Rockauthor
TMF Master
- Joined
- Apr 21, 2001
- Messages
- 815
- Points
- 16
“The Tickling Phantom”
by
Rockauthor
Introducing Andrew Mojsiewicz, a 24-year-old native New Yorker who works in the mailroom of a prominent law firm in Lower Manhattan. He’s a short guy with not-so-handsome looks and not much of a social life. Some would say that Andrew is a bit of an introvert, lost in the musing of books, websites, and other hobbies. Many people have hobbies. There are those who sing karaoke on Tuesday nights, those who collect rare postage stamps, and there are even those who spend countless hours building meticulous, artistic domino displays.
But Andrew had an unusual hobby.
He had an unappeasable passion for tickling. As long as he could remember, Andrew Mojsiewicz wanted to have his way with an extremely ticklish female victim. But he was very shy; he never even so much as asked a girl out on a date, let alone tickle her. Instead, he settled for reading stories on the web depicting tied up vixens in various tickle torture fantasies; he also collected an assortment of tickling drawings, video cassettes, and other paraphernalia that kept his nights and weekends very much occupied.
But today would be unlike any other day - for this would be the last day of Andrew Mojsiewicz’s natural life.
It was about ten past noon when the young mailroom clerk left for his lunch hour. He decided to abandon his usual ritual of hanging out at the cafeteria in the office building, and instead chose to eat at this little Italian trattoria across the street. Cocetti’s was a very popular place and Andrew heard that the spinach manicotti was especially good. He sat in an inconspicuous corner where he could scan the panorama of the dining room, lobbing a subtle glance every now and then at all those sensitive-looking female forms that occupied the fine establishment.
Andrew spotted four unbelievable cuties sitting at one table, talking and giggling. Their tempting, fidgety legs peaked out from under the red and white checkered tablecloth like teasing marionettes, begging to be played with. He imagined wrapping that tablecloth around their legs and binding them. Slowly, he would remove their diverse variety of high-heel shoes from each of their insanely ticklish feet as they kicked and scream and cackled, anticipating what was coming. This was just one of the many scenarios featured in the vast cinema known as his imagination. A constant serial that on many occasions delivered such memorable lines as: “Oh no! Please don’t tickle me!” , “I am sooo ticklish!” , and of ’course the legendary “Not my feet! Anywhere but my feet!”
Eventually, the four women Andrew was daydreaming about got up to leave, and that was what snapped the tickling addict out of his trance; he looked down at his plate and realized he hardly touched his spinach manicotti, but his lunch hour was just about over and it was time to go back to work. Still, he felt warm and satisfied as he left the quaint little trattoria. He got this way sometimes - whenever beautiful women were around that he could fantasize about tickle-torturing. It brought him to a happier place. A place where all his fears of the opposite sex simply faded away. A place where he never encountered a girl who wasn’t ticklish. A place that no matter what troubles Andrew experienced in his life, somehow made it all worth it.
He resumed thinking about those four hot chicks he saw in Cocetti’s and visualizing how he would execute the perfect tickle torture session. As Andrew weaved through the dense crowd crossing the street, he tuned out the vexing racket of the big city: the blaring car horns of impatient motorists cursing the day the miserably slow drivers in front of them were born. The piercing rattle of a jackhammer imposing its agenda through a slab of concrete.
He didn’t even see the black Toyota RAV4 that plowed right into him, killing him instantly. The next thing Andrew Mojsiewicz knew was that he was standing at the curb. He was disorientated. Then he noticed the Toyota RAV4 stopped at the intersection with a crowd of people gathered around. They were gasping in shock, shaking their heads in pity, and murmuring in confusion at the tragedy before them. Andrew noticed a man with his back to the crowd (perhaps the driver), leaning on the hood of the SUV grief-stricken, dragging his hand down his face, then burying his face in his hands, sobbing uncontrollably.
Andrew moved closer to see what had happened, and that was when he saw the victim. The lifeless body lay in the street like a dummy abandoned by a tired ventriloquist after a long night at the club. Andrew was absolutely in shock when he recognized the face of the poor man and realized it was his own. No! It can’t be, he thought. He refused to accept it, but a bell kept ringing inside his soul like a persistent telemarketer interrupting a family’s dinner, telling him it was true. But how, he pondered. He looked down at his self where he stood and saw that he was transparent.
I’m dead, aren’t I? He thought.
Reality sank in and gradually pulled him down to the curb where he sat in amazement for hours. As the gray bleakness of the day turned into the dazzling bright lights of the night he wondered, what now? I had my whole life in front of me. Now it’s gone. And I never even got to tickle a girl. He looked over the view of the New York night scene and noticed all the hot chicks that embellished the streets - how he would’ve loved a chance to tickle just one: the svelte blonde in the sexy, black spaghetti-strap dress, showing her clean-shaven, sensitive-looking underarm as she hailed a taxicab, the sexy Latin girl standing in line at the dance club across the street who kept lifting her restless foot out of her high-heel shoe, revealing her smooth, tender sole.
Then something occurred to Andrew that made him feel as if he had found the cure for cancer.
Wait a minute. That’s right. I’m a ghost, he comprehended.
He decided to test his ghostly abilities by warily approaching a young woman who was standing in front of a department store window, mesmerized by an elegant evening gown on display. He tapped his phantom finger on her shoulder and she was startled out of her trance; she gasped and spun around only to be met with no one. Andrew, being the totally contrite person he’s always been, immediately apologized saying, “oh, I’m sorry, Miss. I thought you were someone I knew.” The poor woman froze with a frightened, confused look on her face.
“W-Who said that?” She demanded.
Oh yeah, I forgot. She can’t see me ’cause I’m a wraith, recalled Andrew.
“I better go home before I totally lose my mind,” concluded the young lady as she hesitantly walked away, darting back every now and then with a disturbed, unresolved glimpse.
Fucking cool, he thought.
Now it was time for Andrew Mojsiewicz to finally execute the one thing he’s wanted to do all his life - tickle a beautiful girl. He went over to the dance club across the street where there were four drop-dead gorgeous Puerto Rican girls standing in line to get in. Two of them had short hair and wore black V-neck dresses, and the other two had long hair and wore colorful print V-necks. One girl was teasing another about her poor taste in boyfriends, or something, and Andrew saw this as the perfect opportunity to give the unsuspecting girl a quick squeeze around her waist. She yelped and jerked away telling her friend, “Don’t tickle me! I’m very ticklish!” Naturally, the other girl looked at her funny and denied even touching her.
At last, his fantasy was fulfilled; he had never been happier than at this moment. For the next several days, Andrew Mojsiewicz not only took advantage but took inventory, approaching random females and tickling them at will: the stunning Asian woman sitting on the subway with her legs crossed and wearing cute, white sandals; she gasped and twitched when Andrew’s ghostly fingers scraped along her high arches - the lovely soccer mom whose grocery bags went flying all over the parking lot when he got her good in the ribs - the pretty college girl pinning up a bulletin in the student building who shrieked and dropped her arm to her side when she felt something tickle her armpit.
Andrew’s newfound power changed his personality. It made him confident - even a bit arrogant. He ceased being the meek, reclusive mailroom clerk he was when he was alive and became The Tickling Phantom. But he never explored the full potential of his phantom abilities; he was nothing more than an invisible practical joker, approaching women just to give them a brief playful tickle. He realized there had to be more to this ghost business because in his many fantasies he always tortured women with tickling, arresting them in various bondage, and using a range of tickling methods to make them scream in delight. The Tickling Phantom vowed that the next victim he chose would be tickled like none other.
Janet McKenna was a receptionist at an ad agency in midtown Manhattan. She was 22-years-old, tall, slender, and incredibly hot. She knew it, too. She was the kind of girl who totally grasped the importance of looking good. For Janet, being a beautiful girl wasn’t just something she appreciated, it was something she needed like oxygen. Her crescent-shaped desk that sat grandly in the center of the office lobby was nothing short of a refuge for an assortment of lipsticks, nail polish bottles, and makeup kits.
She was a pretty good receptionist though, but her thoughts constantly dwelled on the digital clock that sat reliably on her right-hand side; it never seemed to arrive at five o’clock fast enough for her. She hated work. As far as Janet was concerned, work was just something she had to do to pay the bills. Shoe sales, boyfriends, and nightclubs was what this party girl craved, and getting up early in the morning to go to some job was not her idea of having fun.
The unseen presence of The Tickling Phantom entered the lobby that Janet McKenna occupied. He had noticed her earlier that day when he was scanning the crowded city looking for a new tickle victim; she was standing at a hot dog stand laughing at a funny comment the vendor had made. Janet’s lovely smile simply arrested Andrew’s attention like a return of sunshine after a rainy season. Right then, he knew he had to have her, and he decided to follow her back to her place of work.
Boy, do I love being a ghost, thought The Tickling Phantom.
Never before did Andrew Mojsiewicz have such liberty as to just watch a beautiful girl so closely - so shamelessly. He gazed at the cute brunette with such fondness as she casually spun back and forth on her swivel chair, talking on the phone to one of her girlfriends, and pretending to work. She wore a deliciously sexy, sleeveless gray dress that accentuated every curve on her body; her seductively crossed legs looked so silky-smooth and she was dangling her black, patent leather pump off of her attractive, size 9 foot.
“I am so tired, right now. When I get off work, I’m just gonna go straight home and go to bed.” Janet told her friend, with a bothered sigh.
As Janet was talking on the phone, she was also surfing the web. She was looking at a clothing website, and every so often she would hit a button on her keyboard, changing her screen back to whatever it was that she was supposed to be working on, just in case her boss came around checking on her. Andrew was surprised that she knew how to do that on a computer.
“Oooh, I like these boots,” Janet said, scrolling down the page. “You know what? I think these would look great on you. They’re spike heel rodeos. Yeah, they could go with that burgundy dress of yours.”
It was then that Janet’s trivial chitchat with her girlfriend (on company time) was interrupted by a call on another line. Immediately, she told her friend to hold on while she answered the call, and with cat-like reflexes, Janet made the transition back to skilled receptionist. She did take her job seriously, though; the one thing she hated more than work was looking incompetent. Being capable meant everything to her. Even if it was something she didn’t like doing, she felt she had to be in control and on top of things.
That evening, The Tickling Phantom followed Janet McKenna home. Her apartment was a nice, compact abode in the midst of the big city. It was where a pint of her favorite flavor of ice cream seemed to always be her best friend whenever a really cute guy ended up breaking her heart; it was where she could spend hours on the telephone talking about the pluses and minuses of getting tattooed.
Andrew watched as Janet kicked off her heels once the free-spirited girl was inside her apartment. Her silk stocking feet tantalizingly walked over to the couch where she decided to lay down for a while. She let out a bushed sigh and gently rubbed her tootsies together, massaging them against the arm of the couch. The Tickling Phantom savored the spectacle, knowing that any time he wanted he could seize those vulnerable peds and give Janet the tickling of her life.
She grabbed the remote control on her coffee table and turned on the television. She surfed the channels for a little while until she stumbled upon one her favorite romantic sitcoms; it was a typical cliched episode where the bumbling husband forgot the anniversary and scrambles at the last minute to find a gift to pacify his already skeptical wife. Andrew simply adored when Janet giggled at the jokes; it was the cutest thing he had ever head.
It wasn’t long before the beautiful girl began to sleep very lightly.
Now, The Tickling Phantom contemplated using his vast, inventive phantom powers to have loads of fun with Janet McKenna, for his tickling pleasure. In a deep echoing voice, he called her name. The lightly asleep woman was startled awake. At first, Janet was in disbelief, she thought it was just the TV, or maybe just her imagination. She snuggled her head against the couch again, trying to get comfortable. She heard the paranormal voice call her name again.
This time Janet McKenna knew it wasn’t the TV or her imagination; she definitely heard someone call her name. Her eyes were wide and her lips quivered. She trembled as she lifted her head to peak over the couch like a prairie dog; she scanned the room - no sign of an intruder - then suddenly the beautiful brunette felt her entire body being lifted off the couch.
“Oh my god!” She gasped.
Then the peculiar force stretched Janet’s body out so that her arms reached behind her head, exposing her armpits; her silk stocking-clad feet face the wall directly in front of her. Janet screamed as the invisible entity began slowly undressing her, pulling up her dress and revealing her bra and panties. For the first time in his life, Andrew Mojsiewicz saw a half-naked girl in person, and Janet had an incredibly hot body.
“Janet McKenna! I am The Tickling Phantom!” He spoke. The anxious girl was breathing more heavily now; and her eyes were even wider than before. “I am going to tickle you, darling, like you’ve never been tickled before!”
Then the helpless beauty felt a lone finger slide up the sole of her soft, stocking-clad left foot. She gasped and jerked her foot violently, but her legs remained immobile. The Tickling Phantom repeated the same on Janet’s right foot. She shrieked and curled her toes locked in the cutest little way. She knew she wasn’t dreaming, but the VERY TICKLISH hottie still found it hard to believe this was really happening to her.
“You seem to be extremely ticklish, Janet,” teased The Phantom.
“P-P-Please don’t!” She begged.
The playful phantom repeatedly dragged his fingertips along the bottoms of Janet’s silk stocking feet, all the while causing the suspended babe to flail her peds frantically, trying to escape the stimuli. It seemed liked the more he tickled her using this particular method, the more ticklish Janet McKenna became.
“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaagh! Aaaahahahahaha! Staaaaaaaaaaahp! Ooh! Ooh! Ooohoohoohoo!”
The ghostly powers of The Tickling Phantom enabled him to manipulate Janet’s environment so that her neighbors couldn’t hear her screams of ticklish agony.
“Tickle, tickle, tickle,” teased The Phantom as he changed the method of finger-tickling Janet felt on her feet to a gentle scratching all over her soles.
“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh! Eeeeeeeek! Heeheeeheeeheee! Pleeeeeeeeease! What ever you are! Staaaaaaaahp! I’m so extremely ticklish! I can’t take it!”
“But, I’m having too much fun, Janet,” he teased. “You see, I never had the opportunity to tickle torture a beautiful girl when I was alive, but now that I am The Tickling Phantom I can fulfill my lifelong fantasies.”
“Pleeeheeheeheeheeeeease Stop!”
Andrew continued to tickle the pretty brunette’s feet for a half-hour more before he allowed her a break so she could catch her breath and prepare for the next tickling session. He then used his phantom powers to move Janet into a vertical position. Now Janet’s arms reached straight up in the air, still exposing her smooth, hairless underarms as well as her defenseless ribs and her cute little bellybutton.
“Tell me something, Janet, when was the last time you were tickled here?” He teased as he nimbly squeezed the captive beauty at a particularly sensitive zone around her waist.
“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh! Haha! Stop!”
Janet then felt the ghostly fingers of The Tickling Phantom crawl a ticklish path from her waist to the depth of her bellybutton. She whipped her hair back and forth and threw her head back in ticklish anguish as she felt his finger swirl about the wall of flesh around her bellybutton like water going down a drain.
“Eeeeeeeeeeeeeek! No more! Heeheeheeheeheeheeheeheehee!”
Then the unrelenting tickling sensations faithfully marched in lock-step like soldiers through the unbearably ticklish terrain of Janet McKenna’s susceptible ribcage. It wasn’t long though before they arrived at the tickler’s fiesta that lay within the clean-shaven valleys of her most ticklish area - her bare, tender armpits.
Janet went berserk!
“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh! Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh! Okay! Okay! Hahahahahaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa! *hiccup* Okay! I’m ticklish! I give up! Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh! Nooooooo! Why are you doing this to me? Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh! Please Stop! It tickles too much!”
Just the gentle but rapid finger-dancing in her armpits was enough to drive poor Janet McKenna to the brink of insanity. But, the tickle-loving wraith who was once the modest Andrew Mojsiewicz was having to much fun slowly stroking ghostly fingernails along this cute girl’s horribly ticklish underarm crescents; he was making up for all those years he never even got to briefly tickle a girl, let alone tickle torture her ‘til his heart’s content. And this was only the beginning. Once he finally finished with poor Janet - which was anybody’s guess when that would be - whom next? A pretty, blonde substitute teacher, a cute grocery checker, an attractive, forty-something city councilwoman; the possibilities were endless. One thing is for sure; The Tickling Phantom was here to stay.
THE END
by
Rockauthor
Introducing Andrew Mojsiewicz, a 24-year-old native New Yorker who works in the mailroom of a prominent law firm in Lower Manhattan. He’s a short guy with not-so-handsome looks and not much of a social life. Some would say that Andrew is a bit of an introvert, lost in the musing of books, websites, and other hobbies. Many people have hobbies. There are those who sing karaoke on Tuesday nights, those who collect rare postage stamps, and there are even those who spend countless hours building meticulous, artistic domino displays.
But Andrew had an unusual hobby.
He had an unappeasable passion for tickling. As long as he could remember, Andrew Mojsiewicz wanted to have his way with an extremely ticklish female victim. But he was very shy; he never even so much as asked a girl out on a date, let alone tickle her. Instead, he settled for reading stories on the web depicting tied up vixens in various tickle torture fantasies; he also collected an assortment of tickling drawings, video cassettes, and other paraphernalia that kept his nights and weekends very much occupied.
But today would be unlike any other day - for this would be the last day of Andrew Mojsiewicz’s natural life.
It was about ten past noon when the young mailroom clerk left for his lunch hour. He decided to abandon his usual ritual of hanging out at the cafeteria in the office building, and instead chose to eat at this little Italian trattoria across the street. Cocetti’s was a very popular place and Andrew heard that the spinach manicotti was especially good. He sat in an inconspicuous corner where he could scan the panorama of the dining room, lobbing a subtle glance every now and then at all those sensitive-looking female forms that occupied the fine establishment.
Andrew spotted four unbelievable cuties sitting at one table, talking and giggling. Their tempting, fidgety legs peaked out from under the red and white checkered tablecloth like teasing marionettes, begging to be played with. He imagined wrapping that tablecloth around their legs and binding them. Slowly, he would remove their diverse variety of high-heel shoes from each of their insanely ticklish feet as they kicked and scream and cackled, anticipating what was coming. This was just one of the many scenarios featured in the vast cinema known as his imagination. A constant serial that on many occasions delivered such memorable lines as: “Oh no! Please don’t tickle me!” , “I am sooo ticklish!” , and of ’course the legendary “Not my feet! Anywhere but my feet!”
Eventually, the four women Andrew was daydreaming about got up to leave, and that was what snapped the tickling addict out of his trance; he looked down at his plate and realized he hardly touched his spinach manicotti, but his lunch hour was just about over and it was time to go back to work. Still, he felt warm and satisfied as he left the quaint little trattoria. He got this way sometimes - whenever beautiful women were around that he could fantasize about tickle-torturing. It brought him to a happier place. A place where all his fears of the opposite sex simply faded away. A place where he never encountered a girl who wasn’t ticklish. A place that no matter what troubles Andrew experienced in his life, somehow made it all worth it.
He resumed thinking about those four hot chicks he saw in Cocetti’s and visualizing how he would execute the perfect tickle torture session. As Andrew weaved through the dense crowd crossing the street, he tuned out the vexing racket of the big city: the blaring car horns of impatient motorists cursing the day the miserably slow drivers in front of them were born. The piercing rattle of a jackhammer imposing its agenda through a slab of concrete.
He didn’t even see the black Toyota RAV4 that plowed right into him, killing him instantly. The next thing Andrew Mojsiewicz knew was that he was standing at the curb. He was disorientated. Then he noticed the Toyota RAV4 stopped at the intersection with a crowd of people gathered around. They were gasping in shock, shaking their heads in pity, and murmuring in confusion at the tragedy before them. Andrew noticed a man with his back to the crowd (perhaps the driver), leaning on the hood of the SUV grief-stricken, dragging his hand down his face, then burying his face in his hands, sobbing uncontrollably.
Andrew moved closer to see what had happened, and that was when he saw the victim. The lifeless body lay in the street like a dummy abandoned by a tired ventriloquist after a long night at the club. Andrew was absolutely in shock when he recognized the face of the poor man and realized it was his own. No! It can’t be, he thought. He refused to accept it, but a bell kept ringing inside his soul like a persistent telemarketer interrupting a family’s dinner, telling him it was true. But how, he pondered. He looked down at his self where he stood and saw that he was transparent.
I’m dead, aren’t I? He thought.
Reality sank in and gradually pulled him down to the curb where he sat in amazement for hours. As the gray bleakness of the day turned into the dazzling bright lights of the night he wondered, what now? I had my whole life in front of me. Now it’s gone. And I never even got to tickle a girl. He looked over the view of the New York night scene and noticed all the hot chicks that embellished the streets - how he would’ve loved a chance to tickle just one: the svelte blonde in the sexy, black spaghetti-strap dress, showing her clean-shaven, sensitive-looking underarm as she hailed a taxicab, the sexy Latin girl standing in line at the dance club across the street who kept lifting her restless foot out of her high-heel shoe, revealing her smooth, tender sole.
Then something occurred to Andrew that made him feel as if he had found the cure for cancer.
Wait a minute. That’s right. I’m a ghost, he comprehended.
He decided to test his ghostly abilities by warily approaching a young woman who was standing in front of a department store window, mesmerized by an elegant evening gown on display. He tapped his phantom finger on her shoulder and she was startled out of her trance; she gasped and spun around only to be met with no one. Andrew, being the totally contrite person he’s always been, immediately apologized saying, “oh, I’m sorry, Miss. I thought you were someone I knew.” The poor woman froze with a frightened, confused look on her face.
“W-Who said that?” She demanded.
Oh yeah, I forgot. She can’t see me ’cause I’m a wraith, recalled Andrew.
“I better go home before I totally lose my mind,” concluded the young lady as she hesitantly walked away, darting back every now and then with a disturbed, unresolved glimpse.
Fucking cool, he thought.
Now it was time for Andrew Mojsiewicz to finally execute the one thing he’s wanted to do all his life - tickle a beautiful girl. He went over to the dance club across the street where there were four drop-dead gorgeous Puerto Rican girls standing in line to get in. Two of them had short hair and wore black V-neck dresses, and the other two had long hair and wore colorful print V-necks. One girl was teasing another about her poor taste in boyfriends, or something, and Andrew saw this as the perfect opportunity to give the unsuspecting girl a quick squeeze around her waist. She yelped and jerked away telling her friend, “Don’t tickle me! I’m very ticklish!” Naturally, the other girl looked at her funny and denied even touching her.
At last, his fantasy was fulfilled; he had never been happier than at this moment. For the next several days, Andrew Mojsiewicz not only took advantage but took inventory, approaching random females and tickling them at will: the stunning Asian woman sitting on the subway with her legs crossed and wearing cute, white sandals; she gasped and twitched when Andrew’s ghostly fingers scraped along her high arches - the lovely soccer mom whose grocery bags went flying all over the parking lot when he got her good in the ribs - the pretty college girl pinning up a bulletin in the student building who shrieked and dropped her arm to her side when she felt something tickle her armpit.
Andrew’s newfound power changed his personality. It made him confident - even a bit arrogant. He ceased being the meek, reclusive mailroom clerk he was when he was alive and became The Tickling Phantom. But he never explored the full potential of his phantom abilities; he was nothing more than an invisible practical joker, approaching women just to give them a brief playful tickle. He realized there had to be more to this ghost business because in his many fantasies he always tortured women with tickling, arresting them in various bondage, and using a range of tickling methods to make them scream in delight. The Tickling Phantom vowed that the next victim he chose would be tickled like none other.
Janet McKenna was a receptionist at an ad agency in midtown Manhattan. She was 22-years-old, tall, slender, and incredibly hot. She knew it, too. She was the kind of girl who totally grasped the importance of looking good. For Janet, being a beautiful girl wasn’t just something she appreciated, it was something she needed like oxygen. Her crescent-shaped desk that sat grandly in the center of the office lobby was nothing short of a refuge for an assortment of lipsticks, nail polish bottles, and makeup kits.
She was a pretty good receptionist though, but her thoughts constantly dwelled on the digital clock that sat reliably on her right-hand side; it never seemed to arrive at five o’clock fast enough for her. She hated work. As far as Janet was concerned, work was just something she had to do to pay the bills. Shoe sales, boyfriends, and nightclubs was what this party girl craved, and getting up early in the morning to go to some job was not her idea of having fun.
The unseen presence of The Tickling Phantom entered the lobby that Janet McKenna occupied. He had noticed her earlier that day when he was scanning the crowded city looking for a new tickle victim; she was standing at a hot dog stand laughing at a funny comment the vendor had made. Janet’s lovely smile simply arrested Andrew’s attention like a return of sunshine after a rainy season. Right then, he knew he had to have her, and he decided to follow her back to her place of work.
Boy, do I love being a ghost, thought The Tickling Phantom.
Never before did Andrew Mojsiewicz have such liberty as to just watch a beautiful girl so closely - so shamelessly. He gazed at the cute brunette with such fondness as she casually spun back and forth on her swivel chair, talking on the phone to one of her girlfriends, and pretending to work. She wore a deliciously sexy, sleeveless gray dress that accentuated every curve on her body; her seductively crossed legs looked so silky-smooth and she was dangling her black, patent leather pump off of her attractive, size 9 foot.
“I am so tired, right now. When I get off work, I’m just gonna go straight home and go to bed.” Janet told her friend, with a bothered sigh.
As Janet was talking on the phone, she was also surfing the web. She was looking at a clothing website, and every so often she would hit a button on her keyboard, changing her screen back to whatever it was that she was supposed to be working on, just in case her boss came around checking on her. Andrew was surprised that she knew how to do that on a computer.
“Oooh, I like these boots,” Janet said, scrolling down the page. “You know what? I think these would look great on you. They’re spike heel rodeos. Yeah, they could go with that burgundy dress of yours.”
It was then that Janet’s trivial chitchat with her girlfriend (on company time) was interrupted by a call on another line. Immediately, she told her friend to hold on while she answered the call, and with cat-like reflexes, Janet made the transition back to skilled receptionist. She did take her job seriously, though; the one thing she hated more than work was looking incompetent. Being capable meant everything to her. Even if it was something she didn’t like doing, she felt she had to be in control and on top of things.
That evening, The Tickling Phantom followed Janet McKenna home. Her apartment was a nice, compact abode in the midst of the big city. It was where a pint of her favorite flavor of ice cream seemed to always be her best friend whenever a really cute guy ended up breaking her heart; it was where she could spend hours on the telephone talking about the pluses and minuses of getting tattooed.
Andrew watched as Janet kicked off her heels once the free-spirited girl was inside her apartment. Her silk stocking feet tantalizingly walked over to the couch where she decided to lay down for a while. She let out a bushed sigh and gently rubbed her tootsies together, massaging them against the arm of the couch. The Tickling Phantom savored the spectacle, knowing that any time he wanted he could seize those vulnerable peds and give Janet the tickling of her life.
She grabbed the remote control on her coffee table and turned on the television. She surfed the channels for a little while until she stumbled upon one her favorite romantic sitcoms; it was a typical cliched episode where the bumbling husband forgot the anniversary and scrambles at the last minute to find a gift to pacify his already skeptical wife. Andrew simply adored when Janet giggled at the jokes; it was the cutest thing he had ever head.
It wasn’t long before the beautiful girl began to sleep very lightly.
Now, The Tickling Phantom contemplated using his vast, inventive phantom powers to have loads of fun with Janet McKenna, for his tickling pleasure. In a deep echoing voice, he called her name. The lightly asleep woman was startled awake. At first, Janet was in disbelief, she thought it was just the TV, or maybe just her imagination. She snuggled her head against the couch again, trying to get comfortable. She heard the paranormal voice call her name again.
This time Janet McKenna knew it wasn’t the TV or her imagination; she definitely heard someone call her name. Her eyes were wide and her lips quivered. She trembled as she lifted her head to peak over the couch like a prairie dog; she scanned the room - no sign of an intruder - then suddenly the beautiful brunette felt her entire body being lifted off the couch.
“Oh my god!” She gasped.
Then the peculiar force stretched Janet’s body out so that her arms reached behind her head, exposing her armpits; her silk stocking-clad feet face the wall directly in front of her. Janet screamed as the invisible entity began slowly undressing her, pulling up her dress and revealing her bra and panties. For the first time in his life, Andrew Mojsiewicz saw a half-naked girl in person, and Janet had an incredibly hot body.
“Janet McKenna! I am The Tickling Phantom!” He spoke. The anxious girl was breathing more heavily now; and her eyes were even wider than before. “I am going to tickle you, darling, like you’ve never been tickled before!”
Then the helpless beauty felt a lone finger slide up the sole of her soft, stocking-clad left foot. She gasped and jerked her foot violently, but her legs remained immobile. The Tickling Phantom repeated the same on Janet’s right foot. She shrieked and curled her toes locked in the cutest little way. She knew she wasn’t dreaming, but the VERY TICKLISH hottie still found it hard to believe this was really happening to her.
“You seem to be extremely ticklish, Janet,” teased The Phantom.
“P-P-Please don’t!” She begged.
The playful phantom repeatedly dragged his fingertips along the bottoms of Janet’s silk stocking feet, all the while causing the suspended babe to flail her peds frantically, trying to escape the stimuli. It seemed liked the more he tickled her using this particular method, the more ticklish Janet McKenna became.
“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaagh! Aaaahahahahaha! Staaaaaaaaaaahp! Ooh! Ooh! Ooohoohoohoo!”
The ghostly powers of The Tickling Phantom enabled him to manipulate Janet’s environment so that her neighbors couldn’t hear her screams of ticklish agony.
“Tickle, tickle, tickle,” teased The Phantom as he changed the method of finger-tickling Janet felt on her feet to a gentle scratching all over her soles.
“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh! Eeeeeeeek! Heeheeeheeeheee! Pleeeeeeeeease! What ever you are! Staaaaaaaahp! I’m so extremely ticklish! I can’t take it!”
“But, I’m having too much fun, Janet,” he teased. “You see, I never had the opportunity to tickle torture a beautiful girl when I was alive, but now that I am The Tickling Phantom I can fulfill my lifelong fantasies.”
“Pleeeheeheeheeheeeeease Stop!”
Andrew continued to tickle the pretty brunette’s feet for a half-hour more before he allowed her a break so she could catch her breath and prepare for the next tickling session. He then used his phantom powers to move Janet into a vertical position. Now Janet’s arms reached straight up in the air, still exposing her smooth, hairless underarms as well as her defenseless ribs and her cute little bellybutton.
“Tell me something, Janet, when was the last time you were tickled here?” He teased as he nimbly squeezed the captive beauty at a particularly sensitive zone around her waist.
“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh! Haha! Stop!”
Janet then felt the ghostly fingers of The Tickling Phantom crawl a ticklish path from her waist to the depth of her bellybutton. She whipped her hair back and forth and threw her head back in ticklish anguish as she felt his finger swirl about the wall of flesh around her bellybutton like water going down a drain.
“Eeeeeeeeeeeeeek! No more! Heeheeheeheeheeheeheeheehee!”
Then the unrelenting tickling sensations faithfully marched in lock-step like soldiers through the unbearably ticklish terrain of Janet McKenna’s susceptible ribcage. It wasn’t long though before they arrived at the tickler’s fiesta that lay within the clean-shaven valleys of her most ticklish area - her bare, tender armpits.
Janet went berserk!
“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh! Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh! Okay! Okay! Hahahahahaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa! *hiccup* Okay! I’m ticklish! I give up! Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh! Nooooooo! Why are you doing this to me? Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh! Please Stop! It tickles too much!”
Just the gentle but rapid finger-dancing in her armpits was enough to drive poor Janet McKenna to the brink of insanity. But, the tickle-loving wraith who was once the modest Andrew Mojsiewicz was having to much fun slowly stroking ghostly fingernails along this cute girl’s horribly ticklish underarm crescents; he was making up for all those years he never even got to briefly tickle a girl, let alone tickle torture her ‘til his heart’s content. And this was only the beginning. Once he finally finished with poor Janet - which was anybody’s guess when that would be - whom next? A pretty, blonde substitute teacher, a cute grocery checker, an attractive, forty-something city councilwoman; the possibilities were endless. One thing is for sure; The Tickling Phantom was here to stay.
THE END
