Angela, The Ticklish Domme Part 1: Phoebe (F/F, MM/F)

“Angela, we start rolling in fifteen minutes, so get dressed,” David says from behind the door to my dressing room. I tug off my green polo shirt, unbutton my capris and undo the straps on my sandals before slipping into a black lace bikini and becoming “Angel”, Scourge of the Ticklish.

I giggle to myself as I stand before the mirror. So, this is what my victims see before I tickle them into giggling puddles on-camera? A thin, caramel-skinned brunette in a black bikini? My thin frame and gaping, rounded brown eyes don’t look like they’d inspire much terror, even with the five-headed snake tattoo running down my right forearm. Is this really what Phoebe saw last week when her entire body shuddered before me, or what made Veronica’s eyes widen in fear last Friday, before she tried to break away from the table? I shrug. Scary or not, I suppose I must look very different to someone who is strapped down spread-eagle with all her sensitive parts exposed.

I look myself in the eye, and flash my reflection a hungry stare. I lick my lips and smile, promising plenty of fun will be had at someone’s expense today. That’s the Angel I know. I nod, turn away from the mirror and prepare to leave my dressing room. The familiar, cool touch of the polished wooden floor on my suntanned bare feet helps me slip into character as I enter the shooting area, my red toenails catching the lamplight as I step in front of the cameras.

Up ahead, I see David, standing with arms folded, still sporting that affable grin that never seems to leave him. I can even see the laugh lines in the corners of his face. There’s something really charming about a guy in his mid-50s who still knows how to smile like that. If his wife didn’t have a problem with co-workers visiting, I’d check on him at home to see if he’s always smiling like that. “Early as usual,” he says. “I guess you’re eager to get started?”

I return a smile of my own. “As always, Dave.” I look at the chair in the center of the room. It sits against a wooden pillar with metal cuffs jutting from the sides, for the wrists of the poor lee. I notice a lever for adjusting the height of them. Excellent for keeping the sides and pits nice and exposed. Further ahead is a pair of stocks with fiber straps for holding back the toes. I nod my approval. “Nice setup. Whoever sits there won’t have much breath left when this shoot is over.” I turn back to him with a mischievous grin on my lips. “So, who’s the lucky girl getting it this time?”

David chuckles, but does not respond. He stares back at me and raises his eyebrows. My jaw drops. “I guess you forgot what I told you over the phone?” he says, reprimanding me with a single raised brow. I slap my forehead, fingers digging into my scalp. How foolish! I mean, how else could I have been convinced to come over for a shoot on a Sunday? He must have noticed the parting looks of envy I’d been sending to each of the other models after I left them blushing and out of breath on the rack. Or, maybe prancing around in a black lace bikini for this long has caused the viewers to request that I have a turn tied down?

I turn back to the device in the center of the room, and picture myself sitting there, arms locked over my head, bare feet outstretched, toes pulled back. The thought makes me shudder. I’d go ballistic if someone tickled me in that.

My breaths become heavy and as I look down, I notice that I’ve crossed one foot over the other. I swallow and force myself to keep a straight face as I look back at David. “I see… So, who is going to be doing the tickling?”

David’s smile returns, but again, he says nothing.

“A secret for me to find out, I take it? You’re just horrible.” I let out frustrated a sigh. “Ok! So be it. I think I can handle this.”
Can I?! I haven’t even approached the device yet and already my legs are shaking. With excitement or fear? I cannot tell. Only one thing is certain: If I walk away from this opportunity, I’ll never forgive myself.

Pessimism nags at me, imploring me to listen to my fears. These things are always scary at first, but I’ve never regretted it once. Surely this can’t be any worse than the time I was gang tickled back in the high school locker room seven years ago? The memory of being grabbed, forced down onto the locker room bench and tickled on my sides and feet by ten hands with manicured nails, sends an excited shiver through me. The way they teased me with cooing baby talk and used slow, well-placed finger strokes across my sides and feet to drive me wild, brings a wistful grin to my face. Funny how these things always seem so much more fun when they’re not moments away from happening. As I return my gaze to the chair again, my legs become unstable. I’m starting to miss my high school daydream. “Ok. L-let’s get started then,” I say, not sounding as confident as I’d hoped.

I attempt to march over to the chair, but my legs won’t move. I feel everyone’s eyes on me. What must they think of me right now? As I stand there, unable to move, I don’t feel like Angel anymore, just Angela. Two warm hands grasp my shoulders. “Easy,” David says. “Breeeeeathe.” There’s a hint of teasing mockery in his tone, but the warmth of his breath and the gentle tickle of his voice in my ear cause my muscles to relax. I don’t resist as he guides me over to the chair.

David supports me as I bend my knees and seat myself. He then lifts my feet into the stocks in front of me. His younger cameraman, Dwayne, joins him in “helping” me into my restraints. I feel goosebumps on my arms as Dwayne’s firm hands grasp my wrists and press them into the metal cuffs above me. He looks down at me through his beard and moustache and winks as he locks my arms in place. A warm feeling runs through the pit of my stomach as some memories of Dwayne begin to resurface. He may not have the face or body for modeling, but his hands have proven in the past to be good for much more than just keeping a camera steady.

“Angela, could you uncurl your toes for a moment?” David asks. “I need to get them secured in the stocks.”

I comply, blushing as David finishes up with my feet. I suppress a shudder as each long toe is slipped into a restrictive strap and pulled back until I almost feel a stretch. I try to resist the urge to test them. I’m close enough to a panic attack already. Once my feet are done, I sigh, but it’s not over yet. I hear a crank and feel a stretch as my wrists and ankles are pulled outward along the tracks. Once they stop, I cannot move at all. My elbows won’t bend, my knees won’t buckle, my toes won’t curl… I might as well be a statue. I feel tingles throughout my body as the breeze from the air conditioner prickles my bare skin.

I take deep breaths, trying not to think too hard, but every failed attempt to move my arms or my legs fills my mind with worries. Can I handle this? Can I stay in character under these conditions? Will they notice if I stop breathing? What if I jerk too hard and hurt myself? Will they use brushes on my feet? Oh, God! Please don’t let them use brushes! I’ll die!

I shake my head. It’s stupid. This always happens before the tickling starts, and I’ve always walked away with a red-faced smile. “Ready?” David asks.

The question sends a shiver down my spine. I offer a final sigh, before nodding my head.

“Action!”

The camera clicks on. I hear a giggle from the distance. The rolling of the camera reel. A light cough from David. Each sound sends a prickle along my skin. A sign that I’m one step closer to the experience I’ve been both dreading and anticipating.

I hear the soft padding of bare feet behind me. My would-be tickler must be close. My stomach muscles tighten, I suck in my breath, and without thinking, I pull against the cuffs around my wrists in a foolish attempt to cover my exposed sides. The footsteps couldn’t be clearer. She must be right behind me, within arm’s reach of my vulnerabilities. Even though nothing has happened yet, I can already feel the vague sensation of fingernails teasing up and down my sides. I brace myself for the inevitable tickle, but it doesn’t come. Instead, she walks right past me.

A manilla bikini, a skinny, pasty white body – young too –, no tattoos, and a mop of blonde hair tied into a very short ponytail. I remember her. She turns to face me, meeting my gaze with her oceanic eyes. It only lasts a moment before her cheeks color and she averts her gaze, with a short wave, and an apologetic grin. Phoebe. My muscles relax and I slip into character the moment I see her face. “Well, hello there, Phoebe,” I say, shooting her the same hungry grin that had turned her into a mess of giggles last week.

“…hi,” she giggles back, clasping her hands in front of her. I nearly giggle, myself. It turns out she doesn’t need to be tied down on an X-frame in order to look like a total lee. I bet I could break her down into a soft dough with verbal teasing alone.

Still, that’s not what I’m being paid for. “So, you’re the one who’s going to tickle me today?” I ask. I wiggle my feet to beckon her over, or try to. Again, I’d forgotten about the restraints. Instead I motion her over with my fingertips as they hang high above my head.

She blushes and nods, before stepping up to me and stopping in front of the stocks, hands still clasped. As she approaches, her alabaster hands part and hang in the air. My breath stops as I watch her, my fear and excitement building up as one. She stares down, head shaking and eyes blinking as if my feet are part of an elaborate bomb to be disarmed.

I groan inside as she struggles to work out how to properly guide her hands to my helpless feet. Her immaculate fingernails look very long and sharp. If she’d just put them to use, I could be in hysterics right now, completely at her mercy as she has her way with me. The thought gives me shivers, but then my gaze returns to Pheobe and the fantasy shatters. That shy grin and that closed posture. This one is too yielding and innocent for this kind of work. Ugh! Reminds me of how I am outside the studio. She needs to find her inner-domme, but how do I help her do that without breaking character?

“So, do you like what you see over here?” I say, getting her attention as I sneer at her. “I still remember how I made you laugh back on the X-frame last week. You melted under my touch. It was so easy. You’d better be careful if you want revenge. Touching me could make you melt again.” Finishing with a cruel snicker, I tilt my gaze over to the corner of the room. David grins and nods back to me.

As I turn back to Phoebe, she’s still giggling and hiding her head between her shoulders, blushing as if her favorite male celebrity had just called her by name. I then notice a subtle spark of mischief in her eyes. Her eyelids lower a fraction, and for the briefest of moments, she lifts her gaze from my lower lip and dares to make eye contact. I feel a pulse return to my dying expectations and I fight to mask my growing excitement. Come on! Don’t let me down, Phoebe!

She reaches forward with those dainty, sharp-nailed fingers. No tentative first stroke, no teasing circle around the edge of my foot, she dives right in, spidering all over both feet at once. As soon as I feel the first strokes send skittering tingles across the soles of my feet, I twitch and flinch, wishing I could do so much more.

My toes try to curl on reflex, but the fiber straps ensure that they remain pulled back, leaving my quivering flaxen soles completely taut. So, this is what foot tickling with toe straps feel like? Phoebe’s pale bubble toes had been tied the same way just last week. Memories of her cute, high-pitched wailing and cries for mercy haunt me as she returns the favor on my larger, darker size 10s.

Panic sets in as I howl with laughter. “W-waitwait! WAHAHAHHAHAIT!” I cry, surrendering in seconds, as my restraints remind me of my helplessness. In my head, I’m waving my hands in protest, and kicking my feet like an impatient toddler, but back in the real world, my hands are still secured above my head, and my feet haven’t budged an inch. I more than make up for it in laughter. Shaking my head and pivoting my hips, I bellow towards the ceiling, unable to stop myself.

My mind searches my imagination for a way out, but my feet belong to Phoebe for now. I’m hers to play with until she decides she’s done making me squirm.

…and then she stops. My heart thuds against my chest. I relax my breathing as I get over the exciting shock of the recent event. Phoebe’s approach may have lacked grace, but the restraints more than made up for it.

…so why on Earth did she stop?!

I gaze up at her and she returns that same apologetic grin from before, standing still like she’s awaiting an evaluation. Does she want a goddamn round of applause? She’d better not think this is done yet. I feel restless. If my tickler was someone with more experience, I’d think she was trying to coax me into begging her for more. At this point, I don’t care if she ends up tickling me unconscious. If she doesn’t give me something in the next minute or so, I’m sure I’ll crumple up like an empty can.

“What? Is that all?” I say in a teasing tone. “I must have tickled you harder than I realized, if that’s the worst you can bear to give me.” Lingering doubts insist that I’m tempting a fate that I’m not ready for, but I ignore them and laugh in her face. “I never imagined one could get PTSD from tickling.” I tilt my head back and laugh again. As I finish, I find that she has moved past the stocks and now stands just beyond my knees.

She does not say anything, but she raises her fair little hands and wiggles those pointy nails of hers. I let out a nervous giggle, and my breath catches in my throat as her fingers move towards the small gap between my thighs. She wouldn’t, would she? Could she?

No. Her hands stop in place and begin to pull back. All the anticipation I’ve built up begins to evaporate. Shame on me for expecting her to have the audacity. Just as I lift my head to voice my disapproval, her hands dart for my bare belly, digging into my ribs. Laughter explodes from me in an abrupt burst, and then keeps coming as her cool, white fingers dance all over my warm, golden sides and stomach.

I shake my head, slapping her with my brown hair. My wrists tug against the restraints, once again reminding me that I cannot move. I try to pull away from her fingers, but all I can do is suck in my stomach, buying me a few seconds of relief before her fingers follow and make me laugh even louder than before.

Her fingers tickle, but I know she can do better. Does she really think these belly laughs of mine are anything like the desperate squeals and satisfying shriek I’d drawn from her back when I’d slid my fingers up her sides and dug deep into the hollows of her armpits? Just thinking about it brings color to my cheeks. Shame that I need to resort to something like that while in the throes of laughter.

Her fingers pull away again, and I feel ready to snap at her. Last week, I brought her to the limits of her endurance, tickling her feet until they’d turned pink, tickling her sides and belly until her stomach muscles refused to un-tighten, and teasing those two rising buds on her chest until she could not look me in the eye without bursting into embarrassed giggles. Is this how she repays me!? There’s no way she can consider this to be a proper payback!

“CUT! CUT!” David shouts. The camera clicks off and he strides in, holding his director’s cutting board under his arm. Phoebe turns to him, blue eyes widened and blinking. Pssh! Is she really that oblivious? “Phoebe, I understand this is your first time, so listen. You’re going to put our viewers to sleep if you continue like this. Trust me, Angel can take much more than what you’re giving her.”

Phoebe gasps. “A…are you sure?”

David motions her over to him and she follows. The two of them speak in low murmurs, while I sit alone with my thoughts, hoping that he’s giving her some harsh truths. The sight of her sets my head aflame. Who does she think she is? Does she always leave taking the initiative to others? Why does she have to be so damn compliant!?

I sigh. This all sounds too familiar. Once this shoot is over and I leave the studio, I know I’ll be saying “Goodbye” to strong, dominant Angel and returning back to being meek, submissive Angela. I’ll fall back into the busy schedule my peers have set for me, all because I lack the will to set one for myself. At least I have Angel. What does Phoebe have? It feels good to have someone to look down on when I’m feeling this way.

The thump of boots and Merrels signals the approach of David, followed by Dwayne. Phoebe is close behind. David rubs his hand across his grayed scalp and looks up at me with an uneasy grin. “Uh, hey! Sorry about this. We just needed to give Phoebe a little pep talk to get her into the mood. She doesn’t seem to realize how much tickling you can handle.”

I grin back at him. “It’s okay, I’m sure you straightened her out.”

David sports his usual smile, but his lips tighten and he lowers his eyes to the floor. “Actually, we’re still working on that. We may need your help.”

I nod. “Of course. I’ll be happy to help.” This should be no problem, now that I’m off-camera and can speak to her as Angela.

“Thanks Angel. She’s all yours.” David turns away from me and leans back, sitting atop my stocks and letting his, rugged legs hang between by yellowed arches, while I turn my head to speak to our potential domme.

I look her in the eye and force a giggle. “Phoebe, I appreciate your concern about me, but I am a professional. I’m not afraid of being tickled.” A bold-faced lie on my part, and thank goodness for that. If tickling didn’t scare me, it would be as bland as lettuce without vinegar.

I flash her a confident smile. “See? Would I be smiling like this if I was nervous? You’ve got nothing to worry about.” Phoebe laughs. I’d give her an encouraging pat on the shoulder if my wrists weren’t still locked high above my head. “I understand if you feel worried that you’re going too far. This isn’t something you’re used to doing. I can tell you’re a very kind and caring woman outside the studio. However, in here, you need to become someone else. Actually, forget I said that! You need to discover a new you. One that you’ve been keeping hidden away for all these years.”

Phoebe reaches down and scratches her pale forearm. “Gee, um… I don’t know if I really…”

“Of course you do!” I say in an insistent tone. “You just don’t realize it yet. Shame has a way of burying this aspect of you deep in your subconscious, but it’s there. I’m sure of it. If you manage to let it out, I’ll be very proud of you.”

Phoebe takes a deep breath. “Ok, I’ll try.” She walks up to the stocks and David prepares to dismount, but she then stops. “Wait! How will I know when to stop?”

I pause. I’d never thought about that. I bite my lower lip, ignoring her questioning stare as I ponder. “Hold on for a moment. David?”

David leans back and I lean forward. “What is it?” he asks.

“What should I tell her?” I whisper.

“You could always mention safewords, like Orange, Uncle, Popsicle...”

I scoff at the idea. “Safewords? A lee’s training wheels? I think not! Besides, I’d be breaking character, wouldn’t I?”

“Come on, Angel, we’re just trying to make her feel better. You don’t have to actually use them.”

Phoebe leans in. “What are you two talking about?”

“Oh, we’re just planning.” David leans back. “Care to tell her?”

I hesitate. He does have a point. If it’s just a convenient lie, then what’s the harm? I almost don’t notice as ten deliberate fingers began to creep down over my toes and across the balls of my feet. I do, once my hesitant stammering breaks into giggles. “Hey! Hehehey! Wahahahahait! David! That’s not fahahahahahair! Hahahahaha!” I sputter as he wiggles his fingers across my bare feet. “Dahahahavid! Whahahahat the Hell?!”

David chuckles, but his fingers don’t stop or even slow. Their warm, fluttering touches send shivers down my arches. “You looked like you were having some trouble, so I decided to help you out. If she wants to know how much you can handle, then we’ll just show her. You said you’d be happy to help out right?”

“I dihihihidn’t m-mean – neheheheheh!” Unable to budge as he assaults my sensitive feet, my only consolation is that he doesn’t have Phoebe’s sharp nails. Using that to my advantage, I struggle to use my words to dissuade him, but speaking English is growing more difficult. “Hahahaha c-cohohohome on! Th-thihihihi-is… mahahahahbye we could…wait!” I feel his pointer fingers wander over to the edges of my feet. I swear, if he touches me under my pinkie toes I’ll... “NOHOHOHOHO! NOHOHOHO YOU BASTARD! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” He knows I hate it there, but what can I do to stop him as he sits there, back turned and probably grinning like a little boy who just stole my diary? And of course he’ll get away with it. The cunning devil knows me too well.

“See what I’m doing, Phoebe?” David says. “She absolutely hates it here. Just one toe is bad enough, but tickling both at once…”

“SHUT UP! SHAHAHAHAHAHAHDAP! HAHAHAHAHAHAOHOHOHOSTAHAHAHPIT! PLEHEHEASE!” I tug against my toe restraints, feeling everyone’s eyes on me the whole time as I degrade myself before them. I throw back my head and howl with laughter, unable to even think of staunching the flow of laughter, now that two of my surrender spots are under attack. Through the narrow slit of my left eye, I see Phoebe. She gawks at me, eyes wide open, hands pressed to her mouth and jaw hanging open.

David continues to lecture her, describing each of my reactions and making me feel like a sideshow.

My cheeks grow warm and I avert my gaze, but I can still feel Phoebe’s stare and can visualize the pity in her eyes, as David’s fingers, wiggling under my toes drive me into a wild hysteria. It hardly seems fair. Last week, my fingers had her shrieking, writhing against her restraints, and begging me to stop for a good 15 minutes, but she didn’t complain afterwards. What gives her the right to pity me over something like this?

David’s fingers slide away from my pinkie toes, trailing down my arches and making me squeak as they dismount with a flick off the heels of my feet. He then turns and grins at me, while I stare back, resisting the urge to giggle. “Oooh you asked for it. When I get out of this, you are so… so…” My voice trails off, and my eyes widen as a pair of younger hands appear in front of me, wiggling their fingers. I recognize the dexterous things right away and every muscle in my body tightens. “Oooh no! Dwayne, don’t you even think about it,” I say, giggling despite my protests.

The hands fly off in opposite directions, disappearing from my sight. An instant later, ten fingers press into my forearms and drag downwards, sending tingles along my arms and a third tingle down my spine. My breaths go quick and light, and my fists clench as Dwayne’s hands descend towards my armpits. I know what those hands are about to do to me. I know what they can do to me. I still remember what they’ve done to me, like it happened this morning instead of last month. My entire body reacts from their warm touch, and the goosebumps from before return to my arms.

As his hands descend, my anticipation of ticklish oblivion dominates all my senses. David’s lecturing and Phoebe’s gawking fade from my awareness, no longer registering in my mind. The tips of Dwayne’s strong fingers slide past the undersides of my elbows, wiggling his fingers into them just long enough to make me scrunch my shoulders and smirk from the tease.

Then we enter more dangerous territory. Before, I knew the destination. Now, the runway is in sight, the flaps are up, the landing gear is out, and all I can do is hold my breath and wait for the very bumpy landing.

The feeling running down my arms is just a very light tingle, but anticipating the oncoming torture, and thinking about Dwayne’s amused grin, both reduce me to helpless giggles. “P-leheheehease! D-Dwayne… Tchehehe! D-don’t do this…” I say, sporting a blushing grin.

DO IT! my subconscious screams. I brace myself for it, sucking in my breath, biting my, lip and feeling determined to fight my ticklish impulses for as long as I can. A fight I’m bound to lose eventually. I can’t wait.

Of course, he would never make it that simple. Both hands continue their course. They’re inches from my pits, inches from pushing me over the edge and into wild helpless hysteria. As they come within a centimeter of the soft valleys, they slow their descent. By the time Dwayne’s finger tips reach the very edges of my pits, I’m certain that they couldn’t possibly move any slower.

He seems to agree, for his hands have come to rest, one finger flick away from their smooth, hairless targets. I know his game, but it doesn’t make this any easier. I squeal with impatience as I sit there, unmolested, while my mind goes wild with fantasies of being bent to his whim. Why must he torment me like this?

A hand ventures downward, dipping into the hollow of my armpit and scratching along the surface. My face scrunches and giggles tumble out despite my best efforts. I tilt my upper body toward his hand, hoping to somehow cover myself, but then his other hand comes down to tickle the other spot that I’ve so generously offered him. “Nohohoho! Stahahahahahap!” I wiggle from side to side, each time maneuvering one of my pits right into his waiting fingers and driving up the volume of my laughter until I’m shaking my head and howling.

“Right now, you belong to me,” he whispers right into my ear in a husky voice, making the small hairs on my back prick up. “Stop struggling and surrender.” His words are too soft for the camera to pick up. They were meant for me alone. “You’re only keeping this up because I let you. After all…” One of his hands lifts from my armpit and darts for my neck, fingers teasing the side of it with spidery strokes.

“Stahahahahpit! Dohohohon’t you dare! Hahahahaha!” I say, trying and failing to assert my authority over him. Each finger stroke draws a small gasp from me. I try to keep calm, but I know what’s coming next. He waits until I’m blubbering pleas for him to stop, then lifts his other hand and begins toying with the other side of my neck. A switch is flicked somewhere in my mind and I go completely nuts. “NOHOHOHOHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” I lift my shoulders, and whip my head from side to side, but his fingers are in too deep for me to shield myself from this torture.

I’ve reached the limits of my resistance. I throw my head back and surrender to the tickling. Letting his fingers guide my every action. I hear him snicker as I lose myself to my impulses.

By the time his hands lift, droplets of sweat have begun to roll down my forehead. I fall back into the chair, gasping for breath. Dwayne gives me a comforting pat on the head before circling around to the front. I grin, still giddy from the experience. Then my gaze returns to David and Phoebe. David covers his mouth, suppressing a laugh at my expense, while Phoebe’s face hasn’t changed at all. Her arms hang to either side of her, but her mouth is still ajar.

Blushing, I shoot David a bitter look, as I recall how this all started. “Care to explain why you didn’t think to warn me?” I ask with an edge in my tone. “You owe me for that.”

David shrugs and walks up to the stocks, hands ready. My eyes bug out as his hands lower to my helpless feet. “H-hey! What are you…” I gasp as I feel the touch of his fingers on my feet, and I brace myself for more punishment. However, instead, he rewards me with a foot rub using the flats of his warm fingers. This couldn’t come at a better time. I sigh and roll my head back as he lets me catch my breath. I want to scold him some more, but the fear of losing this blissful foot rub keeps me quiet. “Never… do that to me again,” I say, moaning as he presses deep into the balls of my feet.

I see no signs of remorse on his face, just the same old grin. “Would you let me do it again if I throw in another foot rub?” He punctuates the question by giving each of my toes a nice tug.

“Mmmm!…maybe?” I giggle, swooning with each stretch that I feel.

“Um… I’m still not sure if I feel okay…” Phoebe says.

David blinks in surprise. “Oh, right! Phoebe!”

“Yes, David,” I say, waggling my finger from its position high above my head. “She was why you tickled me, remember?”

He chuckles and slaps his forehead. “Ah, Phoebe. Sorry, but after putting Angel through all that, I doubt she’s ready for any more right now.” He turns to me. “You wouldn’t actually be willing to…?”

I shake my head. “No, I would not. I need a break.”

“R-right.” He turns back to Phoebe. “So, you see… Oh God this is embarrassing. And you’re not looking any more motivated than before.” He sighs. “Fun as that was, it looks like it was just a waste of time.”

“Well, we could use the footage from your ‘Lesson’,” Dwayne says. “I’m sure people would be happy to see that.”

“What?” David shakes his head, blinking. “But I thought the camera wasn’t rolling?”

Dwayne grins. “Once I saw what you were up to, I decided to turn it back on. It looked too good not to capture. You have to admit, it’s pretty funny how this turned out. I’m sure the audience will love it.”

David folds his arms and stares at the floor. “Hmmm…. Maybe. With some changes to the video description, we could make this work after all.” He looks up and pats Dwayne on the back. “So, how’s that, Dwayne? Looks like all this craziness got you into your first shoot. There’s just one thing.”

He spins around, facing me directly with his hands on his hips. “Angel, this wasn’t what you signed up for.” My mouth falls open. If he tries to worm his way out of paying me, I’ll throttle him in his sleep, blissful foot massage be damned!

He appears to notice the look in my eyes. “Easy, Angel. We fully intend to pay you for everything. I just need your consent before I release this off-contract video.”

I sigh, then press my lips together, stifling a laugh. It seems poor David’s forgotten that he never told me who my tickler was supposed to be in the first place. “Well,” I begin, shooting him a coy grin, “I think I can be convinced…”

David leans in, eyes wide. “Yes? If?”

I giggle. “If you let me have a free copy for myself, you can sell as many as you want. I’m sure it’ll make for some very pleasant memories.” I yawn. “Now, could you please help me out of this device? My throat is parched and I need to pee.”