic, a tear or two starting to roll up from them as her open-mouth grin was just seconds... SECONDS away from it...

...Wait, where's the fucking time?! WHY ISN'T IT FUCKING TIME YET! She suddenly thrashed violently, but not because the rules were broken again... because the five second countdown drove her practically insane!

It was such a welling torrent, and he-the fucking twat he was-just barely lingered on the edge of her spasming hollows as she became a proverbial wreck, even rising her butt up off the seat in another exasperated, almost hysterical sigh.


"AAAahhhhngh!!!"

"TIME!"

"OH MY GOD!" She spat, almost lunging herself forward as the Marines gratefully caught her, and eased her back... sagging backwards just as Bill stepped away, and left her to crumple in a heaving huff... by now there was sweat plastered across her forehead, causing strands of hair to stick to her face, and though the good nature of their antics hadn't quite let up, she did seem like she was finally hitting the pique of her exhaustion.

"I don't... God... I..." she huffed... finally suckling in a much needed breath before pulling herself upright. How in the FUCK was she going to last a few more rounds of this shit?...

This time, Michelle went right for the alcohol by way of some relief, before gloating at her tormentor. By now, the crowd was cheering her on through seemingly superhuman restraint, though their remained the confusion over the hoodie... it wasn't exactly a revelation, after all. She had a shirt on underneath it; would she be losing that as well? Was there something about the hoodie?

People were getting into the event, now the main attraction of the evening, and taking it further than what was intended.

Michelle's entire body seemed to be a live with the tingly aftereffects left over by Bill's probing fingers. Still, she managed a smirk; "Still... uch, still got it," she managed, around the draining of the rest of her beer. "S-so. Back... back to thirty, yeah? Or... whatever."

The room was starting to swim.

"You can... you can concede now, if you want... or flip th'damn coin." Michelle nodded, smartly, just as the quarter came up heads. "Ha! One more time after this... and I dun' tend on losin', so you can kiss your five minutes goodbye..."

"We'll see..." Bill was also grinning. Michelle was starting to lose her edge, but he was barely drinking; who needed beer? He had MIchelle Rodriguez squirming under his fingertips. The alcohol could wait!

The crowd, likewise, was in full swing; men and women both, in various stages of getting their own drink on, some visibly keen on the idea of getting a shot at the woman themselves. "Five," they chanted, once he'd set the alarm for thirty seconds; "four... three... two..."

"One!"

For the first five seconds, nothing happened.

Michelle sat still, for a moment, before trying to turn to look behind her.. "Bill? Bil-lyyy... you there, bucko? Otherwise you're gonna forf--SHIT!"

He caught her with her mouth open, mid-word, standing up behind her and doing a slow crawl of his fingernails up along her bare sides. He was careful to keep his hands away from her boobs, but from her hips, to her underarms, he went right under her baggy tee-shirt. His hands disappeared at the wrists under her clothes, fingernails stroking and scratching at warm mocha skin as MIchelle twisted and pulled and writhed.

Her eyes were shut, mouth was open... she was caught in a bout of silent laughter, willing herself not to make a sound.

'God, not again... not AGAIN... just hang in there, girl... oh FUCK me...'

With nearly twenty seconds left to go, his fingertips found her underarms again, but he crawled his fingers up to them more slowly than before. When he finally reached the naked hollows, he started by softly flickering the tips of his fingers over them, before digging in and bringing his nails to bear.

Michelle was shaking; her last defense in not making an obvous laugh, aside from drawing a ragged, tearing gasp of air before falling into silent laughter once again, was to allow herself to shake and writhe under the ticklish torture, and not let pride get in the way. She couldn't hope to fight 'everything,' so she fought back the urge to 'howl' with glee, and let her body struggle helplessly in the grip of the three young marines.

The last five seconds... they almost had her, and when it was over, her sucking air was so loud that she barely heard Bill gloat; "That time, I almost had you."

There was one final round, unless the agreement was to change; forty seconds, thanks to the penalty from earlier, though Bill could yet argue that it only applied once, and that he deserved the full minute.

He'd have to wait, though, as an unsteady Michelle was reaching for her next drink. "C'mon then y'fucker... flippit," she enthused, waving one hand impatiently.

"Le's keep the roll... rolling!" She was still a little breathless from the last round.

With this game in its constant 'ever progressing' stage, it was hard to tell what would happen next, plus Michelle was starting to hit a point in her own subconscious in which she wasn't 'fully' there right now. Little slips and tears in the folds of her mind which were once providing her with ample warning. The same warning that once gave her more than just a mild fighting chance against Bill's constant onslaught.

Okay, sure... so the guy was a bit of a perv--at least to the degree that he wanted his hands all over Michelle in some frenzied feeling of fandom... didn't mean she didn't enjoy it, or the attention for that matter. She loved the attention! Whether it was from the physical touch, or another growing fan base that she managed to generate among unsuspecting people who weren't even aware of who they were tickling, there was just NO way of knowing... but it was such a thrilling pulse in her chest, she could almost 'feel' the beat of her heart in her own ears with each passing second...

Bill wasn't going to waste anymore time though... holding out the coin of truth in one hand. "Any last requests sweetie?" Ah. Sweetie... she might have to slap him for that later. 'In due time Micky... not like he won't be around for it after this...'

She was still giggling, actually... her chin raised almost in a mix of either defiance, or some other unknown emotion. Perhaps the alcohol was the undoing. In recent years Michelle grew to cut back on drinking, but that didn't mean she hadn't suddenly DROPPED it like a bad habit.

Michelle was still a party girl--even if it wasn't alcohol related.

"Depends. Final round, it's win-all or lose-all, for both of us. Maybe up the stakes a bit?" She found herself saying, even though her mind screamed 'are you fucking serious!?' "What'dya say Bobby boy? Whole time you've been hoggin' th'center stage from peeps..."

Bill laughed, then... well, whatever his motivation was he held the coin up in his hand all the same. "Fine, we can play that... what's the stakes now?"

"Sameas before..." some of her speech coming out in a bit of a slur, from the way she was 'starting' to roll her head about, one could see she wasn't far off from being like GONE... not of this fucking planet. "If you're th-one tick... tick... tickling me, you get the full minute by lose... when... if, on when I lose..." confusing, but she was finding her words again. "I get to picknnnn... who tickles me?" fingers loosely rolling about in an absent gesture that meant nothing. "Additional twenty seconds on the clock... fo-for... the other guy gets an additional tweny... hehe... tweny... no-but seriously... twenseconds... and a minute and a half I lose--plus!" she shouted, holding up both hands... much as possible anyway...

There was a stilling silence... even now, with a drunk-addled brain working, it was hard to tell what she would say next. Left the audience in absolute suspenders...

..."Two ticklrssss... rrs? RRRRrrrr...r... Two people can tickle me if I lose! That means you too! HAAAAA...." the last of her slurs as she sagged back, her head rolling about as well as she allowed the snickering Marines to keep her suspended upward.

"Shit... done!" Bill announced, then made a bit of a motion with his hand. "So who's the 'other guy?"

"HI...errr HER!" She shot upright, didn't even hesitate, and in fact cut Bill off in mid-speech as her hand jutted out, almost lost by the Marine on the left as she pointed at one of the females in the front row. Originally she thought it was a guy... but when her vision cleared, she caught the dirty blond hair, the punker style clothing. Skater? Punk... skate-punk... it was one of the more over-eager girls in the group who was apparently not shy about watching with a rapidly growing interest.

Bill snickered, and looked Michelle over; even with her hoodie up, knowing who she was made her impressive. And having her like this made it a night to remember, no matter which way things went.

"I believe our original terms were five minutes, if you lost, sweetheart." He smirked, taking note of the tipsy grimace that crossed her shadowed features every time he called her that. "It was supposed to be a full minute for the last round, five 'when' you lose." He quirked one eyebrow up, and glanced over at the skater girl... punk... to be honest, he was never quite sure what Esme was, or even what her real name was, but she was popular. A bit of a daredevil, always up for the next adventure.

Now, she was eyeing up Michelle like the latter was a midnight snack, and her attention focused in particular on the Latina's naked feet. Being singled out as the next 'contender,' she shrugged her way out of her own hoodie, revealing a baggy tank top over her faded blue jeans. She even threw in a crack of her knuckles for good measure.

"You might have woken the demon there... so I'll give you one chance to back down --"

"Hell 'no.'" It was Esme, stepping forward, and smirking down at the hapless Michelle. By now, with the amount of alcohol she'd consumed, it was unlikely that she would be able to break free of the three sober marines... and, by the looks they gave her, they seemed to know this perfectly well.

"Fuck that 'backin' down' shit. I've been keepin' my hands to myself all night." She gestured at Bill with a thrust of her chin, green eyes flashing dangerously from beneath her dirty blond hair. "Flip the coin, and get to work dude; she can't even hold her head up, ain't no way she gonna win this one." There was a malicious grin, almost pure evil, which accompanied the ultimatum.

"N-now wait, jus'samin... aminute!" Michelle was struggling to sit upright, but in response, the marines holding her in place actually pulled her further down. Now she was more prone than before, with one of them laying an arm across the top of the bar itself, as a pillow for her head.

The crowd was chuckling, though one or two individuals actually looked slightly concerned.

"You're damn right," Esme replied, still smirking. "A minute you agreed to; you had a couple'a light rounds there. This last one's a minute... and five, 'when' you lose. Then my buddy Bill and I?" She took a step forward, and leaned down close to the side of Michelle's head, plucking the edge of her hood aside juuust enough to get a whisper through.

"They say this place was built on sacred Indian burial ground. We're gonna have five minutes to see if we can't get you to wake up a poltergeist or some shit. Bill?"

The young man had already flipped the coin. Like the crowd, he was actually looking slightly concerned about Michelle's present state -- after all, he, so far as he knew, was the only one who know who she actually was. 'Fuck... not the way I want to get my name in the papers,' but the crowd was starting to get into things. It was less like watching a party game now, and more like watching a psychological thriller... with the tension steadily mounting.

"Tails," Bill announced, and slowly his expression turned to mimic Esme's, as he contemplated what lay before him know. With Michelle's newly prone position -- against which she was putting up a commendable struggle, if intermittently -- her feet were elevated a little higher than before, and he had free access to her naked soles.

"One minute!" Esme proclaimed, raising a smartphone over her head, with the time clearly displayed. "Let's give'em a count of ten this time, people..." She cast a look directly at Michelle. "Just to give her somethin' to think about."

But if Michelle was thinking about anything, it was that rolling, nagging drunken sensation in her mind... the one where you weren't able to hold to a single cohesive thought. They came, oh sure they did come along... but then they were gone again, and Michelle was just right where she started at.

She was worried... a full six minutes of tickling in all if this didn't work out. Already she found herself nearly breaking once, twice... four or five times, and each one--each one time you managed to power through it girl, you got this-KITTY!!!--okay... so mind not helping... A brief struggle amidst the Marines holding her told Michelle she wasn't going anywhere.

And Esme... oohhh... that girl was WAY too into this. If Bill had unease and hunger in his eyes, this girl was full on drooling at what she saw... two bare, smooth, perfectly shapely feet without so much as a glimmer of a rough patch or callous to them. Wasn't that Michelle was the kind of girl to spend hours on end with pedicures and the girly shit. She had to remind herself about it at times. But a lifetime of beaches, sandy shores, and overall climbing barefoot as a natural pass-time that she took up... there was plenty to revel over their inherent look.

And yes, also pedicures. Few and far between, and whatever the pedicure couldn't cure, surely the sandy shores did the rest of the work...

The new, prone position was also a bit of a double-hitter... if Michelle wanted to watch the torment unfold before her, she'd have to sit mostly upward. 'And if I showed these people who I was from the start, I might've been able to avoid this whole goddamn game originally!' Probably not, but Michelle hadn't been doing a lot of talking, as though the effort was tapping into her mental ability to cope with and 'grasp' at what was going to happen to her.

"Just keep it clean..." she muttered, loud enough to be heard. That was the one thing-if anything-that the Marines understood good and well. However...

...Did that really entail Michelle's feet? What was the guideline for inappropriate contact for that? With Esme crouching down on her knee's, those feet were positioned just right to be in her line of sight. NOW... now the smartphones busted out--and to Michelle's credit, most of them were actually a little more interested in that hungry look the dirty blond seemed to have on her face.

Thankfully Michelle's face was left hidden, both by the angle of her body newly positioned, and by the hoodie which was draped across most of her forehead, keeping it from falling away. Far as Michelle saw--that was a deal--

--"TEN!"

Crap... countdown started... attempts to keep her feet still actually failed horribly, as she already felt her size sevens curl slightly...

Nine... eight... seven...

It just dragged on forever. People were initially worried at first when Michelle held a lack of protest from all of this, little did they know that she was actually attempting to stave the panic in her beating chest, something that circumvented the drunken feeling all the same. Didn't matter what else she wanted to say or do... all that concerned her was that her soles were about to come under attack, and she couldn't even see them now!

Change that, she didn't 'want' to see them right now...

Three! Goddamnit! When the hell did they skip past all the other fucking numbers?!

TWO!

ONE!

Flurry? Onslaught? It was in Esme's best interest to try and act quickly, but all Michelle felt at first was a gentle, almost loving cup of her feet together. It was a curious sensation, and one that had Michelle in one of those 'WTF' moments as she raised up, and noticed how her feet hadn't quite been 'brought' together, but were still close enough that she felt a cheek against one upturned sole.

"Da-fuk?! Girl... you-GHNNNNGH!!!" She choked up, flapping back into her prone position as a nail traced along a shapely, curved arch of hers. It was so strange! The girl was like, almost wanting to make out with her foot! It was harmless enough, but Michelle was afraid to say much of anything, having fallen into a fit of silent twitching... in fact it was the upper body movement that kept her mind away from it, feeling her foot curl as toes extended enough to push off of parts of Esme's face.

That's when she felt a tongue between two toes, and that same foot retracted as a sharp grin suddenly plastered itself, and Michelle fell against one of the marine's shoulders in a sudden hissing intake of breath. "SSSsss-SSS-sssSSS!" Like a snake, or the sound of steam escaping, feeling little dribbles of both sweat and saliva from past encounters starting to seep through again as the good Marine friend seemed none the wiser to suddenly being at the center of attention.

Was it... 'was it tickling? Is this tickling right now? Someone talk to me!...' her mind screamed, and as she sat back she was open-mouthed and looked like she just spent hours laughing at a funny joke that left her breathless. Confused, almost exhausted looking, with that loopy glaze over her face, but she didn't know how to respond!

That lick happened again, along the arch... and Michelle's foot didn't recoil so much the second time, but her upper body fell back as strong, sharp movements could be seen along her bare, exposed stomach.

When Esme struck hard, she dug her nails suddenly and swiftly into the stem of Michelle's toes though...

...NOW, apparently the real struggle was about to begin...

"What's the matter, girlie? Can't take a few love-bites?"

There was a smooth and practiced manner to the way in which Esme blended her opening condescension, that ironic sense of 'look at the tough cookie now, huh?' into more of a teasing, even affectionate purr. Yet it was a creepy kind of affection, an affection usually reserved for some level of personal connection based in feeling -- shared experience, pastimes, time spent together 'over' time -- that was instead being directed entirely at Michelle's naked feet.

And Michelle Rodriguez felt every second of attention directed at her feet, as the woman's tongue explored with what felt like the raspy attention of something decidedly more feline. It was, infact, Esme making good on her word, and nibbling playfully at the soft skin along the outside edge of Michelle's right arch.

Then, she licked, and lapped at it softly. Then it was back to the nibbling, with either occurring in rapid succession until the various sensations seemed to almost blur together, and Michelle was suddenly realizing that she couldn't take any more. But the marines, impressed by her toughness, held fast to her restraint, and the one holding her ankles was obviously enjoying what Esme was doing -- as well as the way Michelle's feet quivered... seeming to almost 'vibrate' in this grip.

"H-hhhh-n-nuh... GUH, f-fuhuck... nuh-nobiting! Duh-DON'T!"

There was an urgency in her voice, now. Sweat glistened from that part of her neck to which her long hair wasn't already matted, gleaming in the dim light of Xibalba's main room. Her breath came and went in short, hoarse gasps of air, belied only by her hidden wild-eyed expression and an open-mouthed, bright and toothy grin, her head shaking with each sharp gasp. That took her right up to the point where nails began to scratch at the stems of her toes...

'No...' It was the only thought she could bear to muster.

Her toes were spreading, seemingly of their own instinctive according, allowing full access to the punk girl's clever little fingernails. And they took full advantage, scraping along the sides of each toe, flickering along the pads... Esme even nuzzled into the toes of Michelle's left foot, and treated them to several seconds of nibbling.

"No..!" Out loud, now... and that was when someone yelled out "Twenty seconds!" from the direction of the crowd.

Michelle heard that, and instinctively knew -- somehow -- that she wasn't going to make it.

And, right about then, Esme dug both hands into the balls of Michelle's naked feet, dragged them down to the center of either arch in a firm rake, and began a light, teasing flicker along the depth of those side-by-side arches with her fingertips.

The countdown was out loud... And for several seconds, Michelle ground her teeth and bore through it, with a loud and tortured "HrrrnnnNNNNGGZZZZZ!" accompanying a grimace that wouldn't have been out of place in an Olympic power-lifter. There were veins standing out in her neck, a combination of the drink and the exertion.

She lasted until the count of "Twelve... ELEVEN..." as everyone who wasn't already involved chimed in... and that was when she broke: with Esme's nails working over her arches, the girl leaned in close, and started playfully licking and biting at the side-by-side pads of Michelle's two big toes.

"Waaahhh-HAAAAHAHAHAHASHITSHITSHEE-HEE-ITTTTAAHHHFUCK! Y-YOUHOO FUCKER!"

Michelle's body rose up off the barstool, The marines holding her down had the foresight to press her arms down to the top of the bar itself, else her support would have been entirely on her head at that end. Braced against the top of the bar, and the strength of the marine holding her feet in position, Michelle's body arched upward, as she tilted her head back in a silent, wracking scream.

She stayed there for the remainder of those ten seconds, feet seemingly frozen, even to the point of murmurs of concern. And Esme licked, and nibbled, and tickled her toes, right down to that last count of "ZERO!" despite the game having already been lost. At which point, Michelle found herself collapsing back onto the stool, damp with sweat, sore and aching and out of breath. Even in her inebriated, half-tortured state, however, some part of her did notice in that fleeting, flitting way, that the marines were still holding her down.

That part of her found it odd... again, only for a moment; what really put the cold, icy shiver of fear into her spine was what followed, from a voice she was only briefly aware of as Esme's. Amid a slight murmur of what actually seemed to be a heated disagreement, Michelle could hear 'her' words clearly:

"Give her a few seconds. Then take her to the back room. A bet's a bet in Xibalba, right?"

It might've been much worse... but Michelle just felt positively spent, actually knocked a few leagues into the role of sobriety herself as she felt most of her buzz being lifted. Instead replaced by the idle, absent awareness that she still felt incredibly, horribly light-headed. She lost... only a few more seconds on the timer and she lost.

'God, I deserved to be tickled for that...' was that rogue thought plaguing her mind. Even worse still was how her feet tingled as they quivered and quaked, apparently someone took it upon themselves to breech the contract and continue the idle 'petting' of her left foot, which just shuddered and softly spasmed, leaving Michelle in a perpetual state of giggling, tittering sputters while she was trying to just come down off her little tickle high.

High... high like a fucking kite... Was it really that horrible though? The electric current generated through the act of ticklish little toes being nibbled and suckled seemed to have left a warm, resounding glow in her, and when she finally found the energy to actually struggle back, when she caught her first second wind of the night-or third, fuck, lost count... she kept quiet, and her toes spread a little bit wider...

...An electric chill as her expression-unseen by the crowd-was more of daring, and she found herself rewarded with her efforts as that soft petting turned to a more cruel, vindictive drag of fingertips between her toes. "Hehehehehe, neee-HEHEHAHAOHMYGOD!" Growing louder and louder in the passing of time, but subdued to a cultured, more sultry bout of tittering laughter.

Apparently Esme and Bill were still in discussion. Hard to tell what about, but they didn't even notice that one of the Marines holding her feet took it upon himself to finally break the mold and enjoy some fun time for himself. It prevented Michelle from getting the much deserved break she needed.

And the crowd? "Fuck that!" A tyrade of double-talk and slightly heated argument as the thought, the prospect that Michelle might not be shared among the crowd, it just left an unsettling feeling in everyone's gut. This girl had more fight than most all, to the point that Bill almost wanted to claim defeat just out of simple respect. But obviously didn't.

"Come on, knock it off and let her rest... she lost," Bill said at last, and Esme agreed--if for no other reason than it took away from tickle time she could be enjoying as well. "The dear lady has a right to pick her own method of execution!"

Great... 'All the clubs I walk into, I manage across a BDSM party for a bunch of horny marines...' the woman silently huffed, feeling the weight of hands holding her growing less, more subdued... like they intended more for her to retain her balance than for restraint.

"Jesus Christ that sucked..." she huffed, and leaned forward, feeling the strain of resistance. Sure, they let up, but nobody wanted to give up their ticklish prize for the evening... "Guess I know what it's like to have my feet licked girl--were you plannin' on makin' out with them?" she balked, and though Esme almost looked a little mortified at getting lost in herself, Michelle just smirked as her lips pursed in another 'WHOOF' of air expelling from her exhausted lungs. "Just... need... breath..."

Hell, another drink was offered by one of the more zealous members of the entourage, but for the first time in the evening, Michelle just held up a hand and dismissed it. "No thank you. If we're gonna do this, I need all my strength."

"So what's it gonna be?" This time it was Esme, and she looked to be getting impatient.

Enough that Michelle's dismissive look kinda made her upset. "Calm down, I mean it's not like I'm going anywhere," the woman said, and held up her right arm which still had a loose grip on it.

"Don't forget your promise though," Bill interjected.

"I haven't... but I'm not about to become a youtube experience either."

He huffed with a smirk, then held up that coin again. "Don't think we ever discussed the terms of your five minute ordeal though... but I'm a fair guy. I'll give you a final flip just to show no hard feelings."

"Oh fuck that, we should be able to get the full body treatment!" Esme cut in, but Bill held a hand up.

A slight forlorn expression on his face showed what Michelle figured--Bill was a perv, and a bit of a Frat boy... but he was respectable. Probably knew that things had been pressed on too much on occasion, plus he also had time to think, and while this was a once-in-a-lifetime chance, well... did he want to be the guy that kinda brought embarrassment to Michelle Rodriguez? "There's a room in the back, more private... if you want you can have your five minutes in there, but we still get our toss." He meant the coin of course.

He was a good guy...

...And that licking...

Michelle shrugged it off, and thanks to what was left of her buzz, she still played off the coy and innocent drunk when she flipped her head back, pushing errant locks from her face while also pretty much revealing herself as her hoodie dropped. "Nah, I got it covered... but I don't trust sweetheart over there--" pointing towards Esme absently, "--to keep things clean. Five minutes in your little room, but you only get my feet. Five minute counter, and one of our Marine friends here is kept around to make sure you don't try and steal more time."

It was a natural worry, one that inwardly had Michelle curling her toes again. Was she making a mistake? 'Is it because I kinda...' the thought never finished before Michelle heard the uproar f most of the crowd still remaining. The fact that things were about to be done in private had people losing interest, but there was still a formal gathering still dedicated to her.

"Sounds fair..." Esme confessed in spite of herself, hungrily staring down at Michelle's feet yet again.

"Yeah I think so... okay, fine. Five minutes, no coin-toss... your feet belong to us."

"And no videos!" Michelle barked, sure to snap a sharp glance at one of the Marines who was simply giving her a nod. Last thing she needed was to become another Youtube sensation. 'And I can find out if there's more to this 'tickle' thing than I gave credit to...'

The 'back room' turned out to be exactly that; it was nothing special. Negative associations with the name Xibalba might have conjured up darker and more ominous imagery, but the fact was that it was a largely empty room with a table and a few chairs. There was an old TV set on a rolling stand, the kind of thing that was seen in high school classrooms in the 90's.

Michelle gave it a wary look, but the set was layered with dust; it didn't look young enough to offer the option of connecting to a modern digital camera. It was connected to a VHS; "yeah, don't worry about that," Esme offered -- if not without a bit of a snicker -- having seen where Michelle's attention was directed.

"They used to use that shit for orientation. Like, job orientation. 'Far as I know, it's been ten, fifteen years since it was turned on." She shrugged, nonchalantly -- her face still mildly stung by Michelle's reference to her getting a few licks in. Clearly, while she wasn't entirely opposed to people knowing what she was into, she hadn't intended to go as far as she did.

Then, she patted the table. "C'mon. Get up on it." The look on her face, embarrassment aside? It was downright hungry.

"I'm not --" Michelle started to object, but Esme cut her off with a sharp wave of her hand.

"Uh-uh, you ain't weaselin'." She smirked. "Think I didn't recognize you from the start, in that hood? Shit. Almost pissed myself, but then my boy Bill here got you rollin', and it was just too good to pass up. Bill's a little tame, though --"

"-- not a freak," Bill countered, glaring. And, for what it was worth, the two marines who had followed them into the room seemed to be siding with him, and not due to any lack of familiarity either. There was evidently a core group at this little nightspot, and everyone was very well familiar with each other.

"-- a little, 'uncertain.' What, you weren't this fuckin' chicken when 'I' was on the table, Billy-boy." Esme raised one finely arched eyebrow, and then smirked. "You goin' all mushy-mushy with your big hero in the room? P'ffft. Take what life gives you."

The discussion went on for some moments, with the gist being the marines would help to hold Michelle down on the table, while Esme and Bill were entirely responsible for her feet. Things wobbled between Esme wanting to break out rolls of duct tape, apparently with some kind of axe to grind, while Bill wanted the marines to leave and keep it as private as possible. It wasn't 'chickenshit,' as Esme would immediately accuse: he'd simply had his fill of anything extreme. There was the honest impression that he might have liked to simply share a beer with Michelle at the bar, now.

Finally, the Latina rolled her eyes, and pushed her own hood back. The two marines both stared, one of them breaking out into a goofy grin -- 'wasn't that the one who... yeah, he had my feet, before... weird place.' Though there was something to the ongoing arrangement; hard to be certain, but there was still an element of fun to be had, if only in the challenge of what was proposed.

"Let's just go with the original," Michelle said, rolling her eyes -- and unable to avoid a grin. "You two..."

She swayed a bit, the lingering vestiges of the alcohol, as she hopped onto the table. "You two... gonna argue until I pass out, and then what? Pretty sure I wouldn't be nearly as entertaining."

She lay down, and stretched out... arms over her head, despite the prescient warning of what that might lead to, agreement or no. Obligingly, the two marines walked over, and held her down... though first they pulled her up to where only her ankles were dangling over the edge of the table. With a faint smirk at them, Michelle crossed her legs at the ankle, left over right.

"Whenever you cute kids are done fighting..." She curled her toes, tightly, and braced herself as best she could. "I'm startin' to feel almost neglected over here. Let's get this done."

Not like her plans were going to drastically change... but for a few handful of heartbeats, Michelle almost felt a little more than neglected--like where was the sinister bondage gear and shit going on? 'Don't they usually have that kind of shit for this?' She was almost even willing to pull out the celeb card for it too... 'I'm far too good for some dusty fucking table!'

That thought received a premature giggle...

Despite her wayward feelings about being stuck in an absolute tickle-fit for the umpteenth time tonight though, there was still the thrill of the challenge. What developed Michelle Rodriguez's reputation as a badass wasn't that she went around causing fights, acting like some bad girl--well, not entirely--flaunting her shit. She got it because she's always been of the like mind to challenge and test her own limits, to the point of personal injury on more than one occasion. What else was this, if not another test of endurance?

Bill and Esme still were a little up in arms about things. Seems that Bill wanted to honor the original agreement while Esme took a bit more convincing. Since she discovered who Michelle really was, it was suddenly some guilty pleasure that she didn't feel so guilty about. Whether it was just a simple 'I want to see the bitch scream!' or the thought that she might never get 'this' opportunity again, hard to say. Eventually the two settled on it long enough to stop arguing.

"I get the left foot," Esme claimed, while Bill obligingly pulled up a chair for the right. Her toes were still tightly curled, and despite her Marine captors being well enough off at their task, she at least tried to put a 'little' trust in that they wouldn't allow things out of control.

Wouldn't... but that's not to say they couldn't harbor ulterior motives either though...

"Five minutes then, Michelle... feel free to hold out again if you want--the struggle is just half the battle." Bill added, smirking up at her as she managed to raise a single middle finger from her right hand.

"Fuck off, I'm the one waiting on you little bitches, remember?" She quipped in a light-hearted tone she didn't quite feel, the elevation of her own heart rate returning for what seemed to be the umpteenth time this evening. 'I can do this... I can do this...' "If you plan another makeout session down there you can at least do me a favor of putting my sandals back on when you're done--getting a free foot cleaning, and don't wanna waste it by walking all over these dusty ass floors."

Oh, that tongue between her toes was fresh in her memory. She was still on the fence about it too...

"Maybe we should do a final coin flip," it was Bill again, a final passing joke as the man chuckled and held up his coin. But Esme smacked it away and punched him in the arm.

"Stop stalling!" She snapped, pulling up a chair herself. While the Marines were still dutiful in holding Michelle's ankles, Esme still took a personal interest in cupping one hand around Michelle's bare ankle, staring almost with pointed daggers at that naked sole, and a little hurt that she couldn't have two ripe, ticklish, soft looking feet under her control. Almost enough to make anyone feel unease.

But Michelle just waited... there was maybe just a slight upward twist of her foot at the ankle when Esme lay claim on it, but for her part, Micky seemed indifferent now, more focused on trying to get through this ordeal as she finally heard Bill say those dreaded words.

"Timer's set... ten second countdown."

And it started all over again...

...Bullshit... there were never rules set for the final ticklish encounter, and just as Michelle felt herself bracing for it--she damn near exploded. "Ahnn HNGHWAITWHATTHEFUCK! SHIIIIIHIHIHIT...." And suddenly clamping down, though half her body was already elevated up off the board. "YoufuckingcuAHAHAHAHAHANTS!!!" She shouted, one last time... but then there was a dull 'thump', her body falling back onto the table and muffled noises--squeals and otherwise--filtering up through as she felt like a girl who just held back going pee after almost damn near pissing herself. It almost strangled her, her stomach practically vibrating as she began a new with twists and turns, tugging to the right and putting the Marines through their paces as they actually struggled to keep her from flying right off the table.

It was Esme... girl just cruelly dug her nails into nubile toes, and Michelle's response was for them to spread out wide, apparently afflicted and paralyzed to do much in defense. Whether it was from personal enjoyment, sheer torture, or just outright panic... hard to tell, but they almost became a willing recipient to those lazy traces between them, the skin practically pulsing with quivers of sheer mirthful torture. "Tickle-tickle-tickle sweetie... we lied about the timer..." she purred, and nuzzled her cheek against the girl's heel as fingertips raked straight down the arch, causing another 'whooping' flurry of noise as Michelle's body gave another wracked bounce along the tabletop.

Bill wasn't quite so vicious... Michelle's feet both had separate minds of their own, although the right foot seemed to have empathy struggles in it--trying to twist and turn to provide defense, then quivering when it was unable to provide aide.

He was methodical, and held to the big toe with one hand while deftly tracing circles along her arch... it gained protest and struggles, but a whole night of tickling kinda put a lot of the fight out of it as she only downturned the remainder of her toes in a tight curl, creating creases and wrinkles that his nails passed along.

"SSSS-sss-sssss...." that steam escaping again... by now Michelle couldn't hold back anymore like she was before. She was grinning like an idiot--a wide toothed grin from one ear to the other as one eye squinted shut, and she even staved the occasional look before her head 'WHUMPED' back down on the table again. More than once, the Marine holding her arms had to try and offer up cushion to keep her from hurting herself... using a simple forearm in a slightly awkward twist of his upper body before retracting it. It gave some aid, but she was moving too quickly to keep up.

Plus more than once, the same Marine seemed to almost lose his struggle in keeping her arms restrained. He even had to fight with one wrist when it broke free, and a solid punch to his stomach actually had him reeling just 'slightly'... not a lot, but she still had fight in her, and the Marine grinned knowingly as he regained control. "Fuhuhuhucking bitch! Goddamn fucking LIHAHAHAHRS!!!" She snapped in righteous fury, and gave a solid outward kick of both feet the next time her body raised up from the table. Having descended back into fits of uproarious laughter yet again.

She was rewarded with a "FUCK!" from Esme, whom she managed to solidly pop in the face. But then started to straight-up cackle again when Esme started sharply raking her nails after pulling Michelle's toes back, making the woman scream before she thrashed like a demon imprisoned after just escaping hell.

...Nobody had the heart to tell her... Bill was keeping track of the time, and they were barely in the first forty five seconds of her torment... oh, the man was grinning though as his soft traces along her arch migrated, and he finally gave in with a playful nibble on the arch, which left the whole foot quivering, her toes curling and her foot attempting to twist and fold as she constantly smacked at the upper half of his face with her toes... eventually planting them solid along his nose and against one side of his cheek in effort to give a solid push off.

Oddly enough, that soft nibbling produced a different response, and though Michelle twisted roughly within her confines, she didn't entirely feel the sensation to be unpleasant... couldn't give it more thought than that, but unconsciously there seemed more 'yield' to that kind of touch, versus nails simply raking straight up screeching laughter out of her.

That soft nibble at the instep of Michelle's arch had earned Bill a mild bruise, but the man only saw fit to grin in return... even as toes curled, and made a very good show of trying to break his nose. "Naughty girl, Michelle," he commented, just before giving a firm lick up the soft, plush bottom of that naked foot. It progressed upward from her heel, dragged a furrow up the length of that soft, buttery-smooth sole, and ended with a light flick of his tongue at the bottoms of her toes.

"That's what you get for being bad," he offered, trying to match Esme's tendency to 'talk tickle' while the ordeal was progressing. It wasn't as bad as it could have been, but Michelle was already in the full-on throes of desperate, maniacal laughter; it didn't take much to elevate her still further.

Figuratively... and literally: at times, it seemed like only her ankles and upper arms were in contact with the table, her body arching up as she screamed, more and more hoarsely, from the merciless and unrelenting tickling being applied to the soles of her feet.

By the time Bill's lick had come to its seemingly eternal end, her toes on that foot were splaying wide apart of their own accord. Michelle's howls of ticklish glee had taken on an underlying sultry tone, too: she wasn't quite aware of it on a conscious level -- nor of much of anything else, but her right foot was quivering under Bill's attentive tongue, and that jittery shiver had actually passed into an ongoing tremor which ran up the length of her leg.

"Hey... you got her to hold a little still, Billy-boy..." Esme paused in her own ministrations to smirk at her partner-in-crime. "Keep it up, why don'tcha? You know..." She cast a look up at Michelle's face, contorted in agony, looking right over the curled toes of her left foot. "Maybe we 'should' break out the rope and the duct tape... and have some fun under those arms, too, huh? Whatcha think, babe?"

That last comment was directed up at Michelle herself, as Esme's eyes refocused on the helpless woman's frenzied grin. "D'awww, I don't think she can talk right now... is she busy, coochie-coochie-coo?" Fingernails flickered along that left arch, scratching along the shallow wrinkles that formed as Michelle's foot curled in response. Esme had chosen a moment -- deliberately -- when Michelle had dissolved into silent laughter, and was desperately trying to catch her breath. "Tiiiickle-tickle-tickle, baby-girl... yeahhh, I think we should do that... kitch-kitch-kitch-kitchie... ticklish 'widdle' Spanish piggies... who'd have thought that such a tough-ass bitch would have such soft, pampered feet, huh?"

Michelle was starting to see spots, and shaking her head in frenzied fashion, stinging her face with her own hair... She drew in a hoarse breath...

... and a hand clamped down over her mouth. "Christ, such a fuckin' howler," could be heard in the background, even as the spots in the woman's vision continued to grow, promising at least some semblance of relief.

Which was when Bill 'saved the day,' unwittingly ensuring her continued torment, as he himself stopped playing with her right foot. There were still three minutes -- and change -- on the clock; Michelle's exhaustion was evident in the way her physical struggles went from thrashing wildly, to twitching and spasming at irregular intervals. She did, for what it was worth, continue trying to arch out of her torment.

"I think we should give her a break, before she passes out," Michelle heard the man propose, seemingly off in the distance, the combination of the lingering effects of the alcohol and her prolonged tickle-torture making her head swim and her senses lie to her.

"Fuck that," Esme snorted. "Tickle the bitch until she passes out. Then wake her up in a few hours with whatever time she's got left."

"Do you hear yourself right now?" Bill was starting to sound aggravated. "This is --"

"-- Michelle Rodriguez, and if I had my choice of this or a fucking lottery jackpot, I'd still be one broke-ass fucker." Esme snorted; her nails were now playfully scratching at the pads of Michelle's tightly curled toes. "Get back on it, boy; I want her to remember this night for the rest of her fuckin' life... y'know 'I' will."

Bill groaned, and rolled his eyes. "Yeah. I'll be sure to frame your mugshot."

With a sigh, the punk girl slowly stopped... "Timer's paused," she groused, as she pulled herself up to her full height; she was actually a rather tall young woman, inches over michelle, though far more slender and willowy. "Okay. We're gonna sort this out, then get back to having fun... and no more fuckin' interruptions, after that." Despite herself, and her obvious sense of aggravation, his warning seemed to be resonating with Esme for some unknown reason.

One could almost imagine that this kind of thing had happened before.

​It wouldn't be revealed until later though that Esme had quite the huge fucking crush on Michelle... as did any number of people. In fact there was almost fear of possible exposure because Esme would've done anything... ANYTHING to try and preserve this moment for ages to come, seeming ambivalent ​to an exhausted Michelle who wasn't even talking anymore. Poor girl was past the point of exhaustion, and it would seem that she was lost in a sea of ticklish mirth that had her face still plastered in that permanent grin.

"What's gotten into you anyway Esme? You've been kinda acting like a bitch," Bill jabbed a finger against her upper shoulder blade in just a mild shove, which could've broken into a full on fight but she held her temper all the same.

None the less through a huff... "Fuck you dude. You seriously gonna pass this up! We got a gold-mine here, and all I'm sayin' is that people would pay huge fucking buck for this."

He shook his head. "No, screw that. We made a promise. I'm not gonna be the one to say 'oh hey, look at me. I'm the big asshole who fucking humiliated Michelle Rodriguez!' Yeah, no thanks. You want that? Fine... just give me a minute to call the fucking cops." He snapped, and this time did give a heavy shove of the woman back into a corner of the wall. "We're doing this my way... I started the fucking game, and if you got a problem you can get the hell out, see if anyone believes your story."

He let her go soon after, but not without snapping her hand away when she tried grabbing at his collar.

Somewhere down the line, this was turning a little too much from the fun-loving game that it intended to be. In fact, Michelle had-during the conversation-passed out from her own ordeal. Apparently oblivious to the fact that her ticklish fate was being decided by two people--one of which seemingly having a huge itch up her panties about the celebrity Michelle Rodriguez to which she couldn't seem to explain. Or maybe she could but just didn't want to.

The Marines called off, and Bill taking enough time to ensure the atmosphere of the room smoothed over before they also took their own break... he decided not to leave Michelle's side though, accompanied by one of his Marine friends who managed to keep his mouth shut aside from the fandom he was feeling.

So then what would be her fate? When Michelle awoke, would she be caught in the hands of desperate ticklers looking to torture her to her wits end, or would Bill find a peaceful resolution before it was too late...

(Part 2)

Fun times! I like Esme - she is a genuinely scary tickler, in a good way... I think.

I also like the way you keep it short and sweet. There's a temptation to write tickle scenes that seem to last for hours (been guilty of that myself) but a few minutes, a break, a few more minutes and another break seems to be the best routine in my experience. That gives this the ring of authenticity. If you tickled someone for hours, it would stop tickling after a certain point and then become an annoyance. I'm interested to see what comes next.

I do have another story that's a little more in-depth, but I'm finding that trying to keep it a little more controlled gives people a chance to enjoy what's happening, and grow the suspense.