Rockauthor
TMF Master
- Joined
- Apr 21, 2001
- Messages
- 815
- Points
- 16
“The Tickling Phantom: Lady Judge”
by
Rockauthor
“All rise,” barked the high-mileage-face bailiff addressing the spectators of the two-thirds-filled courtroom, “Court is now in session. The Honorable Judge Sharon E. Cooper presiding.” The oak chamber door opened and out walked the no-nonsense lady judge dressed in the traditional black judicial robe over a blue blouse; her nylon-clad feet that disappeared into her black pumps completed the apparel. Sharon’s beautiful red hair was done conservatively yet contemporary. She had sparkling, emerald green eyes and she was still quite attractive for a woman in her early sixties.
The small-claims court judge stepped up to the bench and seated herself. She pulled her chair up a little closer and hung her handy reading glasses just below those sparkling green eyes. She cleared her throat. She glanced at the participants in the courtroom. To her left, at the plaintiff's podium, was Mr. Daniel Simeo, a balding, diminutive, older gentleman with black-framed glasses. To Judge Cooper’s right, was the defendant, Arnold Hauser, a tall, handsome young man in his early thirties, with blue eyes and a restless manner about him.
Sharon looked at the case file before her. A man in the audience coughed and a young woman followed with a quick audible sniff; another woman cleared her throat. The unseen presence of The Tickling Phantom entered the courtroom. He panned around, evaluating the scene. He noticed a burly African-American gentleman with glasses, sitting calmly with his arms folded. A somewhat fidgety young woman, in a trendy teal outfit, sitting with her legs crossed and bobbing one leg up and down over the other was also present. Then the phantom noticed the judge as she sat on the bench. He found her to be surprisingly nice-looking for such a mature-aged woman, which was perfect for Andrew because lately he was in the mood to tickle torture a mature or serious type of woman.
Earlier, The Tickling Phantom had seized an exceptionally ticklish young woman who was a substitute teacher. She had long, straight blonde hair, lovely blue eyes, and very beautiful, smooth skin. Her name was Cynthia, and she was subbing for a seventh grade English class. Andrew watched Cynthia as she wrote out the day’s lesson on the white plastic board with a green magic marker. She seemed in control of the likely unpredictable group, though her anxiety was making the delivery of her instruction hasty. At one point in class, a mostly cold-looking young man surprised Cynthia when he raised his hand to answer a question to one of those analogy exercises that her students always enjoyed. “Tonto is to Lone Ranger as Watson is to Sherlock Holmes,” he correctly answered, which somewhat relaxed Cynthia’s nerves.
Later that same day, the tickle-loving ghost pursued Cynthia all the way back to her home. She lived in a modest one-bedroom apartment with her husband of two years, Jerry, who taking from the wedding photo that sat proudly atop their telephone desk, wasn’t a bad-looking guy.
It was about a quarter to six when Cynthia got home. As usual, she arrived about an hour before her husband did, and the phantom took advantage of the opportunity to give the pretty blonde a good and thorough tickling. He followed her to the bathroom where she proceeded to take off her clothes and step into the shower. Boy, do I love being a ghost, thought The Tickling Phantom. Just being able to stand there and watch as a beautiful woman got naked and took a shower, in total anonymity, was the coolest thing ever.
Look at that body, he thought as she glided a bar of soap all over her slender body with a gentle caress; she moaned, opening and closing her eyes in a slow, monotonous rhythm. Cynthia looked forward to that afternoon shower. She didn’t necessarily need it because she felt dirty, but she needed it because it was an escape. It was time just for her. No concerns about work, when and where her next teaching gig would be, no ice-breaking to do with a new class, no worries about any issues she might have at home. No. It was a tranquil period in her daily routine that kept her sane and awarded her with a second wind.
In her bedroom, the presence of The Tickling Phantom awaited Cynthia’s exit from the bathroom. Not a moment too soon, the serious, twenty-something blonde entered the small bedroom wearing a light blue bathrobe, drying off what was left of the shower from her hair. Oh, I am going to enjoy tickling her, he thought. Andrew enjoyed the foreplay of a tickle attack just as much as he did the actual tickling itself. He loved to just absorb the sight of his potential victims, watching as their pretty feet slipped in and out of their various shoes and hosiery, watching them reach for things on high shelves, and getting a peek at their prospectively ticklish underarms; it made his soul salivate even more with impish intentions.
“Cynthia,” he called in a low echoing roar, “I see you Cynthia!”
She gasped and stopped dead in her tracks. Then the phantom lifted her body off the ground and suspended her over her bed, stretching Cynthia out in a spread eagle position.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH,” she shrieked, watching helplessly as something unseen was slowly removing her bathrobe, exposing her nude, milky-white form.
“I am The Tickling Phantom, Cynthia! I’m here to tickle you like you’ve never been tickled before!”
“THE WH- *gasp* THE WH- *gasp* WHO? *gasp* WHO? *gasp* ” she babbled, confused and petrified.
Then The Tickling Phantom did the same in removing Cynthia’s slippers, deliberately lifting them gradually off her feet like a curtain being raised to reveal the latest model of a sports car; her soles were a pale pink, unblemished and very sensitive-looking. Oh, do I just love taking off a girl’s slippers, thought the phantom. He then started dragging ghostly fingernails along those same pink soles, finding the balls and sides of Cynthia’s feet to be particularly ticklish; her reaction was instant.
“ *gasp* HAHAHAHA! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH! OH MY GOD! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”
Her laughter was a raspy, hearty guffaw that Andrew really liked. The poor girl hadn’t a clue what was happening to her, screaming her head off as she now felt those phantom fingers digging in between her deathly ticklish toes. It wasn’t long before Cynthia began feeling digits scrabbling brazenly in her helpless armpits, as well. Oh yeah! This was definitely her most ticklish spot! She arched her back and shook her body as much as the phantom allowed her to, screaming with even more desperation in her voice.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH! PLEASE! STAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHP!”
The Tickling Phantom had reduced this credentialed substitute teacher to an absolute tickled mess; if only her students could see her now. A frantic scream of ticklish laughter exploded from deep within Cynthia’s body when Andrew pressed his phantom lips to her susceptible belly button and began blowing raspberries all over her belly and the sides of her waist.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH STOP! AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH! I CAN’T TAKE IT! *groan* HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! HEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEE!”
Cynthia’s face was flushed. She was exhausted from all her laughing and screaming, but The Tickling Phantom was out of control. The more he tickled poor Cynthia, the more he just couldn’t stop. He was obsessed. There was just something about bringing out the ticklish little girl in such a sophisticated woman that fascinated Andrew like nothing else. He was now back at the feet. His ghostly fingers dug lightly all over her smooth foot bottoms with seasoned expertise.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! WOOOOHOOHOOHOO! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!”
At this point, Cynthia had trailed off into silent laughter; her feet still twitched violently under his touch, and she was still whipping her head back and forth in ticklish agony. She felt Andrew’s tickling fingers move up her legs to squeeze the backs of her ticklish knees, then moved back down to her feet, and then back up to her knees again. She couldn’t hold her bladder anymore, and Cynthia wet all over the bedcovers below. The insatiable phantom still kept tickling her sensitive feet, that just felt so smooth to the touch, until the exhausted girl finally passed out.
Moments later, the beautiful substitute teacher woke to find herself laying naked atop the covers on her bed. She gasped and immediately curled up in a fetal position, covering her breast with her arms; she quivered as her wide eyes darted around the room only to realize she was all alone - or so she thought. The unseen presence of The Tickling Phantom was still watching the pretty blonde.
“Oh my god, what just happened to me?” she said. “I-I-I must be going crazy! There’s no such things as ghosts. I-I-I mean, are there?” She stroked her sensitive arms and legs to rub out the residual tickles that were still left; she sighed. “I hope it’s all over. God, I hate being tickled.”
Andrew was mesmerized by his work; he so much admired how he got this mature school teacher to squeal and laugh like a baby. He wanted nothing more than to seek out another mature type like Cynthia and uncover her ticklishness as well. Then the invisible apparition we all know as The Tickling Phantom left the young woman’s apartment.
***
Judge Cooper: “Mr. Simeo, you claim that the defendant has been negligent in controlling his Labrador Retriever that you say is constantly on your property and tearing up your begonias?”
“Yes, your honor.” He spoke with the readiness of someone who was absolutely sure of his case, and couldn’t wait to expose the defendant for the shyster that he was. “First, I just want to say I don’t ask for much. I’m a simple man, ya know. I’m 74-years-old, a Korean War veteran. I’m just trying to keep my lawn up to look nice, ya know, and time and time again, I’ve asked Arnold to keep his dog out of my yard, but he always says that his dog doesn’t come in my yard, but I know it’s his dog, your honor, because he’s the only one on the block with a black Labrador.” The plaintiff then opened a folder resting on his podium and took out a few Polaroid pictures. “I have some pictures that I took, and you can see how the defendant’s dog knocked down my trash cans and them trampled all over my flower bed,” he said, handing the pictures to the bailiff who then submitted them to Judge Cooper.
The Tickling Phantom watched as the serious adjudicator examined the photographs with veteran scrutiny. He wondered if a woman like her could really be as ticklish as a little baby. I just can’t imagine her squealing like a schoolgirl, he thought. I mean, how do I even know she’s ticklish...I’m dying to find out, though...She’s gotta be ticklish, she’s just gotta be.
The pictures showed the defendant’s front yard and what probably was once a nice flower bed had been ruined, with flowers pulled out of the ground and trampled on, trash scattered all around. One of the pictures caught the culprit red-handed, a black Labrador Retriever that was walking on the flower bed, dragging a discarded oil rag under him.
“I see in one picture there’s a black Labrador walking across your flower bed,” said the judge. “Has the defendant been shown these photos?”
“No, he hasn’t, your honor.”
“Mr. Hauser, take a look at these pictures, please.” Then she handed the pictures to the bailiff who then handed them to the twitchy, glowering defendant. “Is that your dog in that one picture, sir.”
In a barely-heard mumble he responded, “Doesn’t look like my dog.”
“Could you speak up, please, I can barely hear you,” said the judge.
“It doesn’t look like my dog,” he said louder.
“You don’t own a black Labrador Retriever?”
“Well, I do, but I don’t let it go into other people’s yards. I mean, I keep him on a leash when I walk him.”
“That’s not true, your honor,” interjected the plaintiff.
“Just a minute, Mr. Simeo,” said the judge. “Mr. Hauser, do you keep your dog on a leash in your backyard or do you just keep him behind a gate or something so he can’t get out?”
“I keep him behind a closed gate. He never gets out ‘cause it’s always locked.”
“Oh you know that chain around your gate is too loose, Arnold. That dog’s always getting out. He got out last week,” interjected Mr. Simeo, wrongly speaking directly to the defendant in court.
“Hush, Mr. Simeo,” Judge Cooper retorted. “You address me only, not the defendant. That‘s why we‘re here, because you weren‘t able to settle this matter with Mr. Hauser out of court, so talk to me only.”
“I’m sorry, your honor,” said the plaintiff contritely.
The defendant continued to fidget irritably, folding and unfolding his arms over and over again, sniffing and blinking habitually.
“Now, how many times did the plaintiff confront you about your dog trespassing on his property and trashing his flower bed, Mr. Hauser?”
“He came by my house a couple of times, I guess,” muttered the defendant.
“Speak up, Mr. Hauser,” said the judge.
“It was a couple of times that he came over to tell me that my dog was gettn outta the gate and comin’ in his yard, but my dog can’t get out of the gate. I keep it locked good,” insisted the man.
“So, he just came to your house twice and spoke with you?”
“Yes,” said the defendant.
“Arnold, you know good and well it was more times than that,” blurted the plaintiff.
“Mr. Simeo, I’m not going to tell you again,” warned the judge sternly.
Whoa, thought The Tickling Phantom, taken aback by Judge Cooper’s firmness. I better not try and tickle this lady. She’ll hand me my head. What on earth was I thinking?
Every so often, the anonymity and impunity Andrew enjoyed as a ghost escaped his realization, but, then again, that was just the way he was. Even when Andrew was living, he was terribly shy when it came to dealing with women - especially authoritative women. He could remember when he was in college, and being tentative around Professor Wolden. She was a very imposing figure who never hesitated to speak her mind, and let you know if you were doing something stupid.
But the funny thing about it was Professor Wolden was just a short little thing; she couldn’t have been more than 4’ 10” tall. Nonetheless, she intimidated Andrew. Those frank, snap judgments of hers. That humorless, condescending look she gave him that time he tried to answer a question posed in class. But it didn’t peeve him, though; all he could think about was what it would be like to turn that stern Bea Arthur grimace into an excited smile with some good old-fashioned foot tickling.
Come on. Get a hold of yourself. You’re a ghost, remember. She doesn’t even know you’re here, Andrew told himself.
“Mr. Simeo, you‘re suing for a total of three hundred dollars for the cost of restoring your lawn and for punitive damages? How do arrive at that total, sir?”
“Well, I have some receipts here, your honor,” said the plaintiff, holding out his hand for the haggard bailiff to come and take the papers from him and submit them to Judge Cooper. “I had to hire a day laborer to redo my flower bed because of my condition. I have back troubles, and it keeps me from being able to take care of my lawn myself. So, I had someone to come and work in my yard.”
Judge Cooper said, sporting her reading glasses below those dreamy emerald eyes again, “According to the receipts you were charged a total of one hundred and twenty dollars for twice having to have your flower bed replanted?”
“That’s correct,” said the plaintiff.
“And what about the remaining one hundred and eighty dollars?” asked the judge.
“The remaining amount is for punitive damages. Like I said before, I don’t ask for much. I told Arnold several times to keep his dog out of my yard, and he just totally denies any responsibility every time I confronted him about it, but like I showed you in the pictures, it was his black Lab tearing up my flower bed, and he keeps getting out of the gate and into my yard. He just has no respect for me or my property.”
“Okay, I’ve heard enough, Mr. Simeo. I’ll come back with my decision,” said Judge Cooper then got up from her chair.
“All rise,” said the bailiff as the judge stepped down from the bench and returned to her chambers, closing the large oak door behind her.
Observing his soon-to-be tickle victim for the last fifteen minutes or so, The Tickling Phantom found Sharon Cooper to be reasonably strict. She wasn’t mean or anything, but she was someone who commanded respect in her courtroom, which made her all the more an attractive target for the tickle-loving wraith.
Moments later, the mature, judicial beauty came out of her chambers and stepped back up to the bench. “Mr. Hauser, I feel that you have been negligent in restraining your dog and keeping it off Mr. Simeo’s property,” said the judge as the defendant stood, arms folded, with a look of apathy. “Even judging how you have conducted yourself here, you seem indifferent and inconsiderate of your next door neighbor, who’s had to replant his begonias twice because of your unwillingness to rectify the matter. You’re a young man, Mr. Hauser, and you still need to learn to accept responsibility for your actions, or lack of in this case. I am awarding Mr. Simeo the full amount of three hundred dollars for property and punitive damages. Judgment for the plaintiff,” concluded Judge Cooper then promptly slammed the gavel down on the wood block to adjourn court.
“Thank you, your honor,” said the plaintiff.
The lady judge then retired to her chambers after a heavily engaged day which included a plethora of other interesting cases: The three scorned, twenty-something women, all in love with the same user-playboy, who agreed to pay them back for the over one thousand dollars he borrowed from them, but never did. The parents despondent over the vulgar and unprofessional behavior of a clown they hired for their son’s birthday party. The cocky young tattoo artist being sued by a dissatisfied customer, who almost got himself ejected from Judge Cooper’s courtroom for mouthing off. Or the family who hired an artist to paint a portrait of them, but when the rendition was finished it looked nothing like them.
The presence of The Tickling Phantom entered Judge Cooper’s chambers. She was sitting quietly at her desk, resting her eyes, and gently rubbing her temples. Shortly after, Sharon heard a knock on the door.
“Come in, Peter,” she said expectantly.
It was the grizzled bailiff coming in to visit as he usually does at the end of the day. Peter and Judge Cooper had developed a good relationship over the seventeen years he has worked in her courtroom. They would talk about the various cases they had heard that day. Peter was always there as an ally who listened to the judge vent and finish giving her opinions on certain rulings.
Peter closed the door behind him and sighed. “What a day,” he said.
The judge buried her face in her hands and let out a sigh of exhaustion herself. “Tell me about it,” she replied. “When will people learn how to communicate with one another? If you have a dispute with someone, and if you take the time to consider the facts, you then need to approach the other party and, in a respectful and tactful manner, lay out the facts of your dispute with them.”
“Right, right, right,” agreed the bailiff in a low, coarse tone. It was his proverbial chant as he conversed with the judge after the day’s session; some might even say that he responded like a broken record, but it was Peter’s way of responding. Perhaps not always in the way a student responds to his teacher, but often in the way a bartender responds to a forlorn customer.
“Once you’ve done that,” she continued, “then you can demand compensation.”
“Right.”
“And if, after a reasonable period of time, the other party still refuses to resolve the situation to your satisfaction then you bring them to court.”
“Right, right.”
“I can’t tell you how many times I have seen litigants walk into that courtroom without ever giving the other party a chance to settle their case out of court.”
“Right.”
“I have had cases where the parties being sued were already willing to pay moneys owed before the suit is even filed.”
“Right, right.”
“But there are some people that are just anxious to sue anyone they have a discrepancy with and never bother to try and work things out on their own first. It’s a complete waste of not only their time and money but the court’s time as well.”
Judge Cooper emphasized that a lot. She hated when people wasted the court’s time with matters that could’ve been resolved outside the court system and also frivolous law suits. That was one of the reasons she became a small-claims court judge. Sharon wanted to make a difference by showing people how to communicate with each other, how to properly gather evidence for their case, and how to keep a cool head. Impulsiveness was one of her pet peeves. She’d rather deal with claimants who were patient and took the time to get the facts of their case straight than to deal with eager ones who made rash and poorly thought out actions.
In addition to being a competent judge, Sharon Cooper was also a loving wife and mother of two. Ted, her husband of thirty-six years, was a law librarian, their older daughter Carrie was in her final year of college, studying to become a marine biologist, and, Susan, their younger daughter was a paralegal at the moment, but what she really wanted to be was an actress.
Judge Cooper’s conversation with her bailiff ended when Peter’s pager vibrated on his belt loop. It was his wife, probably wanting him to stop by the supermarket on his way home to pick up a gallon of milk. He bided the judge a good night then left her chambers. Now Judge Sharon Cooper was alone at her desk, right were The Tickling Phantom wanted her. He observed the lovely sixty-two-year-old for a while as she scanned through her mail, deliberately waiting to make his move.
Foreplay.
Lady judge, you are about to get tickled like you’ve never been tickled before, he thought.
Could this mature, reputable woman possibly be extremely ticklish on the bottoms of her feet? Could she really be reduced to a squealing, giggling little girl? Andrew was ready to find out.
“Judge Sharon Cooper,” he spoke in a deep, echoing voice.
It startled her. Her mouth dropped and her hand went quickly to her beating heart. She gasped and scanned around her private chambers with an almost indignant frown on her face that unsettled Andrew, making him think twice about what he was going to do. But he forced himself to not back down, constantly reminding himself of all his ghostly privileges.
“I AM THE TICKLING PHANTOM!”
Then magically he pulled her swivel chair back and lifted the woman out of her seat. She shrieked as The Tickling Phantom suspended her over her desk as if she were laying in an invisible hammock.
“Oh my god! *gasp* What? *gasp* What?”
Andrew respected this woman and guilt clutched at him as he observed the fusion of terror and bewilderment on her face. But he was determined and he proceeded to slowly pull off the judge’s black pumps, showcasing her attractive, nylon-clad, size 7 feet. His phantom fingers grazed her insteps which were surprisingly soft and sensitive. Judge Cooper’s eyes were wide with anguished delight. She was absolutely beside herself.
“Ha...Ha...Aahaha...” She stammered; the poor woman didn’t know what to think.
Her expression was now a successive display of anguished delight, bewilderment, and terror, almost like the rotation of a neon sign in front of a cheap motel.
The phantom tormented Sharon with his middle and index fingers, making scratching motions along her tender arches which were especially more receptive due to her hosiery.
“Aaaahhhhh! Hahahahahahahahahahahaha!” She cackled.
Although her ankles were immobile, The Tickling Phantom did allow the judge to be able to move her feet which twitched and shifted vehemently under his cruel fingers. He continued with the two finger method, now including trips to the elliptical balls of her feet, scratching and scraping ever so skillfully. Andrew was so happy to find out that Judge Cooper was ticklish on her feet - and not just a little bit ticklish - very ticklish.
“Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha! *gasp* Oh my god! Hahahahaha! W-What’s hahahahahahappening to me? Hahahahahahahaha! Aaaaahahahahahahahahaha!”
The Tickling Phantom started dragging his fingers up and down the sides of Sharon’s nylon-clad feet. Every touch made her feet jerk away violently to evade the tickling, and Andrew chased them with the agility of a boxer behind a speed bag.
“Aaaaaahahahahahahahaha! Aaaaaaaaaaahahahahahahahahahahaha! Oh! *gasp* Oh! What is this? Haha! Oh my god! Staaaaahhhp! Hahahahahahahahaha! *hiccup* Hahaha hahahahahahahaha!”
There was no doubt he was reducing this mature lady judge to a ticklish, giggling little schoolgirl. Phantom fingers now tested the ticklishness of her toes, tracing between and dancing under them, protruding through the fine nylon stockings.
“Hahahahaaaa! *gasp* Please! *gasp* I can’t take hahahahahahahahahahahahaha! *gasp* I can’t take it!”
This was a new experience for The Tickling Phantom. Tickle-torturing an older woman was very much different than tickle-torturing a young woman. He wasn’t quite sure how much her body could take. He became a little concern about her well-being. He finally decided to give the judge a short break; she breathed heavily to try and recuperate, sighing and babbling with abandon.
“Oh my god! *groan* This can’t be happening! *groan* This can’t be happening! *groan* This can’t be! *groan* ”
Andrew now wanted to be more creative with his tickling and seek other weapons in his ghostly arsenal. He caused Sharon to feel a dozen phantom lips kissing and blowing raspberries all over her trapped, defenseless soles.
“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh!!!” She screamed.
Whoa! thought The Tickling Phantom. He wasn’t expecting that kind of reaction from Judge Cooper. Her hysterical shriek was that of a unsuspecting young girl surprised by a tickle. But Sharon couldn’t help herself; this sudden and unusual tickling sensation caught her off-guard and shot through her like a jolt of electricity.
“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh! *gasp* Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh! *gasp* Oh my god! *gasp* Stop! Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh! Hahahahahahahahahahaha! *gasp* Please! *gasp* What ever you are! Aaaaaaaaaaahahahahahahahahahaha! Oh! Oh! Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh! *gasp* You’re killing me! Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha! Tickling is torture! Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha! *hiccup* Hahahahahahahahahaha! *cough* *cough* Somebody h-h-help me! Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh! Hahahahahahahahaha! *gasp* Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh!”
Judge Cooper was quickly growing weary again. Her face showed anguish and fatigue from the relentless tickling. But Andrew was out of control. Something about turning this serious, highly regarded lady judge into a hysterically laughing, ticklish little girl fascinated him. It captivated him like a young person feverishly trying to conquer the levels of a new video game. He just couldn’t let it go.
“Aaaaaahahaha! Aaaaaaaaaaaaahahaha! P-P-Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeease! Hahahahahaaaaaaa! *gasp* Oh! No! Not that! Please! Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaaaaaaaaa! *gasp* What IS this? Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha! *gasp* I must be losing my mind! Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha! *hiccup* Hahahahahahahahahahahaha! This haha isn’t hahahappening! Aaaaaaaaaaaaagh! *gasp* I’m dreaming! Aaaaaaaaah! I wish I were! Aaaaaaaiiiiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeeeeeehhhhhh! Aaaaaaaaahahahahahahahahahahaha! Ooooooohoohoo! Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh! Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh! Tickling is hahahahahahaha torture!”
Words couldn’t express the zone Andrew was in right now as he tickle-tortured poor Sharon’s tootsies like it was going out of style. He just couldn’t stop himself, though. He was obsessed with tickling Judge Cooper’s nylon-clad feet, alternating different sensations on her confined vulnerable soles - phantom backscratchers, phantom feathers, phantom paintbrushes, etc. Her face was flushed. Her feet were still just as ticklish as they were when the phenomenon began, peeking out from under her black robe, jerking and kicking and looking like a puppet show. She begged and pleaded until she couldn‘t beg and plead anymore. But her pleas had already fallen on deaf ears. Andrew was in another world, and eventually, the tickle-loving wraith was broken out of his trance when he realized that the ticklish sixty-two-year-old finally passed out.
THE END
by
Rockauthor
“All rise,” barked the high-mileage-face bailiff addressing the spectators of the two-thirds-filled courtroom, “Court is now in session. The Honorable Judge Sharon E. Cooper presiding.” The oak chamber door opened and out walked the no-nonsense lady judge dressed in the traditional black judicial robe over a blue blouse; her nylon-clad feet that disappeared into her black pumps completed the apparel. Sharon’s beautiful red hair was done conservatively yet contemporary. She had sparkling, emerald green eyes and she was still quite attractive for a woman in her early sixties.
The small-claims court judge stepped up to the bench and seated herself. She pulled her chair up a little closer and hung her handy reading glasses just below those sparkling green eyes. She cleared her throat. She glanced at the participants in the courtroom. To her left, at the plaintiff's podium, was Mr. Daniel Simeo, a balding, diminutive, older gentleman with black-framed glasses. To Judge Cooper’s right, was the defendant, Arnold Hauser, a tall, handsome young man in his early thirties, with blue eyes and a restless manner about him.
Sharon looked at the case file before her. A man in the audience coughed and a young woman followed with a quick audible sniff; another woman cleared her throat. The unseen presence of The Tickling Phantom entered the courtroom. He panned around, evaluating the scene. He noticed a burly African-American gentleman with glasses, sitting calmly with his arms folded. A somewhat fidgety young woman, in a trendy teal outfit, sitting with her legs crossed and bobbing one leg up and down over the other was also present. Then the phantom noticed the judge as she sat on the bench. He found her to be surprisingly nice-looking for such a mature-aged woman, which was perfect for Andrew because lately he was in the mood to tickle torture a mature or serious type of woman.
Earlier, The Tickling Phantom had seized an exceptionally ticklish young woman who was a substitute teacher. She had long, straight blonde hair, lovely blue eyes, and very beautiful, smooth skin. Her name was Cynthia, and she was subbing for a seventh grade English class. Andrew watched Cynthia as she wrote out the day’s lesson on the white plastic board with a green magic marker. She seemed in control of the likely unpredictable group, though her anxiety was making the delivery of her instruction hasty. At one point in class, a mostly cold-looking young man surprised Cynthia when he raised his hand to answer a question to one of those analogy exercises that her students always enjoyed. “Tonto is to Lone Ranger as Watson is to Sherlock Holmes,” he correctly answered, which somewhat relaxed Cynthia’s nerves.
Later that same day, the tickle-loving ghost pursued Cynthia all the way back to her home. She lived in a modest one-bedroom apartment with her husband of two years, Jerry, who taking from the wedding photo that sat proudly atop their telephone desk, wasn’t a bad-looking guy.
It was about a quarter to six when Cynthia got home. As usual, she arrived about an hour before her husband did, and the phantom took advantage of the opportunity to give the pretty blonde a good and thorough tickling. He followed her to the bathroom where she proceeded to take off her clothes and step into the shower. Boy, do I love being a ghost, thought The Tickling Phantom. Just being able to stand there and watch as a beautiful woman got naked and took a shower, in total anonymity, was the coolest thing ever.
Look at that body, he thought as she glided a bar of soap all over her slender body with a gentle caress; she moaned, opening and closing her eyes in a slow, monotonous rhythm. Cynthia looked forward to that afternoon shower. She didn’t necessarily need it because she felt dirty, but she needed it because it was an escape. It was time just for her. No concerns about work, when and where her next teaching gig would be, no ice-breaking to do with a new class, no worries about any issues she might have at home. No. It was a tranquil period in her daily routine that kept her sane and awarded her with a second wind.
In her bedroom, the presence of The Tickling Phantom awaited Cynthia’s exit from the bathroom. Not a moment too soon, the serious, twenty-something blonde entered the small bedroom wearing a light blue bathrobe, drying off what was left of the shower from her hair. Oh, I am going to enjoy tickling her, he thought. Andrew enjoyed the foreplay of a tickle attack just as much as he did the actual tickling itself. He loved to just absorb the sight of his potential victims, watching as their pretty feet slipped in and out of their various shoes and hosiery, watching them reach for things on high shelves, and getting a peek at their prospectively ticklish underarms; it made his soul salivate even more with impish intentions.
“Cynthia,” he called in a low echoing roar, “I see you Cynthia!”
She gasped and stopped dead in her tracks. Then the phantom lifted her body off the ground and suspended her over her bed, stretching Cynthia out in a spread eagle position.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH,” she shrieked, watching helplessly as something unseen was slowly removing her bathrobe, exposing her nude, milky-white form.
“I am The Tickling Phantom, Cynthia! I’m here to tickle you like you’ve never been tickled before!”
“THE WH- *gasp* THE WH- *gasp* WHO? *gasp* WHO? *gasp* ” she babbled, confused and petrified.
Then The Tickling Phantom did the same in removing Cynthia’s slippers, deliberately lifting them gradually off her feet like a curtain being raised to reveal the latest model of a sports car; her soles were a pale pink, unblemished and very sensitive-looking. Oh, do I just love taking off a girl’s slippers, thought the phantom. He then started dragging ghostly fingernails along those same pink soles, finding the balls and sides of Cynthia’s feet to be particularly ticklish; her reaction was instant.
“ *gasp* HAHAHAHA! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH! OH MY GOD! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”
Her laughter was a raspy, hearty guffaw that Andrew really liked. The poor girl hadn’t a clue what was happening to her, screaming her head off as she now felt those phantom fingers digging in between her deathly ticklish toes. It wasn’t long before Cynthia began feeling digits scrabbling brazenly in her helpless armpits, as well. Oh yeah! This was definitely her most ticklish spot! She arched her back and shook her body as much as the phantom allowed her to, screaming with even more desperation in her voice.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH! PLEASE! STAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHP!”
The Tickling Phantom had reduced this credentialed substitute teacher to an absolute tickled mess; if only her students could see her now. A frantic scream of ticklish laughter exploded from deep within Cynthia’s body when Andrew pressed his phantom lips to her susceptible belly button and began blowing raspberries all over her belly and the sides of her waist.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH STOP! AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH! I CAN’T TAKE IT! *groan* HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! HEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEE!”
Cynthia’s face was flushed. She was exhausted from all her laughing and screaming, but The Tickling Phantom was out of control. The more he tickled poor Cynthia, the more he just couldn’t stop. He was obsessed. There was just something about bringing out the ticklish little girl in such a sophisticated woman that fascinated Andrew like nothing else. He was now back at the feet. His ghostly fingers dug lightly all over her smooth foot bottoms with seasoned expertise.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! WOOOOHOOHOOHOO! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!”
At this point, Cynthia had trailed off into silent laughter; her feet still twitched violently under his touch, and she was still whipping her head back and forth in ticklish agony. She felt Andrew’s tickling fingers move up her legs to squeeze the backs of her ticklish knees, then moved back down to her feet, and then back up to her knees again. She couldn’t hold her bladder anymore, and Cynthia wet all over the bedcovers below. The insatiable phantom still kept tickling her sensitive feet, that just felt so smooth to the touch, until the exhausted girl finally passed out.
Moments later, the beautiful substitute teacher woke to find herself laying naked atop the covers on her bed. She gasped and immediately curled up in a fetal position, covering her breast with her arms; she quivered as her wide eyes darted around the room only to realize she was all alone - or so she thought. The unseen presence of The Tickling Phantom was still watching the pretty blonde.
“Oh my god, what just happened to me?” she said. “I-I-I must be going crazy! There’s no such things as ghosts. I-I-I mean, are there?” She stroked her sensitive arms and legs to rub out the residual tickles that were still left; she sighed. “I hope it’s all over. God, I hate being tickled.”
Andrew was mesmerized by his work; he so much admired how he got this mature school teacher to squeal and laugh like a baby. He wanted nothing more than to seek out another mature type like Cynthia and uncover her ticklishness as well. Then the invisible apparition we all know as The Tickling Phantom left the young woman’s apartment.
***
Judge Cooper: “Mr. Simeo, you claim that the defendant has been negligent in controlling his Labrador Retriever that you say is constantly on your property and tearing up your begonias?”
“Yes, your honor.” He spoke with the readiness of someone who was absolutely sure of his case, and couldn’t wait to expose the defendant for the shyster that he was. “First, I just want to say I don’t ask for much. I’m a simple man, ya know. I’m 74-years-old, a Korean War veteran. I’m just trying to keep my lawn up to look nice, ya know, and time and time again, I’ve asked Arnold to keep his dog out of my yard, but he always says that his dog doesn’t come in my yard, but I know it’s his dog, your honor, because he’s the only one on the block with a black Labrador.” The plaintiff then opened a folder resting on his podium and took out a few Polaroid pictures. “I have some pictures that I took, and you can see how the defendant’s dog knocked down my trash cans and them trampled all over my flower bed,” he said, handing the pictures to the bailiff who then submitted them to Judge Cooper.
The Tickling Phantom watched as the serious adjudicator examined the photographs with veteran scrutiny. He wondered if a woman like her could really be as ticklish as a little baby. I just can’t imagine her squealing like a schoolgirl, he thought. I mean, how do I even know she’s ticklish...I’m dying to find out, though...She’s gotta be ticklish, she’s just gotta be.
The pictures showed the defendant’s front yard and what probably was once a nice flower bed had been ruined, with flowers pulled out of the ground and trampled on, trash scattered all around. One of the pictures caught the culprit red-handed, a black Labrador Retriever that was walking on the flower bed, dragging a discarded oil rag under him.
“I see in one picture there’s a black Labrador walking across your flower bed,” said the judge. “Has the defendant been shown these photos?”
“No, he hasn’t, your honor.”
“Mr. Hauser, take a look at these pictures, please.” Then she handed the pictures to the bailiff who then handed them to the twitchy, glowering defendant. “Is that your dog in that one picture, sir.”
In a barely-heard mumble he responded, “Doesn’t look like my dog.”
“Could you speak up, please, I can barely hear you,” said the judge.
“It doesn’t look like my dog,” he said louder.
“You don’t own a black Labrador Retriever?”
“Well, I do, but I don’t let it go into other people’s yards. I mean, I keep him on a leash when I walk him.”
“That’s not true, your honor,” interjected the plaintiff.
“Just a minute, Mr. Simeo,” said the judge. “Mr. Hauser, do you keep your dog on a leash in your backyard or do you just keep him behind a gate or something so he can’t get out?”
“I keep him behind a closed gate. He never gets out ‘cause it’s always locked.”
“Oh you know that chain around your gate is too loose, Arnold. That dog’s always getting out. He got out last week,” interjected Mr. Simeo, wrongly speaking directly to the defendant in court.
“Hush, Mr. Simeo,” Judge Cooper retorted. “You address me only, not the defendant. That‘s why we‘re here, because you weren‘t able to settle this matter with Mr. Hauser out of court, so talk to me only.”
“I’m sorry, your honor,” said the plaintiff contritely.
The defendant continued to fidget irritably, folding and unfolding his arms over and over again, sniffing and blinking habitually.
“Now, how many times did the plaintiff confront you about your dog trespassing on his property and trashing his flower bed, Mr. Hauser?”
“He came by my house a couple of times, I guess,” muttered the defendant.
“Speak up, Mr. Hauser,” said the judge.
“It was a couple of times that he came over to tell me that my dog was gettn outta the gate and comin’ in his yard, but my dog can’t get out of the gate. I keep it locked good,” insisted the man.
“So, he just came to your house twice and spoke with you?”
“Yes,” said the defendant.
“Arnold, you know good and well it was more times than that,” blurted the plaintiff.
“Mr. Simeo, I’m not going to tell you again,” warned the judge sternly.
Whoa, thought The Tickling Phantom, taken aback by Judge Cooper’s firmness. I better not try and tickle this lady. She’ll hand me my head. What on earth was I thinking?
Every so often, the anonymity and impunity Andrew enjoyed as a ghost escaped his realization, but, then again, that was just the way he was. Even when Andrew was living, he was terribly shy when it came to dealing with women - especially authoritative women. He could remember when he was in college, and being tentative around Professor Wolden. She was a very imposing figure who never hesitated to speak her mind, and let you know if you were doing something stupid.
But the funny thing about it was Professor Wolden was just a short little thing; she couldn’t have been more than 4’ 10” tall. Nonetheless, she intimidated Andrew. Those frank, snap judgments of hers. That humorless, condescending look she gave him that time he tried to answer a question posed in class. But it didn’t peeve him, though; all he could think about was what it would be like to turn that stern Bea Arthur grimace into an excited smile with some good old-fashioned foot tickling.
Come on. Get a hold of yourself. You’re a ghost, remember. She doesn’t even know you’re here, Andrew told himself.
“Mr. Simeo, you‘re suing for a total of three hundred dollars for the cost of restoring your lawn and for punitive damages? How do arrive at that total, sir?”
“Well, I have some receipts here, your honor,” said the plaintiff, holding out his hand for the haggard bailiff to come and take the papers from him and submit them to Judge Cooper. “I had to hire a day laborer to redo my flower bed because of my condition. I have back troubles, and it keeps me from being able to take care of my lawn myself. So, I had someone to come and work in my yard.”
Judge Cooper said, sporting her reading glasses below those dreamy emerald eyes again, “According to the receipts you were charged a total of one hundred and twenty dollars for twice having to have your flower bed replanted?”
“That’s correct,” said the plaintiff.
“And what about the remaining one hundred and eighty dollars?” asked the judge.
“The remaining amount is for punitive damages. Like I said before, I don’t ask for much. I told Arnold several times to keep his dog out of my yard, and he just totally denies any responsibility every time I confronted him about it, but like I showed you in the pictures, it was his black Lab tearing up my flower bed, and he keeps getting out of the gate and into my yard. He just has no respect for me or my property.”
“Okay, I’ve heard enough, Mr. Simeo. I’ll come back with my decision,” said Judge Cooper then got up from her chair.
“All rise,” said the bailiff as the judge stepped down from the bench and returned to her chambers, closing the large oak door behind her.
Observing his soon-to-be tickle victim for the last fifteen minutes or so, The Tickling Phantom found Sharon Cooper to be reasonably strict. She wasn’t mean or anything, but she was someone who commanded respect in her courtroom, which made her all the more an attractive target for the tickle-loving wraith.
Moments later, the mature, judicial beauty came out of her chambers and stepped back up to the bench. “Mr. Hauser, I feel that you have been negligent in restraining your dog and keeping it off Mr. Simeo’s property,” said the judge as the defendant stood, arms folded, with a look of apathy. “Even judging how you have conducted yourself here, you seem indifferent and inconsiderate of your next door neighbor, who’s had to replant his begonias twice because of your unwillingness to rectify the matter. You’re a young man, Mr. Hauser, and you still need to learn to accept responsibility for your actions, or lack of in this case. I am awarding Mr. Simeo the full amount of three hundred dollars for property and punitive damages. Judgment for the plaintiff,” concluded Judge Cooper then promptly slammed the gavel down on the wood block to adjourn court.
“Thank you, your honor,” said the plaintiff.
The lady judge then retired to her chambers after a heavily engaged day which included a plethora of other interesting cases: The three scorned, twenty-something women, all in love with the same user-playboy, who agreed to pay them back for the over one thousand dollars he borrowed from them, but never did. The parents despondent over the vulgar and unprofessional behavior of a clown they hired for their son’s birthday party. The cocky young tattoo artist being sued by a dissatisfied customer, who almost got himself ejected from Judge Cooper’s courtroom for mouthing off. Or the family who hired an artist to paint a portrait of them, but when the rendition was finished it looked nothing like them.
The presence of The Tickling Phantom entered Judge Cooper’s chambers. She was sitting quietly at her desk, resting her eyes, and gently rubbing her temples. Shortly after, Sharon heard a knock on the door.
“Come in, Peter,” she said expectantly.
It was the grizzled bailiff coming in to visit as he usually does at the end of the day. Peter and Judge Cooper had developed a good relationship over the seventeen years he has worked in her courtroom. They would talk about the various cases they had heard that day. Peter was always there as an ally who listened to the judge vent and finish giving her opinions on certain rulings.
Peter closed the door behind him and sighed. “What a day,” he said.
The judge buried her face in her hands and let out a sigh of exhaustion herself. “Tell me about it,” she replied. “When will people learn how to communicate with one another? If you have a dispute with someone, and if you take the time to consider the facts, you then need to approach the other party and, in a respectful and tactful manner, lay out the facts of your dispute with them.”
“Right, right, right,” agreed the bailiff in a low, coarse tone. It was his proverbial chant as he conversed with the judge after the day’s session; some might even say that he responded like a broken record, but it was Peter’s way of responding. Perhaps not always in the way a student responds to his teacher, but often in the way a bartender responds to a forlorn customer.
“Once you’ve done that,” she continued, “then you can demand compensation.”
“Right.”
“And if, after a reasonable period of time, the other party still refuses to resolve the situation to your satisfaction then you bring them to court.”
“Right, right.”
“I can’t tell you how many times I have seen litigants walk into that courtroom without ever giving the other party a chance to settle their case out of court.”
“Right.”
“I have had cases where the parties being sued were already willing to pay moneys owed before the suit is even filed.”
“Right, right.”
“But there are some people that are just anxious to sue anyone they have a discrepancy with and never bother to try and work things out on their own first. It’s a complete waste of not only their time and money but the court’s time as well.”
Judge Cooper emphasized that a lot. She hated when people wasted the court’s time with matters that could’ve been resolved outside the court system and also frivolous law suits. That was one of the reasons she became a small-claims court judge. Sharon wanted to make a difference by showing people how to communicate with each other, how to properly gather evidence for their case, and how to keep a cool head. Impulsiveness was one of her pet peeves. She’d rather deal with claimants who were patient and took the time to get the facts of their case straight than to deal with eager ones who made rash and poorly thought out actions.
In addition to being a competent judge, Sharon Cooper was also a loving wife and mother of two. Ted, her husband of thirty-six years, was a law librarian, their older daughter Carrie was in her final year of college, studying to become a marine biologist, and, Susan, their younger daughter was a paralegal at the moment, but what she really wanted to be was an actress.
Judge Cooper’s conversation with her bailiff ended when Peter’s pager vibrated on his belt loop. It was his wife, probably wanting him to stop by the supermarket on his way home to pick up a gallon of milk. He bided the judge a good night then left her chambers. Now Judge Sharon Cooper was alone at her desk, right were The Tickling Phantom wanted her. He observed the lovely sixty-two-year-old for a while as she scanned through her mail, deliberately waiting to make his move.
Foreplay.
Lady judge, you are about to get tickled like you’ve never been tickled before, he thought.
Could this mature, reputable woman possibly be extremely ticklish on the bottoms of her feet? Could she really be reduced to a squealing, giggling little girl? Andrew was ready to find out.
“Judge Sharon Cooper,” he spoke in a deep, echoing voice.
It startled her. Her mouth dropped and her hand went quickly to her beating heart. She gasped and scanned around her private chambers with an almost indignant frown on her face that unsettled Andrew, making him think twice about what he was going to do. But he forced himself to not back down, constantly reminding himself of all his ghostly privileges.
“I AM THE TICKLING PHANTOM!”
Then magically he pulled her swivel chair back and lifted the woman out of her seat. She shrieked as The Tickling Phantom suspended her over her desk as if she were laying in an invisible hammock.
“Oh my god! *gasp* What? *gasp* What?”
Andrew respected this woman and guilt clutched at him as he observed the fusion of terror and bewilderment on her face. But he was determined and he proceeded to slowly pull off the judge’s black pumps, showcasing her attractive, nylon-clad, size 7 feet. His phantom fingers grazed her insteps which were surprisingly soft and sensitive. Judge Cooper’s eyes were wide with anguished delight. She was absolutely beside herself.
“Ha...Ha...Aahaha...” She stammered; the poor woman didn’t know what to think.
Her expression was now a successive display of anguished delight, bewilderment, and terror, almost like the rotation of a neon sign in front of a cheap motel.
The phantom tormented Sharon with his middle and index fingers, making scratching motions along her tender arches which were especially more receptive due to her hosiery.
“Aaaahhhhh! Hahahahahahahahahahahaha!” She cackled.
Although her ankles were immobile, The Tickling Phantom did allow the judge to be able to move her feet which twitched and shifted vehemently under his cruel fingers. He continued with the two finger method, now including trips to the elliptical balls of her feet, scratching and scraping ever so skillfully. Andrew was so happy to find out that Judge Cooper was ticklish on her feet - and not just a little bit ticklish - very ticklish.
“Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha! *gasp* Oh my god! Hahahahaha! W-What’s hahahahahahappening to me? Hahahahahahahaha! Aaaaahahahahahahahahaha!”
The Tickling Phantom started dragging his fingers up and down the sides of Sharon’s nylon-clad feet. Every touch made her feet jerk away violently to evade the tickling, and Andrew chased them with the agility of a boxer behind a speed bag.
“Aaaaaahahahahahahahaha! Aaaaaaaaaaahahahahahahahahahahaha! Oh! *gasp* Oh! What is this? Haha! Oh my god! Staaaaahhhp! Hahahahahahahahaha! *hiccup* Hahaha hahahahahahahaha!”
There was no doubt he was reducing this mature lady judge to a ticklish, giggling little schoolgirl. Phantom fingers now tested the ticklishness of her toes, tracing between and dancing under them, protruding through the fine nylon stockings.
“Hahahahaaaa! *gasp* Please! *gasp* I can’t take hahahahahahahahahahahahaha! *gasp* I can’t take it!”
This was a new experience for The Tickling Phantom. Tickle-torturing an older woman was very much different than tickle-torturing a young woman. He wasn’t quite sure how much her body could take. He became a little concern about her well-being. He finally decided to give the judge a short break; she breathed heavily to try and recuperate, sighing and babbling with abandon.
“Oh my god! *groan* This can’t be happening! *groan* This can’t be happening! *groan* This can’t be! *groan* ”
Andrew now wanted to be more creative with his tickling and seek other weapons in his ghostly arsenal. He caused Sharon to feel a dozen phantom lips kissing and blowing raspberries all over her trapped, defenseless soles.
“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh!!!” She screamed.
Whoa! thought The Tickling Phantom. He wasn’t expecting that kind of reaction from Judge Cooper. Her hysterical shriek was that of a unsuspecting young girl surprised by a tickle. But Sharon couldn’t help herself; this sudden and unusual tickling sensation caught her off-guard and shot through her like a jolt of electricity.
“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh! *gasp* Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh! *gasp* Oh my god! *gasp* Stop! Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh! Hahahahahahahahahahaha! *gasp* Please! *gasp* What ever you are! Aaaaaaaaaaahahahahahahahahahaha! Oh! Oh! Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh! *gasp* You’re killing me! Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha! Tickling is torture! Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha! *hiccup* Hahahahahahahahahaha! *cough* *cough* Somebody h-h-help me! Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh! Hahahahahahahahaha! *gasp* Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh!”
Judge Cooper was quickly growing weary again. Her face showed anguish and fatigue from the relentless tickling. But Andrew was out of control. Something about turning this serious, highly regarded lady judge into a hysterically laughing, ticklish little girl fascinated him. It captivated him like a young person feverishly trying to conquer the levels of a new video game. He just couldn’t let it go.
“Aaaaaahahaha! Aaaaaaaaaaaaahahaha! P-P-Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeease! Hahahahahaaaaaaa! *gasp* Oh! No! Not that! Please! Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaaaaaaaaa! *gasp* What IS this? Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha! *gasp* I must be losing my mind! Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha! *hiccup* Hahahahahahahahahahahaha! This haha isn’t hahahappening! Aaaaaaaaaaaaagh! *gasp* I’m dreaming! Aaaaaaaaah! I wish I were! Aaaaaaaiiiiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeeeeeehhhhhh! Aaaaaaaaahahahahahahahahahahaha! Ooooooohoohoo! Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh! Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh! Tickling is hahahahahahaha torture!”
Words couldn’t express the zone Andrew was in right now as he tickle-tortured poor Sharon’s tootsies like it was going out of style. He just couldn’t stop himself, though. He was obsessed with tickling Judge Cooper’s nylon-clad feet, alternating different sensations on her confined vulnerable soles - phantom backscratchers, phantom feathers, phantom paintbrushes, etc. Her face was flushed. Her feet were still just as ticklish as they were when the phenomenon began, peeking out from under her black robe, jerking and kicking and looking like a puppet show. She begged and pleaded until she couldn‘t beg and plead anymore. But her pleas had already fallen on deaf ears. Andrew was in another world, and eventually, the tickle-loving wraith was broken out of his trance when he realized that the ticklish sixty-two-year-old finally passed out.
THE END
