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Old Story Series - SEVENTH INNING STRETCH

MaxSpeer

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SEVENTH INNING STRETCH​
Max Speer​

It was the ninth inning with a 3/2 count; player at first and second. The batter swung the bat a few times to loosen the muscles and get an idea as to where that ball should hit for optimum smash power. The pitcher wound up and fired a fast ball. The ball smacked into the catcher 's glove, throwing off dust. It was wide.

“Damn it,” the catcher said. “I broke a nail”
“Don 't worry,” the batter said with a smile as she took her base. “Daddy ‘ll buy you ten more.”

The catcher removed her glove and held it up to a couple in the stands. They looked at her nail with compassion and sympathy.

It was the 2nd season of the Los Angeles Angels, the semi-pro women 's softball team. They were having a particularly good season, having creamed the San Diego Seagulls, the Laguna Ladies and the Malibu Missies (last season 's champs).

Erica was getting annoyed. This was the fifth nail she had broken in a single season; and the summer was only half over. Her Father, a wealthy real estate mogul would send her back to Francoise. There, she would get a full manicure, pedicure, herbal wrap, full body massage, facial scrubbing and make-over, loofa scrub, total hair conditioning and shampoo, mud bath and full body wax. Life was difficult at times for this 18-year-old.

She spent a full day at Francoise’s, pampered like a queen, but it was the pedicure she dreaded the most.

Ever since Erica was 13, she received pedicures that she found unbearable. The reason was simple. Erica was excruciatingly ticklish. She simply couldn't stand anyone to touch her feet, especially, Heaven forbid a stranger. For the most part, a pedicure for Erica began with a long, involved desensitization process where the one
performing the pedicure would have to handle her a little at a time in order for Erica to get used to a stranger holding her highly ticklish bare foot. All the while, Erica would be shouting obscenities to the frazzled pedicurist.

When Erica starting growing hair on her body she decided she wanted it off for good. So Francoise 's staff of experts started waxing her underarms, legs and bikini area until there was hardly a trace of hair anymore. But since Erica would absolutely freak out if she saw the littlest growth, she made sure Francoise removed it so she wouldn't have to look at it. Her parents remembered Oh too well the day they heard blood-curling screams coming from Erica’s bathroom.

“Oh my God,” she cried. “There’s, like a HAIR growing under my arms. How could God be so CRUEL to a beautiful girl like ME!”

One time, following a thorough underarm wax, Sybil, her personal waxer, ran a single finger across Erica 's armpit to check for ingrown hairs. The reaction was immediate and intense. Erica screamed and threw her arm down bolting upright. When Sybil
asked her if it tickled, Erica became irate.

“Of course it tickled you moron!” She shouted. “If I put my finger on your underarm like that wouldn't it tickle you? I mean. Everybody 's ticklish there. Don’t you know that, you bitch? You
did that on purpose!”

Sybil seemed to be taken aback by this bratty, rich girl 's reaction. “Of course I didn’t do it on purpose. Calm down.” But of course, she did do it on purpose. Everyone at the salon knew how unbelievably ticklish Erica was, and they knew it was one way to
antagonize this snobby girl.


The bases were loaded. Veronica was up to bat. Erica looked up at the batter 's nails as the tall brunette gripped the bat.

“Damn!” Was all she could say. In a few moments there would be three swings and three missed balls. Even with the bases loaded the Orange County Ophelias couldn 't score. The Angels won another game.

Erica smirked at the batter. “Maybe if you spent more time on your swing and less time at the nail salon, you would be hitting a few. Nice perfume though.”

“Bitch”, was all the girl could say as she walked to her teammates.

“Hi Erica!” Came a shout from the bleachers. The pretty girl looked up with a smile, then frowned and cracked her gum when she saw it was on Martin Allen and Lewis Burns.

“Dorks,” Erica mutter as she pulled off her cap and her long, curled blonde hair spilt out like ginger ale. She walked towards the locker rooms, not hunched like a ball player but straight and poised like a fashion model on a runway (like all the girls who graduated from Beverly Hills High School).

The locker room was a sweatbox filled with giggling girls stripped down to their bras and panties, towels and birthday suits. Every girl’s body was flawless. They could afford it. Steam billowed from the showers and the sounds of lockers slamming sounded like gunfire. Erica had showered and blew-dried her long hair. Her body, scented and clean, slipped smoothly into her soft, cotton, and sleeveless sundress.

Stephanie, fully nude, wore a towel in her hair like a turban. She smiled at Erica but the rich, snob simply smirked and reached her bare arms up to take her bag from her upper locker. Stephanie didn't like being dissed. She reached a manicured nail up and touched Erica 's exposed underarm, giving the girl a little tickle on the smooth surface of her underarm.

“Aigh! Jee-zus!” Erica squealed in shock as she spun out of tickle range. “Don 't-Do-That!” she shouted, emphasizing each word.

“Well well well, what do ya know,” Stephanie said coolly to the girls, “Erica 's ticklish.”

“Tell us something we don 't know,” one red-haired girl said pulling up her miniskirt with a wiggle.

“Yeah,” said another. “Aren't you?”

Stephanie was embarrassed. She couldn't let it happen a third time. After all, three strikes and you 're out.

“Of course I 'm ticklish. Isn 't every girl? I 'm the most ticklish girl here.”

The girls all laughed. “Oh really!” came a few replies. They would not let Stephanie have one over on them.

“Impossible,” said Tracy. “I'M the most ticklish here. All you have to do is, like, touch me and I go, like, so crazy. I can 't stand being tickled. It’s like so bad.”

“Well you know what?” Kirsten interjected, “My brothers used to tickle me until I wet my pants. They used to hold my arms and legs apart and tickle my underarms and sides and feet until I was screaming and, like, no one helped me. Like it was hours.”

Erica had enough of this conversation. It was boring. Deep inside, she knew that no one could be as ticklish as she. The poor girl could barely apply a roll-on deodorant without feeling intense ticklish sensations. Sometimes, she would run her finger up her bare sole, daring herself to take it, but she couldn't. Who says you can 't tickle yourself, she would mutter in frustration. It’s a curse.

Once, when she was very young, she overheard her mother, a gorgeous woman in her own right, telling a friend that being ticklish was the right of a Woman of Leisure. She also said that a woman who wasn't ticklish came from a family line that was low on the social ladder.

These early, overheard conversations created an indelible impression on the young Erica.

“You guys are all sick!” Erica said as she walked through the group, knocking over Stephanie’s make-up kit and disappearing through the doors.

“They all love me,” Erica thought to herself as she walked out into the hot sun, dressed in her tight, sleeveless sundress and strappy sandals.

She was right. She could feel the stares from the remaining visitors, parents, envious girls, lust-filled boys, and horny maintenance workers. Her body moved as if it were under water; undulating, swimming through the air. Her hips rolled and shifted under the thin fabric of her summer dress.

Erica slipped the key into the door of her BMW and opened it. Her long, thin legs were the last to enter the new car. As she pulled her one leg in, her sandal dropped and her foot was momentarily bare. There was a sound, something like “ooh”, heard from the remaining watchers. She smirked and bent to pick up the sandal, but when she did her cleavage was clearly seen. The crowd erupted in applause and Erica turned up her nose and pulled herself back into her car, all the while, smiling to herself. She turned the key and revved the engine, leaving her admirers in a cloud of smoke.

“I’d love to fuck her,” a voice broke the silence.
“Me too.”

As she cruised down Rodeo Drive her cellphone rang. Erica picked it up but didn’t recognize the name on the caller ID.

“Private?” she said answering the phone in a biting tone. “What kind of fucking name is ‘Private’?”

She answered the phone which was part of an elaborate system her father had installed where she could drive and talk or simply tell the phone to hang up and it would.

“Yeah?”

“Erica?” It was a woman’s voice.

“Who are you? And what kind of name is ‘Private’? Private what? Are you, like, in the army or something?”

This is Samantha from the Sunset Modeling Agency. We have been watching your games and want to talk to you about a modeling contract.

Erica was stunned and her face lit up with glee.

“For real? Like you wanna make me a model? Like you think I’m beautiful?”

There was a pause on the other end. Obviously, someone was trying to settle their stomach before speaking.

“Yes,” the voice continued. “We think you are absolutely gorgeous; and what great nails!”

This last statement sent Erica into a tizzy. Her nails! She had to get her nails done before going to her interview with, whatever her name was.

The voice continued. “Can I count on you coming here in about an hour?”

Erica calculated the distance between where she was and the nail salon and added it to the distance from the salon to…

“Where did you say you were?” She asked.

The voice directed her to a location in Santa Monica and Erica saved all her information and calculations on the fancy ‘thing’ that her Daddy installed for her.

Erica turned into the direction of the salon. She really didn’t need to save the location of the modeling agency. She would never make it there that day or any day after.

* * *

The bell tinkled over the door of the salon but no one seemed to be around. The lights were dim.

“Hello? Somebody?” Erica walked carefully, stepping across the tile floor.

Finally there was a sound and out emerged Tai, the beautiful Chinese manicurist. Her grace and beauty over shadowed her lack of proper English. Emerging from the backroom with her waist-length black hair hanging down, and wearing a tight, black sleeveless turtleneck and black skirt, she smiled to Erica.

“Where DID you get that top. I want it,” Erica said.

“We are having trouble here today. No lights. You come into back and I help you.”

Erica walked cautiously into the backroom area, following the one light. She had never been there before. Tai watched her exit the front area before locking the door and pulling down the blinds.

“Chair is out there. You lie down. I take care of you.” Tai said.

Erica didn’t protest. She was tired from the game. It was so hot outside that the air conditioner cooled her skin and dried up the little bits of sweat that had formed there. As she lie there, waiting for Tai to do her nails, Erica fell asleep.

* * *

She awoke with a start and realized that she couldn’t move. Her arms had been raised over her head and apparently tied tightly at the corners of the table, leaving her arms to shape a ‘V’. Her ankles had also been secured with her legs spread slightly. Erica was aware that the skirt of her dress was a little higher than she felt comfortable. But, after all, finding yourself tied up and vulnerable would take precedence over something like that for anyone.

Needless to say, the curses and foul mouth let loose with a fury. Among the colorful expressions came questions like, “Why did you do this to me?” “What are you going to do to me?” And this was followed by things like, “When my Daddy finds out he will sue you. Did you hear that? He will actually SUE YOU!”

Tai emerged and smiled down at the bound girl. Erica was shouting but Tai smiled and wrapped a scarf around her eyes. Then, she lightly wrapped another one across her mouth, muffling but not entirely shutting out Erica’s colorful didacticisms.

Then there was the sound of footsteps; many footsteps. The people seemed to surround the frightened girl who’s breathing began to accelerate. Was she going to be raped? Was she going to be murdered? It wasn’t simply an annoyance anymore.

The horrifying answer to her questions began as a single nail lightly touching her absolutely hairless and pampered underarm. The effect was like a nuclear explosion. Erica couldn’t think, just react. She screamed into her gag and, as the finger began to give her sensitive skin little tickles, erupted into loud and desperate laughter.

The finger slid a path of ticklish torture from her armpit up the sensitive inside of her bare arm, skimming through the bicep and tickling a little in the crease of her elbow, before scratching lightly down the inside center of her forearm. Erica was beyond laughter. She was pleading but her words were intelligible. Not because she wore a gag, but because she could barely get two words out without laughing in between. The nail grazed across her shoulder to her neck, tickling the extremely sensitive Erica all the way, then descended down the outside of her bare arm. This was also excruciatingly ticklish. Such pampered flesh would surely be vulnerable to any sort of tickling. But, just as Erica felt as if she had some control of her feelings, the nail skated into her smooth underarm again, only this time with the other fingers of the hand. The fingers galloped over the ticklish skin causing Erica to squeal in agony from her ticklish attack. It was simple yet effective.

Erica felt breathing in her ear, then a voice. It was a female voice and it whispered, “tickle tickle tickle tickle” as another hand touched lightly on her other underarm and began to tickle her with tiny spidery touches.

The young girl’s body writhed and squirmed and Erica tried in vain to pull her arms down and somehow pull away from the agonizing tickling she was feeling on her underarms. Never had she felt such agonizing torture. Not in all the years she was held and tickled by her two brothers. Not in the occasional ticklings she got from horny boys in school. Never.

Finally, the torturous tickling on her underarms ceased but Erica continued to laugh as the sensations continued tickling her for a few minutes after. This sight seemed to humor her attackers and she heard the stifled giggling of female voices.

“Who is it? Who are you? Stephanie? Kirsten? Who are you???”

Then there was the Chinese.

“Ta shih hen hao!” And the giggling that followed.

“Is that Tai? Why are you torturing me?”

But it wasn’t Tai’s voice that answered in Chinese.

“Wo budeng,” which basically means, “I don’t understand a word you’re saying, you Bitch!” The voice was at the other end of the room and, before Erica could answer, she felt ten sharp, long nails touching the bottoms of her bare feet.

It was funny that Erica didn’t notice that her sandals had been removed when she slept. Normally, her feet are so sensitive that she could feel the wind. Erica screamed as loud as she could and arched her back, her hands grabbing at air. The two Chinese voices were giggling and talking excitedly. Coughing and gasping for air followed Erica’s laughter, but it was her sheer desperation that was torture. This wasn’t a quick ‘hit and run’ tickle. They kept their nails on her bare soles and continued wiggling their fingers like little scurrying bugs. They tickled down to her heels and up through the horribly ticklish arch to the even more ticklish balls of her feet.

Erica’s laughter was desperate and shrill. When they started raking their fingernails down the understems of her toes Erica began to laugh so hard that she feared she would pass out. The world suddenly seemed gray and warm.

Suddenly, a splash of cold water hit her cheeks and she awoke into consciousness again. But the consciousness was one of tickling torture as the fingers continued to scurry over and around her fabulously soft, bare feet. Even the tops of her feet were tickled.

But they changed their course and this change cause Erica to reach deeper into a greater state of ticklish agony. One hand continued to scrape up and down her unbelievably ticklish sole while the other began a tickling path up her calf and behind her knee. Erica was screaming and pleading, but screamed louder as the tickling went up to the inside of her soft thighs. Now two hands on the inside of her thighs and a hand on each of her bare soles tickled her.

As Erica squealed in laughter, she heard the same voice whisper, “tickle tickle tickle tickle tickle”. “You’re such a ticklish little girl,” it repeated. “So so so ticklish. Kitchy kitchy koo. Tickle tickle.”

The verbal teasing made it tickle all the more, but there was something about her perfume. Captive. She knew only one girl who wore that, and she played on the Ophelias team. The batter with the perfect nails. Veronica.

“Veronica, is that you?” Erica said between laughs. The tickling stopped.

“Veronica?” She said. “I don’t know any Veronica.” She giggled. “But I DO know who’s a ticklish girl.”

With that, she suddenly felt ten fingers grab her ticklish ribcage and dig around, finding the perfect tickle spots. Erica screamed again and her voice descended into a staccato sputtering of laughter.

“No no no NO!” Erica pleaded as her lithe body squirmed this way and that, trying to avoid the tickling fingers that were crawling up and down her sides.

Erica felt her skirt being lifted.

“Nice panties. Victoria’s Secret?” She heard someone say. It was another female voice.

“No,” Erica barked since Veronica had stopped tickling for a second to lift her dress up. “Urban Outfitters, you Bitch!”

“There’s that word again,” Veronica said as she let her fingers dance around the astonishingly soft surface of Erica’s belly. The poor girl squealed again and giggled loudly. Her gag had already fallen off of her mouth since it had been purposely tied very loose. Now the full sound of her girlish giggles filled the room as the Batter With The Perfect Nails tickled and tickled her tummy, concentrating on her soft ‘innie’ bellybutton and gripping at the sides of her stomach to tickle the girl into hysterics.

“Why hihihihi are you doing ha ha ha ha this to me hee hee hee hee hee hee!”

Veronica continued her tickling and chanting. “Tickle tickle tickle tickle tickle. Oh I LOVE seeing you laughing like this. You deserve this torture. Tickle tickle tickle.”

Erica was growing weak from laughter. She started coughing so Veronica stopped tickling her belly.

“What do you think is more ticklish?” Came, yet another female voice. “Her feet?” Nails began to scratch her helplessly ticklish soles causing Erica to arch her back again and squeal in laughter. The tickling stopped.

“Her sides?” Hands once again grabbed her ticklish ribcage and began scurrying quickly up and down.

“Her tummy?” The hands danced again on Erica’s smooth and soft belly button area, circling and circling. The poor girl writhed and tried to pull in her belly away from the fingers as her giggles shrieked through the room.

“Or maybe her underarms.” Fingers attacked the girl’s smooth underarms with galloping fingers. The fingers skated all around the smooth skin in circles and up her bare arms and down again into the horribly ticklish armpits. Again, Erica arched her back and squealed in hysterical laughter. She begged them to stop and writhed and twisted. Then they stopped.

Daddy sure paid a lot to have this body of your soft and sexy, huh?” It was yet another female voice.

Erica had lost her fight. “Please,” she said quietly. “Don’t tickle me again. You’ll KILL me. Please. I beg you.”

“What?” Veronica said. “No ‘bitch’ in your sentence? You must really be afraid that we’ll…. Tickle.” As she said the word she tapped a nail on Erica’s ticklish armpit. Erica shrieked.

“You must be so afraid of being…tickled.” Again, with the word, came a scurry of tickling on her bare soles that sent Erica into a panic.

“Please,” Erica continued to say softly with a cry in her voice. “I don’t care who you are, just don’t tickle me anymore. I’ll do ANYTHING. But please don’t tickle me. I can’t take being tickled.”

“You know,” Veronica said again. “If you keep saying the ‘tickle’ I might have to tickle you again.”

Erica began to weep. Then she was shocked to hear a room full of voices saying “Aw!”. Was the whole damned team there?

Veronica bent down to whisper into Erica’s ear. “You have got to stop treating your teammates, your friends and the people you work for like servants. We are the ones who look after you and take care of you. Now that we know your weakness, we will be watching you. We will watch your every move and listen to your every word. If you are not a brand new girl by tomorrow we will come for you. When we do, you know what we’ll do to you?”

“Yes!” Erica shouted before she could say or do anything. “I understand. Please don't tick…” Then she stopped herself.

Erica was untied and instructed not to leave the store or even remove her blindfold before everyone left. She obeyed.


It was the bottom of the 9th and Erica was up to bat. Veronica was pitching and a new girl was catching. Bases were loaded and the Ophelias were up by one run. It was all up to Erica. She readied herself. As the ball flew through the air, she heard the catcher say, “tickle tickle tickle”. Erica stood there stunned as the ball went right through the middle of the plate. Strike three. The end of the game.

As Erica sadly walked to the locker room she heard a call from the stands. “We still love you, Erica.” She looked up and saw the nerdy Martin Allen and Lewis Burns drooling over her. She was about to smirk but smiled instead. As she passed them she could swear she heard them say, “Tickle tickle tickle, Erica.”
 
Great story! A fine blast from the past. :D
All the stories that you just posted are wonderful.
 
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