Strelnikov
4th Level Red Feather
- Joined
- May 7, 2001
- Messages
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by Strelnikov
Copyright 2003 by the author
Dramatis Personae (in order of appearance)
Joanna Shaw
Joanna is 18 years old and has lived on Tickle Street all of her life. She has always been the perfect female athlete - her room is filled with trophies. She’s extremely fit and very attractive, with blue eyes, dark brown hair cut in a page bob, and freckled fair skin. She always felt invincible due to her greatness in sports, but if she gets tickled, she loses it. She sees her ticklishness as a great weakness, and has set out to rid herself of it, forever.
Brittany Righetti
Brittany is Joanna’s cousin – their mothers are sisters. She has lived all of her 18 years on Tickle Street. She has long, dark hair and brown eyes, a beautiful Italian face and features, curves in all the right places. She has a bit of an attitude, but it can quickly be destroyed if she's tickled. She's by far the most ticklish person on Tickle Street, and her twin older sisters Vicky and Veronica always take advantage of that.
Vicky and Veronica Righetti
Brittany’s older sisters, and Joanna’s cousins. They’re "mirror twins" - identical, but Vicky, the leader, is a lefty (Latin “sinister”) and Veronica is right handed. They’re 20 years old, medium height, with very trim and fit figures that they maintain by martial arts. They have shoulder length wavy dark brown hair, dark brows and lashes, brown eyes. Like Brittany, they’re extremely ticklish, but since they’re a team, they don’t get tickled much.
The Sadistic Sibling
Jamie Shaw, Joanna’s 11 year old little sister, is quite the little imp. She loves to sneak up on her older sister and tickle her. Like her sister, she has brown hair, blue eyes, and freckles.
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Murphy’s Law: “Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong.” Or, in other words, “Shit happens.”
The water fountain was the last straw. Joanna Shaw had stopped to get a drink on her way to her last-period Senior English class at Tieson City High School. But some great humorist had jammed a wad of gum into the spout. When Joanna turned the knob, the fountain sprayed water everywhere. Joanna caught the worst of it – she was soaked.
The day had started badly. Joanna was toweling her hair after her shower when her little sister, 11 year old Jamie, sneaked up on her. Jamie lobster-clawed Joanna’s sides, and Joanna collapsed on the floor, howling with ticklish laughter. Jamie quit after a minute or so – she knew Joanna would eventually get even, and then some – but there was more to come, because Murphy was on the warpath that day.
Joanna dressed in a tan skirt and light blue, long sleeved collared blouse, then ruined her last two clean pairs of nylons trying to put them on. She gave up in disgust, shoved her feet into her old leather sandals and went downstairs to breakfast.
Every toaster has a setting that burns things to a horrible crisp that no one could possibly eat. It was set that way when she toasted her bagel. She was running late – no time for another. She tossed the carbonized chunks into the trash, gulped a glass of orange juice, grabbed her jacket and left for school. The sandals had been a bad choice. The morning was chilly, her toes felt like blocks of ice by the time she got there.
It got worse. There was a pop quiz in Algebra class, never her best subject anyway. Is “Z” an actual grade? She figured that was probably what she’d get on it.
Lunch time finally rolled around, and a good thing too, because her empty stomach had been rumbling embarassingly since 10 AM. She met her cousin Brittany Righetti at the lunch room, and then had to borrow lunch money – she had forgotten hers in the rush that morning.
Today, Brittany was wearing a red-white-and-blue striped jersey, jeans and sneakers. She was an 18-year-old senior like Joanna. There was a strong family resemblance – they could have been sisters. Both had dark hair – Brittany wore hers long, Joanna in a page bob. Their clothing and shoe sizes were exactly the same. But Brittany was unusual for an American of her generation – her ancestry was 100% Italian, through four generations all the way back to Ellis Island a century ago. It showed in her brown eyes and her skin, which still had traces of its summer tan even though fall was well advanced. Joanna was blue-eyed, fair skinned and freckled – she took after the Irish side of her ancestry.
They chatted about inconsequentials as they passed through the lunch line. Joanna, ahead of Brittany, took the very last slice of chocolate cream pie.
“Ooohhh!” Brittany said. She made tickling motions, said “You are so gonna get it!”
Joanna jumped back, and very nearly dropped her tray. Instantly apologetic, Brittany said, “Sorry! I was just kidding!”
And that little incident started Joanna to thinking as she sat and ate her lunch. The thought occured to her (not for the first time) that just about all of the female members of her family were tickle fiends – it had been obvious for years.
Her mom and Brittany’s, Karen Brocato Shaw and Kathy Brocato Righetti, were identical twins. They had both settled on Tickle Street after their marriages, in homes at opposite ends of the street. Both had been stay-at-home moms when the girls were little, and the two women, then in their 20’s, had spent a lot of time together. Pretty often, one of them would playfully tickle the other’s feet, or poke her sister’s ribs. It would escalate quickly into a noisy tickle fight. The one who gained the upper hand would tickle the loser until her twin was laughing her head off and begging for mercy.
The two womenwere past 40 now, and had calmed down considerably, but there was still a lot of rib poking and tummy tickling when they got together. Dad and Uncle Chuck didn’t understand, and the tickle bug had missed Joanna entirely – but her little sister Jamie had it bad.
Jamie was a twerp – Joanna could deal with her. Brittany, now – she had instigated tickle fights since they were kids. Joanna hated being tickled – she detested the loss of control. Her sports had made her stronger and faster than Brittany, but she was all too aware that sometimes stealth and treachery trumped speed and strength.
Brittany’s sisters, Vicky and Veronica, were another matter altogether. They were 20 years old, identical twins – it ran in the family – students at Tieson City College. They were fiendish, inventive and enthusiastic ticklers, like their mother and aunt had been. Two-on-one was bad odds. They had tickled Joanna silly more times than she could count.
“Earth to Joanna!” Brittany said. “What’s got into you? You haven’t heard one thing I’ve said the whole time we’ve been here.”
Joanna paused with the last bite of pie half-way to her mouth. “Sorry, Brittany. My mind was elsewhere.”
*CRASH!* A tray of dishes hit the floor. Joanna jumped, startled, and the piece of pie fell off her fork and splattered down the front of her blouse.
Shit! Perfect! Just perfect! Murphy strikes again!
Naturally, the stain wouldn’t come out when she tried to spot it in the ladies room. All that her effort accomplished was to lighten and spread the stain, and make the blouse soggy and unpleasant to wear. It was almost dry when she encountered the booby-trapped fountain.
That’s it, Joanna thought. I’ve had it – I’m outa here. She ditched her last class and signed herself out.
She came home to an empty house. Mom and Dad wouldn’t get home from work until around 5:30, and Jamie had planned to stop at the library after school.
She hadn’t been home for long when she heard a car in the driveway. She peeked out – it was a black Mustang. The doors opened, and her cousins Vicky and Veronica got out. The twins were identically dressed in sensible flats, dark slacks, silky white blouses with plastic name tags pinned on – they were on their way to their part-time sales jobs at Squander Mall. Their shoulder-length dark hair was in pony tails.
They came to the door, moving with the grace and economy of motion of dancers. They had to be up to something…but what?
“Hi, Joanna,” Vicky said.
“Your mom asked us…” Veronica continued.
“…to return a blouse for her,…”
…and we’re working today,…”
“…so it’s no trouble…”
“…for us to…”
”…take it back for her,” they finished together.
They made a habit of standing about an arm’s length apart, and sharing their half of a conversation with others between them, relay style. It was uncanny, as though they were telepathic, and disorienting. Joanna had to shift her eyes back and forth as they spoke. It tended to establish dominance of the conversation from the start.
Joanna backed away. “Oh… OK. Come on in,” she said with ill grace. “I think it’s hanging in her closet.”
She fetched the blouse, handed it to Vicky, who hung it on the doorknob of the hall closet.
“Why so glum, Joanna?” they asked together.
“You look like…
“…you could use…”
“…a few laughs!” they finished together.
Joanna knew what was coming, tried to run, but they were a step ahead. She ended up on her back on the living room floor, Vicky straddling her waist, Veronica holding her wrists pinned over her head.
“Vickieee! LET ME GOOO!” Joanna yelled, struggling to get loose. But to no avail.
Vicky grinned devilishly, unbuttoned Joanna’s blouse, spread it open. “Tickle tickle!” she said, flicking the tips of her fingernails in Joanna’s armpits.
“NOOO! Hehehe! Ple-hehehe-ease! Don’t! Hahaha-hehe!” Joanna giggled and begged.
Vicky tickled faster, and Joanna’s giggles turned into flat-out laughter. They’d gotten her again!
Vicky tickled up and down Joanna’s rib cage, getting on each rib and the sensitive spaces between them, while Joanna squirmed and laughed helplessly. She tried to kick, but all that accomplished was to kick off one of her sandals – it didn’t slow Vicky down at all. The tickling hands moved to Joanna’s fit sides, lobster-clawing, and Joanna arched her back and laughed like mad.
Vicky tickled Joanna’s sides until she thought she would go crazy. Joanna’s tummy was next, Vicky tickling back and forth, hand over hand, back onto the sides, onto the tummy again. Then one hand following the rib cage and the other the panty line, back and forth, while Joanna laughed at the top of her lungs.
Joanna felt her strength draining away. As her struggles got weaker, Vicky started tickling up and down her sides and ribs again, over and over. Veronica joined the fun – she shifted to a one-hand grip and used her weight to anchor it. She spider walked the nails of her free hand along Joanna’s tummy, watching the muscles twitch and jump, then circled one perfect nail around Joanna’s navel. Joanna bucked and squirmed, ticklish laughter pouring out of her, trying desperately to escape the tickling.
The tickle torture went on and on. Vicky tickled back onto Joanna’s tummy, tickling in circles, while Veronica tickled first one armpit and then the other. Vicky’s tickling hands moved to Joanna’s sides, lobster-clawing, and then gave Joanna a series of rib pokes, just for variety. Then back to tickling up and down her ribs and sides, while Veronica resumed the navel tickling, and Joanna laughed herself breathless.
Veronica said, “It’s chilly in here. Poor Joanna – I think she’s cold. Let’s warm her up.” She got up, fetched the throw off the sofa, spread it next to Joanna on the floor.
“Oh please…no more…” Joanna gasped out – she knew what was coming next.
Vicky dismounted, grabbed Joanna’s wrists and pulled her arms down next to her sides. The twins rolled Joanna onto the throw, then rolled and tucked, rolled and tucked, until Joanna was rolled up in the throw like a burrito, with only her head and feet sticking out.
Veronica’s turn now, she was the foot tickler of the pair. They picked Joanna up – they were a lot stronger than they looked – and laid her face-up on the sofa. Veronica sat at Joanna’s feet, and the twins put her feet under Veronica’s raised left knee and rested her ankles on Veronica’s right thigh. Veronica lowered her leg onto Joanna’s shins, tucked the foot behind the calf of the other leg – a simple and effective leg lock.
Joanna had already lost one sandal in the previous struggle. Veronica pulled off the other and dropped it on the floor.
“Please, Veronica! No more!” Joanna begged. Veronica spider walked her nails on Joanna’s bare soles, producing a stream of little giggles. “Sta-haha-ap! Nooo! Hahaha! Stopitstopitstopit!”
Veronica held back Joanna’s toes and scrabbled her nails under them, and Joanna lost it: ”HAHAHA-HAHA-haha-HAHAHA-hehe-HAHAHAHA!”
Still holding the toes back, Veronica scratched and scrabbled the stretched out soles. She tickled the exact center of Joanna’s right sole, along the crease, then across the balls of both feet and repeated the tickling on the left sole. She drew fast, looping figure-eight’s around the balls of both feet, in smaller and smaller loops to cover every square inch of ticklish flesh. Joanna was laughing helplessly, wildly now, squirming like a worm.
Veronica released the toes, tickled Joanna’s soles with both hands now, watching the toes twitch and curl. She flicked her nails down Joanna’s arches – the laughter dropped back to giggles – then drew circles and other tickling shapes on the heels, and the giggles turned into laughter again.
Vicky was an upper-body tickler by preference, but she didn’t let that stop her from joining the fun. She unhooked her bracelet, threaded it between the little and next toes of Joanna’s right foot and pulled it back and forth. Joanna’s laughter went up a notch. Vicky repeated the tickling on each pair of toes until she had gotten them all, then started over again.
The doorbell rang. Vicky stopped her toe tickling – it was Veronica’s turn, after all – and went to the door.
In her ticklish agony, Joanna heard Brittany say, “Hi, sis! I saw the car. What are you two doing here?” As if she didn’t know!
“Guess,” Vicky replied. “How about you? Do you want some of this?”
Brittany watched the tickle torture with appreciation. “Well, she owes me money for lunch, but maybe I’ll take it out in trade instead.”
Veronica was still tickling Joanna’s heels, but then she shifted onto THE SPOT, a place just in front of the heel that was off-the-scale ticklish. Joanna arched her back and howled with forced mirth, red-faced, tears streaming. She had stopped struggling – she was no longer capable of coordinated movement, or even coherent thought. She laughed herself breathless for the second time.
Joanna was soaked in sweat, tears of laughter streaked her cheeks. Gasping for air, she heard Vicky say to her twin, “Hey, sis, we’ve gotta go or we’ll be late for work.”
Brittany said, “Help me roll her over before you leave.”
They lifted the breathless girl, flipped her face down, plopped her back on the couch. With help from her sisters, Brittany used the same leg lock as Veronica had. This time, though, Joanna was on her tummy with her bare soles turned up.
Veronica grabbed the blouse off the door knob. “Bye, Joanna! It’s been fun!” the twins called out on their way out the door. Joanna heard the Mustang crank up. She had recovered her breath. Even though she knew there wasn’t much point in trying to reason with Brittany, she tried anyway.
“Brittany, please don’t tickle me any more! I’m sooo ticklish! I can’t take any more!”
Brittany started teasing Joanna. She traced a fingernail along the tips of Joanna’s toes. Then a circle around the ball of her right foot. Another on the left. A few nail flicks in the arches. A figure-eight on a heel, a double triangle on the other. Each light touch brought out a stream of giggles to spice Joanna’s begging.
”Hahaha! Brittanee-hehehe! Why are…Haha!…you…Hehe!…doing this…HAHA-hehe!…to me-hehehehe!”
Brittany kept up the light stroking. “I told you that you were gonna pay for taking the last piece of pie.” Her voice changed to a low, husky half-whisper: “Italiano’s like-a me, we got-a da long-a memory,” she said. “It’s-a about respect.” The accent was hokey, pure Godfather – she had never known her immigrant great grandparents, who had died before she was born.
“NOOOOO!” Joanna yelled.
Then Brittany went to work, using both hands to tickle Joanna’s soles, watching the toes twitch and curl. Joanna laughed like a madwoman. Brittany flicked her nails in Joanna’s arches, a light touch that tickled like crazy. Then flicking and scratching on her heels. Once again, Joanna felt her strength draining away from the tickling – all she could do was lay there and laugh.
Brittany tickled back up Joanna’s arches to her soles again. She spread Joanna’s toes and scratched lightly between them, causing more loud bursts of helpless laughter. She held the toes back and tickled under them, side to side. Still holding the toes back, she followed that by tickling the stretched out soles side to side, covering both feet, paying special attention to the crease in the middle. Then she released Joanna’s toes and tickled with both hands again, down the arches to THE SPOT, and the fiendish and well-techniqued tickling had Joanna howling with forced mirth.
Brittany varied her technique. Sometimes she had Joanna laughing wildly. Then she eased off, light flicks with the tips of her fingernails that produced a constant stream of giggles. Then heavier tickling again, and Joanna laughed at the top of her lungs. Brittany held her cousin in the zone for a long, long time, laughing her head off. But all good things must come to an end.
“Brittany! Stop it!” Jamie shouted. She stood in the doorway, a bundle of books under her arm, looking mad as a wet cat. “Leave Joanna alone!”
Oh, well – it was fun while it lasted. Brittany finished with fast and fiendish flying fingernails in THE SPOT, and reduced Joanna to red-faced, gasping silent laughter once again.
“Hi, shrimp!” Brittany said. She released the leg lock and stood up. “I was just leaving anyway, it’s almost 4:30 and I need to start dinner.”
Poor Joanna laid there gasping, trying to get her breathing and heart rate normal again. She was a mess, red-faced, sweaty, tummy muscles sore from laughing, lungs that felt like she’d run a race.
“You’re mean, Brittany!” Jamie yelled. “Get outa here! I oughta tell Mom about this!”
“Go ahead,” Brittany replied, and poked the girl in the ribs. Jamie squealed and jumped. “She’s another one like me,” she said as she went out the door, ”…and you are too!”
“Th-thanks, Jamie,” Joanna said in a shaky voice. “Get me out of this thing. They tickled me and tickled me, it was driving me crazy!”
Jamie grinned. “Y’know, Mom and Dad won’t get home for another hour,” she said. She quickly straddled Joanna’s lower legs and poised her fingernails over Joanna’s arches.
“OH SHIT!” Joanna wailed. “Jamie! Nooo!”
“Sorry, sis,” Jamie said, “but this just ain’t your day!”
Joanna knew what was coming – Jamie knew every ticklish spot, and she planned to tickle every one of them. The Demon Murphy had struck again.
***THE END***
Afterword…
As they say on “Dragnet”, “This story was inspired by actual events.” Something very like Jamie’s tickle attack on the blanket-wrapped Joanna took place in my living room, after my older girl foolishly let her kid sister roll her up in a blanket. I’m convinced that the little one is “one of us.” Time will tell, I suppose.
You will have noticed that there are two sets of twins in this story. The two moms, Karen and Kathy, have a story of their own. Head bands, love beads, tie-dye shirts, giant bell bottoms, Birkenstock sandals, and all to the background music of Jefferson Airplane and Led Zep.
I may tell their story some day. In the meantime, I hope you enjoyed this one. As always, constructive feedback is welcome.
Strelnikov
Copyright 2003 by the author
Dramatis Personae (in order of appearance)
Joanna Shaw
Joanna is 18 years old and has lived on Tickle Street all of her life. She has always been the perfect female athlete - her room is filled with trophies. She’s extremely fit and very attractive, with blue eyes, dark brown hair cut in a page bob, and freckled fair skin. She always felt invincible due to her greatness in sports, but if she gets tickled, she loses it. She sees her ticklishness as a great weakness, and has set out to rid herself of it, forever.
Brittany Righetti
Brittany is Joanna’s cousin – their mothers are sisters. She has lived all of her 18 years on Tickle Street. She has long, dark hair and brown eyes, a beautiful Italian face and features, curves in all the right places. She has a bit of an attitude, but it can quickly be destroyed if she's tickled. She's by far the most ticklish person on Tickle Street, and her twin older sisters Vicky and Veronica always take advantage of that.
Vicky and Veronica Righetti
Brittany’s older sisters, and Joanna’s cousins. They’re "mirror twins" - identical, but Vicky, the leader, is a lefty (Latin “sinister”) and Veronica is right handed. They’re 20 years old, medium height, with very trim and fit figures that they maintain by martial arts. They have shoulder length wavy dark brown hair, dark brows and lashes, brown eyes. Like Brittany, they’re extremely ticklish, but since they’re a team, they don’t get tickled much.
The Sadistic Sibling
Jamie Shaw, Joanna’s 11 year old little sister, is quite the little imp. She loves to sneak up on her older sister and tickle her. Like her sister, she has brown hair, blue eyes, and freckles.
********************
Murphy’s Law: “Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong.” Or, in other words, “Shit happens.”
The water fountain was the last straw. Joanna Shaw had stopped to get a drink on her way to her last-period Senior English class at Tieson City High School. But some great humorist had jammed a wad of gum into the spout. When Joanna turned the knob, the fountain sprayed water everywhere. Joanna caught the worst of it – she was soaked.
The day had started badly. Joanna was toweling her hair after her shower when her little sister, 11 year old Jamie, sneaked up on her. Jamie lobster-clawed Joanna’s sides, and Joanna collapsed on the floor, howling with ticklish laughter. Jamie quit after a minute or so – she knew Joanna would eventually get even, and then some – but there was more to come, because Murphy was on the warpath that day.
Joanna dressed in a tan skirt and light blue, long sleeved collared blouse, then ruined her last two clean pairs of nylons trying to put them on. She gave up in disgust, shoved her feet into her old leather sandals and went downstairs to breakfast.
Every toaster has a setting that burns things to a horrible crisp that no one could possibly eat. It was set that way when she toasted her bagel. She was running late – no time for another. She tossed the carbonized chunks into the trash, gulped a glass of orange juice, grabbed her jacket and left for school. The sandals had been a bad choice. The morning was chilly, her toes felt like blocks of ice by the time she got there.
It got worse. There was a pop quiz in Algebra class, never her best subject anyway. Is “Z” an actual grade? She figured that was probably what she’d get on it.
Lunch time finally rolled around, and a good thing too, because her empty stomach had been rumbling embarassingly since 10 AM. She met her cousin Brittany Righetti at the lunch room, and then had to borrow lunch money – she had forgotten hers in the rush that morning.
Today, Brittany was wearing a red-white-and-blue striped jersey, jeans and sneakers. She was an 18-year-old senior like Joanna. There was a strong family resemblance – they could have been sisters. Both had dark hair – Brittany wore hers long, Joanna in a page bob. Their clothing and shoe sizes were exactly the same. But Brittany was unusual for an American of her generation – her ancestry was 100% Italian, through four generations all the way back to Ellis Island a century ago. It showed in her brown eyes and her skin, which still had traces of its summer tan even though fall was well advanced. Joanna was blue-eyed, fair skinned and freckled – she took after the Irish side of her ancestry.
They chatted about inconsequentials as they passed through the lunch line. Joanna, ahead of Brittany, took the very last slice of chocolate cream pie.
“Ooohhh!” Brittany said. She made tickling motions, said “You are so gonna get it!”
Joanna jumped back, and very nearly dropped her tray. Instantly apologetic, Brittany said, “Sorry! I was just kidding!”
And that little incident started Joanna to thinking as she sat and ate her lunch. The thought occured to her (not for the first time) that just about all of the female members of her family were tickle fiends – it had been obvious for years.
Her mom and Brittany’s, Karen Brocato Shaw and Kathy Brocato Righetti, were identical twins. They had both settled on Tickle Street after their marriages, in homes at opposite ends of the street. Both had been stay-at-home moms when the girls were little, and the two women, then in their 20’s, had spent a lot of time together. Pretty often, one of them would playfully tickle the other’s feet, or poke her sister’s ribs. It would escalate quickly into a noisy tickle fight. The one who gained the upper hand would tickle the loser until her twin was laughing her head off and begging for mercy.
The two womenwere past 40 now, and had calmed down considerably, but there was still a lot of rib poking and tummy tickling when they got together. Dad and Uncle Chuck didn’t understand, and the tickle bug had missed Joanna entirely – but her little sister Jamie had it bad.
Jamie was a twerp – Joanna could deal with her. Brittany, now – she had instigated tickle fights since they were kids. Joanna hated being tickled – she detested the loss of control. Her sports had made her stronger and faster than Brittany, but she was all too aware that sometimes stealth and treachery trumped speed and strength.
Brittany’s sisters, Vicky and Veronica, were another matter altogether. They were 20 years old, identical twins – it ran in the family – students at Tieson City College. They were fiendish, inventive and enthusiastic ticklers, like their mother and aunt had been. Two-on-one was bad odds. They had tickled Joanna silly more times than she could count.
“Earth to Joanna!” Brittany said. “What’s got into you? You haven’t heard one thing I’ve said the whole time we’ve been here.”
Joanna paused with the last bite of pie half-way to her mouth. “Sorry, Brittany. My mind was elsewhere.”
*CRASH!* A tray of dishes hit the floor. Joanna jumped, startled, and the piece of pie fell off her fork and splattered down the front of her blouse.
Shit! Perfect! Just perfect! Murphy strikes again!
Naturally, the stain wouldn’t come out when she tried to spot it in the ladies room. All that her effort accomplished was to lighten and spread the stain, and make the blouse soggy and unpleasant to wear. It was almost dry when she encountered the booby-trapped fountain.
That’s it, Joanna thought. I’ve had it – I’m outa here. She ditched her last class and signed herself out.
She came home to an empty house. Mom and Dad wouldn’t get home from work until around 5:30, and Jamie had planned to stop at the library after school.
She hadn’t been home for long when she heard a car in the driveway. She peeked out – it was a black Mustang. The doors opened, and her cousins Vicky and Veronica got out. The twins were identically dressed in sensible flats, dark slacks, silky white blouses with plastic name tags pinned on – they were on their way to their part-time sales jobs at Squander Mall. Their shoulder-length dark hair was in pony tails.
They came to the door, moving with the grace and economy of motion of dancers. They had to be up to something…but what?
“Hi, Joanna,” Vicky said.
“Your mom asked us…” Veronica continued.
“…to return a blouse for her,…”
…and we’re working today,…”
“…so it’s no trouble…”
“…for us to…”
”…take it back for her,” they finished together.
They made a habit of standing about an arm’s length apart, and sharing their half of a conversation with others between them, relay style. It was uncanny, as though they were telepathic, and disorienting. Joanna had to shift her eyes back and forth as they spoke. It tended to establish dominance of the conversation from the start.
Joanna backed away. “Oh… OK. Come on in,” she said with ill grace. “I think it’s hanging in her closet.”
She fetched the blouse, handed it to Vicky, who hung it on the doorknob of the hall closet.
“Why so glum, Joanna?” they asked together.
“You look like…
“…you could use…”
“…a few laughs!” they finished together.
Joanna knew what was coming, tried to run, but they were a step ahead. She ended up on her back on the living room floor, Vicky straddling her waist, Veronica holding her wrists pinned over her head.
“Vickieee! LET ME GOOO!” Joanna yelled, struggling to get loose. But to no avail.
Vicky grinned devilishly, unbuttoned Joanna’s blouse, spread it open. “Tickle tickle!” she said, flicking the tips of her fingernails in Joanna’s armpits.
“NOOO! Hehehe! Ple-hehehe-ease! Don’t! Hahaha-hehe!” Joanna giggled and begged.
Vicky tickled faster, and Joanna’s giggles turned into flat-out laughter. They’d gotten her again!
Vicky tickled up and down Joanna’s rib cage, getting on each rib and the sensitive spaces between them, while Joanna squirmed and laughed helplessly. She tried to kick, but all that accomplished was to kick off one of her sandals – it didn’t slow Vicky down at all. The tickling hands moved to Joanna’s fit sides, lobster-clawing, and Joanna arched her back and laughed like mad.
Vicky tickled Joanna’s sides until she thought she would go crazy. Joanna’s tummy was next, Vicky tickling back and forth, hand over hand, back onto the sides, onto the tummy again. Then one hand following the rib cage and the other the panty line, back and forth, while Joanna laughed at the top of her lungs.
Joanna felt her strength draining away. As her struggles got weaker, Vicky started tickling up and down her sides and ribs again, over and over. Veronica joined the fun – she shifted to a one-hand grip and used her weight to anchor it. She spider walked the nails of her free hand along Joanna’s tummy, watching the muscles twitch and jump, then circled one perfect nail around Joanna’s navel. Joanna bucked and squirmed, ticklish laughter pouring out of her, trying desperately to escape the tickling.
The tickle torture went on and on. Vicky tickled back onto Joanna’s tummy, tickling in circles, while Veronica tickled first one armpit and then the other. Vicky’s tickling hands moved to Joanna’s sides, lobster-clawing, and then gave Joanna a series of rib pokes, just for variety. Then back to tickling up and down her ribs and sides, while Veronica resumed the navel tickling, and Joanna laughed herself breathless.
Veronica said, “It’s chilly in here. Poor Joanna – I think she’s cold. Let’s warm her up.” She got up, fetched the throw off the sofa, spread it next to Joanna on the floor.
“Oh please…no more…” Joanna gasped out – she knew what was coming next.
Vicky dismounted, grabbed Joanna’s wrists and pulled her arms down next to her sides. The twins rolled Joanna onto the throw, then rolled and tucked, rolled and tucked, until Joanna was rolled up in the throw like a burrito, with only her head and feet sticking out.
Veronica’s turn now, she was the foot tickler of the pair. They picked Joanna up – they were a lot stronger than they looked – and laid her face-up on the sofa. Veronica sat at Joanna’s feet, and the twins put her feet under Veronica’s raised left knee and rested her ankles on Veronica’s right thigh. Veronica lowered her leg onto Joanna’s shins, tucked the foot behind the calf of the other leg – a simple and effective leg lock.
Joanna had already lost one sandal in the previous struggle. Veronica pulled off the other and dropped it on the floor.
“Please, Veronica! No more!” Joanna begged. Veronica spider walked her nails on Joanna’s bare soles, producing a stream of little giggles. “Sta-haha-ap! Nooo! Hahaha! Stopitstopitstopit!”
Veronica held back Joanna’s toes and scrabbled her nails under them, and Joanna lost it: ”HAHAHA-HAHA-haha-HAHAHA-hehe-HAHAHAHA!”
Still holding the toes back, Veronica scratched and scrabbled the stretched out soles. She tickled the exact center of Joanna’s right sole, along the crease, then across the balls of both feet and repeated the tickling on the left sole. She drew fast, looping figure-eight’s around the balls of both feet, in smaller and smaller loops to cover every square inch of ticklish flesh. Joanna was laughing helplessly, wildly now, squirming like a worm.
Veronica released the toes, tickled Joanna’s soles with both hands now, watching the toes twitch and curl. She flicked her nails down Joanna’s arches – the laughter dropped back to giggles – then drew circles and other tickling shapes on the heels, and the giggles turned into laughter again.
Vicky was an upper-body tickler by preference, but she didn’t let that stop her from joining the fun. She unhooked her bracelet, threaded it between the little and next toes of Joanna’s right foot and pulled it back and forth. Joanna’s laughter went up a notch. Vicky repeated the tickling on each pair of toes until she had gotten them all, then started over again.
The doorbell rang. Vicky stopped her toe tickling – it was Veronica’s turn, after all – and went to the door.
In her ticklish agony, Joanna heard Brittany say, “Hi, sis! I saw the car. What are you two doing here?” As if she didn’t know!
“Guess,” Vicky replied. “How about you? Do you want some of this?”
Brittany watched the tickle torture with appreciation. “Well, she owes me money for lunch, but maybe I’ll take it out in trade instead.”
Veronica was still tickling Joanna’s heels, but then she shifted onto THE SPOT, a place just in front of the heel that was off-the-scale ticklish. Joanna arched her back and howled with forced mirth, red-faced, tears streaming. She had stopped struggling – she was no longer capable of coordinated movement, or even coherent thought. She laughed herself breathless for the second time.
Joanna was soaked in sweat, tears of laughter streaked her cheeks. Gasping for air, she heard Vicky say to her twin, “Hey, sis, we’ve gotta go or we’ll be late for work.”
Brittany said, “Help me roll her over before you leave.”
They lifted the breathless girl, flipped her face down, plopped her back on the couch. With help from her sisters, Brittany used the same leg lock as Veronica had. This time, though, Joanna was on her tummy with her bare soles turned up.
Veronica grabbed the blouse off the door knob. “Bye, Joanna! It’s been fun!” the twins called out on their way out the door. Joanna heard the Mustang crank up. She had recovered her breath. Even though she knew there wasn’t much point in trying to reason with Brittany, she tried anyway.
“Brittany, please don’t tickle me any more! I’m sooo ticklish! I can’t take any more!”
Brittany started teasing Joanna. She traced a fingernail along the tips of Joanna’s toes. Then a circle around the ball of her right foot. Another on the left. A few nail flicks in the arches. A figure-eight on a heel, a double triangle on the other. Each light touch brought out a stream of giggles to spice Joanna’s begging.
”Hahaha! Brittanee-hehehe! Why are…Haha!…you…Hehe!…doing this…HAHA-hehe!…to me-hehehehe!”
Brittany kept up the light stroking. “I told you that you were gonna pay for taking the last piece of pie.” Her voice changed to a low, husky half-whisper: “Italiano’s like-a me, we got-a da long-a memory,” she said. “It’s-a about respect.” The accent was hokey, pure Godfather – she had never known her immigrant great grandparents, who had died before she was born.
“NOOOOO!” Joanna yelled.
Then Brittany went to work, using both hands to tickle Joanna’s soles, watching the toes twitch and curl. Joanna laughed like a madwoman. Brittany flicked her nails in Joanna’s arches, a light touch that tickled like crazy. Then flicking and scratching on her heels. Once again, Joanna felt her strength draining away from the tickling – all she could do was lay there and laugh.
Brittany tickled back up Joanna’s arches to her soles again. She spread Joanna’s toes and scratched lightly between them, causing more loud bursts of helpless laughter. She held the toes back and tickled under them, side to side. Still holding the toes back, she followed that by tickling the stretched out soles side to side, covering both feet, paying special attention to the crease in the middle. Then she released Joanna’s toes and tickled with both hands again, down the arches to THE SPOT, and the fiendish and well-techniqued tickling had Joanna howling with forced mirth.
Brittany varied her technique. Sometimes she had Joanna laughing wildly. Then she eased off, light flicks with the tips of her fingernails that produced a constant stream of giggles. Then heavier tickling again, and Joanna laughed at the top of her lungs. Brittany held her cousin in the zone for a long, long time, laughing her head off. But all good things must come to an end.
“Brittany! Stop it!” Jamie shouted. She stood in the doorway, a bundle of books under her arm, looking mad as a wet cat. “Leave Joanna alone!”
Oh, well – it was fun while it lasted. Brittany finished with fast and fiendish flying fingernails in THE SPOT, and reduced Joanna to red-faced, gasping silent laughter once again.
“Hi, shrimp!” Brittany said. She released the leg lock and stood up. “I was just leaving anyway, it’s almost 4:30 and I need to start dinner.”
Poor Joanna laid there gasping, trying to get her breathing and heart rate normal again. She was a mess, red-faced, sweaty, tummy muscles sore from laughing, lungs that felt like she’d run a race.
“You’re mean, Brittany!” Jamie yelled. “Get outa here! I oughta tell Mom about this!”
“Go ahead,” Brittany replied, and poked the girl in the ribs. Jamie squealed and jumped. “She’s another one like me,” she said as she went out the door, ”…and you are too!”
“Th-thanks, Jamie,” Joanna said in a shaky voice. “Get me out of this thing. They tickled me and tickled me, it was driving me crazy!”
Jamie grinned. “Y’know, Mom and Dad won’t get home for another hour,” she said. She quickly straddled Joanna’s lower legs and poised her fingernails over Joanna’s arches.
“OH SHIT!” Joanna wailed. “Jamie! Nooo!”
“Sorry, sis,” Jamie said, “but this just ain’t your day!”
Joanna knew what was coming – Jamie knew every ticklish spot, and she planned to tickle every one of them. The Demon Murphy had struck again.
***THE END***
Afterword…
As they say on “Dragnet”, “This story was inspired by actual events.” Something very like Jamie’s tickle attack on the blanket-wrapped Joanna took place in my living room, after my older girl foolishly let her kid sister roll her up in a blanket. I’m convinced that the little one is “one of us.” Time will tell, I suppose.
You will have noticed that there are two sets of twins in this story. The two moms, Karen and Kathy, have a story of their own. Head bands, love beads, tie-dye shirts, giant bell bottoms, Birkenstock sandals, and all to the background music of Jefferson Airplane and Led Zep.
I may tell their story some day. In the meantime, I hope you enjoyed this one. As always, constructive feedback is welcome.
Strelnikov
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