“I’m telling you: I think Sergei’s actually starting to warm up to me.”

The elevator doors creak open, as Katelyn Nacon step out onto the 13th floor of her apartment building. Her pristine iPhone nestled in her left hand, she is currently chatting away with her boyfriend and costar Chandler Riggs. Having secured the coveted role of Wendy in Disney’s reboot of the Peter Pan franchise, Katelyn has found herself these past several months perpetually floating on cloud nine, and it’s all thanks to her supportive boyfriend. However, a grueling acting schedule with one of the most demanding film directors this side of the pond has all but drained the young starlet, priming her for the three-day weekend awaiting her just beyond her threshold. Not a whisper can be heard echoing through the desolate hall, nothing but the muffled patter of her converse sneakers across the thin green carpet, surely the rest of her neighbors having already head out of town to enjoy the extended holiday themselves. Such was alleviating to Katelyn, assured that no screaming kids at six in the morning would disturb her planned wake-up time at the crack of noon. Unfortunately, as Katelyn is soon to find out, a lack of neighbors is to be the last thing she will be hoping for.

“He doesn’t yell as much…well not at me anyways,” she chuckles, approaching her apartment just at the far end of the hall. She fumbles with her keyring, a myriad of unknowns whose purposes even she isn’t fully aware of, letting out the usual grunt of frustration. “No, it’s not you, the last time I tried to open my front door they had to pry my car key out of the lock.”

Pinning her phone between her cheek and shoulder, she jingles a silver key out of the jumbled mess, holding the door knob as she inserts (hopefully) the correct key into the lock, only to hear the confirming latch unhinge. Sighing a breath of relief, she shoves the heavy door open with her shoulder, her phone almost slipping to the floor, grasping it with her free hand just in time, hoisting it up to her ear once more.

“He even said I wasn’t that bad of an actress,” she exclaims with strained glee, shutting the door behind her, throwing her keys atop the small table adjacent to the door frame. “It only took six months, but I think he’s finally coming around.” She hoists her purse on a small hook, waltzing her way into the vacant living room of a spacious downtown loft she had moved into three months prior, one of the many perks of her stardom.

“All I know is that I really needed this long weekend,” she sighs, a look of anguish scrawled across her face. It was true that she owed much to Chandler, a new frontier of possibilities opening in front of her. However, such strenuous work hours spent on set together has taken a toll on their relationship, and as absence makes the heart grow fonder, they felt it necessary to take time away from one another to recharge the proverbial love batteries.

“I’ll talk to you later…maybe, we’ll see…okay, I love you.”

She hangs up the phone, an amorous sigh escaping her lips as she hugs her phone close to her chest. Having such a supportive boyfriend, even if it meant being away from him for the good of their relationship, was something she knew deep in her heart she could never relinquish. Nothing could ever pull her away from her love any longer than necessary, and for the time being, she felt they were entering the realm beyond mere courtship into that of pure romantic bliss. However, her wonderful feelings of love and passion are suddenly usurped by an unexpected voice, completely unfamiliar, coming from right behind her.

“…and how is my Chandler these days?”

A wave of panic washes over her, knowing that an intruder has made their way into her secure domain. She hasn’t the time to turn around as a thick white rag is shoved over her face, an arm wraping itself around her biceps, pinning them to her sides. She screams for dear life, her hapless cries muffled by the thick material, not one peep exiting her thick apartment walls, as though it would matter given all her neighbors have left their apartments vacant for who knows how long. Struggling against the unknown assailant, her flailing legs knocking a lamp off its perch, she finds herself utterly helpless, and unfortunately alone. Bit by bit, Katelyn begins falling out of consciousness, the world around her turning fuzzy right before her eyes. Her legs going numb, the fight in her gradually being syphoned out of her person, she finds herself being lowered to the floor, peering up only to find a dark silhouette hovering over her, as her world slowly dissolves into darkness…

She moans, a sleeping beauty rousing herself from an unexpected slumber. Her eyes clenched, she slowly peels them open, regaining her sight from who knows how long she has been out. However, as Katelyn attempts to shift herself to the side, she realizes that she is completely incapable of doing so. In response, her eyes lurch open to witness a horrifying sight.

She is laying atop her large couch, her petite figure stretched taut across its length. Her wrists, bound with thick nylon ropes, lie high above her head, not one inch of slack as she attempts to pull them towards her. As she peers down, she finds her ankles bound in similar fashion atop the arm of the couch, as though they were specially placed for the world to see. Breathing frantically, she takes in the perilous situation she has found herself in, knowing full well she has been rendered at the mercy of someone who holds ultimate power over her. Just as she is to vocalize a scream for help, the same unfamiliar voice interrupts her.

“Bet you didn’t expect to find me here, huh bitch?” the voice calls out, prompting Katelyn to swiftly turn to the corner of the room. She confronts a young woman, seemingly not much older than her, with a look of absolute loathing scrawled across her frigid face. Clad in dark clothing, her platinum blonde hair tied in a ponytail behind her, she approaches the incapacitated girl in her helpless state.

“Who are you?” Katelyn demands to know, her brow furrowing in a mixture of rage and confusion. Despite her intruder obviously being a woman, it was beyond her just what this crazed lunatic would go through so much trouble for.

“Hmm, figures he wouldn’t talk about me around his little slut,” the young woman scoffs, gazing upon her captive as though Katelyn were at the bottom of the food chain. “The name’s Lana honey, and I hope you enjoyed that little conversation with him, because it will be the last time you ever speak to Chandler.” A wave of terror washes over Katelyn, too many late nights spent watching true crime dramas now filling her mind with the direst of circumstances, truly believing this young woman is intent on murdering her in such a docile state which she finds herself in.

“You see: Chandler was mine before you entered the picture,” Lana dictates, running her fingers through her ponytail, playing with her split ends as she speaks. “I was always there for him: in his changing room, behind his car, anywhere he went I was there, waiting for him to realize we were meant to be together…and then you showed up. You and your grubby little paws snatched him away from me, and I’m here to get him back.” Katelyn gazes in astonishment, struck with the realization that she is in the presence of a deranged stalker who truly believes she holds eminent domain over Chandler’s heart, and it is Katelyn who is standing right in her way. However, nothing could have prepared her for what she was going to say next.

“So, from this point on, you two are done. Understand?”

“Get bent bitch!” Katelyn snaps, a spray of saliva emanating from her pursed lips, throwing Lana back with the abrupt nature of her captive’s defiance. Despite such a fragile position she finds herself in, Katelyn wasn’t about to relinquish any sliver of power to this woman, nothing to make her think she was getting the upper hand on her. “You’re fucking psycho! There’s no way that’s going to happen, so just make your way back to the psychiatric ward where you belong.” The unhindered wrath of a deranged woman she expected next was replaced by something much more concerning, as a wicked smile crosses Lana’s face, making Katelyn that much more uneasy.

“I’m actually glad to hear that,” Lana states, approaching the bound actor, kneeling before her to meet her eye-to-eye. “Because now, I get to convince you in my own special way, and I must warn you: it’s going to be quite a laughing matter if you know what I mean.” A brief moment of confusion is swiftly assumed by that of sheer alarm, an expression of panic slowly enveloping Katelyn’s youthful face having decoded the threat.

“You see, I’ve heard those rumors on set: of how you absolutely can’t stand to be tickled,” Lana dictates, tenderly as though she were speaking to a child. “Of how you beg and plead, of how you cry like a little baby, promising to do anything just to make it all go away. Well, it will never be over, not until you swear to never see or speak to Chandler again, and until you do, I am going to tickle you, endlessly, without mercy, until I get exactly what I want.”

Katelyn stares into the cold eyes of her captor, searching for one shred of deceit only to find her words completely without deception: she is going to be tickled. Frantically she struggles against her bonds, pulling against the thick ropes, bouncing her body up and down, a pathetic display of helpless resistance if there ever was one. Her muscles bulging, the stalwart nature of her bonds is reminiscent of those that kept her tied to the chair during her audition, and it is this that is most worrisome to the young starlet. A few droplets of sweat collect on her brow as she ceases her struggles, her chest heaving as she lays there, insolent to the crazed woman’s hungry gaze.

“Are you done yet?” Lana asks patronizingly, initiating a look of sheer rage from that of Katelyn. What torments she has in store for her is beyond comprehension, filling Katelyn’s psyche with insurmountable dread as they cascade into the depths of her imagination. It isn’t possible, Katelyn hopes, that Lana would be aware of her ultimate weakness, that her feet are dreadfully ticklish beyond compare, leaving her in shambles if even the threat of tickling is placed before her. If only she knew this wasn’t going to be the story she would like. “Because, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get off on the right foot.” Lana turns her head, eyeballing the pair perched precariously atop the arm of the chair, Katelyn’s only response to remain paralyzed, waiting for that dreadful moment that her entire world will be turned upside down.

Suddenly, Lana makes her move.

Pouncing upon her sneakers, she begins frenetically unlacing them, tugging and pulling at the shoe strings like a mad woman. Katelyn tries her best to keep her shoes on, kicking and pulling, anything to let the crazed girl realize this wasn’t going to happen, but it was no use. She grunts and squeals, demands that Lana cease and desist, all with the futility that betrays her seemingly commanding persona, just the way Lana likes it. After several agonizing moments, nearly stripping her shoelaces completely off the tops, Lana haphazardly tosses them across the room, clunking against the adjacent wall, leaving a pair of socked size six feet ripe for the taking.

“There, now that was easy wasn’t it?” Lana declares, taking a moment to admire her ropework only a well-trained girl scout would be capable of achieving. Much to Katelyn’s chagrin, no matter how much she struggles, there her feet lay, perched for the world to see and for Lana to indulge. However, as she would soon learn, it was only destined that things would get much, much worse from here. “Now it’s my turn.” Peeling her gloves off her hands, finger by finger, Lana reveals a most awful sight: her acrylic nails, polished with bright red varnish, sharpened to ten fine points, making Katelyn’s jaw drop right to her chest.

“I bet you’ve never been tickled with these before: perfectly crafted to digging right into your most ticklish spots, and that’s what they’re going to do, for hours on end, until I get what I want.”

This was insane, Katelyn surmised: not only did she have to be tickled for her audition, but now she would have to endure it for the sake of her relationship, all thanks to this disturbed fantasy of a woman beyond logic and reason. However, she knew she had to resist, no matter how long it would take, for only then would the girl realize their love was stronger than anything she could dish out. Seating herself before Katelyn’s helpless feet, Lana begins deviously curling her fingers, approaching her feet agonizingly slow, the terror on Katelyn’s face growing inch by inch in tandem.

“Ready to give in?” Lana asks, just as the tips of her sharpened nails rest precariously atop the thin material of Katelyn’s socks. Her lips pursed, the skin atop her nose furrowed, Katelyn is mentally preparing herself for a bout of endless torture, turning away as though unable to face the inevitable. However, little could she do to prepare herself for the skillful touch of Lana’s ticklish nails.

“You asked for it,” Lana spouts, ravaging the undersides of Katelyn’s feet with abandonment.
“WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!” Katelyn squeals, the surprise of it completely upending her valiant resistance, throwing her into a ticklish tailspin right at the start. Rocking herself to and fro, Katelyn’s struggles have been rendered utterly useless with the minimalistic bondage that is going a long way. The entire apartment complex must had been out of town, for not one peep of her cackling wails was heard by anybody but her lone assailant, scraping her nails across every inch of her socked feet.

“I hope that doesn’t tickle too much hon!” Lana yells out, snaking her way into the undersides of Katelyn’s toes, jettisoning her squeals up another octave much to the blonde’s utter delight.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!” Katelyn screams, throwing her head back in disbelief. Not even the enthusiastic stagehand at her audition could compare to the clinical accuracy of this crazed woman’s touch: poking her way into every crease and crevice, digging her way through the thin material of Katelyn’s socks as though they were never there. Such torments would cease only after a full thirty minutes, leaving streaks of red across the white fabric.

“Ready to give in yet?!” Lana yells out, believing for sure she has shred Katelyn’s defenses into pieces by this point.

“Hehehehehehe…never!” Katelyn claps back, able to throw Lana for a loop. However, deep inside she felt herself wavering, not knowing for sure just how long she would be able to hold out until Chandler would know for sure something was wrong. Even so, she had to put up a front, deceiving the crazed woman if only momentarily.

“Hmm, you’ve got a lot of spunk in you, little girl!” Lana exclaims, rising from her perched position, surveying the disheveled state of her captive. “But I’m sure once we get these socks off, you’ll soon be singing a different tune.” Grasping her socks from the underside, Lana easily yanks off Katelyn’s last shred of defense, tossing them carelessly over her shoulders. Little could she do to resist, Katelyn knowing for sure she would just be postponing the inevitable.

“Oh aren’t these cute little feet,” Lana admires, knowing that every little taunt she makes is slowly stripping Katelyn’s resolve, no matter how much she tries to prove otherwise. Tears have begun collecting upon Katelyn’s collar, showing just how much distress she has been put through already. However, it has surely been not enough, as not a moment is given for Katelyn to catch her breath when Lana strikes, ravaging her soles once more.

“WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHA!! NO WAIT!! WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAIT!!” she cries out, hoping to secure a hint of mercy to no avail. What a sadistic spirit Lana possesses, reveling in the poor girl’s torments as though this were her life’s work, and it might as well have been: every flick of her nail, from the tender instep to the bottoms of her heels, executed with surgical precision to drive Katelyn out of her pretty little head. Once she spiders her way up to her flailing toes, it seems the entire world is crumbling all around her. Grasping tightly, their white tint betraying the sheer force meant to keep Lana’s invasive nails out, only to comically trap them in much to her utter chagrin.

“What, do you like being tickled?” Lana tauntingly asks, prompting a howl of ticklish frustration from her victim. “Then why are you keeping them in place? You must love this, dirty girl!” Such torments go beyond compare, as not even her horrendous audition could have prepared her for a tickling demon seated before her, for beyond the expertise is that of pure drive, one that is hellbent on taking her loving boyfriend Chandler away from her, and the more she drives poor Katelyn out of control, the greater chance of that happening.

“HELP ME!! HEEEEEEEEEEEEEELP MEEEEEEEEEEEEAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!” Katelyn bellows, prompting a demonic chuckle from the gullet of her captor, throwing her head back in sheer bliss. The shock of her ordeal was tossing her into desperation mode, searching for some way out of this horrendous ordeal. But it was no use: no one to hear her hapless cries, nobody to save her, or pity her, nothing but the evil cackles that accompany her, indulging in her pitiful state as we speak.

“Had a change of heart little girl?” Lana calls, suddenly stopping yet again to survey the state of her captive. Little does Katelyn know that this isn’t Lana’s first rodeo: she’s stalked countless stars, tickled countless girlfriends, wives, and groupies, dismantled gobs of relationships in her wake. She knows when they’ve been broken, when their spirit is in tatters and they haven’t the will to resist, and by the fading glimmer in Katelyn’s eye, she is just at the point of no return.

“Guess you leave me no choice.”

Crossing the room, digging into Katelyn’s purse hanging from the peg, she pulls out one large hairbrush. This was the end: nothing could compare to the horrendous torments that she is forced to incur once those bristles cross her tender soles.

“I just know how much you think you’re accomplishing with this little thing: seducing him, tricking him into loving you. Well, I’m about to show you just what happens to little floozies like you who happen to cross the wrong person.” Grasping her big toes with her left hand, Lana begins to motion the brush towards Katelyn’s tenderized soles.

“Please don’t!” Katelyn sputters, finally breaking her composure knowing just what is in store for her. “Please just not the brush! I’ll do whatever you want, just name it!” Lana rests the hard bristles atop her soles, ready to ravage her tender flesh.

“Just say the word and it will all be over,” she states, staring straight into Katelyn’s moistened pitiful eyes. But it was no use: her tongue had yet to be loosened, and as she turned away, affirming her unwillingness to cooperate, Lana begins to scrape the brush across the balls of her feet without warning, throwing Katelyn into a ticklish maelstrom the likes of which she has never experienced.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!” Katelyn screams at the top of her lungs, straining what’s left of her meek little voice against such horrible torments.

Traversing every inch of her supple flesh, Lana leaves no crease unexcavated, no crevice untouched, reveling in the myriad of reactions she can extract from this poor creature. Finding its way underneath her toes, the hairbrush knows no mercy, merely a torturous tool in the hands of its devious owner. From this angle, she can see her soles turning red, flushed from the hours of tickling they have been subject to.

Katelyn can only suffer, shrill cries dissolving into torrents of silent laughter, her entire world consumed by tickling. It was no use: no matter how much she would beg and plead, no matter how many tears collected underneath her drenched eyes, nothing would stop this crazed woman from snapping Katelyn’s spirit in two, leaving her a shell of her former self incapable of winning back Chandler from her. She knew just what she would have to do, but the longer it all went on, the harder it became to give in. Just what would it all amount to? What would her suffering be worth if she gives in to this lunatic? Would Chandler still love her, knowing she could give up their love just when things got tough?

The muscles of her face grow numb, what contorted expressions they have had to manage the past three hours. Her voice grows hoarse, grunts of agony escaping her even though the intensity has yet to cease. She lays on a soiled loveseat, drenched in sweat and tears, a reminder of how much she has been through. Her mind, slowly liquefying from overstimulation, all is a reminder of just what she is in for over what could be the entire three-day weekend.

With a heavy heart, she finally gives her what Lana wants.

“OKAAAAAAAAAAAY!! YOU WIN!!” she exclaims, prompting Lana to cease her torments. She gazes upon the poor creature, not one ounce of energy left in her, syphoned out of her bare feet for what has felt like an eternity only to have merely been a few measly hours. Tears free flowing down her cheeks, Katelyn’s has truly been broken, making Lana that much more pleased with her handiwork.

Lana unbinds her, a few pulls here, a few tugs there, letting the loosened strands fall to the wayside. It’s unbelievable how little it took to free her, but all that mattered to Lana was getting the upper hand no matter what it takes. Katelyn, bundling herself up, grasping her legs in a protective manner, hasn’t the courage to look at her assailant as she gathers everything in the room that could even remotely indicate her presence, even Katelyn’s socks and shoes. Opening the front door, she looks back at the pitiful creature, a proud smile scrawled across her face.

“I’ll be waiting,” Lana states before exiting, not even bothering to shut the door in her wake.
Katelyn sits at the edge of her sofa, her bare feet resting atop her thick carpet, still tingling from the extended torture. Tears begin freefalling from her cheeks, a wave of defeat resting atop her shrunken shoulders. She doesn’t know just how the crazed woman found her, or how she got into her apartment, but she knows one thing: that if she ever reneges on their verbal agreement, that she would surely be in for more torment.

Her phone vibrates, laying atop the hardwood floor where she let it drop before this entire ordeal began. Slowly she picks herself up, dragging her limbs across the space, looking squarely into the illuminated screen, only to find a message from her love:

I love you.

Sweat and tears cascade upon its surface, a distraught Katelyn contemplating her fate. She has endured this much, but surely, with the love she holds with Chandler, by her side, she could overcome anything, even the crazed tickling of a deranged stalker no matter how terrible it could be. Her and Chandler were stronger than that, and here is her chance to show that. It is in this moment, as his face is slowly fading offscreen, that she takes the bull by the horns, that she is not going to be another tabloid story of what-could-have-been celebrity flings. Unlocking her phone, she takes to her messaging app and, with a resolute sigh, sends this one message:

I love you too.

The End