Butterfly
by PiperGK1
Carla had stood him up one too many times, and as he smoldered in his feelings he took another drag off of his cigarette and exhaled toward the driveway, watching the tendrils of smoke swirl around in the light of the garage. The sun had gone down on this balmy summer evening, and the last traces of light were leaving the western sky. His face was hidden somewhat in the darkness, wondering where she was, and more importantly, with who.
One last puff and he dropped the butt under the deck, about to head in for the evening and go to bed angry as he had so many times. He loved her deeply, and would forgive most anything if she hadn’t been so blasé about leaving him waiting, wanting and wondering. As he readied himself to go inside, a large white van passed slowly by. It was one of those with no windows on the sides, and blacked out windows in the back. He watched it cruise past when an unusual thought sprang to mind.
That would be a great tickling van, he said to himself.
He watched it head for the corner, turn left, and out of sight. He wasn’t sure where it was headed exactly, but he had seen it before. Tonight, he decided to find out where it was going, with no real plan of why he was doing it. He stood and walked slowly across the lawn to the street, to the corner, and as he turned left he felt a strange sensation come over him. No going back now, he thought.
Within a few minutes, he stood in the complete darkness of the street looking at a small brown house with the white van parked in the driveway. The lights were on in the living room, and the echo of the television could be heard from inside. He walked back and forth for a moment to make sure the occupant wasn’t coming back out for any reason, and then approached the van. He walked up to the rear and put his hand up to the window, looking inside. He couldn’t see anything from outside, and tried the handle, but it was locked. He moved around to the driver’s side and did the same. This time he could see the front seats, but the back was bathed in darkness.
Intrigued, he tried the handle and found it open. As quietly as he could, he opened the door, which came open without a sound. He looked around, making sure nobody was near, and then entered the van and sat in the driver’s seat. He pulled the door closed quickly to shut out the roof light that had come on, and looked around. The van smelled fairly clean, with a light scent of fresh paint and wood. Looking back, he could now see more of the inside of the van, though it was still very dark. It was about seven feet from the back of the seats to the back door, with nothing in it but an old and worn piece of dark carpeting covering the floor. Something stirred inside him as he took it in, picturing what he could use the vehicle for, if it was his. The thought of it made his stomach turn in a pleasant, vindictive way. The seats were dark brown cloth, which he preferred to leather, and they were very comfortable. His gaze wandered all over the back, filling his mind with scenarios.
Turning back to the front, he placed his hands on the steering wheel, and was very surprised to see the keys in the ignition. He wondered why someone would leave a vehicle open with keys inside, but decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth. He ran his fingers over the keys, listening to them jingle and feeling the ignition key held tightly in place. Temptation almost got the better of him as he began to turn the key, but he stopped and looked around the front of the dash for the knob or other control of the headlights. He pulled his lighter out of his pocket, flicked it and briefly waved it around in front of him. Letting it go out quickly, he’d found the knob for the lights and pressed it in so they wouldn’t come on if he decided to test the ignition. He looked toward the house, wondering if the van would be loud enough to arouse the person inside. He quickly decided that he’d come this far, and he could always get out and run away into the night if something occurred, so he put his fingers around the key and turned.
He was surprised at the ease with which the engine started, almost noiselessly, at least from the inside. He looked quickly at the house, and waited for a few moments to make sure he had not been heard. After a minute, he put the van in reverse and slowly backed out of the driveway, turning toward the right so the reverse lights wouldn’t shine on the house. He put the van in drive, turned on the lights, and drove away.
His first stop of the night was a hardware store in town. Some rope, four hook screws, and some duct tape filled out his mental list. Not exactly a solid and well thought out plan, he had to admit to himself, but it would do for what he had in mind.
He crossed through the main drag of the small town and into the parking lot of a strip mall. Near the entrance was the burger joint he’d been working at for the last few years, where he’d first met the most alluring and desirable woman in his life.
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Utterly helpless, Carla lay spread-eagle on the floor of the van, stretched out and tied tightly at the wrists through the hook screws, but with light loops at the ankles to not cut off the feeling to her feet. Those beautiful, delicate, round and highly arched feet were all his for the taking and he meant to make the most of it. He slipped off her flats, revealing the lovelies, clad in tan nylons. They were the most sensitive part of her body, though she had other places that were almost equally vulnerable. She tried to speak through the tape he had put over her mouth, but could only mumble incoherently. He wanted to hear everything she had to say, wanted to hear her beg and plead to not be touched here, there and everywhere. He especially wanted to hear her laugh helplessly when he began, and wondered how long she would last against an all-out attack. He moved up toward her face, and gently pulled the tape off her mouth.
“Please! Please don’t hurt me!” she yelled immediately. This made him smile, and without a sound he turned back to kneel between her legs, facing the back of the van. She wiggled slightly in her bonds, but could barely move; this, too, made him smile even more. This was going to be a lovely evening, for him at least. He glanced at his watch – 10:34pm. Excellent, he thought, we’ve got hours before anyone even knows she’s gone.
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Carla was a year older than he was which felt like a whole different class of woman as he was only a sophomore in high school while she was a junior. Almost every day for months he allowed himself to be put on the evening schedule in the hope that she would be there as well, which meant slave labor for the occasional payoff of seeing her up close. She was absolutely breathtaking, at 5’3”, long wavy brown hair, eyes as blue as a tropic ocean, and more curves than one human being deserved. She was outgoing and vibrant, with a lovely smile that took his breath away, and a remarkably infectious laugh.
A few months into the job, he found himself on the “closing” schedule one Friday night along with a few other guys he knew, and Carla. He stole glances at her all night while she worked the drive thru, and he frantically filled the orders for the late night mongrels that were usually either drunk or stoned enough to want to eat the detritus the place served. Carla seemed to know quite a few of them, and she frequently stuck her head out the window to talk and laugh. Once, he glanced over at her when she was giggling and saw her standing on tiptoe with her head out the window. She was wearing the same uniform as the rest of them, though she filled it out in such a way that it drove everyone crazy. His eyes were drawn to the floor, as her heels had popped out of her black flats and he saw her beautiful, smooth, high-arched feet for the first time. How, he wondered, could someone so magnificent also have the prettiest feet he’d ever seen?
“Hey, Mongo, back to work,” the manager said when he saw him staring. His name isn’t Mongo, of course, but his manager was an asshole and thought it was humorous. With four inches and about fifty pounds over him, he just smiled down at him indifferently.
The late evening rush died down, and the closing work began, including cleaning every piece of cooking machinery in a large vat of lye, mopping about two inches of hot soapy water across the floor and into the drains, and cleaning the tables, booths and windows before the entire place went straight to hell again at breakfast time in three hours. He was sweeping out the dining area, coming up behind Carla who was wiping wilted lettuce bits and sesame seeds off the tables and onto the floor. She tried going faster than he could keep up, mischievously teasing him along. It made him smile, because she rarely spoke to him but was clearly being flirtatious.
As they neared the front door, someone began banging on it after finding it locked. They both looked up and saw a gaggle of young girls standing outside, laughing and wobbling around, obviously drunk. He didn’t recognize any of them, though they were about his age so he guessed they were from another town nearby. One of them, a pretty little blonde, put her face up to the window, looked him right in the eye, and screamed, “I love you!!”
Momentarily speechless, he just stood there with the broom in his hands and stared at her. This, he thought, was unexpected, until the truly startling thing happened. Carla threw her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek, then yelled, “He’s taken!”
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She began to say something else, but he couldn’t hear it with the sound of his heartbeat in his ears and the growing tightness in his pants. He had secretly wanted to do this for a long time, even without her betrayals in their relationship, but he never thought he would really do it because he truly loved her and wished her no harm. Although he could tell himself that he wasn’t really going to hurt her, he knew how incredibly sensitive she was, and what he was about to do was going to be the worst form of torture to her delicate body.
He reached down and let his fingertips slide along the top of her ankles and feet to her toes. She yelped at his touch, and suddenly realized what he was about to do. “No, please don’t….”
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The next few minutes wound like a film that skipped its track; something was happening, but it was fuzzy and hard to follow. The girls migrated to some other destination, with the blonde casting playful glances back at him. Carla was still hung around his neck with one arm, and flipping them off with the other. Somewhere in the haze, she actually kissed him on the lips, open mouthed, and as their tongues caressed each other he realized what ‘a perfect fit’ was.
Carla pulled away, and looked outside to make sure the flock of girls wasn’t coming back. She turned and kissed him again, briefly, then went back to wiping off the tables. He didn’t even try to keep up this time, having some trouble keeping his left pant leg hidden, and trying not to drop the broom while his hands were shaking. The unexpected kiss lingered in his mind, and somehow wove together with the chance sighting of her beautiful little feet from earlier. He wished he knew if she was ticklish.[/I]
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The lights went out for the night, and the remaining crew left out the back door. He walked out behind everyone except the manager, not knowing what to make of the events of the evening. Carla hadn’t said anything to him after their unexpected embrace, and he began to wonder if it was just one of those things that girls did, particularly older girls, that were easily misconstrued by lovelorn boys.
As he passed the garbage cans, Carla stepped from around the corner and stood in front of him. He stopped abruptly, almost tripping into her.
“I’m having my birthday party at my house tomorrow night,” she said. He stared at her, wondering if that was a question. Her blue eyes, darkened in the night but still shining, peered up at him expectantly.
“Happy birthday,” was all he thought to say.
“Do you want to come?”
Slowly, ever so slowly, it occurred to him that she might actually be attracted to him. He still had the baseball-cap style hat he wore at work, and he stepped closer to her, touching the brim of the cap to her forehead. He was close enough to smell her, a wonderful mix of feminine sweat, French fries, and strawberry lip gloss. She didn’t move, just waited with a tense longing in her demeanor. It struck him that in those few seconds, he’d become the object of her desire rather than the other way around, and it made him feel strong, and somehow powerful. He had girlfriends before, even several of the other girls he worked with, but none of them made him feel like she did; she made him feel like a man instead of a boy.
“Yes,” he said.
She pulled a piece of paper out of her front pocket and stuffed it down the collar of his shirt where it slipped down to his stomach. Before pulling away, she let her fingers slide gently down his chest. “Call me tomorrow.”
The night manager was standing behind him, watching the little scene unfold with a bemused look on his face.
“Guess who I’ve got a hot date with?” Carla asked.
“Oh, Jesus,” he said, “Just what I need, workplace romance. Just keep it clean while you’re on the clock.” He poked her in the side playfully as he passed her, making her yelp and dive out of the way.
Promising, he thought, very promising.
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He moved his hands around the sides and began tickling feverishly along the arches of the soles of her feet. Immediately she screamed, much louder than he thought she would, and was glad he had taken the time to drive out to the country with her. His heart pounded in his veins and a flush ran through his body as he scribbled his fingertips from side to side, lifting and falling his hands to tickle every inch of her helpless feet. The nylons she wore made her arches smooth and silky to his touch. His fingertips flittered along the balls of her feet beneath her toes, then dipped into the center of her arches where they lingered for an agonizing period of time, and then to the heels. Her entire body lifted and fell in her bonds, attempting to find some relief from the tickling, but there was nowhere for her to go. She fell into a fit of laughter that came out in raucous snorts, brief inhalations and breathless giggles. She couldn’t catch enough air to laugh completely, and her only release came in small whines and helpless squeals, followed by almost inhuman guttural sounds of agony.
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He couldn’t sleep, even after ten hours of hot greasy food in a hot greasy kitchen. He lay on his bed in the darkness, staring at the ceiling and reliving every moment of the night in a tangled mix of confusion and longing. It was the kind of night that you look back on years later, and wish your life would start over at the beginning of that day and just repeat itself forever. Each time he started it over in his mind he felt pure and complete joy. Scene one, take one: Tonight he’ll work with Carla all the way until close. Scene two: A chance glance at the right moment, and the secret thrill of seeing her adorable feet popped out of her shoes, wishing he had stopped what he was doing, walked over, and tickled them while she wasn’t looking. He imagined the sound of a surprised little yelp when she felt the tickle and the look on her face when she saw that it was him doing it. That was embellished in his mind, but he felt he deserved it considering everything else that night was a waking dream that enveloped him in a warm pleasure that ached in his chest.
He dozed off at dawn, and awoke hours later to the telephone next to his bed. He picked it up and grumbled, “Hello?”
“Hi,” the phone said.
“Hi,” he said, cautiously. Some girl, obviously, but he couldn’t place her voice.
“Do you know who this is?” she asked.
“Um… Tammy?” he sputtered, hoping it wasn’t that crazy bitch he’d broken up with a few weeks ago. She was a very pretty, very forward, very sexy little thing that took about twenty minutes to figure out she was three strings short of a banjo. She single-handedly made him avoid the entire state of Wisconsin.
“It’s Carla,” she said, and he shot upright, clearing his throat right into the receiver.
“Sorry, sorry, I didn’t expect you to call me. I didn’t know you had my number,” he said, mouthing the word “fuck” to himself and rolling his eyes.
“That’s okay; I actually got it from Tammy,” she said, and he heard the smile on her face. He pictured her there on the phone, her long wavy hair cascading over her strong yet feminine shoulders. He realized she was waiting for him to say something.
“So, you’re still having a birthday tonight?”
“Umm hmm,” she said, “Do you want me to pick you up?”
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After several minutes, he decided to try a different tactic, although the one he was using was working perfectly. He thought it might be even more torturous if he didn’t tickle continuously, but gave her brief tickles and brief respite. He knew the entire soles of her feet were unbelievably ticklish, but was beginning to find that the two worst spots were just beneath her toes, and the slippery arches in the center of her feet. He stopped tickling her for a moment, letting her catch her breath, though she couldn’t stop laughing and squealing as if he was still going. He waited for her to calm down, and just as she was about to beg him to stop, he put his fingertips over and beneath her toes, then began tickling frantically along the sensitive nylon-clad skin.
Carla screamed in shock and her body writhed in her bonds. She automatically began to scrunch up and wiggle her toes to get away, but to no avail. He giggled himself at the sounds of complete helplessness, loving every second of her torture. After a few moments, he pulled his hands away, and she continued giggling but sounded somewhat weaker than before. He counted out five seconds in his head, then reached in from the sides and began tickling the soft arches in the center of each foot. She wasn’t prepared this time, and a loud and agonized grunt came out of her before she began to scream. He could hear in her voice that something in her was beginning to break down from the insistent tickling, letting out only squeals and small screams instead of laughter. He stopped and pulled his hands away, once again counting to five inside his head. He was in such a state of euphoria it seemed like forever before he reached the magic number, and then went back to work with deep tickles under her toes. When she uttered another helpless grunt, he knew his reimagiined tickling tactic was working just the way he hoped it would. It was just long enough to give her a bare moment’s hope before the relentless agony of the tickle began again. His body began to quiver with delight, and each stroke of his galloping fingers tingled inside his stomach.
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Carla pulled into the driveway exactly at six o’clock, which was the first and last time she would ever be punctual when it came to him. He didn’t know this at the time, and a huge smile broke across his face when he saw her. What he also didn’t know was he would be sitting in the same spot on the deck three months from now, watching the sun go down with a silent, lonely scowl on his face and wicked thoughts rising from the pit of his stomach.
She only lived a few minutes away, and somehow all they seemed to talk about was work, the people at work, how much they hated this person or that person at work, and everything else they already both knew about work. When they got to her house she pulled along the side, got out and led him around the back to a screened-in porch. Sitting at the wooden table was her best friend (whom he did not know, but she apparently went to school with them; he haughtily looked her over and decided she probably didn’t spend much time there anyway), some other guy friends of hers, and one of her older brothers. He was the spitting image of her, only about six feet tall and male. He was very friendly, and looking so much like her gave him a disarming charm.
He sat down at the bench near the front of the table, with Carla in a chair at the head and her friend and brother next to him, and other friends across and in a couch behind him. Everyone knew each other, which was a little disconcerting because nobody made any special attempt to find out who he was, and what he was doing there. Equally disturbing to him at fifteen years old, Carla and friends had a keg of beer that was delivered happily by her stepfather, and one person or another kept filling his red plastic cup every time he finished it. He didn’t like beer, but its effects over time were allowing him to feel more at home among these strangers.
Well into the evening, someone discovered a chilled bottle of champagne and set it down in front of Carla. After deftly pulling out the cork without firing it dangerously through the small porch, she handed the bottle around and put the cork between her lips. He stared at her, transfixed by the moment, and slightly inebriated.
“Can I have a suck?” he asked.
She smiled, leaned toward him and they kissed around the sweet smelling stopper. With his eyes closed, he realized immediately that everyone had gone quiet, apparently surprised by the passionate display. He let her decide when to pull away, but when she did she wound her arm in his and pulled him next to her, giggling and red-faced. He had that feeling again, the one only she could instill in him; it was the manly feeling, confident and at ease. Everyone was talking again, and the moment of first impact was apparently over and readily accepted. Carla had a new boyfriend.
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He repeated the on-and-off tickling several more times, every time eliciting a new desperate sound of anguish from the bound beauty beneath him. She was beginning to sound weaker as he continued the tickling onslaught of her unbelievably sensitive feet, but she was still as ticklish, or worse, as she was when he started. Once again, he wondered how long she could last, and briefly glanced at his watch again. He had been tickling her feet for almost twenty minutes; to him it felt like hours of heavenly bliss, and to her, an eternity of unending hell. As another moment of respite ended, his fingers once again galloped from side to side along her soles from heel to toes, up and down for several minutes. She had lost the strength to move, and could only lay completely helpless as the tickling continued over and over again. She had begun laughing weakly when his fingers began the endlessly torturous tickling up and down, side to side, feeling every single agonizing stroke shoot through her feet and into her stomach.
He felt the moment when her body stopped repeatedly attempting to flee the endless tickling and gave in to the unrelenting sensation. He would not have recognized the look of pure, terrible glee on his own face. His fingers began to gallop faster when her feet stopped moving, as if his hands were aware that they were now unhindered to inflict a maximum tickling terror on their beautiful victims. Between her laughter and helpless squealing, he could hear the ‘shushing’ sound of his fingertips on her nylons, and it was music.
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He forgot, for a time, that he was fifteen years old, a sophomore in high school, and he lived with his parents. That night he allowed himself to believe he was where he should be, in the arms of his love. She let herself, and him, drink quite to their heart’s content all evening, ending up wrapped together under a blanket in her basement, kissing and watching some forgettable movie.
During each episode of soft, tender kisses, he let his fingers begin to explore her body. It wasn’t long before had mapped her body’s most sensitive places. Although they were both highly aroused, lending a romantic element to his exploring fingers, she still had to pull away and catch her breath while giggling gently.
` “I can’t kiss you while you’re tickling me!” she said, playfully, “It’s one or the other.”
Without warning, Carla now sat on top of him, grabbing his wrists and pushing them over and behind him. She appeared to be her comfort zone, smiling down at him. It didn’t bother him to let her trace tingling pathways down from his shoulders to his waist, around his sides, and back up again. He was normally very ticklish himself, but the feel of her hot breath on his face, and the shivers he sent up his spine with her wandering fingertips, he found that her sensuous teasing and dominant position made him ache for her lips.
He let himself put the mental checklist of every ticklish place he’d found might be helpful to know in the future; tonight, he gave into her desires, and the feeling that he had somehow met the missing part his life. He didn’t know that this insignificant reversal set the tone of their relationship to come, and was at the very least a catalyst that fueled the burning inside his chest at the sight of her face, or the sound of her name.
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After a time, she realized he had stopped tickling, even though her chest was still heaving sporadically and her feet felt the phantom onslaught of his cruel fingertips. He had turned around and was straddling her hips, leaning down to her left ear.
“Tell me the truth, and I may let you go,” he whispered. She was still heaving with quiet laughter, her breasts gently lifting and falling beneath her tank top. He held his hands just above her helpless underarms, wiggling his fingers and making her whine in anticipation. She wouldn’t last another second of tickling and looked for any help he could find to make him stop. His fingertips fell another inch toward her, softly saying, “Koothie kootchie kootchie…”She couldn’t bear any more, and grasped at this one hope of an end to the torture. With barely a sound, she said, “Okay, okay…” her voice quivering.
He took a deep breath, and let it out slowly into her hair.
“Do you love me?” he asked quietly.
Panting, she stared into his eyes, looking both frantic and confused. She swallowed, her throat clicking dryly, blinking away tears that streaked down the side of her beautiful face. The inexorable progress of the phantom tickling moved lower and lower.
Her voice quivered when she asked, “Who are you?”
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by PiperGK1
Carla had stood him up one too many times, and as he smoldered in his feelings he took another drag off of his cigarette and exhaled toward the driveway, watching the tendrils of smoke swirl around in the light of the garage. The sun had gone down on this balmy summer evening, and the last traces of light were leaving the western sky. His face was hidden somewhat in the darkness, wondering where she was, and more importantly, with who.
One last puff and he dropped the butt under the deck, about to head in for the evening and go to bed angry as he had so many times. He loved her deeply, and would forgive most anything if she hadn’t been so blasé about leaving him waiting, wanting and wondering. As he readied himself to go inside, a large white van passed slowly by. It was one of those with no windows on the sides, and blacked out windows in the back. He watched it cruise past when an unusual thought sprang to mind.
That would be a great tickling van, he said to himself.
He watched it head for the corner, turn left, and out of sight. He wasn’t sure where it was headed exactly, but he had seen it before. Tonight, he decided to find out where it was going, with no real plan of why he was doing it. He stood and walked slowly across the lawn to the street, to the corner, and as he turned left he felt a strange sensation come over him. No going back now, he thought.
Within a few minutes, he stood in the complete darkness of the street looking at a small brown house with the white van parked in the driveway. The lights were on in the living room, and the echo of the television could be heard from inside. He walked back and forth for a moment to make sure the occupant wasn’t coming back out for any reason, and then approached the van. He walked up to the rear and put his hand up to the window, looking inside. He couldn’t see anything from outside, and tried the handle, but it was locked. He moved around to the driver’s side and did the same. This time he could see the front seats, but the back was bathed in darkness.
Intrigued, he tried the handle and found it open. As quietly as he could, he opened the door, which came open without a sound. He looked around, making sure nobody was near, and then entered the van and sat in the driver’s seat. He pulled the door closed quickly to shut out the roof light that had come on, and looked around. The van smelled fairly clean, with a light scent of fresh paint and wood. Looking back, he could now see more of the inside of the van, though it was still very dark. It was about seven feet from the back of the seats to the back door, with nothing in it but an old and worn piece of dark carpeting covering the floor. Something stirred inside him as he took it in, picturing what he could use the vehicle for, if it was his. The thought of it made his stomach turn in a pleasant, vindictive way. The seats were dark brown cloth, which he preferred to leather, and they were very comfortable. His gaze wandered all over the back, filling his mind with scenarios.
Turning back to the front, he placed his hands on the steering wheel, and was very surprised to see the keys in the ignition. He wondered why someone would leave a vehicle open with keys inside, but decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth. He ran his fingers over the keys, listening to them jingle and feeling the ignition key held tightly in place. Temptation almost got the better of him as he began to turn the key, but he stopped and looked around the front of the dash for the knob or other control of the headlights. He pulled his lighter out of his pocket, flicked it and briefly waved it around in front of him. Letting it go out quickly, he’d found the knob for the lights and pressed it in so they wouldn’t come on if he decided to test the ignition. He looked toward the house, wondering if the van would be loud enough to arouse the person inside. He quickly decided that he’d come this far, and he could always get out and run away into the night if something occurred, so he put his fingers around the key and turned.
He was surprised at the ease with which the engine started, almost noiselessly, at least from the inside. He looked quickly at the house, and waited for a few moments to make sure he had not been heard. After a minute, he put the van in reverse and slowly backed out of the driveway, turning toward the right so the reverse lights wouldn’t shine on the house. He put the van in drive, turned on the lights, and drove away.
His first stop of the night was a hardware store in town. Some rope, four hook screws, and some duct tape filled out his mental list. Not exactly a solid and well thought out plan, he had to admit to himself, but it would do for what he had in mind.
He crossed through the main drag of the small town and into the parking lot of a strip mall. Near the entrance was the burger joint he’d been working at for the last few years, where he’d first met the most alluring and desirable woman in his life.
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Utterly helpless, Carla lay spread-eagle on the floor of the van, stretched out and tied tightly at the wrists through the hook screws, but with light loops at the ankles to not cut off the feeling to her feet. Those beautiful, delicate, round and highly arched feet were all his for the taking and he meant to make the most of it. He slipped off her flats, revealing the lovelies, clad in tan nylons. They were the most sensitive part of her body, though she had other places that were almost equally vulnerable. She tried to speak through the tape he had put over her mouth, but could only mumble incoherently. He wanted to hear everything she had to say, wanted to hear her beg and plead to not be touched here, there and everywhere. He especially wanted to hear her laugh helplessly when he began, and wondered how long she would last against an all-out attack. He moved up toward her face, and gently pulled the tape off her mouth.
“Please! Please don’t hurt me!” she yelled immediately. This made him smile, and without a sound he turned back to kneel between her legs, facing the back of the van. She wiggled slightly in her bonds, but could barely move; this, too, made him smile even more. This was going to be a lovely evening, for him at least. He glanced at his watch – 10:34pm. Excellent, he thought, we’ve got hours before anyone even knows she’s gone.
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Carla was a year older than he was which felt like a whole different class of woman as he was only a sophomore in high school while she was a junior. Almost every day for months he allowed himself to be put on the evening schedule in the hope that she would be there as well, which meant slave labor for the occasional payoff of seeing her up close. She was absolutely breathtaking, at 5’3”, long wavy brown hair, eyes as blue as a tropic ocean, and more curves than one human being deserved. She was outgoing and vibrant, with a lovely smile that took his breath away, and a remarkably infectious laugh.
A few months into the job, he found himself on the “closing” schedule one Friday night along with a few other guys he knew, and Carla. He stole glances at her all night while she worked the drive thru, and he frantically filled the orders for the late night mongrels that were usually either drunk or stoned enough to want to eat the detritus the place served. Carla seemed to know quite a few of them, and she frequently stuck her head out the window to talk and laugh. Once, he glanced over at her when she was giggling and saw her standing on tiptoe with her head out the window. She was wearing the same uniform as the rest of them, though she filled it out in such a way that it drove everyone crazy. His eyes were drawn to the floor, as her heels had popped out of her black flats and he saw her beautiful, smooth, high-arched feet for the first time. How, he wondered, could someone so magnificent also have the prettiest feet he’d ever seen?
“Hey, Mongo, back to work,” the manager said when he saw him staring. His name isn’t Mongo, of course, but his manager was an asshole and thought it was humorous. With four inches and about fifty pounds over him, he just smiled down at him indifferently.
The late evening rush died down, and the closing work began, including cleaning every piece of cooking machinery in a large vat of lye, mopping about two inches of hot soapy water across the floor and into the drains, and cleaning the tables, booths and windows before the entire place went straight to hell again at breakfast time in three hours. He was sweeping out the dining area, coming up behind Carla who was wiping wilted lettuce bits and sesame seeds off the tables and onto the floor. She tried going faster than he could keep up, mischievously teasing him along. It made him smile, because she rarely spoke to him but was clearly being flirtatious.
As they neared the front door, someone began banging on it after finding it locked. They both looked up and saw a gaggle of young girls standing outside, laughing and wobbling around, obviously drunk. He didn’t recognize any of them, though they were about his age so he guessed they were from another town nearby. One of them, a pretty little blonde, put her face up to the window, looked him right in the eye, and screamed, “I love you!!”
Momentarily speechless, he just stood there with the broom in his hands and stared at her. This, he thought, was unexpected, until the truly startling thing happened. Carla threw her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek, then yelled, “He’s taken!”
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She began to say something else, but he couldn’t hear it with the sound of his heartbeat in his ears and the growing tightness in his pants. He had secretly wanted to do this for a long time, even without her betrayals in their relationship, but he never thought he would really do it because he truly loved her and wished her no harm. Although he could tell himself that he wasn’t really going to hurt her, he knew how incredibly sensitive she was, and what he was about to do was going to be the worst form of torture to her delicate body.
He reached down and let his fingertips slide along the top of her ankles and feet to her toes. She yelped at his touch, and suddenly realized what he was about to do. “No, please don’t….”
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The next few minutes wound like a film that skipped its track; something was happening, but it was fuzzy and hard to follow. The girls migrated to some other destination, with the blonde casting playful glances back at him. Carla was still hung around his neck with one arm, and flipping them off with the other. Somewhere in the haze, she actually kissed him on the lips, open mouthed, and as their tongues caressed each other he realized what ‘a perfect fit’ was.
Carla pulled away, and looked outside to make sure the flock of girls wasn’t coming back. She turned and kissed him again, briefly, then went back to wiping off the tables. He didn’t even try to keep up this time, having some trouble keeping his left pant leg hidden, and trying not to drop the broom while his hands were shaking. The unexpected kiss lingered in his mind, and somehow wove together with the chance sighting of her beautiful little feet from earlier. He wished he knew if she was ticklish.[/I]
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The lights went out for the night, and the remaining crew left out the back door. He walked out behind everyone except the manager, not knowing what to make of the events of the evening. Carla hadn’t said anything to him after their unexpected embrace, and he began to wonder if it was just one of those things that girls did, particularly older girls, that were easily misconstrued by lovelorn boys.
As he passed the garbage cans, Carla stepped from around the corner and stood in front of him. He stopped abruptly, almost tripping into her.
“I’m having my birthday party at my house tomorrow night,” she said. He stared at her, wondering if that was a question. Her blue eyes, darkened in the night but still shining, peered up at him expectantly.
“Happy birthday,” was all he thought to say.
“Do you want to come?”
Slowly, ever so slowly, it occurred to him that she might actually be attracted to him. He still had the baseball-cap style hat he wore at work, and he stepped closer to her, touching the brim of the cap to her forehead. He was close enough to smell her, a wonderful mix of feminine sweat, French fries, and strawberry lip gloss. She didn’t move, just waited with a tense longing in her demeanor. It struck him that in those few seconds, he’d become the object of her desire rather than the other way around, and it made him feel strong, and somehow powerful. He had girlfriends before, even several of the other girls he worked with, but none of them made him feel like she did; she made him feel like a man instead of a boy.
“Yes,” he said.
She pulled a piece of paper out of her front pocket and stuffed it down the collar of his shirt where it slipped down to his stomach. Before pulling away, she let her fingers slide gently down his chest. “Call me tomorrow.”
The night manager was standing behind him, watching the little scene unfold with a bemused look on his face.
“Guess who I’ve got a hot date with?” Carla asked.
“Oh, Jesus,” he said, “Just what I need, workplace romance. Just keep it clean while you’re on the clock.” He poked her in the side playfully as he passed her, making her yelp and dive out of the way.
Promising, he thought, very promising.
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He moved his hands around the sides and began tickling feverishly along the arches of the soles of her feet. Immediately she screamed, much louder than he thought she would, and was glad he had taken the time to drive out to the country with her. His heart pounded in his veins and a flush ran through his body as he scribbled his fingertips from side to side, lifting and falling his hands to tickle every inch of her helpless feet. The nylons she wore made her arches smooth and silky to his touch. His fingertips flittered along the balls of her feet beneath her toes, then dipped into the center of her arches where they lingered for an agonizing period of time, and then to the heels. Her entire body lifted and fell in her bonds, attempting to find some relief from the tickling, but there was nowhere for her to go. She fell into a fit of laughter that came out in raucous snorts, brief inhalations and breathless giggles. She couldn’t catch enough air to laugh completely, and her only release came in small whines and helpless squeals, followed by almost inhuman guttural sounds of agony.
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He couldn’t sleep, even after ten hours of hot greasy food in a hot greasy kitchen. He lay on his bed in the darkness, staring at the ceiling and reliving every moment of the night in a tangled mix of confusion and longing. It was the kind of night that you look back on years later, and wish your life would start over at the beginning of that day and just repeat itself forever. Each time he started it over in his mind he felt pure and complete joy. Scene one, take one: Tonight he’ll work with Carla all the way until close. Scene two: A chance glance at the right moment, and the secret thrill of seeing her adorable feet popped out of her shoes, wishing he had stopped what he was doing, walked over, and tickled them while she wasn’t looking. He imagined the sound of a surprised little yelp when she felt the tickle and the look on her face when she saw that it was him doing it. That was embellished in his mind, but he felt he deserved it considering everything else that night was a waking dream that enveloped him in a warm pleasure that ached in his chest.
He dozed off at dawn, and awoke hours later to the telephone next to his bed. He picked it up and grumbled, “Hello?”
“Hi,” the phone said.
“Hi,” he said, cautiously. Some girl, obviously, but he couldn’t place her voice.
“Do you know who this is?” she asked.
“Um… Tammy?” he sputtered, hoping it wasn’t that crazy bitch he’d broken up with a few weeks ago. She was a very pretty, very forward, very sexy little thing that took about twenty minutes to figure out she was three strings short of a banjo. She single-handedly made him avoid the entire state of Wisconsin.
“It’s Carla,” she said, and he shot upright, clearing his throat right into the receiver.
“Sorry, sorry, I didn’t expect you to call me. I didn’t know you had my number,” he said, mouthing the word “fuck” to himself and rolling his eyes.
“That’s okay; I actually got it from Tammy,” she said, and he heard the smile on her face. He pictured her there on the phone, her long wavy hair cascading over her strong yet feminine shoulders. He realized she was waiting for him to say something.
“So, you’re still having a birthday tonight?”
“Umm hmm,” she said, “Do you want me to pick you up?”
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After several minutes, he decided to try a different tactic, although the one he was using was working perfectly. He thought it might be even more torturous if he didn’t tickle continuously, but gave her brief tickles and brief respite. He knew the entire soles of her feet were unbelievably ticklish, but was beginning to find that the two worst spots were just beneath her toes, and the slippery arches in the center of her feet. He stopped tickling her for a moment, letting her catch her breath, though she couldn’t stop laughing and squealing as if he was still going. He waited for her to calm down, and just as she was about to beg him to stop, he put his fingertips over and beneath her toes, then began tickling frantically along the sensitive nylon-clad skin.
Carla screamed in shock and her body writhed in her bonds. She automatically began to scrunch up and wiggle her toes to get away, but to no avail. He giggled himself at the sounds of complete helplessness, loving every second of her torture. After a few moments, he pulled his hands away, and she continued giggling but sounded somewhat weaker than before. He counted out five seconds in his head, then reached in from the sides and began tickling the soft arches in the center of each foot. She wasn’t prepared this time, and a loud and agonized grunt came out of her before she began to scream. He could hear in her voice that something in her was beginning to break down from the insistent tickling, letting out only squeals and small screams instead of laughter. He stopped and pulled his hands away, once again counting to five inside his head. He was in such a state of euphoria it seemed like forever before he reached the magic number, and then went back to work with deep tickles under her toes. When she uttered another helpless grunt, he knew his reimagiined tickling tactic was working just the way he hoped it would. It was just long enough to give her a bare moment’s hope before the relentless agony of the tickle began again. His body began to quiver with delight, and each stroke of his galloping fingers tingled inside his stomach.
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Carla pulled into the driveway exactly at six o’clock, which was the first and last time she would ever be punctual when it came to him. He didn’t know this at the time, and a huge smile broke across his face when he saw her. What he also didn’t know was he would be sitting in the same spot on the deck three months from now, watching the sun go down with a silent, lonely scowl on his face and wicked thoughts rising from the pit of his stomach.
She only lived a few minutes away, and somehow all they seemed to talk about was work, the people at work, how much they hated this person or that person at work, and everything else they already both knew about work. When they got to her house she pulled along the side, got out and led him around the back to a screened-in porch. Sitting at the wooden table was her best friend (whom he did not know, but she apparently went to school with them; he haughtily looked her over and decided she probably didn’t spend much time there anyway), some other guy friends of hers, and one of her older brothers. He was the spitting image of her, only about six feet tall and male. He was very friendly, and looking so much like her gave him a disarming charm.
He sat down at the bench near the front of the table, with Carla in a chair at the head and her friend and brother next to him, and other friends across and in a couch behind him. Everyone knew each other, which was a little disconcerting because nobody made any special attempt to find out who he was, and what he was doing there. Equally disturbing to him at fifteen years old, Carla and friends had a keg of beer that was delivered happily by her stepfather, and one person or another kept filling his red plastic cup every time he finished it. He didn’t like beer, but its effects over time were allowing him to feel more at home among these strangers.
Well into the evening, someone discovered a chilled bottle of champagne and set it down in front of Carla. After deftly pulling out the cork without firing it dangerously through the small porch, she handed the bottle around and put the cork between her lips. He stared at her, transfixed by the moment, and slightly inebriated.
“Can I have a suck?” he asked.
She smiled, leaned toward him and they kissed around the sweet smelling stopper. With his eyes closed, he realized immediately that everyone had gone quiet, apparently surprised by the passionate display. He let her decide when to pull away, but when she did she wound her arm in his and pulled him next to her, giggling and red-faced. He had that feeling again, the one only she could instill in him; it was the manly feeling, confident and at ease. Everyone was talking again, and the moment of first impact was apparently over and readily accepted. Carla had a new boyfriend.
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He repeated the on-and-off tickling several more times, every time eliciting a new desperate sound of anguish from the bound beauty beneath him. She was beginning to sound weaker as he continued the tickling onslaught of her unbelievably sensitive feet, but she was still as ticklish, or worse, as she was when he started. Once again, he wondered how long she could last, and briefly glanced at his watch again. He had been tickling her feet for almost twenty minutes; to him it felt like hours of heavenly bliss, and to her, an eternity of unending hell. As another moment of respite ended, his fingers once again galloped from side to side along her soles from heel to toes, up and down for several minutes. She had lost the strength to move, and could only lay completely helpless as the tickling continued over and over again. She had begun laughing weakly when his fingers began the endlessly torturous tickling up and down, side to side, feeling every single agonizing stroke shoot through her feet and into her stomach.
He felt the moment when her body stopped repeatedly attempting to flee the endless tickling and gave in to the unrelenting sensation. He would not have recognized the look of pure, terrible glee on his own face. His fingers began to gallop faster when her feet stopped moving, as if his hands were aware that they were now unhindered to inflict a maximum tickling terror on their beautiful victims. Between her laughter and helpless squealing, he could hear the ‘shushing’ sound of his fingertips on her nylons, and it was music.
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He forgot, for a time, that he was fifteen years old, a sophomore in high school, and he lived with his parents. That night he allowed himself to believe he was where he should be, in the arms of his love. She let herself, and him, drink quite to their heart’s content all evening, ending up wrapped together under a blanket in her basement, kissing and watching some forgettable movie.
During each episode of soft, tender kisses, he let his fingers begin to explore her body. It wasn’t long before had mapped her body’s most sensitive places. Although they were both highly aroused, lending a romantic element to his exploring fingers, she still had to pull away and catch her breath while giggling gently.
` “I can’t kiss you while you’re tickling me!” she said, playfully, “It’s one or the other.”
Without warning, Carla now sat on top of him, grabbing his wrists and pushing them over and behind him. She appeared to be her comfort zone, smiling down at him. It didn’t bother him to let her trace tingling pathways down from his shoulders to his waist, around his sides, and back up again. He was normally very ticklish himself, but the feel of her hot breath on his face, and the shivers he sent up his spine with her wandering fingertips, he found that her sensuous teasing and dominant position made him ache for her lips.
He let himself put the mental checklist of every ticklish place he’d found might be helpful to know in the future; tonight, he gave into her desires, and the feeling that he had somehow met the missing part his life. He didn’t know that this insignificant reversal set the tone of their relationship to come, and was at the very least a catalyst that fueled the burning inside his chest at the sight of her face, or the sound of her name.
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After a time, she realized he had stopped tickling, even though her chest was still heaving sporadically and her feet felt the phantom onslaught of his cruel fingertips. He had turned around and was straddling her hips, leaning down to her left ear.
“Tell me the truth, and I may let you go,” he whispered. She was still heaving with quiet laughter, her breasts gently lifting and falling beneath her tank top. He held his hands just above her helpless underarms, wiggling his fingers and making her whine in anticipation. She wouldn’t last another second of tickling and looked for any help he could find to make him stop. His fingertips fell another inch toward her, softly saying, “Koothie kootchie kootchie…”She couldn’t bear any more, and grasped at this one hope of an end to the torture. With barely a sound, she said, “Okay, okay…” her voice quivering.
He took a deep breath, and let it out slowly into her hair.
“Do you love me?” he asked quietly.
Panting, she stared into his eyes, looking both frantic and confused. She swallowed, her throat clicking dryly, blinking away tears that streaked down the side of her beautiful face. The inexorable progress of the phantom tickling moved lower and lower.
Her voice quivered when she asked, “Who are you?”
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