• The TMF is sponsored by Clips4sale - By supporting them, you're supporting us.
  • >>> If you cannot get into your account email me at [email protected] <<<
    Don't forget to include your username

The TMF is sponsored by:

Clips4Sale Banner

Fantasy Island, Episode 1 (*/f)

laughter_n_love

TMF Regular
Joined
Nov 2, 2001
Messages
293
Points
0
Ms. Roarke was adjusting an orchid in her blond tresses when she heard sound of twin props outside steadily growing louder. With one last look in the full-length mirror to make sure her knee-length Polynesian dress was wrinkle free and her open-toed sandals were appropriately matched, she turned and threw open the shutters, her eyes turned skyward. She spotted the plane at the exact moment she heard the ringing of the bell, a sound that confirmed what she already knew. She headed out to the top of the porch stairs to await her driver. A moment later, she was joined by a slightly out of breath Pierce, her diminutive colleague who was, as always, dressed in a white suit with a black tie. "The plane is here," he said in his squeaky, nasally voice.

"Yes, I can see that, Pierce," she said, nodding in the direction of the sea plane that could be seen descending for it's water landing just over the tree line. Pierce flustered a bit at having stated the obvious, which he was prone to do.

The pair boarded an open air car to make the short drive down to the reception area. They arrived just as the plane was taxiing up towards the dock. Standing side by side at the end of the walkway that lead up from the pier, they waited for the plane to come to a full stop before either spoke again. "Smiles, everyone, smiles!" Ms. Roarke encouraged, flashing her own brilliant smile at each of the staff members assembled to greet the passengers. The effect was infectious, as it always was during these moments.

A young woman was disembarking and being welcomed by the smiling greeters with a traditional lei around her neck. "Who is she, Boss?" Pierce asked. "She looks familiar."

"That is Miss Katherine Allen, daughter of one of the most powerful movie producers in Hollywood. You may recognize her because she is a socialite; famous for no reason other than she comes from money and is willing to go to outrageous lengths to make sure her name and face stays in the tabloids."

Pierce raised his eyebrows in surprise. Ms. Roarke always spoke plainly, but it was unusual to hear her sounding so condescending about one of their guests. "And what is her fantasy?"

At this, Ms. Roarke smiled a mischievous, crooked smile. "She thinks she is here to indulge in a night of hedonism that will eclipse any party she might find in LA or New York. To use her own words, she expects...actually, she demanded...that we deliver to her what she called 'euphoria'. And of course, because of her great ego, she wants the entire affair to be all about her."

Pierce looked confused. "But that's not why she is here?"

Ms. Roarke smiled down at her colleague, her eyes sparkling in the morning sunlight. "Actually, she is here at the request of her father, and it is his fantasy that will be fulfilled." In that moment, Ms. Roarke's smile was no less brilliant, but a hint of something sinister lurked behind it.

Pierce made an 'o' with his lips, not quite understanding exactly what that all meant but questioning it no further. At that moment, an older gentleman was emerging from the plane. "And who is that?"

"That is Martin Devine, a recently divorced executive who is going through a very tough time. He carries around a very burdensome secret about himself, and because of that, he thinks he is unlovable."

"And his fantasy is to find love?" This was something Pierce could understand.

"Yes...and no. Mr. Devine's fantasy is to be loved for who he truly is, but matters of love are never quite that simple, are they?" Once again Pierce was confused, but this was nothing new.

Ms. Roarke and Pierce each accepted a mimosa from one of the female staffers and raised their glasses towards their guests, who were both now facing them. Ms. Roarke raised her glass in a toast, inciting everyone else to follow suit. "Welcome," she said, "to Fantasy Island!"

*****

Kate flopped back on the king sized bed, still clad in the robe from the spa, the picture of relaxation. At that very moment, a knock rang out at the door to her suite. She was tempted to ignore it but was too excited for her party to leave it to chance that this knock at the door might be important. In the end, she compromised. "Come in!" she called out, not moving a muscle to get up to answer it.

Ms. Roarke and her little male friend entered the suite. One the picture of beauty and elegance, and the other...a little beast, at least in Kate's mind. She put in the effort to prop herself up onto her elbows to greet them both.

"I take it you enjoyed your massage, Miss Allen?" Ms. Roarke asked, smiling pleasantly at her.

"Hell yeah I did!" Kate retorted in her uncouth manner. "I don't know what kind of creams those fellas were using, but my skin has never felt so soft. And tingly. I might have to buy them off you!"

Ms. Roarke humored her with a chuckle. "I'm afraid our products...and our staff...are not for sale." Her eyes drifted down to Kate's feet. "And the pedicure?"

Kate held her foot up so everyone could admire both her French tip toenail polish and how soft and smooth her skin looked. "Amazeballs, though I was ready to kill the girl. Not only did she double down on that massage cream, but I swear she intentionally tickled me like 20 times with that damned pumice stone. That's so not cool, Ms. Roarke."

Ms. Roarke, ever the masterful hostess, affected just the right amount of regret in her tone and posture. "My deepest apologies, Miss Allen. I shall be sure to speak to her at once."

Kate rolled over onto her tummy, figuratively and literally turning her back on her hosts. "When are my guests arriving? And what time does the party start?" She kicked her legs lazily in the air behind her, unaware or uncaring that the robe had hiked up around her bottom and given both Ms. Roarke and Pierce an unblocked view of most of her tight round backside. Pierce began to blush, and Ms. Roarke shot him a warning glance.

"All in due time, Miss Allen. After all, you don't want to ruin the surprise, do you?"

Kate glanced back, grinning. "Nah, I can wait. But you better deliver, or I'll buy up this island of yours and turn it into a Holiday Inn or something."

If the words bothered her, Ms. Roarke did not show it. "Of course," she said, as if this was expected. "And just to make sure you are satisfied, I took the liberty of making this available to you," she said, extending her hand to Pierce who produced a small vial of a pink liquid.

Kate, a connoisseur of recreational drugs, hopped off the bed and eyed the vial eagerly. This was something she'd never seen before, and if her skin was tingling before, it was practically itching now. "What is it?" she asked, staring. She couldn't wait to start buzzing again.

Ms. Roarke held up the vial so the sunlight shone upon the glass. "This is a concoction made up especially for you, Miss Allen. I was going to call it 'Euphoria', per your request, but when I saw the color, I decided to call it 'Tickled Pink' instead."

Kate snatched the bottle out of Ms. Roarke grasp, fawning over it almost like a newborn. "What's it do?" she asked.

Ms. Roarke smiled, unoffended by her guest's rudeness. "It will help you find that euphoria you seek, Miss Allen. It will heighten your senses but not cloud your mind." Kate looked positively enthralled by this description. "But I caution you...it is quite powerful. Use only a little, and only after your party has started," Ms. Roarke added.

"Sure sure, whatever you say," Kate said, physically putting her hands on them to shoo them out the door. She'd be damned if she was going to wait one more minute to get her buzz on. She escorted her hosts right out the door and locked it behind them. A moment later, the vial was uncapped, and she poured the entire contents of the bottle down her throat. It tasted a bit like cotton candy. She grinned, wondering how long it would take for the effects to kick in, and she found out about half way back to her bed when her legs buckled and she crumpled to the floor in a gangly heap. Not that she was aware of how she looked, sprawled on the floor of her suite, as she had passed out before her head even hit the floor.

Outside the suite doors, Pierce looked questioning at Ms. Roarke. "We don't have another plane scheduled to arrive today. Where are her guests?"

Ms. Roarke chuckled and put her arm around his shoulders, leading him away from the suite. "Miss Allen will attended a party tonight, but she will be the only one on the guest list. And by the end, both her, and her father, will have their fantasies fulfilled." From behind them, past the closed doors of the suite, a loud thump could be heard, like someone falling hard to the floor.

"What was that?" Pierce cried in alarm, turning to head back.

Ms. Roarke forced him to keep walking the same direction, away from the room. "That, my friend, was Miss Allen ignoring my warning, as I expected she would. And now, she is ready for her party. Please go and tell Alana and Makaha that they may now begin."

*****

Martin was on his room's lanai, enjoying a soft tropical breeze and view of the water when Ms. Roarke and Pierce strolled up along the adjoining walkway. He cracked a smile, but his heart wasn't in it. The setting was gorgeous, but in his frame of mind, he couldn't allow himself to enjoy it. He questioned not for the first time if coming to Fantasy Island was a mistake. As Ms. Roarke took a seat by his side, with Pierce opting to stand and for at least the moment, be at eye level with everyone, he opened his mouth to voice this very concern.

"You are wondering if coming here was the right thing to do," Ms. Roarke said in her calming voice, cutting him off. He was no world traveler, but her accent sounded more like she came from Spain than the islands, but with her flowing blond hair and tanned skin, it was impossible to pinpoint exactly what her origins might be. "I can assure you, Mr. Devine, that you if you are not completely satisfied with your stay, we will refund your money in full." She smiled at him then, a smile that put him at ease.

"Have you ever had to refund a guest's money?" he asked.

"Never," she answered, the smile unwavering. She crossed her legs and dangled her sandal from the tips of her toes, so blatantly that he couldn't help but stare at the foot this left exposed. The top was light brown, like the rest of her skin, but the bottom appeared several shades whiter. Those urges that haunted him rose up within, and he was beyond tempted to grab that foot and see if she was ticklish. But then the guilt returned, and to his horror, he realized he had been staring at her foot, and she at him, watching him with that smile of hers. Color flooded his cheeks.

"I....I'm so sorry," he stammered. Even his ears burned red with shame at having been caught staring.

"Whatever for?" she asked with sincerity. She slipped off both her sandals, and to his dismay, turned and placed both of her gorgeously tanned feet right in his lap. "I adore having my feet tickled, don't I, Pierce?"

Pierce grunted in agreement, but he was less than happy at her feet in the lap of a guest. Tickling Ms. Roarke's feet was his favorite privilege of working here on Fantasy Island.

Martin was beyond stunned, unsure of how to act. He hadn't shared with anyone on Fantasy Island about his fetish for tickling, and yet somehow Ms. Roarke seemed to know, without being told. The slender feet with slightly curled toes waited patiently in his lap, perfectly in sync with island time, where nothing is rushed or hurried. He couldn't remember his mouth ever feeling so dry.

As if she could read his mind, which he was beginning so suspect he could, Ms. Roarke spoke again. "Pierce, go and get Mr. Devine here something cold to drink. But...take your time." Pierce gave one disapproving glance at the feet in Martin's lap and hurried off, ignoring the last directive. When he was out of sight, and it was just the two of them left on the lanai, Ms. Roarke spoke again. "There, now we are alone. So please...whenever you are ready." She wiggled her toes for him then and sat further back in her seat, tilting her head back and closing her eyes.

Martin swallowed a dry swallow and forced his mind to accept that what was happening was real. He stared at the feet again, this time without as much shame, and was amazed at how flawless they looked. He guessed that came with spending so much time barefoot in the sand on a tropical paradise. Her soles waited for him there, unmoving, and there was no confusion as to what they were waiting for. They were waiting for him. Waiting for him to tickle them. It couldn't be real, and yet it was.

He curled his hand like a beggar asking for change and brought his nails close to her soles. He kept them neat, but slightly longer than most men, so there was always a band of white showing at the tip of each. And his nails were hard, almost like bone, so he knew the ridges would be sharp. Without a word, he scribbled his nails along the bottom of her right foot.

She immediately giggled and flinched, pulling her foot reflexively away before returning it to its place again. When he paused, she spoke without opening her eyes. "Keep going," she said.

He gave her left sole a similar tickle, and she reacted as before. Her toes curled down and her leg jerked, but it was all a reflex action she could not stop. "That really tickles," she said, her smile unwavering.

Martin stopped worrying about verbal and non-verbal cues to continue. He forced his brain to accept this was happening and allowed himself to go with it. He used all ten nails now, attacking both her soles at once. She squealed and yanked both feet away, rubbing her soles on his knee to wipe away the ticklish sensations before putting her feet back into a vulnerable position on his thigh. "Mmm, you are too good at this," she said, her voice slightly breathless.

Martin smiled, and it registered that he hadn't smiled genuinely like that in a long, long time. He loved tickling, and it warmed his heart to hear a woman as lovely as Ms. Roarke praising his tickling skills. In a perfect world, isn't that how things should be?

As the scene unfolding became less and less surreal, he found his confidence rising, as well as his boldness. "Now hold still, Ms. Roarke," he verbally teased. "Don't make me tie you up." His nails scribbled over her succulent soles again, and again she squealed and pulled away, her mouth opening wide as the giggles came out a bit more forced this time.

"You might have to," Ms. Roarke responded without a trace of insincerity. "I'm usually not this jumpy, but there is something about those nails of yours." As before, she rested her ankles back across his thigh, ready for more.

Martin continued to raise the stakes and used his left hand to hold her ankles down against his thighs. Ms. Roarke's eyes flew open at this, but she did not protest or pull away. Instead, she gripped the wicker arms of her chair and closed her eyes tightly. "Okay...I'm ready," she said.

Martin tickled those feet like it might be the last thing he ever did. His sharp nails flew over her soles which writhed and flailed in his grip but did not escape. Her laughter poured out freely out, a sound that was like Mozart to his ears, and she slapped the armrests of the chair, but she never actually tried to pull her feet away from the tickling. He skittered along those mocha-colored soles until not an inch of them had been left un-tickled, and then he went after her toes. Only then did she protest, saying "Not the toes! Not the toes!" over and over again, but as before, she made no real effort to get away. His nails danced all over those ten perfect toes, polished in robin's egg blue to match the orchid in her hair. When she curled them, he attacked the tops and the tips, and when she splayed them, he went for the undersides and in between. No matter where he tickled, he kept Ms. Roarke steadily giggling and squirming. He could have tickled those feet all night, and it seemed she was willing to let him.

It was then that they were interrupted by two young ladies who had wandered up from the beach to see what all the noise was about. They were dark-haired beauties, in their early twenties or maybe still in their late teens, and both wearing tiny string bikinis that showed off amazing toned young bodies. "What's going on over here?" the taller of the two said as they stopped along the edge of the lanai to watch.

That fear of discovery returned at once, slamming down on Martin's good time like a great gate closing shut. He pulled his hands away from Ms. Roarke's feet, shame beginning to wash over him again. The two girls were looking at him, waiting for some kind of answer, as Ms. Roarke was still trying to collect herself after all that tickling. She still managed to speak first, using the back of her hand to wipe at the corners of her eyes. "Mr. Devine here has been tickling me silly. I can't remember the last time I laughed like that." Martin felt himself turning to stone at her words, wishing there were a rock he could hide under. But what happened next surprised him.

"Cool!" said the shorter girl, the one with a ponytail. "We could hear you all the way from the beach. Sounded like you were having a blast!"

Ms. Roarke sat back up now, composing herself, but her ankles remained rested on Martin's thigh. "It was great fun, if you enjoy being tickled, which I do." She smiled at Martin as she spoke.

"My Dad used to tickle me all the time, but I can't remember the last time someone tickled me for more than two seconds," said the taller girl, the one with a band of hemp around one ankle. It was clear from her words the memories were fond ones.

"I kinda like it, but I kinda hate it too, you know?" Ponytail said. "It's like it's fun, but then it's too much and I can't stand it!"

"That's when it gets more fun!" Anklet said, and both girls giggled.

Ms. Roarke never took her eyes off Martin, who was sitting and listening still in shock. "Perhaps if you girls ask Mr. Devine nicely, he'll tickle you like he tickled me. He's quite the Tickle Monster." Only then did her amazing feet yield their spot on Martin's lap and return to her sandals.

Both girls turned and look at him them, hope filling their eyes. "Would you mind, Mr. Devine?" Anklet asked.

"Please, Mr. Tickle Monster?" Ponytail added, which caused more giggling between them.

Martin cleared his throat, relaxing once again. "Certainly girls. Who wants to go first?"

*****

Tickled Pink was no ordinary knockout drug. When Kate awoke, there was no lingering fog in her brain, no headache, and no struggle to focus. As Ms. Roarke had said, all her senses felt heightened. She could smell the ocean, and she could hear the sounds of the surf and of dripping water, and she could see that she was in some kind of cave, probably someplace secluded and hidden somewhere still on Fantasy Island. There was a gag filling her mouth that tasted like laundry detergent which she guessed was some kind of rag that had been shoved in her mouth and then taped in place. And she could feel...everything, from the cold, damp wood upon which she lay naked and bound, to the thick leather straps holding her wrists, arms, thighs, ankles, neck, and waist in place, to the cool humidity mixed with a faint heat being given off by a few lit torches. The strap around her neck prevented her from craning her head to look around, so instead she could really only look straight up, and there, perched above her and angled down so she could see it, was a TV screen, currently blank.

Kate tried to call out for help several times but the gag muffled all of it. She tried to struggle but she was completely immobile. She wasn't stupid; she knew she couldn't escape, so she stopped trying and instead waited for whatever was coming next.

Within a few moments, the TV screen flickered to life. The image of Ms. Roarke smiled down at her with her perfect blond hair and perfect smile. "Welcome to your party, Miss Allen. I'm sure you are wondering why you are all tied up, so I will explain while my associates finish preparing you."

Kate's eyes flew open in alarm as she realized she wasn't alone in the cave. Two figures passed by her limited field of vision, moving down from where her head lay towards her lower body. She only had time to make out they were both wearing black robes and one appeared big and the other small. Though it was useless, she began to struggle again, which was all for naught.

"You are an embarrassment to your family, Miss Allen," the TV Ms. Roarke was saying. "Your lifestyle is shameful, and your lack of social grace is appalling. All that ends today." Kate's ankles were strapped to the wood, an X-frame she guessed, but her feet floated freely beyond the end of the frame. At least they did until the 'associates' slipped something new over her ankles and then began to methodically tie each of her toes back to it. She fought against them, hurling gagged obscenities at them, but the bigger of the two was strong and held her feet in a flexed position so all of her toes could tied off. When they were done, her calves burned with the strain that came with her feet being flexed to the extreme, with her soles forced taut.

"Your fantasy is to find euphoria, and I'm sure that you shall," Ms. Roarke continued. "But not in the way you expected."

The 'associates' were up by her hands now, and to Kate's horror, they were tying her fingers down to the frame too, forcing her hands to be splayed out like she was playing the 5 Finger Fillet knife game. She fought them as best she could, but they overpowered her as before. Her mobility was stupidly restricted now down to moving her head slightly from side to side. It was insane how immobile they had made her.

TV Ms. Roarke was speaking again. "Tonight you will learn humility. You will learn repentance. And you will learn the errors of your ways. And when my associates are done, you will change your ways. You will never again soil the Allen family name." The picture on the screen changed to a picture of Kate from one of the tabloids where she was so drunk she had fallen off her stool. "For every photograph, film clip, and news article that documents your deplorable lifestyle, you shall be tickled for 5 minutes."

Kate's eyes flew open in horror. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. She'd been living the life of an irresponsible socialite for years. The sheer number of times she'd been photographed or written about....

A timer appeared in the corner of the screen. A countdown clock that started at 5:00 and began ticking downwards. Immediately, Kate felt something soft and teasing dancing along the palm of her left splayed hand, and at the same time, a rough hand lobster claw pinching just above her right knee. She exploded in laughter, trying to flail about but finding there was zero movement allowed by her bondage. She couldn't curl her fingers closed to protect her palm, and she couldn't jerk her leg free to avoid the knee tickling. The gag muffled most of her screams, but she could still hear it in her own ears as the most unholy of tortures was inflicted upon her. She wanted to squeeze her eyes shut but she knew she had to watch the countdown timer. It hadn't been even a minute yet and already she was quite out of her mind.

The Tickled Pink drug, heightening all her senses. The cream lathered on by the masseurs. The pedicure. It all made sense now. That bitch Ms. Roarke had set her up. She had made sure Kate would be as sensitive as possible for tickle torture, and it had fucking worked.

Kate screamed as loud as she could into the gag, hoping to appeal to the 'associates'. She couldn't see them, but she knew they were focused on teasing her palm and her knee respectively. She closed her eyes, struggling for breath and trying to hold back tears that came anyway. When she looked up again, the timer on the screen was just about to run down to 0:00. She waited, panting, and when it did, the picture changed to a news clip of her being arrested for DUI when she was 16. A few 5:00 timer appeared in the corner over the video, and she felt her torturers change spots. The 'light' tickler was now teasing along her right inner upper arm, while the 'squeezer' was going after her left hip socket. New spots, new explosive reactions. This was madness. There was no way she could last through an entire night of this kind of torture, and with the amount of footage out there on her, it would definitely take all night.

She passed out at some point, maybe around the fifth or sixth image on the screen. Her torturers refused to allow her that kind of respite, however, throwing water in her face and forcing smelling salts under her nose. By that time both of her hands and arms had been tortured, as well as both of her knees and hip joints. They had switched spots, and the 'squeezer' was now drilling into her upper ribs, just below her underarms, while the 'light' tickler had found the sole of her right foot with devastating long fingernails. It had pushed her over the edge, to the point of darkness, but they wouldn't let her stay there. No sooner was she back awake than her torment continued. Her unbearable, unrelenting torment.

She passed out again when the 'squeezer' was wiggling his strong fingers into her inner thigh/crotch region and the 'light' tickler dances her nails in between her splayed, tied back toes. The picture on the screen at that time had shown her with her panties around her ankles peeing against the outer wall of a nightclub in LA. As before, water to the face and smelling salts revived her, and the torture renewed at once. She had long since lost all ability to vocalize anything, including screaming laughter. It was all silent laughter now, and if not for the unchecked vibrations of her limbs, it might be difficult to register that she was even responding at all to the tickling. But she was. She felt every wiggling finger and every stroke of nail, and because they kept on changing positions every five minutes, she never lost sensitivity. She might not have anyway what with the mysterious lotion on her skin and the strange drug messing with her nervous system. A cool breeze might have tickled her at this point.

Sometime around the 2 hour mark, when she was covered in sweat, exhausted from struggling, and brought back from her 3rd black out, her mind began to seek an alternative form of escape. The TV screen showed her mooning her ass out the back seat window of a car surrounded by reporters. She didn't see it. The squeezer was drilling into her abs, and the 'light' tickler was toying with her nipples. She didn't feel them. Her body shuddered and spasmed, still responding, still fighting for escape. She didn't notice. She found a warm light that welcomed her. It was different then the darkness that crashed around when she blacked out. This was like finding the entrance to heaven. She allowed herself to be absorbed by the light, to be cradled in the warmth. Smiling around the gag, she felt protected and safe, euphoric even.

*****

Martin spent a full week on Fantasy Island. The two girls, who's names he never did learn, both had a delightfully good time with their feet on his lap, each taking a turn and then deciding to take a second turn after watching how much the other was enjoying it. They called him the Tickle Monster the whole time, and he found himself chuckling along with the moniker. A man of his age, tickling the feet of such willing young beauties was a fantasy come true in itself, but that was only the tip of the iceberg. The girls were part of a beach volleyball team, and after the pair had spent over an hour with him, enjoying his company as much as his tickling fingers, they returned the next day with their entire team in tow. They had told their teammates about the Tickle Monster, and all the girls wanted to meet him and see for themselves if he was worthy of the label. One by one, with the rest of the crowd looking on and cheering him on (or helping him with the squirmy ones, in some cases), he tickled each and every member of that beach volleyball team, and every single girl thanked him after with a huge smile on their adorable young faces.

They invited him to come watch their match, and he did, glad to be among company that seemed to hold him in such esteem. He met the volleyball coach who had gotten wind about his time spent with her girls, and while he thought she might disapprove, given his age and theirs, she was more than okay with it. In fact, she invited him for a drink after the match, where she confessed that her fantasy had been to get her collection of unskilled girls to win a tournament, and that they had never played so good as they had today, and that she knew Ms. Roarke worked in mysterious ways but would never let anything bad happen to her team. "It looks like all they needed was a visit from the Tickle Monster to play their best," she had said with a wink and a nudge. Martin offered the coach her own visit from the Tickle Monster, and after some blushing and hesitating, she agreed, leading him back to her room. He spent the night with her, tickling her first with her clothes on, and then with her clothes off, and then she had pulled him to her and demanded that the Tickle Monster make love to her, to which he readily agreed.

The volleyball team left the island the next day, but not before leaving him a handmade drawing of a Tickle Monster signed by every member of the team (and the phone number of the coach). But Martin's story didn't end there. His reputation as the Tickle Monster had permeated throughout the island. People he didn't know where wishing him a good morning or wanting to take a picture with him. They invited him to sit at their tables during meals or buy him a drink, and he accepted every cordial invite. More than once, a female foot slipped out of a flip flop or sandal and found it's way into his lap. It seemed everyone wanted a taste of what the Tickle Monster could do.

At the end of the week, one in which he had received zero negative feedback from anyone about his fetish for tickling, Ms. Roarke and Pierce were with him as he waited to board the plane home. "So, Mr. Devine, did you find the love you were looking for?" Ms. Roarke asked him.

His thoughts drifted to the volleyball coach, and to Ms. Roarke herself who had set the entire chain of events in motion, but then it dawned on him and he smiled, nodding. "I did. I found that I have nothing to be ashamed of, that my love for tickling doesn't make me some kind of monster." He paused then, chuckling at his own words. "Well, other than a Tickle Monster I suppose."

Ms. Roarke tipped her head towards him, knowing this was the outcome that was expected all along. "Without self love, one cannot hope to find the love of another," she said.

"You are so right, Ms. Roarke. And now that I've found that self love, I know there is a woman out there who will love me...and my fetish..."

"Maybe even more than one," Ms. Roarke said with a wink, purposely slipping her foot out of her sandal and giving her toes a wiggle.

Martin blushed, and then laughed, knowing it would probably be the last time he'd be blushing, or feeling ashamed, for a very long time. "Thank you, Ms. Roarke. For everything. And thank you, Fantasy Island!" he called out loud. He turned and headed for the plane, with each of the staff wishing a warm good bye to the Tickle Monster and him pausing along the way to give a few staffers a good bye tickle in the ribs.

Pierce was happy for Mr. Devine, but not sad to see him go. "Does he tickle better than me Boss?" he asked, looking up. He opened his coat to reveal a folded piece of paper in the inner pocket. "I drew up a plan on how to tickle you."

Ms. Roarke ran her fingers through Pierce's hair. "You are more than enough Tickle Monster for me," she said. "And after we send our guests off, you can show me your plan." Pierce smiled widely at this.

A car pulled up then and a very shaken, somber Katherine Allen stepped gingerly out, as though the ground were painful to her feet. The 'night' she had been tortured had actually lasted closer to 16 hours, but as promised, every single piece of shameful reporting had been atoned for. She'd spent the rest of the week isolated in her room, in the dark, curled up and trying to recover from the shock. She wasn't quite there yet.

"Miss Allen, I trust you will remember your stay here on Fantasy Island?" Ms. Roarke asked, as pleasant and cordial as ever.

Kate looked at her, wanting to hate her, but knowing that everything she had undergone had not only been warranted, but also done at the behest of her family. There was no point in shooting the messenger. "I...I have a lot of bridges to mend when I get home," she croaked. Her voice was only just now returning. Her family had sent her here to learn a lesson, and now that it had been learned, it was time to heal with them.

"The people who care about you the most are also the most forgiving, Miss Allen. Assuming you are ready to change your ways, I'm sure you will find you are welcomed back with open arms."

A flash of panic filled Kate's eyes. The idea that she would go back to being the kind of person that had lead her here in the first place was frightening. One extreme intervention in her lifetime was more than enough. "No...I'm done with all that," she said in her weak voice. "Besides...I did find euphoria. It...it just was hell getting there. There isn't a drug or drink that can ever make me feel like that again."

Ms. Roarke flashed a knowing smile. She extended her hand to Pierce who automatically filled with a business card and pen. One the back, Ms. Roarke wrote something quickly before handing it to Kate. "Some of the staff do make house calls, on special occasions." Kate flipped the card over to read the contact information for an Alana and a Makaha. "In case you ever do wish to find euphoria again."

Kate wasn't sure what she wished. She knew she held the names and numbers of her torturers in her hand. She could find them and sue them, but she knew she wouldn't. And she knew she wouldn't because there might come a day, a day without booze or drugs, when she was needing a buzz like none other, and if that day ever came, these two could give it to her. The idea sent a chill down her spine. She hoped that day would never come, but she suspected it would.

And then she uttered words she never thought she'd utter. "Thank you, Ms. Roarke." She wanted to say more, but there was nothing left to be said. She shuffled off towards the plane home, wondering if she would ever be the same again.

Pierce watched her go, unaware of what had happened to Miss Allen over the past week, but knowing it was life altering. "She is like a different woman," he observed.

"Yes, she is, and that is a good thing." Ms. Roarke clapped her hands and turned to face Pierce. "Now, are you ready to show me who the best Tickle Monster is?" she asked him.

Pierce grinned and pulled out the paper from his coat pocket. "The plan! The plan!"
 
A lot of fun. Being old enough to have watched the series, I had a bit of trouble substituting a female for the very memorable voice and features of Ricardo Montalbon. I scoured my memory for a beautiful woman with a memorable accent of her own and I settled on Sophia Loren.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t_qQz6eTpJQ

I hope you at least don't object too strongly, if not agree.
 
What's New

3/29/2024
The TMF Gathering forums keep you up to date on where and when folk are meeting up.
Tickle Experiment
Door 44
NEST 2024
Register here
The world's largest online clip store
Live Camgirls!
Live Camgirls
Streaming Videos
Pic of the Week
Pic of the Week
Congratulations to
*** brad1701 ***
The winner of our weekly Trivia, held every Sunday night at 11PM EST in our Chat Room
Back
Top