PeterVincentTGVK
1st Level Red Feather
- Joined
- Jun 25, 2007
- Messages
- 1,065
- Points
- 38
The other side of the story. Enjoy!
I can only imagine how others have been selected for their posts here. I can only speak for how I arrived where I am now.
I suppose it all started back when I was in the third grade, watching TV on Saturday mornings. I mean honestly, between Sonic The Hedgehog, Tiny Toons, Muppet Babies, and of course, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles… I am surprised that every other person between 25 and 35 on this planet isn’t at least somewhat intrigued by the phenomenon that is tickle torture.
I kept my fascination to myself for many years until it had developed into a full blown fetish. When I was in high school, that interest peaked when I met my first boyfriend. Of course, being a guy at that age, he only wanted one thing… but I wanted another. One night in my room when my parents were vacationing, I made him a deal: I would have sex with him if he could last an hour of me tickling him without crying “Uncle”. He agreed. I tied him naked to my bed…
He didn’t last five minutes but I still gave into him.
When I got to college, I majored in history while also taking the time to learn a couple of different languages. My history professor had given us a writing assignment. He wanted three thousand words on medieval torture techniques. I did him one better. I gave him six thousand words on the recorded uses and methods of tickle torture throughout history, from the Han Dynasty to the stocks in Europe and early American history. At first, I thought that he believed my paper was a total joke.
But it wasn’t long before my paper found it’s way to someone at the agency.
I was called in for an interview. They made themselves very clear. School was out, they said. They would give me a house, a car, and 100K a year to work for them. In addition, they would fund any research into my field. I asked them what working for them would entail. They told me that I was to assist in interrogations, using my knowledge of tickle torture to help extract information. It was a dream come true. I could literally do my favorite thing in the world and get paid damn good money for doing it. I eagerly accepted the position.
The first few months were all consuming. I had to be trained in certain related fields including knot-tying, calligraphy (so that I could learn to steady my hands), and I even spent two months shadowing a prostitute to learn how to sexually please both genders if need be.
Once my training was complete, I was called in for my first assignment. I was so nervous. I thought that I was going to fail miserably. The subject was male. And after only three minutes of me at his feet, he talked.
It was a complete success.
In fact, in the many years that I have now been with the agency, I have only screwed up once. And really it wasn’t even my fault. None of us knew that the 47 year old woman had a heart condition.
But once I got under her arms, we found out.
It broke me. I didn’t know if I wanted to continue my work. I took a month off and collected myself until I felt I could return. My superior, 13, was really great about it, counseling me and helping me to understand that sometimes things like that might happen.
Hell, we had people who sliced subjects up. Sometimes death was just inevitable.
As I said, 13 was a wonderful superior. More of a mentor, really. She was in her 52nd year but I think that when she took me one, she quickly viewed me as something of a daughter to her. I quickly became her favorite. Even the resident fingernail puller didn’t get results as fast as I could.
I even pioneered the concept of having two phases to the torture. Phase 1 was to inspect and put the subject on their toes, no pun intended. Phase 2 was to seek out those sweet spots that had been uncovered and exploit them until the subject cracked.
I will admit that I was a bit annoyed when I got the call that there was a new subject in, and that the session was set to start in ten minutes. It gave me next to no time to prepare.
It wasn’t even very unusual for them to summon me at a moment’s notice. It’s just that it was particularly inconvenient as I was doing research into the ticklish responses between age groups when I was suddenly ordered to break from it. The 20 year old and 60 year old women would have to wait. Oh, well. They were volunteers. And they were being paid very well to participate.
They wouldn’t tell me much of anything about the subject. Nothing new there. They didn’t want us knowing any intimate details about our subjects. Not even their names. They also refused to spell out for us why the subjects were there. I never knew if I was applying my skills to a spy or a criminal or even a fellow torturer. But I suppose that made it easier for me to do my job. The one thing they told me was that when he was being treated, he flinched when a stethoscope touched his lower abdomen. I put a random variety of tools into my lab coat. I never knew what to expect, but I knew that if I had at least five different implements other than my fingers and mouth, I would probably be fine.
I finally reached door 237 and walked in. There he was, strapped nude to what I liked to call The Tickle Table. Not particularly original, but then again, I wasn’t trying to get a patent on it.
He was mildly attractive. You never really know, you see. It’s not always like in the movies where spies and crooks are all relatively good looking. Still, this guy wasn’t half bad. I could tell that he was unsure of how to fathom my presence. He probably thought that I was there to hurt him in some way. I know that 13 had just finished speaking to him over the intercom just before I had walked in. But 13 never liked to flat out reveal the method of torture that awaited the subjects. Sometimes, I wished that she would, though. Just once. In my experience, knowing you are going to be tickled can heighten sensitivity even before the tickling starts. This is because of the anticipation. It infects them like a virus. But, she and I were never going to agree on everything.
I pulled up the stool that stood nearby and took a seat before pulling off the exam gloves that I had been wearing in the other room. It was time to begin.
The agency has me on a pretty strict regimen when it comes to my fingernails. Manicures are mandatory every two weeks. I had just had one yesterday. My fingernails were thick but relatively sharp. I watched as the subject exhaled sharply and stared at the ceiling. He was ready for my to burn or cut him in some way.
I knew that for sure when I started at his heels and he looked down at me with some visible bewilderment. I like to start with the feet because they are perhaps the most common tickle spot among mankind. This is for many reasons. One, there are many nerves in the feet. There are nearly 200,000 nerve endings in the sole of each human foot. And obviously, the more sensitive a body part is, the more ticklish it has the potential to be. Another reason is that foot tickling is much more common in the mainstream. As I had said before about cartoons, most tickle torture that we grow up with is directly related to foot tickling. No matter the gender, it is the most likely spot to inspire concern in a subject.
The heels are rarely ticklish enough to elicit much of a reaction though. Even if you use your thumbs to scratch, they just aren’t that responsive. It doesn’t matter though. Phase 1 entails a very gentle, calculated exploration of the subject’s body. It is just the simplest light wiggling of the fingers and the softest touches of the nails. I have a rule which dictates that if at any point in Phase 1, I can see more than a millimeter of a shadow from how deeply my nails are pressing, I am not doing it right. It must be done with a certain amount of tact. The point at this stage is to awaken the nerves, not to overwhelm them.
He didn’t react to the heel tickling, which is fine, I didn’t expect him to. I bring my nails up a couple of inches higher to his soles and insteps. He tenses and briefly fluctuates his form. And if that wasn’t noticeable enough, he scrunches his toes. He is not smiling yet, but he will. He has just given me a good idea about those piggies. All in good time, though. I see where his soles wrinkle and prune. I see the lines and the rifts. I chart and map them with my fingernails, watching as he grows more and more troubled by my ministrations.
When I get to his toes, my earlier suspicions are justified. There is something here to be sure. For the first time in the session, he is making a diligent attempt to evade my nails. I can’t let that pass. I think on the week or so that I spent learning about the effects of nursery rhymes and how closely the tickling of toes is linked to childhood experiences in many people. And while I have no intention of breaking into song, I can appreciate that the subject might have a past with someone who did. A sibling or babysitter. Maybe a mother or aunt. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that I learn more about these ten little Indians.
If there is one mistake that many ticklers make, it’s that they attack in spurts. If you only tickle for a few seconds at a time, the subject can fight it. You have to wear them down. You have to truly make them believe that you will not stop. It’s not unlike a predator taking advantage of their wounded prey. If a lion is stalking a gazelle with an injured leg, are they going to offer the animal help? No. They are going to capitalize on the opportunity. They are going to attack that weakness. That’s what I am doing to my subject now. His toes are ticklish. That much is obvious. I use a handful of techniques on his toes. I pat them. I scratch them. I poke them. I brush the tops of them. But I never stop touching them in some way. Not for even a second.
He’s been smiling against his will for a little while now. But the longer I tickle his toes, the wider that smile gets. We’re playing a game of tag, him and I. And he is perpetually “it”.
I get the first giggles out of him. And to be sure that it’s not any kind of fluke, I continue to tickle his toes for just a little longer before I finally stop.
“You’re ticklish.” I tell him. I am not mocking him in any way. I just want him to know. And I want him to know that I know. I pull out my Spot Book and make a note of the first weak spot I have found, adding that the webbing between his toes appeared to be the most sensitive. I then stand up from the stool and move just a foot or two over to the side. Another difference between myself and other ticklers is that I don’t take anything for granted. I won’t just tickle the spots that would be considered the usual suspects. People are different. You could meet someone who isn’t ticklish at all except for on their inner elbow. I mean, it’s totally possible. So why not at least check certain areas that another person might overlook? I bring my fingernails to his shins and circle around to his calves, slowly spiraling my way upwards. It’s tricky, not missing a spot. Imagine trying to tickle a cylinder. He’s quite uncomfortable with being tickled on his legs, but I imagine it’s not because they are actually ticklish. More likely, it’s just irritating.
After all, he’s very skinny.
The knees are up next. Knees, in my opinion, are an incredibly underrated tickle spot. Usually if one is tickled on their knees, they are grabbed or “goosed”. That can tickle. In fact, it usually does with almost anyone. But as we are still in Phase 1, I just want to see how he reacts to soft touches. I circle the knees and even have to bite my lip at one point. See, I had said earlier that I wasn’t going to break into song for the sake of the session. But for just a moment right there, When Johnny Comes Marching Home Again popped into my head and I almost started humming. 13 probably would have chastised me for it. In her opinion, even tickle torture needed to be an act that was performed with solemnity and dignity. He was snickering quietly as I tickled his knees and when I got under them, he looked even more uncomfortable, but ultimately it looked like a dead end. After all, I am not out for play. I am on the hunt.
I move on to his thighs. Like the knees, usually if you are tickled on your thighs, it’s because someone is grabbing them. It’s something that is much more common among high school crushes as a means of flirting. I have no interest in getting this guy’s number though. And I’m not fifteen anymore. I flutter may nails in the same fashion that I have been since we started. I go slowly up his thighs and back down again to his knees. His leg muscles are tense and his face carries the weight of his battle to keep from laughing. But when I get to his inner thighs, just above his knees, he cracks again.
Okay, so I have a theory about both genders when it comes to tickling. In a nutshell, if your inner thighs are ticklish, your genitals probably are as well. At least a little bit. Tickling is theorized by many to have once been a means of training soldiers. Waaaaaay back in the day, it was discovered that ticklish spots were often spots that armor could not cover during battle. Therefore, a good deal of people believe that the reason we are ticklish is to teach us to protect certain areas. The inner thighs and genitals of both genders are closely linked when it comes to tickling, once again because of the number of nerve endings, but also because, to sound a little violent, if those areas were sliced with a bladed weapon, you wouldn’t be long for this world. It’s incredibly helpful for me though, because even though I would have checked anyways, I can expect that the subjects genitals are most likely ticklish as well.
I explore the inner thighs methodically, and as I had suspected, the closer my fingers get to his privates, the more it seems to tickle him. This invoked another theory in me and to prove my point, I scuttled my fingernails up until I reached the crease where his thighs met his torso. When I touched there, he emitted a sound that I might expect from a preteen boy who is entering a cold pool. I make another note in my Spot Book, taking notice that he his penis had started to become erect as I tickled his inner thighs. It’s not uncommon, in fact, it’s perfectly natural for a male to experience arousal when the skin just under them is properly stimulated.
The male organ has always interested me. I suppose it interests all women to the extent that the labia and clitoris interest most men. The need to understand the sexual workings of the opposite sex is not new by any means. After all, when one is in bed with their lover, they want to be able to please them to the best of their ability. And if you don’t know what you are doing, you will never be able to accomplish that feat. As I made mention of earlier, one of the perks of being an employee of the agency is that they offer to fund any research into your field. This is done for two reasons. Obviously, one is to attract specialists like myself. But also, it aids us in perfecting our techniques. I have studied the contrasts in genital ticklishness for a few years and I have found that in terms of sensation, the head of a penis is similar to a clitoris when tickled. It might tickle a lot. Or it might just annoy the subject or feel unpleasant. The same can be said to an extent when comparing the labia and the scrotal skin. But of course, everyone is different. We are talking about rules to which there will always be exceptions, so all I can do is more research.
I’m sure the volunteers will all hate it…
I have the same rule with the penis that I have with the male form as a whole: Start with the bottom and work your way up. He is growing harder by the second. I can’t say that I am surprised. I am not a Goddess by any means but I am touching him in a number of very intimate areas. It makes perfect sense from a scientific perspective. Also, it works out better for me. When a woman becomes aroused, her vulva responds. Certain areas engorge and she becomes naturally lubricated. Her clitoris swells. When a woman with ticklish genitals is aroused, these areas pronounce themselves. They want more.
A man is not that different. Except that it is much more visibly discernible. Your average guy might not be able to tell you when a clitoris is engorged. But anyone anywhere can tell you when a guy gets an erection. More than that, many men, especially when they are young, experience a reaction which sees their testes being pulled in close to the body. Usually, they can hang down over and hide the perineum and anus when a man is laying down. When he becomes aroused though, there is a good chance that these areas will be revealed when his scrotum pulls his testicles in.
That certainly is the case with this subject.
I let my fingernails travel around the base of the penis and play in the short, curly hair directly above it. His face says it all, really. It tickles but not to any extreme extent. I move upwards, tracing the blue veins and red nerves that I can see with the touch of someone who is not wanting to put ripples in a pond. It is stimulating him to be sure. He is at full erection by the time I reach the head. I let it lay in my hand in lieu of his belly and run a fingertip up the length of the underside. The area just below the head responds with him twitching. Just to check my work, I run the finger two more times just to make sure that I get the same response.
I do.
While I have the penis laying in my hand and his balls are full on turtle-heading, I test them out.
Well, that didn’t take long. He is giggling like a kid in church. My theory about his thighs has proven correct. The dark line running down the middle of the scrotum is where I tickle first. The reaction is unmistakable. Not only are his balls ticklish, they are very ticklish. He is actually pulling on his bonds and making a legit attempt to evade my touch. The last time he had done that was when I tickled his toes, but this reaction was more energetic. I caught myself smirking in amusement. A silly thought had popped up in my mind: What nursery rhyme could relate to this? After all, there aren’t tickle songs for balls.
The explore the scrotum further. When I get to the underside of the sphere, he instantly becomes rather manic. This is the most responsive area yet. There is something about this area that drives him crazy. He becomes even more desperate when my middle finger ever so gently tickles the magic spot where his balls meet his perineum. I am tempted to just tickle this spot until he cracks. I am sure that he eventually would. But I remember what my strategy requires and stop after a short while.
Time to collect myself. I breathe in and out and pop my knuckles. I had almost fallen into Tickler’s Bliss. When a tickler finds a spot that fills them with a combination of mirth and a desire to keep tickling. We’ve all felt it at some point. When the subject begs and pleads and a third party has to kind of snap us out of it. Any real tickler knows exactly what I am talking about. I almost fell into it just now, and I take a second to clear my head and note his responses in my Spot Book.
I am about to continue, lowering my fingers towards his belly when we see a wonderful sign of progress.
“No…” He whimpers like a worried child who is getting a shot and just saw the needle.
“What was that?” I hear 13 chime in over the intercom.
“It was nothing.” He replies.
“It didn’t sound like nothing. It sounded like someone is ready to talk.” I believe that 13 was born at night, but it wasn’t last night.
“Why are you doing this to me?” He asked. “All I wanted to do was go to a bar and have a goddamn drink!”
“Just a drink?” She asked. “With ten thousand dollars in hundreds in your inner jacket pockets? You must have been planning to really paint the town. Either that or you had interest in purchasing something in that bar other than alcohol. All we want is the name of the person you were there to meet. Just tell us the name and we will release you. It’s as simple as it can be.”
I look to his face. He is thinking about it. That alone tells us that he has the information that we seek. And now that it is apparent, we know the most important thing; That eventually, we will get what we want.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He fibs.
“Very well.” 13 says. “Number 7, as you were.”
He looks terrified.
Good.
I start at the skin at the top of the pubic hair, and slowly scuttle my way up. He breaks immediately. I can’t help but emit an amused giggle myself. There had to be a history here. Someone had put this tummy through the wringer when he was little. He carried with him enough experience in having his belly tickled that he knew before I had even started, how he would react when I did. As with the spot under his balls, I feel enticed by the idea of just tickling his tummy till he talks. But there is always the possibility that there is an even more vulnerable area to discover.
Still, that doesn’t mean that I should just let this breadbasket off the hook.
Remember when I told you about my high school sweetheart? How he broke after five minutes? Well, at least four of those minutes had been spent on his belly. I recalled the techniques I had used in those days… after slowly spidering up the length of the tummy, I played a silent game of “typewriter” with the lower belly before testing his bellybutton, which brought out a ticklish gasp from the subject. His sides were next, I drew my fingers up and down them in wavy lines as if each one of them was drawing a snake. He got super tense though when I started lightly scratching either side of his bellybutton in an ever expanding pattern until I discovered why: About two inches out from either side of his bellybutton were two weak spots. I stayed with them for a while as he developed tears in his eyes.
My inner bully got the better of me in this moment.
“You’re ticklish…” I told him again. But I was rather unprofessionally deriving personal pleasure from tormenting him now. I was teasing him like a big sister might. 13 said nothing, but I collected myself once again. I took out my book to note the gold that had been found.
“Let me out of here, 7.” He had the guts to request. “I’ll make it worth your while somehow.”
“I can’t let you go.” There wasn’t even a question here. I mean honestly, when you are in line at the store and a cashier won’t take your expired coupon, they are just doing their job. It’s not my fault that his freedom is an expired coupon.
“Of course you can. Why can’t you, really?” He insists. I give him the only answer that will end his line of questioning…
“Because you’re ticklish.”
He suddenly looks like his dog was just run over. He realizes now that neither 13 or I will grant him his freedom. I have to be honest, when I see that last bit of hope drain from his eyes…
I get a little wet.
I start again, this time at his ribs. I play the area with the “Rinse and Repeat” method. I tickle up, then tickle down about halfway the area, tickle up, then tickle back down… I want to tease each rib three different times in a way that he can’t block out. He was in motion, to be sure, but when I reached his underarms, he cracked again. This was the easy part. He was ticklish under his arms but the sheen from his sweat that had built over the last 20 minutes or so made it all too easy for my nimble fingers to glide and slide. I played in the hollows for a little bit before making a game of creeping down his biceps to see how close I could get before he gave me a giggle.
Fuck 13. I have to have some fun.
I continued there for a while before completing my search with his neck, ears, and collar. He reacted as he had when I was at his knees. He didn’t like it, but he could bear it. The last stop on the tickle train was his nipples. His penis twitched and he shuddered, but that’s just libido. Not ticklishness.
Well, that’s it for Phase 1. I am about to make one final note in my book when I hear 13 over the speakers again.
“How are you feeling?” She asks him.
“Is that the best you’ve got?” He laughs. “Hell, your pathetic needle expert couldn’t get anything out of me. Your Hostel-looking dude in the bloody apron didn’t get a chance because he would have likely had me in 100 different pieces before getting anything meaningful out of me and this… this is your notorious Number 7??? Ha! Those two Asian bitches really built her up, too. I thought I was going to be face to face with the Devil herself but nope, just a little tickle time. In fact, I’m happy. I hadn’t laughed like that in a while. It’s liberating! Like getting a release. You know, I recall reading somewhere that laughter is really healthy. Stress relief and all of that good stuff. So thank you, but it looks like ya’ll ain’t gonna get your man after all…”
I may as well have someone tickling myself because it’s all I can do to not laugh at his presumptions.
“You misunderstand.” She tells him.
“I misunderstand what?”
“The session doesn’t just end after a certain amount of time. Didn’t you notice 7 taking her notes? She was mapping out a plan of attack for the REAL torture. What we call Phase 2.”
He looks up at me, his very breath pleading with me. Sorry, pal. No dice. Like The Rock in The Rundown, Santa Claus doesn’t give any breaks.
“You can either give us the name of your contact, or we can begin. And believe me when I say that nobody has ever not talked during Phase 2. Not in the twelve years that 7 has been with us. So how about it? Will you talk now and show your nerves some mercy?”
“You don’t understand.” He begged. “I don’t know who he works for. I don’t know what will happen to me if I talk. I can’t take the risks.”
“What if I told you that we could keep you here, in another part of this facility, where you would be treated as a valued guest and given every hospitality while we tracked this man down and took care of all of those so-called risks? Would you tell us then?”
“I don’t believe you.” I watched the negotiation fall apart as he replied to her. “If it was that easy, torture wouldn’t be necessary. I could have woken up in an actual bedroom, greeted with a cup of coffee and a simple conversation and I would have had no reason not to tell you.”
“Except you wouldn’t have believed us.” 13 pointed out. “And then we would have had to bring you into this room anyways so… 7… show our friend here why torture is necessary.”
That was my cue to begin Phase 2. I decide to start with something he secretly was desperate for me to use in other areas: My mouth. In my studies, I have found that the mouth is an invaluable tickle tool. A kiss or lick in a special spot could be devastating. This isn’t more true for any other area than a well-placed raspberry directly into a ticklish navel. But I will not make it that easy.
The bellybutton of this subject is near perfect. It’s an innie. There is a slightly purple knot just inside but the well itself is well founded. Well edged. I purse my lips and slide my tongue into it, much to his trepidation. He breaks and I use my tongue on his bellybutton the way I was taught to use it on a penis.
He simply cannot deal. But I seal it with an enthusiastic zerbert.
“The name of your contact?” 13 asked again.
He couldn’t speak very easily as I blew into his birth spot. Instead, he just shook his head no.
“7?”
Time for my next trick. I reach into my pockets to retrieve my modified metal chopsticks. I attack those danger zones on either side of his bellybutton. He is so distressed that I am secretly hoping that he will just give in.
Well, a part of me is, anyways.
“The name?” She asks again.
“NOOO HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”
“7?”
Okay, time to introduce him to Ms. Fuzzy. I had snipped off a part of my friend’s daughter’s old gloves to have something of an itchy fabric that would cover most of my finger. Seemed like a good idea at the time. And when I move down to his feet to try it out, I am certainly rewarded. I poke and wiggle it between the big and second toes of his right foot and he surrenders his sanity to me.
“JESUS CHRIHIHIHIIHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”
It won’t be too much longer now. I get in between him like a dentist flossing a patient.
“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”
“The name?” 13 asks once more.
“NEVERRRRR!
“7?”
That’s it. The final straw. I am not going to fail this assignment. I know what will make him break. I knew the second I touched it. I move back to the center of his body and remove the fabric from my finger before I start to masturbate him, tickling and stroking the penis with equal zest.
It takes no time at all.
Once again, he is hard. Once again, his testes are tucked in. Now… he’s done.
I tickle the underside and his perineum as I had before. Only now, I am not stopping or slowing. I hold his cock in my other hand. He cannot escape. He cannot bargain or reason. He can only laugh… and laugh.
“NOOOOOOOOOOOO! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”
“Talk.” 13 commands.
“NOOO!”
“Talk or it won’t stop.” I need to reveal my ace in the hole now as she threatens him. I nimbly lick my pointer finger of the hand I have on his cock and dip it into his bellybutton
“Ticklish…” I taunt him one more time, simply stating the fact
“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”
“It will never stop.” 13 guarantees.
“IVAN GORSHAV!” He finally shouts out.
I have done my job. They will take it from here. Returning to my office, I crack my knuckles.
All in a day’s work, I suppose.
I can only imagine how others have been selected for their posts here. I can only speak for how I arrived where I am now.
I suppose it all started back when I was in the third grade, watching TV on Saturday mornings. I mean honestly, between Sonic The Hedgehog, Tiny Toons, Muppet Babies, and of course, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles… I am surprised that every other person between 25 and 35 on this planet isn’t at least somewhat intrigued by the phenomenon that is tickle torture.
I kept my fascination to myself for many years until it had developed into a full blown fetish. When I was in high school, that interest peaked when I met my first boyfriend. Of course, being a guy at that age, he only wanted one thing… but I wanted another. One night in my room when my parents were vacationing, I made him a deal: I would have sex with him if he could last an hour of me tickling him without crying “Uncle”. He agreed. I tied him naked to my bed…
He didn’t last five minutes but I still gave into him.
When I got to college, I majored in history while also taking the time to learn a couple of different languages. My history professor had given us a writing assignment. He wanted three thousand words on medieval torture techniques. I did him one better. I gave him six thousand words on the recorded uses and methods of tickle torture throughout history, from the Han Dynasty to the stocks in Europe and early American history. At first, I thought that he believed my paper was a total joke.
But it wasn’t long before my paper found it’s way to someone at the agency.
I was called in for an interview. They made themselves very clear. School was out, they said. They would give me a house, a car, and 100K a year to work for them. In addition, they would fund any research into my field. I asked them what working for them would entail. They told me that I was to assist in interrogations, using my knowledge of tickle torture to help extract information. It was a dream come true. I could literally do my favorite thing in the world and get paid damn good money for doing it. I eagerly accepted the position.
The first few months were all consuming. I had to be trained in certain related fields including knot-tying, calligraphy (so that I could learn to steady my hands), and I even spent two months shadowing a prostitute to learn how to sexually please both genders if need be.
Once my training was complete, I was called in for my first assignment. I was so nervous. I thought that I was going to fail miserably. The subject was male. And after only three minutes of me at his feet, he talked.
It was a complete success.
In fact, in the many years that I have now been with the agency, I have only screwed up once. And really it wasn’t even my fault. None of us knew that the 47 year old woman had a heart condition.
But once I got under her arms, we found out.
It broke me. I didn’t know if I wanted to continue my work. I took a month off and collected myself until I felt I could return. My superior, 13, was really great about it, counseling me and helping me to understand that sometimes things like that might happen.
Hell, we had people who sliced subjects up. Sometimes death was just inevitable.
As I said, 13 was a wonderful superior. More of a mentor, really. She was in her 52nd year but I think that when she took me one, she quickly viewed me as something of a daughter to her. I quickly became her favorite. Even the resident fingernail puller didn’t get results as fast as I could.
I even pioneered the concept of having two phases to the torture. Phase 1 was to inspect and put the subject on their toes, no pun intended. Phase 2 was to seek out those sweet spots that had been uncovered and exploit them until the subject cracked.
I will admit that I was a bit annoyed when I got the call that there was a new subject in, and that the session was set to start in ten minutes. It gave me next to no time to prepare.
It wasn’t even very unusual for them to summon me at a moment’s notice. It’s just that it was particularly inconvenient as I was doing research into the ticklish responses between age groups when I was suddenly ordered to break from it. The 20 year old and 60 year old women would have to wait. Oh, well. They were volunteers. And they were being paid very well to participate.
They wouldn’t tell me much of anything about the subject. Nothing new there. They didn’t want us knowing any intimate details about our subjects. Not even their names. They also refused to spell out for us why the subjects were there. I never knew if I was applying my skills to a spy or a criminal or even a fellow torturer. But I suppose that made it easier for me to do my job. The one thing they told me was that when he was being treated, he flinched when a stethoscope touched his lower abdomen. I put a random variety of tools into my lab coat. I never knew what to expect, but I knew that if I had at least five different implements other than my fingers and mouth, I would probably be fine.
I finally reached door 237 and walked in. There he was, strapped nude to what I liked to call The Tickle Table. Not particularly original, but then again, I wasn’t trying to get a patent on it.
He was mildly attractive. You never really know, you see. It’s not always like in the movies where spies and crooks are all relatively good looking. Still, this guy wasn’t half bad. I could tell that he was unsure of how to fathom my presence. He probably thought that I was there to hurt him in some way. I know that 13 had just finished speaking to him over the intercom just before I had walked in. But 13 never liked to flat out reveal the method of torture that awaited the subjects. Sometimes, I wished that she would, though. Just once. In my experience, knowing you are going to be tickled can heighten sensitivity even before the tickling starts. This is because of the anticipation. It infects them like a virus. But, she and I were never going to agree on everything.
I pulled up the stool that stood nearby and took a seat before pulling off the exam gloves that I had been wearing in the other room. It was time to begin.
The agency has me on a pretty strict regimen when it comes to my fingernails. Manicures are mandatory every two weeks. I had just had one yesterday. My fingernails were thick but relatively sharp. I watched as the subject exhaled sharply and stared at the ceiling. He was ready for my to burn or cut him in some way.
I knew that for sure when I started at his heels and he looked down at me with some visible bewilderment. I like to start with the feet because they are perhaps the most common tickle spot among mankind. This is for many reasons. One, there are many nerves in the feet. There are nearly 200,000 nerve endings in the sole of each human foot. And obviously, the more sensitive a body part is, the more ticklish it has the potential to be. Another reason is that foot tickling is much more common in the mainstream. As I had said before about cartoons, most tickle torture that we grow up with is directly related to foot tickling. No matter the gender, it is the most likely spot to inspire concern in a subject.
The heels are rarely ticklish enough to elicit much of a reaction though. Even if you use your thumbs to scratch, they just aren’t that responsive. It doesn’t matter though. Phase 1 entails a very gentle, calculated exploration of the subject’s body. It is just the simplest light wiggling of the fingers and the softest touches of the nails. I have a rule which dictates that if at any point in Phase 1, I can see more than a millimeter of a shadow from how deeply my nails are pressing, I am not doing it right. It must be done with a certain amount of tact. The point at this stage is to awaken the nerves, not to overwhelm them.
He didn’t react to the heel tickling, which is fine, I didn’t expect him to. I bring my nails up a couple of inches higher to his soles and insteps. He tenses and briefly fluctuates his form. And if that wasn’t noticeable enough, he scrunches his toes. He is not smiling yet, but he will. He has just given me a good idea about those piggies. All in good time, though. I see where his soles wrinkle and prune. I see the lines and the rifts. I chart and map them with my fingernails, watching as he grows more and more troubled by my ministrations.
When I get to his toes, my earlier suspicions are justified. There is something here to be sure. For the first time in the session, he is making a diligent attempt to evade my nails. I can’t let that pass. I think on the week or so that I spent learning about the effects of nursery rhymes and how closely the tickling of toes is linked to childhood experiences in many people. And while I have no intention of breaking into song, I can appreciate that the subject might have a past with someone who did. A sibling or babysitter. Maybe a mother or aunt. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that I learn more about these ten little Indians.
If there is one mistake that many ticklers make, it’s that they attack in spurts. If you only tickle for a few seconds at a time, the subject can fight it. You have to wear them down. You have to truly make them believe that you will not stop. It’s not unlike a predator taking advantage of their wounded prey. If a lion is stalking a gazelle with an injured leg, are they going to offer the animal help? No. They are going to capitalize on the opportunity. They are going to attack that weakness. That’s what I am doing to my subject now. His toes are ticklish. That much is obvious. I use a handful of techniques on his toes. I pat them. I scratch them. I poke them. I brush the tops of them. But I never stop touching them in some way. Not for even a second.
He’s been smiling against his will for a little while now. But the longer I tickle his toes, the wider that smile gets. We’re playing a game of tag, him and I. And he is perpetually “it”.
I get the first giggles out of him. And to be sure that it’s not any kind of fluke, I continue to tickle his toes for just a little longer before I finally stop.
“You’re ticklish.” I tell him. I am not mocking him in any way. I just want him to know. And I want him to know that I know. I pull out my Spot Book and make a note of the first weak spot I have found, adding that the webbing between his toes appeared to be the most sensitive. I then stand up from the stool and move just a foot or two over to the side. Another difference between myself and other ticklers is that I don’t take anything for granted. I won’t just tickle the spots that would be considered the usual suspects. People are different. You could meet someone who isn’t ticklish at all except for on their inner elbow. I mean, it’s totally possible. So why not at least check certain areas that another person might overlook? I bring my fingernails to his shins and circle around to his calves, slowly spiraling my way upwards. It’s tricky, not missing a spot. Imagine trying to tickle a cylinder. He’s quite uncomfortable with being tickled on his legs, but I imagine it’s not because they are actually ticklish. More likely, it’s just irritating.
After all, he’s very skinny.
The knees are up next. Knees, in my opinion, are an incredibly underrated tickle spot. Usually if one is tickled on their knees, they are grabbed or “goosed”. That can tickle. In fact, it usually does with almost anyone. But as we are still in Phase 1, I just want to see how he reacts to soft touches. I circle the knees and even have to bite my lip at one point. See, I had said earlier that I wasn’t going to break into song for the sake of the session. But for just a moment right there, When Johnny Comes Marching Home Again popped into my head and I almost started humming. 13 probably would have chastised me for it. In her opinion, even tickle torture needed to be an act that was performed with solemnity and dignity. He was snickering quietly as I tickled his knees and when I got under them, he looked even more uncomfortable, but ultimately it looked like a dead end. After all, I am not out for play. I am on the hunt.
I move on to his thighs. Like the knees, usually if you are tickled on your thighs, it’s because someone is grabbing them. It’s something that is much more common among high school crushes as a means of flirting. I have no interest in getting this guy’s number though. And I’m not fifteen anymore. I flutter may nails in the same fashion that I have been since we started. I go slowly up his thighs and back down again to his knees. His leg muscles are tense and his face carries the weight of his battle to keep from laughing. But when I get to his inner thighs, just above his knees, he cracks again.
Okay, so I have a theory about both genders when it comes to tickling. In a nutshell, if your inner thighs are ticklish, your genitals probably are as well. At least a little bit. Tickling is theorized by many to have once been a means of training soldiers. Waaaaaay back in the day, it was discovered that ticklish spots were often spots that armor could not cover during battle. Therefore, a good deal of people believe that the reason we are ticklish is to teach us to protect certain areas. The inner thighs and genitals of both genders are closely linked when it comes to tickling, once again because of the number of nerve endings, but also because, to sound a little violent, if those areas were sliced with a bladed weapon, you wouldn’t be long for this world. It’s incredibly helpful for me though, because even though I would have checked anyways, I can expect that the subjects genitals are most likely ticklish as well.
I explore the inner thighs methodically, and as I had suspected, the closer my fingers get to his privates, the more it seems to tickle him. This invoked another theory in me and to prove my point, I scuttled my fingernails up until I reached the crease where his thighs met his torso. When I touched there, he emitted a sound that I might expect from a preteen boy who is entering a cold pool. I make another note in my Spot Book, taking notice that he his penis had started to become erect as I tickled his inner thighs. It’s not uncommon, in fact, it’s perfectly natural for a male to experience arousal when the skin just under them is properly stimulated.
The male organ has always interested me. I suppose it interests all women to the extent that the labia and clitoris interest most men. The need to understand the sexual workings of the opposite sex is not new by any means. After all, when one is in bed with their lover, they want to be able to please them to the best of their ability. And if you don’t know what you are doing, you will never be able to accomplish that feat. As I made mention of earlier, one of the perks of being an employee of the agency is that they offer to fund any research into your field. This is done for two reasons. Obviously, one is to attract specialists like myself. But also, it aids us in perfecting our techniques. I have studied the contrasts in genital ticklishness for a few years and I have found that in terms of sensation, the head of a penis is similar to a clitoris when tickled. It might tickle a lot. Or it might just annoy the subject or feel unpleasant. The same can be said to an extent when comparing the labia and the scrotal skin. But of course, everyone is different. We are talking about rules to which there will always be exceptions, so all I can do is more research.
I’m sure the volunteers will all hate it…
I have the same rule with the penis that I have with the male form as a whole: Start with the bottom and work your way up. He is growing harder by the second. I can’t say that I am surprised. I am not a Goddess by any means but I am touching him in a number of very intimate areas. It makes perfect sense from a scientific perspective. Also, it works out better for me. When a woman becomes aroused, her vulva responds. Certain areas engorge and she becomes naturally lubricated. Her clitoris swells. When a woman with ticklish genitals is aroused, these areas pronounce themselves. They want more.
A man is not that different. Except that it is much more visibly discernible. Your average guy might not be able to tell you when a clitoris is engorged. But anyone anywhere can tell you when a guy gets an erection. More than that, many men, especially when they are young, experience a reaction which sees their testes being pulled in close to the body. Usually, they can hang down over and hide the perineum and anus when a man is laying down. When he becomes aroused though, there is a good chance that these areas will be revealed when his scrotum pulls his testicles in.
That certainly is the case with this subject.
I let my fingernails travel around the base of the penis and play in the short, curly hair directly above it. His face says it all, really. It tickles but not to any extreme extent. I move upwards, tracing the blue veins and red nerves that I can see with the touch of someone who is not wanting to put ripples in a pond. It is stimulating him to be sure. He is at full erection by the time I reach the head. I let it lay in my hand in lieu of his belly and run a fingertip up the length of the underside. The area just below the head responds with him twitching. Just to check my work, I run the finger two more times just to make sure that I get the same response.
I do.
While I have the penis laying in my hand and his balls are full on turtle-heading, I test them out.
Well, that didn’t take long. He is giggling like a kid in church. My theory about his thighs has proven correct. The dark line running down the middle of the scrotum is where I tickle first. The reaction is unmistakable. Not only are his balls ticklish, they are very ticklish. He is actually pulling on his bonds and making a legit attempt to evade my touch. The last time he had done that was when I tickled his toes, but this reaction was more energetic. I caught myself smirking in amusement. A silly thought had popped up in my mind: What nursery rhyme could relate to this? After all, there aren’t tickle songs for balls.
The explore the scrotum further. When I get to the underside of the sphere, he instantly becomes rather manic. This is the most responsive area yet. There is something about this area that drives him crazy. He becomes even more desperate when my middle finger ever so gently tickles the magic spot where his balls meet his perineum. I am tempted to just tickle this spot until he cracks. I am sure that he eventually would. But I remember what my strategy requires and stop after a short while.
Time to collect myself. I breathe in and out and pop my knuckles. I had almost fallen into Tickler’s Bliss. When a tickler finds a spot that fills them with a combination of mirth and a desire to keep tickling. We’ve all felt it at some point. When the subject begs and pleads and a third party has to kind of snap us out of it. Any real tickler knows exactly what I am talking about. I almost fell into it just now, and I take a second to clear my head and note his responses in my Spot Book.
I am about to continue, lowering my fingers towards his belly when we see a wonderful sign of progress.
“No…” He whimpers like a worried child who is getting a shot and just saw the needle.
“What was that?” I hear 13 chime in over the intercom.
“It was nothing.” He replies.
“It didn’t sound like nothing. It sounded like someone is ready to talk.” I believe that 13 was born at night, but it wasn’t last night.
“Why are you doing this to me?” He asked. “All I wanted to do was go to a bar and have a goddamn drink!”
“Just a drink?” She asked. “With ten thousand dollars in hundreds in your inner jacket pockets? You must have been planning to really paint the town. Either that or you had interest in purchasing something in that bar other than alcohol. All we want is the name of the person you were there to meet. Just tell us the name and we will release you. It’s as simple as it can be.”
I look to his face. He is thinking about it. That alone tells us that he has the information that we seek. And now that it is apparent, we know the most important thing; That eventually, we will get what we want.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He fibs.
“Very well.” 13 says. “Number 7, as you were.”
He looks terrified.
Good.
I start at the skin at the top of the pubic hair, and slowly scuttle my way up. He breaks immediately. I can’t help but emit an amused giggle myself. There had to be a history here. Someone had put this tummy through the wringer when he was little. He carried with him enough experience in having his belly tickled that he knew before I had even started, how he would react when I did. As with the spot under his balls, I feel enticed by the idea of just tickling his tummy till he talks. But there is always the possibility that there is an even more vulnerable area to discover.
Still, that doesn’t mean that I should just let this breadbasket off the hook.
Remember when I told you about my high school sweetheart? How he broke after five minutes? Well, at least four of those minutes had been spent on his belly. I recalled the techniques I had used in those days… after slowly spidering up the length of the tummy, I played a silent game of “typewriter” with the lower belly before testing his bellybutton, which brought out a ticklish gasp from the subject. His sides were next, I drew my fingers up and down them in wavy lines as if each one of them was drawing a snake. He got super tense though when I started lightly scratching either side of his bellybutton in an ever expanding pattern until I discovered why: About two inches out from either side of his bellybutton were two weak spots. I stayed with them for a while as he developed tears in his eyes.
My inner bully got the better of me in this moment.
“You’re ticklish…” I told him again. But I was rather unprofessionally deriving personal pleasure from tormenting him now. I was teasing him like a big sister might. 13 said nothing, but I collected myself once again. I took out my book to note the gold that had been found.
“Let me out of here, 7.” He had the guts to request. “I’ll make it worth your while somehow.”
“I can’t let you go.” There wasn’t even a question here. I mean honestly, when you are in line at the store and a cashier won’t take your expired coupon, they are just doing their job. It’s not my fault that his freedom is an expired coupon.
“Of course you can. Why can’t you, really?” He insists. I give him the only answer that will end his line of questioning…
“Because you’re ticklish.”
He suddenly looks like his dog was just run over. He realizes now that neither 13 or I will grant him his freedom. I have to be honest, when I see that last bit of hope drain from his eyes…
I get a little wet.
I start again, this time at his ribs. I play the area with the “Rinse and Repeat” method. I tickle up, then tickle down about halfway the area, tickle up, then tickle back down… I want to tease each rib three different times in a way that he can’t block out. He was in motion, to be sure, but when I reached his underarms, he cracked again. This was the easy part. He was ticklish under his arms but the sheen from his sweat that had built over the last 20 minutes or so made it all too easy for my nimble fingers to glide and slide. I played in the hollows for a little bit before making a game of creeping down his biceps to see how close I could get before he gave me a giggle.
Fuck 13. I have to have some fun.
I continued there for a while before completing my search with his neck, ears, and collar. He reacted as he had when I was at his knees. He didn’t like it, but he could bear it. The last stop on the tickle train was his nipples. His penis twitched and he shuddered, but that’s just libido. Not ticklishness.
Well, that’s it for Phase 1. I am about to make one final note in my book when I hear 13 over the speakers again.
“How are you feeling?” She asks him.
“Is that the best you’ve got?” He laughs. “Hell, your pathetic needle expert couldn’t get anything out of me. Your Hostel-looking dude in the bloody apron didn’t get a chance because he would have likely had me in 100 different pieces before getting anything meaningful out of me and this… this is your notorious Number 7??? Ha! Those two Asian bitches really built her up, too. I thought I was going to be face to face with the Devil herself but nope, just a little tickle time. In fact, I’m happy. I hadn’t laughed like that in a while. It’s liberating! Like getting a release. You know, I recall reading somewhere that laughter is really healthy. Stress relief and all of that good stuff. So thank you, but it looks like ya’ll ain’t gonna get your man after all…”
I may as well have someone tickling myself because it’s all I can do to not laugh at his presumptions.
“You misunderstand.” She tells him.
“I misunderstand what?”
“The session doesn’t just end after a certain amount of time. Didn’t you notice 7 taking her notes? She was mapping out a plan of attack for the REAL torture. What we call Phase 2.”
He looks up at me, his very breath pleading with me. Sorry, pal. No dice. Like The Rock in The Rundown, Santa Claus doesn’t give any breaks.
“You can either give us the name of your contact, or we can begin. And believe me when I say that nobody has ever not talked during Phase 2. Not in the twelve years that 7 has been with us. So how about it? Will you talk now and show your nerves some mercy?”
“You don’t understand.” He begged. “I don’t know who he works for. I don’t know what will happen to me if I talk. I can’t take the risks.”
“What if I told you that we could keep you here, in another part of this facility, where you would be treated as a valued guest and given every hospitality while we tracked this man down and took care of all of those so-called risks? Would you tell us then?”
“I don’t believe you.” I watched the negotiation fall apart as he replied to her. “If it was that easy, torture wouldn’t be necessary. I could have woken up in an actual bedroom, greeted with a cup of coffee and a simple conversation and I would have had no reason not to tell you.”
“Except you wouldn’t have believed us.” 13 pointed out. “And then we would have had to bring you into this room anyways so… 7… show our friend here why torture is necessary.”
That was my cue to begin Phase 2. I decide to start with something he secretly was desperate for me to use in other areas: My mouth. In my studies, I have found that the mouth is an invaluable tickle tool. A kiss or lick in a special spot could be devastating. This isn’t more true for any other area than a well-placed raspberry directly into a ticklish navel. But I will not make it that easy.
The bellybutton of this subject is near perfect. It’s an innie. There is a slightly purple knot just inside but the well itself is well founded. Well edged. I purse my lips and slide my tongue into it, much to his trepidation. He breaks and I use my tongue on his bellybutton the way I was taught to use it on a penis.
He simply cannot deal. But I seal it with an enthusiastic zerbert.
“The name of your contact?” 13 asked again.
He couldn’t speak very easily as I blew into his birth spot. Instead, he just shook his head no.
“7?”
Time for my next trick. I reach into my pockets to retrieve my modified metal chopsticks. I attack those danger zones on either side of his bellybutton. He is so distressed that I am secretly hoping that he will just give in.
Well, a part of me is, anyways.
“The name?” She asks again.
“NOOO HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”
“7?”
Okay, time to introduce him to Ms. Fuzzy. I had snipped off a part of my friend’s daughter’s old gloves to have something of an itchy fabric that would cover most of my finger. Seemed like a good idea at the time. And when I move down to his feet to try it out, I am certainly rewarded. I poke and wiggle it between the big and second toes of his right foot and he surrenders his sanity to me.
“JESUS CHRIHIHIHIIHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”
It won’t be too much longer now. I get in between him like a dentist flossing a patient.
“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”
“The name?” 13 asks once more.
“NEVERRRRR!
“7?”
That’s it. The final straw. I am not going to fail this assignment. I know what will make him break. I knew the second I touched it. I move back to the center of his body and remove the fabric from my finger before I start to masturbate him, tickling and stroking the penis with equal zest.
It takes no time at all.
Once again, he is hard. Once again, his testes are tucked in. Now… he’s done.
I tickle the underside and his perineum as I had before. Only now, I am not stopping or slowing. I hold his cock in my other hand. He cannot escape. He cannot bargain or reason. He can only laugh… and laugh.
“NOOOOOOOOOOOO! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”
“Talk.” 13 commands.
“NOOO!”
“Talk or it won’t stop.” I need to reveal my ace in the hole now as she threatens him. I nimbly lick my pointer finger of the hand I have on his cock and dip it into his bellybutton
“Ticklish…” I taunt him one more time, simply stating the fact
“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”
“It will never stop.” 13 guarantees.
“IVAN GORSHAV!” He finally shouts out.
I have done my job. They will take it from here. Returning to my office, I crack my knuckles.
All in a day’s work, I suppose.
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Thanks for this!
