Hope you like it, it is a first effort. Entirely fiction, contains tickling of a sixteen year old. Anyone with a problem, please don't read it. Anyone who approves, please reply!
Drama tickling
Annie waited outside the drama room chatting to her friends. It was nearly time to go in. She spoke to Jemma about her upcoming GCSE’s, then turned to chat with Simon before the lesson began.
Annie Johnson was 16 years old. She had been going to the drama class at the LD School for two years now, and she looked forward to the class every Tuesday night. She was very lucky to get in, for the school usually only allowed 4-14 year olds. But she was very talented, and her mother was very persistent, and so she secured her place. One hour every Tuesady night with James and Sam, the teachers. For a sixteen year old girl, she was very mature, physically and mentally. She was tall for her age, and people almost always mistook her for being older. This had its advantages, especially when she tried to get into nightclubs. She had long, light brown hair, with big brown eyes, and a marginally narrow face. This made her extremely attractive. Annie had started to wear a bra when she was nine. Her breasts were growing quickly, and now, at sixteen, she had the figure (breasts, hips, waist) a twenty year old would die for.
For the drama lesson, she wore a long black coat and stripy scarf. She had on underneath flared jeans, a tight, multi-coloured jumper, and training shoes. She also wore stripy rainbow-coloured socks. Her bra was white and lacy, and she wore pink underwear, because they were the last pair in the drawer.
None of Annie’s close friends liked Drama. They were more into the academic subjects. In fact, when Annie first went to the LD School, she saw no-one she knew, except for Simon.
Simon was 14, and just entering the difficult stage in life when everything his parents tell him is wrong. No-one at school liked him, and he only found solace in going to drama class, where he had friends. He met Annie when she first went to the class, and they became the best of friends.
“When are those dancers going to finish?” asked Annie. “We’ve been waiting ages.”
“Dunno,” said Simon. He noticed that Annie was wearing a watch, which was tied around a belt-loop on her jeans. “Nice watch.”
“Hmm?” replied Annie, “Oh, yeah. I keep it there because it won’t fit on my wrist, and it’s my favourite watch.”
“Let me see”, asked Simon. He turned the watch around to look at the face. Annie’s jumper was slightly rolled up, and he inadvertently brushed slightly against her belly.
“Eeee! That tickles!” cried Annie.
Simon’s eyes widened. “Really? Are you ticklish?”
“I’m extremely ticklish, Simon!” said Annie.
Simon surprised Annie with a quick rib tickle. He dug his fingers into her sides.
“Aaaaaahhh! Stop it!” Annie shrieked as she pressed herself against the wall to escape.
Simon did so, but he never forgot this moment…
“OK, that’s it for today, see you next week,” shouted Sam over the din of the noisy class. “Don’t forget, Jemma and Lisa, bring your scripts next week, OK? Oh, and Annie and Simon? Can I just speak to you for a sec? The rest of you, learn your scripts!”
Annie and Simon walked over to where Sam was standing.
“It’s about your impro,” said Sam. “I don’t think it’s going anywhere.”
Annie looked at Sam, quizzical. “What do you mean?”
“I just think you could do a lot better if you had some private lessons.”
Simon glanced at Annie, and she shrugged. “OK”, she said, “When?”
“Well, how about… next Wednesday night?” asked Sam.
“How much are the extra lessons?” asked Annie. The drama class cost £4.00 a time, and she was dubious about paying more.
“It’s free of charge”, said Sam, “because Mrs Hopkins won’t be there, it’ll be just me.” Mrs Hopkins was the official drama teacher, she employed Sam and the others to help her out because of their experience.
Annie and Simon agreed readily.
“Alright then, see you here at about…7:30?” said Sam.
“Fine. Bye!”
They left, leaving Sam to consider what he had just said. Annie and Simon were good actors, and their improvisation for their exam wasn’t bad at all. The title given to them was ‘Trapped’, and in 12 weeks they had to come up with a piece of drama that conveyed a story along that theme. They had come up with the idea of a hostage situation. But they didn’t really need a private lesson. It’s just that Sam had witnessed the scene outside the room, with the watch, and wanted to try out a few ‘dramatic’ ideas of his own…
“Good, you’re on time,” said Simon to Annie.
Annie followed Simon into the drama room. Sam was sat down, reading a script. On closer analysis, Annie saw that it was a play she’d not heard of before, ‘The Laughing Milkmaid’.
“Hello, you two,” said Sam, closing the book and setting it aside, “How’s things?”
“Alright,” replied Annie. She was wearing the same jumper she had worn on Monday, although she had a different pair of jeans on.
“Fine, thanks,” mumbled Simon, who, as usual, wore baggy jeans and a loose sweatshirt. His eyes flicked to the play script Sam was reading. ‘The Laughing Milkmaid’? he thought. Have I heard that before?
Before he could remember, Sam started talking. “OK, let’s get on with it. Get in your starting positions.” The improvisation started with Simon facing away from the audience, and Annie sat on a chair, facing the front. Simon had his arms folded, Annie had hers behind her back.
“I don’t know what to do,” wailed Annie, in character. “He brought me here a day ago, and I still don’t know what he wants.”
At this point, Simon turned around, a mean look on his face.
“She’s talkative,” he said in a gruff voice. “But she won’t tell us what we want.”
As the impro progressed, Sam found it difficult to focus on what was happening, although he tried. He was too busy watching Annie, sat on the chair, pretending to be tied up. A thought that had been nagging at him all week suddenly popped into his head.
“Hold on a minute,” he interrupted. Annie and Simon looked at him. “This is what I had a problem with. Annie, your acting is perfect, but you just don’t look as if you’re tied up.”
Annie frowned. “Well, what else can I do, except put my hands behind my back?” she asked.
“Well,” Sam swallowed, “perhaps you could really be tied up. That way, when you’re acting, your arms don’t move accidentally.” A shiver went down Sam’s spine at the suggestion.
Annie looked dubious at first, but then Simon said, “Yeah, I agree. It’d make sure she really couldn’t move.”
Sam nodded. “And, it might get you extra points from the examiner, because by being tied up, you are enhancing the title ‘Trapped’.”
On hearing this, Annie agreed to have her wrists bound behind her.
“Er, what with?” she asked, still sat down.
“Um, I’ll go and find something,” mumbled Simon. He wandered towards the bench, and came back with Annie’s stripy rainbow-coloured scarf. “Will this do?”
“Should do, yes,” replied Annie. Simon proceeded to tie Annie’s hands at the wrists, behind her back, and to the chair. “Right, now I can’t move,” said Annie. She pulled at the scarf, and it gave very little. Simon had tied it well.
“OK, let’s do it,” said Sam.
The impro began again. This time, however, Annie could not gesticulate with her arms at all.
“What do you want?” said Annie, in character, to Simon.
Simon turned to her. “I want to keep you here forever!” He gestured with his right arm. Sam groaned inwardly. He hated extravagant actors. But never mind, he thought, now’s the time to act myself.
“Er, hold on a moment, Simon,” interrupted Sam, “I have another idea.” With that, he walked over to the corner of the room and picked up another chair. He brought it back, and set it down in front of Annie. “I don’t think you’re upset enough, Annie. You don’t seem to be able to get it right.”
“Well, I’ll get it eventually,” said Annie, hesitatingly. Sam had never said anything bad about anyone’s performance before.
“I think you might need a little help,” suggested Sam. He bought the chair closer, and quickly lifted Annie’s legs up and slipped her feet in the gap at the back.
“Hey! What are you doing?” Annie replied in alarm as Sam held her ankles down. He produced another scarf (one left behind by a careless dancer) from the bench and wrapped it around Annie’s struggling ankles, then tied it to the chair. When he let go, he stood back with pride, as Annie flailed to get free.
“Why’d you do that? Let me go!” Annie pulled at her restraints. “Why’d you tie my legs?” she asked, earnestly.
Simon looked on in shock, frozen to the spot.
“Because, Annie,” Sam said in a condescending tone, “I need to make sure you’re in the right mood for this scene.” He pushed back the end of her flares, and started to untie her left trainer.
“What? Let me go, Sam!” Annie almost shouted. “This isn’t funny!”
“Oh, it will be, believe me,” grinned Sam. He pulled off her trainer. Annie’s rainbow socked foot flailed uselessly. He pulled at the top of the sock.
“What are- stop that! Give me my shoe! Leave my feet alone,” insisted Annie. “Simon, stop him! Help me!”
Simon just stared and gaped. Annie’s left sock was pulled off, and her foot flexed repeatedly. Simon was transfixed.
“You see, Annie,” Sam went on, untying and popping off her right trainer, “you don’t seem to be emotional enough. I know a technique to help you out.”
“What technique?” asked Annie. “Why are you taking my shoes off?”
Sam rolled off her other sock. Annie’s bare feet now faced him, writhing and pulling.
“It goes something like this,” Sam said. He reached out and stroked the top of Annie’s right foot. It twitched.
“Stop it!” Annie said. Her foot gyrated in its bondage. “Don’t, Sam, that tickles.”
“Good!” exclaimed Sam. “That is essential for the technique to work.” He stopped stroking.
Annie’s eyes widened. It suddenly dawned on her that Sam intended to tickle her feet. She didn’t know why, but she didn’t really care. All she cared about was the slim chance that he would change his mind and let her go.
All her life, Annie had been ticklish. She had one older brother, who was 20 now and who had left home. He and Annie used to play games with the other children from their road when they were younger. Once, when he was fifteen and she was eight, they had decided to play Cowboys and Indians. Annie was the Indian princess, and her brother, his friend of 14 and her best friend of 8 were the Cowboys. They had chased her, ignoring her pleas that ‘three against one isn’t fair’, caught her and tied her to a tree with a skipping rope. They had threatened to do all sorts of things to her, like burn her alive and eat her (at which Annie had expressed great fear, although none of them were serious), but it wasn’t until her brother brushed against her socked left foot (her shoe had come off in the chase) and she giggled that his friend said “Why don’t we tickle her?” Whereupon Annie had desperately tried to untie the rope that fastened her tiny hands behind her back. Her brother and his friend had tickled her feet for five, long minutes that day, with Annie writhing and laughing, pulling and begging. Even her friend had joined in! Her mother had eventually heard her pleas for mercy, and rescued her.
But her mother wasn’t here now.
“Please, Sam, don’t, you don’t know how ticklish I am!” Annie pleaded. “You can’t do this!”
“Oh, but I can,” said Sam. And brought his finger into contact with Annie’s left sole.
Annie yelped. She couldn’t help it. Even the touch of his finger made her wince and bite her lip. Her toes flexed.
Annie looked at Sam with imploring eyes. “Please, don’t tickle me, Sam. Let me go, pleasHAHAAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!” Annie couldn’t finish as Sam stroked his finger up her sensitive sole, ever so slowly, from heel to toe. Annie immediately fought to stop laughing. She bit down on her lip, clenched her fists and scrunched up her toes. Her eyes were screwed up tightly, as if to fight off the sensations on her foot.
“Now, tell me Annie,” Sam said in that condescending tone, “are you ticklish?” He continued to stroke her left foot with just one finger. Up and down, up and down, up and down…
Annie could barely hold still. Her feet were thrashing from side to side, but not getting away from that horrible finger. She dug her nails into her palms, hoping that the pain would counteract the tickling she was receiving. It didn’t work. Her head shook violently, almost as if she was trying to deny the existence of her own ticklishness.
It didn’t go away.
Annie began to pull furiously at her legs. Her hips gyrated in an attempt to escape. The chair creaked in protest.
“I’ll ask you again, Annie,” asked Sam, “Are you ticklish?”
Annie shook her head vehemently, eyes wide, bottom teeth clamped over her upper lip, shoulders tugging at the scarves.
Simon stood and watched.
Sam’s finger continued to torture Annie’s bare sole, up and down, up and down. Annie was going crazy, and Sam hadn’t even started properly yet.
Suddenly, Sam started to use his other fingers. All four fingers scrabbled over Annie’s foot, going from her heel, to her arch, to her toes. Annie could no longer hold it in.
“NONONOHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHH!!!!!” Annie shrieked as Sam tickled her foot. “PLLEEEAAASSSSHAHAHAH!!! IT TICKLESMEHEHEHEHEHE!!!!!” She begged and pleaded and tugged with all her might at the restraint holding her poor foot down. But it held, and her foot was subjected to Sam’s tickling fingers.
“PLEEEAAASSSSHEHEHEHEHEHEHE!!!” Annie could barely stand the tickling of her bare, left foot. “SIMON! HELLPPPMEEEHEHEHEEHH!!”
Simon snapped out of his stupor. “Wha…”
“Simon?” Sam looked up from tickling Annie’s thrashing foot. “Annie wants you to help her. Come on, there’s another foot here.” And gestured to her defenceless right foot.
Annie’s eyes were screwed shut, but on hearing that her other foot was probably going to be tickled in a similar way, they flew open. Through tear-soaked eyes, she implored him not to take up Sam’s cruel offer.
“Well, Simon?” Sam asked, without stopping his fingers from brushing Annie’s now pinkening sole. “How about it?”
Annie begged, “Nohahah… Simon, please, don’t do ithahaahhaaahhh!!!!”
Both Sam and Annie stared at him with questioning eyes.
So he pulled up a chair, and sat in front of Annie’s feet.
She screamed.
Possibility of Chapter 2?
Drama tickling
Annie waited outside the drama room chatting to her friends. It was nearly time to go in. She spoke to Jemma about her upcoming GCSE’s, then turned to chat with Simon before the lesson began.
Annie Johnson was 16 years old. She had been going to the drama class at the LD School for two years now, and she looked forward to the class every Tuesday night. She was very lucky to get in, for the school usually only allowed 4-14 year olds. But she was very talented, and her mother was very persistent, and so she secured her place. One hour every Tuesady night with James and Sam, the teachers. For a sixteen year old girl, she was very mature, physically and mentally. She was tall for her age, and people almost always mistook her for being older. This had its advantages, especially when she tried to get into nightclubs. She had long, light brown hair, with big brown eyes, and a marginally narrow face. This made her extremely attractive. Annie had started to wear a bra when she was nine. Her breasts were growing quickly, and now, at sixteen, she had the figure (breasts, hips, waist) a twenty year old would die for.
For the drama lesson, she wore a long black coat and stripy scarf. She had on underneath flared jeans, a tight, multi-coloured jumper, and training shoes. She also wore stripy rainbow-coloured socks. Her bra was white and lacy, and she wore pink underwear, because they were the last pair in the drawer.
None of Annie’s close friends liked Drama. They were more into the academic subjects. In fact, when Annie first went to the LD School, she saw no-one she knew, except for Simon.
Simon was 14, and just entering the difficult stage in life when everything his parents tell him is wrong. No-one at school liked him, and he only found solace in going to drama class, where he had friends. He met Annie when she first went to the class, and they became the best of friends.
“When are those dancers going to finish?” asked Annie. “We’ve been waiting ages.”
“Dunno,” said Simon. He noticed that Annie was wearing a watch, which was tied around a belt-loop on her jeans. “Nice watch.”
“Hmm?” replied Annie, “Oh, yeah. I keep it there because it won’t fit on my wrist, and it’s my favourite watch.”
“Let me see”, asked Simon. He turned the watch around to look at the face. Annie’s jumper was slightly rolled up, and he inadvertently brushed slightly against her belly.
“Eeee! That tickles!” cried Annie.
Simon’s eyes widened. “Really? Are you ticklish?”
“I’m extremely ticklish, Simon!” said Annie.
Simon surprised Annie with a quick rib tickle. He dug his fingers into her sides.
“Aaaaaahhh! Stop it!” Annie shrieked as she pressed herself against the wall to escape.
Simon did so, but he never forgot this moment…
“OK, that’s it for today, see you next week,” shouted Sam over the din of the noisy class. “Don’t forget, Jemma and Lisa, bring your scripts next week, OK? Oh, and Annie and Simon? Can I just speak to you for a sec? The rest of you, learn your scripts!”
Annie and Simon walked over to where Sam was standing.
“It’s about your impro,” said Sam. “I don’t think it’s going anywhere.”
Annie looked at Sam, quizzical. “What do you mean?”
“I just think you could do a lot better if you had some private lessons.”
Simon glanced at Annie, and she shrugged. “OK”, she said, “When?”
“Well, how about… next Wednesday night?” asked Sam.
“How much are the extra lessons?” asked Annie. The drama class cost £4.00 a time, and she was dubious about paying more.
“It’s free of charge”, said Sam, “because Mrs Hopkins won’t be there, it’ll be just me.” Mrs Hopkins was the official drama teacher, she employed Sam and the others to help her out because of their experience.
Annie and Simon agreed readily.
“Alright then, see you here at about…7:30?” said Sam.
“Fine. Bye!”
They left, leaving Sam to consider what he had just said. Annie and Simon were good actors, and their improvisation for their exam wasn’t bad at all. The title given to them was ‘Trapped’, and in 12 weeks they had to come up with a piece of drama that conveyed a story along that theme. They had come up with the idea of a hostage situation. But they didn’t really need a private lesson. It’s just that Sam had witnessed the scene outside the room, with the watch, and wanted to try out a few ‘dramatic’ ideas of his own…
“Good, you’re on time,” said Simon to Annie.
Annie followed Simon into the drama room. Sam was sat down, reading a script. On closer analysis, Annie saw that it was a play she’d not heard of before, ‘The Laughing Milkmaid’.
“Hello, you two,” said Sam, closing the book and setting it aside, “How’s things?”
“Alright,” replied Annie. She was wearing the same jumper she had worn on Monday, although she had a different pair of jeans on.
“Fine, thanks,” mumbled Simon, who, as usual, wore baggy jeans and a loose sweatshirt. His eyes flicked to the play script Sam was reading. ‘The Laughing Milkmaid’? he thought. Have I heard that before?
Before he could remember, Sam started talking. “OK, let’s get on with it. Get in your starting positions.” The improvisation started with Simon facing away from the audience, and Annie sat on a chair, facing the front. Simon had his arms folded, Annie had hers behind her back.
“I don’t know what to do,” wailed Annie, in character. “He brought me here a day ago, and I still don’t know what he wants.”
At this point, Simon turned around, a mean look on his face.
“She’s talkative,” he said in a gruff voice. “But she won’t tell us what we want.”
As the impro progressed, Sam found it difficult to focus on what was happening, although he tried. He was too busy watching Annie, sat on the chair, pretending to be tied up. A thought that had been nagging at him all week suddenly popped into his head.
“Hold on a minute,” he interrupted. Annie and Simon looked at him. “This is what I had a problem with. Annie, your acting is perfect, but you just don’t look as if you’re tied up.”
Annie frowned. “Well, what else can I do, except put my hands behind my back?” she asked.
“Well,” Sam swallowed, “perhaps you could really be tied up. That way, when you’re acting, your arms don’t move accidentally.” A shiver went down Sam’s spine at the suggestion.
Annie looked dubious at first, but then Simon said, “Yeah, I agree. It’d make sure she really couldn’t move.”
Sam nodded. “And, it might get you extra points from the examiner, because by being tied up, you are enhancing the title ‘Trapped’.”
On hearing this, Annie agreed to have her wrists bound behind her.
“Er, what with?” she asked, still sat down.
“Um, I’ll go and find something,” mumbled Simon. He wandered towards the bench, and came back with Annie’s stripy rainbow-coloured scarf. “Will this do?”
“Should do, yes,” replied Annie. Simon proceeded to tie Annie’s hands at the wrists, behind her back, and to the chair. “Right, now I can’t move,” said Annie. She pulled at the scarf, and it gave very little. Simon had tied it well.
“OK, let’s do it,” said Sam.
The impro began again. This time, however, Annie could not gesticulate with her arms at all.
“What do you want?” said Annie, in character, to Simon.
Simon turned to her. “I want to keep you here forever!” He gestured with his right arm. Sam groaned inwardly. He hated extravagant actors. But never mind, he thought, now’s the time to act myself.
“Er, hold on a moment, Simon,” interrupted Sam, “I have another idea.” With that, he walked over to the corner of the room and picked up another chair. He brought it back, and set it down in front of Annie. “I don’t think you’re upset enough, Annie. You don’t seem to be able to get it right.”
“Well, I’ll get it eventually,” said Annie, hesitatingly. Sam had never said anything bad about anyone’s performance before.
“I think you might need a little help,” suggested Sam. He bought the chair closer, and quickly lifted Annie’s legs up and slipped her feet in the gap at the back.
“Hey! What are you doing?” Annie replied in alarm as Sam held her ankles down. He produced another scarf (one left behind by a careless dancer) from the bench and wrapped it around Annie’s struggling ankles, then tied it to the chair. When he let go, he stood back with pride, as Annie flailed to get free.
“Why’d you do that? Let me go!” Annie pulled at her restraints. “Why’d you tie my legs?” she asked, earnestly.
Simon looked on in shock, frozen to the spot.
“Because, Annie,” Sam said in a condescending tone, “I need to make sure you’re in the right mood for this scene.” He pushed back the end of her flares, and started to untie her left trainer.
“What? Let me go, Sam!” Annie almost shouted. “This isn’t funny!”
“Oh, it will be, believe me,” grinned Sam. He pulled off her trainer. Annie’s rainbow socked foot flailed uselessly. He pulled at the top of the sock.
“What are- stop that! Give me my shoe! Leave my feet alone,” insisted Annie. “Simon, stop him! Help me!”
Simon just stared and gaped. Annie’s left sock was pulled off, and her foot flexed repeatedly. Simon was transfixed.
“You see, Annie,” Sam went on, untying and popping off her right trainer, “you don’t seem to be emotional enough. I know a technique to help you out.”
“What technique?” asked Annie. “Why are you taking my shoes off?”
Sam rolled off her other sock. Annie’s bare feet now faced him, writhing and pulling.
“It goes something like this,” Sam said. He reached out and stroked the top of Annie’s right foot. It twitched.
“Stop it!” Annie said. Her foot gyrated in its bondage. “Don’t, Sam, that tickles.”
“Good!” exclaimed Sam. “That is essential for the technique to work.” He stopped stroking.
Annie’s eyes widened. It suddenly dawned on her that Sam intended to tickle her feet. She didn’t know why, but she didn’t really care. All she cared about was the slim chance that he would change his mind and let her go.
All her life, Annie had been ticklish. She had one older brother, who was 20 now and who had left home. He and Annie used to play games with the other children from their road when they were younger. Once, when he was fifteen and she was eight, they had decided to play Cowboys and Indians. Annie was the Indian princess, and her brother, his friend of 14 and her best friend of 8 were the Cowboys. They had chased her, ignoring her pleas that ‘three against one isn’t fair’, caught her and tied her to a tree with a skipping rope. They had threatened to do all sorts of things to her, like burn her alive and eat her (at which Annie had expressed great fear, although none of them were serious), but it wasn’t until her brother brushed against her socked left foot (her shoe had come off in the chase) and she giggled that his friend said “Why don’t we tickle her?” Whereupon Annie had desperately tried to untie the rope that fastened her tiny hands behind her back. Her brother and his friend had tickled her feet for five, long minutes that day, with Annie writhing and laughing, pulling and begging. Even her friend had joined in! Her mother had eventually heard her pleas for mercy, and rescued her.
But her mother wasn’t here now.
“Please, Sam, don’t, you don’t know how ticklish I am!” Annie pleaded. “You can’t do this!”
“Oh, but I can,” said Sam. And brought his finger into contact with Annie’s left sole.
Annie yelped. She couldn’t help it. Even the touch of his finger made her wince and bite her lip. Her toes flexed.
Annie looked at Sam with imploring eyes. “Please, don’t tickle me, Sam. Let me go, pleasHAHAAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!” Annie couldn’t finish as Sam stroked his finger up her sensitive sole, ever so slowly, from heel to toe. Annie immediately fought to stop laughing. She bit down on her lip, clenched her fists and scrunched up her toes. Her eyes were screwed up tightly, as if to fight off the sensations on her foot.
“Now, tell me Annie,” Sam said in that condescending tone, “are you ticklish?” He continued to stroke her left foot with just one finger. Up and down, up and down, up and down…
Annie could barely hold still. Her feet were thrashing from side to side, but not getting away from that horrible finger. She dug her nails into her palms, hoping that the pain would counteract the tickling she was receiving. It didn’t work. Her head shook violently, almost as if she was trying to deny the existence of her own ticklishness.
It didn’t go away.
Annie began to pull furiously at her legs. Her hips gyrated in an attempt to escape. The chair creaked in protest.
“I’ll ask you again, Annie,” asked Sam, “Are you ticklish?”
Annie shook her head vehemently, eyes wide, bottom teeth clamped over her upper lip, shoulders tugging at the scarves.
Simon stood and watched.
Sam’s finger continued to torture Annie’s bare sole, up and down, up and down. Annie was going crazy, and Sam hadn’t even started properly yet.
Suddenly, Sam started to use his other fingers. All four fingers scrabbled over Annie’s foot, going from her heel, to her arch, to her toes. Annie could no longer hold it in.
“NONONOHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHH!!!!!” Annie shrieked as Sam tickled her foot. “PLLEEEAAASSSSHAHAHAH!!! IT TICKLESMEHEHEHEHEHE!!!!!” She begged and pleaded and tugged with all her might at the restraint holding her poor foot down. But it held, and her foot was subjected to Sam’s tickling fingers.
“PLEEEAAASSSSHEHEHEHEHEHEHE!!!” Annie could barely stand the tickling of her bare, left foot. “SIMON! HELLPPPMEEEHEHEHEEHH!!”
Simon snapped out of his stupor. “Wha…”
“Simon?” Sam looked up from tickling Annie’s thrashing foot. “Annie wants you to help her. Come on, there’s another foot here.” And gestured to her defenceless right foot.
Annie’s eyes were screwed shut, but on hearing that her other foot was probably going to be tickled in a similar way, they flew open. Through tear-soaked eyes, she implored him not to take up Sam’s cruel offer.
“Well, Simon?” Sam asked, without stopping his fingers from brushing Annie’s now pinkening sole. “How about it?”
Annie begged, “Nohahah… Simon, please, don’t do ithahaahhaaahhh!!!!”
Both Sam and Annie stared at him with questioning eyes.
So he pulled up a chair, and sat in front of Annie’s feet.
She screamed.
Possibility of Chapter 2?
