Howdy, all. If you make guesses about this story, they're probably right. Yes, I do teach college, and yes, I have spent two years at two different colleges such as the ones in this story. Yes, this is a fantasy of mine, and yes, I am Dr. Smith, allegorically speaking. (I'm still finishing up my Ph.D coursework, but I can dream in all kinds of ways!)
That said, enjoy the story, and please leave feedback! (no, really--please leave feedback!)
A Philosophic Tickle
by
Kid Indy
Dr. Smith had heard of students who threatened and cried and appealed for higher grades, but he was never so lucky. The sole professor of philosophy at a small evangelical college, he always got the wannabe rebels, the kids who, because they doubted the goodness of the Republican party, thought they were as good as Che Guevara. They never begged for grades; instead they treated him as some kind of revolutionary leader, assuming that since he taught Marx he must be an anarchist and that since he taught Freud, he could give them inner peace as they contemplated sexual adventures that would scandalize their parents. Usually the guitar-playing, long-haired future seminary students would bring their unshaven selves to the shrine of Smith to learn the ways of postmodernism, only to become mostly conventional associate pastors five or six years later.
This time was different.
Nikki smelled much nicer than those Bible major boys. And she looked much nicer in shorts. And she was not an unshaven part-time youth pastor but a twenty-year-old, smooth-skinned, lightly tanned, medium-tall, blue-eyed blond piece of Renaissance artwork. (Smith had more of a Botticelli taste than a Reubens.) Her eyes looking up at him as he lectured had been distracting Smith for the last couple weeks of philosophy classes, gazing with such earnestness that he knew she had a Nietzsche-crush.
He had seen such things when he was a TA at state university--young women, who had never been exposed to any theories of beauty or reality or morality beyond MTV, would develop crushes on the instructors who taught them. Smith, who made very intentional a practice of avoiding such run-ins, had listened but never shared in the stories that his colleagues back at the university told about bagging undergrads.
But here he was, the young legs (he corrected his interior monologue--lady! lady!) was now in his office, and after just two days of discussing Nietzsche (it was always Nietzsche), the young lady (he congratulated himself on not thinking legs--but those legs were to die for) was there, in his office, beginning to confess her long-held, secret desire to "find something bigger." The script had not varied in the hundred years that philosophy professors taught Nietzsche, and the only variable was whether or not the teacher's own morality or timidity kept the young woman's clothes on. Smith went into damage control mode.
"Look, these texts will be around for as long as you want to read and reread them. Why don't you take some time to think about and internalize them" (this verb made his pants a little tight) "and wait to declare your verdict on traditional morality?"
"No, Dr. Smith. You know better than that. If the people of greatness hesitate, they'll just slide backwards back into slave morality. I know you haven't done that, and I'm not either!"
Smith fought the urge to roll his eyes; usually the undergrads didn't try to recite their Nietzsche-in-English texts directly to him. He tried to move to exhortation since caution didn't work. "Look, Nikki, you haven't been around these philosophies nearly long enough to say whether you're a person of greatness or not. Why don't you think about writing your term paper on that, and--"
Nikki's thin fingers gripped Smith's wrist. "No! Philosophy isn't something to write papers about. It's about living!"
Smith half-shrugged; she did have a point there. But no matter. He pulled free from her grasp and went back to professor mode. "Look, Nikki. Do you have a question about the class?"
Her blue eyes pinned him to his chair. "Yes. When are you going to take me beyond the textbook?"
Morality or no, Smith's silent member voted in the affirmative, forcing him to shift in his seat. "I'm not going to inquire further into that one, Nikki. I think you need to let me get back to work." He turned away from her, and he heard the door slam behind him.
More classes passed, and Fall was in its full throes. Smith taught his diligent undergrads Weber and utilitarianism and Freud and futurism, and Nikki's eyes grew more and more intense as the weeks passed, begging for his... he wasn't sure what. He did begin to respect more his fellow grad students back at university: one didn't need to go hunting for this kind of encounter; she was hunting him down, and flight from those eyes and that body and her full lips as she licked them, moving her tongue from one corner across the top lip and then... Smith snapped out of it and realized that he was not alone in his office.
"You can't wait forever, Dr. Smith. I can see that you want me."
He jumped up out of his chair and closed the door behind her. "Do you want to get me fired? Don't you remember where we are?"
"I remember, and I remember how you looked at me yesterday in class."
"Keep your voice down. Look, Nikki, you need to get your mind off of this bad idea. Even if I wanted to be the first to... I mean, you are... Are you--"
She looked down at her shoes, and he knew that she was.
"Right. Even if I wanted to be your first, you really don't want to go down this road. This semester will end, and you'll be in other classes and meet other people, and you don't want to have to go through life remembering a thirty-three-year-old man as your first... You know..."
Her eyes now glared into his, a fire sparking in those blue orbs. "You want to talk about being fired? I'll tell you about being fired!" She reached into her bag and produced a page of printed text with an Internet address at the bottom. Smith took the sheet from her and could feel himself going pale as he recognized a steamy romance novel that he'd written during grad school when he was hard up for cash. The little book had only sold a few copies by industry standards, enough to cover his debts, and was now circulating on the Internet under his former pen name, the original publishing company long having gone out of business. Beyond being the sort of thing that his employer would frown upon, Smith was somewhat disappointed in himself for writing such conventional sex scenes.
Nikki snapped him out of his reverie. "I know this is yours. I had a friend of mine track it to your home computer."
Now Smith was panicked. "A friend on campus?"
Nikki smiled like a cat eating a canary. "No, a friend back in Ohio. So now I know you're not conventional. I know you fantasize about power and domination and control. I know you're not a slave to lesser moralities. Now I want you to take me there!"
"You want me..." his pants expanded even as he thought it, "to..."
"Say it, Dr. Smith."
"You mean you want me to be the first to..."
She nodded.
"And you're sure you want it to be me who..."
She nodded. Smith was stuck between a rock and his hard-on as his brain fought for the now-scarcer blood supply. "So be it." He began to scribble something on a notecard. "Do not let anyone see this. Be there, then, and make sure you're alone."
The grin never left her face as she pocketed the note and left his office.
The rest of the week passed with little visible event; Smith taught his classes preoccupied but professionally, and he kept grading papers and planning lessons, knowing that Friday night was going to be anything but the usual.
Nikki had some trouble finding the small town on the notecard; Internet driving directions sites always do have trouble finding the out-of-the way. She pulled up to the nearly-abandoned motel where she saw Smith's car, her heart beating faster as she saw the room number on the door. She opened her cell phone, dialled the number on the notecard, and heard Smith on the other end.
"Are you alone?"
"Yes."
"Were you followed?"
"There was nobody on the road but me."
Smith was silent for a moment. "Come to the door and knock precisely four times." Nikki did so, and the door opened just enough for her to fit through. Smith remained hidden behind the door.
Smith saw a canvas sneaker come through first, then one jeans-clad leg. She wrapped herself around the door as she came in, and Smith beheld the form of woman. Her blue jeans and hooded sweatshirt concealed much of her skin, but for the first time, as he stood next to the closing door, he paid real attention to the way she moved. Her legs were long but not awkward, and her hips acted in concert with her abdomen so that her entire body seemed to glide towards him. She placed her hands on the wall, on either side of his shoulders, and leaned in close to him.
"What would you like to do first, teacher?"
Smith brushed her out of the way and grabbed the doorknob. "First I'd like to lock the door." He did so, turned back towards Nikki, and began to pace towards her, his hands clasped behind him as if he were about to lecture. "Now I'd like to get ready for your experience." As he drew the syllables of this last word out, he began to unzip a small suitcase on the floor next to the bed.
Nikki leaned in to catch a glimpse of what was inside. "What do you have in there? Are you going to change clothes?"
Smith chuckled. "No, that's not what I've got here." He stood up and displayed one of the artifacts, what looked like an archer's arm brace, made out of thick leather, with fur on the inside. She could see that he had four of these sorts of things, and she began to look from her own arm to her own leg, apparently piecing things together. Nonetheless, she had to ask.
"What are those for?"
"To take you places sexually that most people don't go. You wanted to go outside the textbook; I'm going to take you outside all kinds of conventional bounds. Now take your clothes off."
"That fast? We're not going to make out first?"
"Is this prom night, or is this philosophy? Now take your clothes off."
"All of them?"
"No; leave your underwear on. We'll start you off just in your underwear."
"Are you going to take some off?"
"When the time comes, Nikki. Now do you want to go where you've never gone before, or should I send you home now?" She quickly complied, and Smith got a show that he'd dreamed of before then but never allowed himself to dwell on. Her shoes came off easily enough, and when she peeled each sock back, he saw pink-painted nails on the ends of long, pink toes. Her feet were long but not big, beautiful delicate landing pads for her exquisite body. As she began to take her jeans off, he got his first chance since summer to see those long, shapely legs, the musculature not so pronounced as to lose its classical femininity but certainly discernible and, when displayed from the ankles up to the panty line, enough to make him take an extra breath in. As she pulled her sweatshirt up over her head, the tee underneath lifted just a bit, giving him a brief glimpse of a soft, thin waist and a belly button that looked like a brush stroke. The sweatshirt fell to the ground, and he beheld paradise: thin but womanly arms, a figure that would ruin Botticelli forever, and and overall healthy, still-lightly-tanned skin that, by the tan lines, he could see came at poolside rather than in a tanning bed. As she took off the tee shirt to reveal the curves of her body in a grand, steamy epiphany, Temptation stood before him, a figure that made Eve seem like Lolita and gave him a strange desire to read the story of David and Bathsheba (later, of course).
She could not maintain her dominating air in her underwear, and she crossed her legs as she asked, "Are you going to tie me to the bed?"
"I'm going to secure you there, yes. These cuffs won't cause much discomfort and won't leave any marks, so we can take you places you've never been without scarring these lovely arms of yours." He ran one hand from her shoulder to her wrist as he talked to her. "When we do what we're going to do, you'll know more about power than you ever thought you'd learn."
Nikki took a breath and sat down on the bed. "Okay." She stretched her hands above her head and spread her feet. Smith attached her right foot's cuff, then her left's, then her left foot's cuff. He stood back to admire his work and the anatomy of beauty stretched forth for dissection. Nikki's face took on some confusion. "Why didn't you cuff my right hand?"
Smith smiled as he reached into his bag again. "Because you write right-handed." He produced a clipboard with a sheet of typed text attached and an ink pen and walked over to the bed.
"What is that?"
"It's a typed confession that you attempted to offer sexual favors for a better grade in my class. I pseudonymously wrote it using your writing style as I've seen it on your papers, and now all you have to do is sign it."
"What are you talking about? I didn't do that!"
"That will be for the administration to judge if you ever decide to go public with that romance novel or with anything that happens tonight. I told you I was going to teach you about power. Well, here we are. You never should have let yourself get tied down by someone you were blackmailing."
Nikki swatted the pen out of his hand and scowled. "Forget it! I'm not confessing something I didn't do."
"Oh, I think you will. You see, you're tied to a bed, and I'm not."
"You can't keep me here forever, and if you don't let me go right now, I'm going to the police when I get out. What are you doing?"
Smith was in fact grabbing her right hand to force it into the fourth cuff. He did so with little difficulty, and when he engaged the lock, he said, "Now you're going to get lesson number two in power. You see, invisible power is the most potent kind. We're out here in the middle of nowhere, at a motel that only gets used for NASCAR races and college football weekends. Nobody can hear anything that happens tonight. And as long as I don't leave any marks on your body, you won't have any evidence that anything happened. And once you sign that confession, you won't be able to pull any of your little power tricks on me."
"I'll get the hotel records!"
"Signed in under a false name and paid with cash. You wouldn't believe how much these places need cash flow once the stock cars have left the area."
"I just won't sign! You can't keep me here forever!"
"That's the second time you've said that, and it betrays a false premise in your thinking. If I can make you sign in two hours, there's no need to keep you here forever, is there?"
"I won't do it!"
"Yes you will. Miss Brown, are you ticklish?"
"What?"
"I should rephrase that. After all, I've seen you jump and heard you squeal when the boys on campus tickle you. I should ask, do you know just how ticklish you can get?"
"Don't you touch me! Don't you touch me!"
"Now this is funny." He set the clipboard on the night stand, picked up the pen, and sat down on the bed next to her hips. "You came in here wanting me to deflower you, and now you don't want me to touch you. You're a little girl who doesn't know what she wants if I've ever seen one." He began to stroke her belly lightly with the butt of the pen, going from the ribs down to the panty line, steering around her belly button, then going back up to the ribs again on the other side. She clenched her teeth, and he set the pen down so that he could enjoy touching her. He began gently to stroke her side, plucking her soft flesh as one might pluck guitar strings. Her skin was warm and smooth, and her torso was pleasantly soft, and he was already enjoying himself immensely.
"I'm not going to lie for you just because you're..." her protest trailed off into a giggle. She pressed her lips together, a horrified look taking over her face as she realized she was laughing against her will.
"You'll do anything I tell you to if I tickle you right. And I'm going to until you agree to sign that contract." He brought his other hand over to her torso and started running eight fingers over her torso, feeling the pull of the muscles underneath as they tried to jump out of the way of his touches. Each finger zigged and zagged, but his wrists maintained a smooth, up and down motion, moving from the parts of her hips that stuck up above the panty line and back up to the sides of her ribs, down to the place where her abdomen tapered down into her underclad zones and back up to either side of her sternum.
Nikki could only chant, "No, no, no, no," as he wore away at her defenses. Her eyes clamped shut, and her arms pulled in vain against her restraints. Before long she was giggling sweetly, squrming as his fingers traced paths along her abdomen. Without warning, he jumped in with full vigor, and she shrieked as he pushed hard into her flesh. His hard tickles took by surprise; she had been pawed at by boys interested in dates, but this was something different: his fingers would not leave, and she could not block them. She laughed with full voice as he squeezed and poked, and when he pressed her bottom ribs, she squealed in unwilling delight. His fingers tickled incredibly, and the forced laughter was intense, and she could feel her toes curl as he worked on her sides. Especially bad were his tickles on her hips: he would move down close to her panties and begin to knead them with his thumbs and fingers, making her back arch as she shut her eyes and laughed and giggled.
He tickled her abdomen until she laughed, until tears started to come, through a spell when she couldn't laugh out loud but only contort her face in a mirth-tortured mask, and back into her sweet giggling. Then he moved up, skirting her bra and digging into her underarms. These sensations were something entirely different: each touch, each scratch and prod and wiggle was more intense than the belly-tickles. Nikki tried to scream as he worked on her, but her dignity couldn't even keep her screaming; soon every one of his touches was making her laugh again. Her midsection was starting to get sore from the constant laughter, but she just couldn't stop. As she giggled to his delight, he started alternating hands, moving one to her hip or her belly as the other did work on her underarm. When he finally let up, her forehead was sweaty, and she had to gasp to catch her breath.
"You should have had your friend in Ohio do some more digging. I did that Harlequin for money, but my really good stuff is Internet writing."
Nikki just had to know. "You mean you write stories about tickling?"
"I do. People enjoy them. Of course, this is the first time I've ever actually tied someone up and tickled her, so you could say that you're giving me my first time tonight. And I haven't even really warmed up."
"Please, Dr. Smith--just let me go home."
Smith picked up the confession and waved it at her. "This is all you have to do." With his other hand he grabbed a handful of her flesh, making her squirm.
"But I'll get kicked out of college!"
"No you won't Nikki. As long as you don't cross me, I'll keep this in a safe place forever. You'll graduate college and go on to do whatever you do, and nobody will ever know." As he drew out the last clause, he trailed his finger around her belly button, making her wiggle.
"Nobody?"
"Not unless you make me use it. After all, what would I have to gain by making this public?"
"I don't know..."
He pushed one finger into her underarm, and she squealed. "I do. It's only eight o'clock. I could reasonably let you go at two in the morning, and nobody would be the wiser on a Friday night. That's six hours, Nikki. You've been tied up for fifteen minutes now. All you have to do to give me what I need is to sign this paper."
"Then let me sign it." He took the cuff off of her right hand and let her sign the paper on the clipboard. He set the pen and paper down on the nightstand and grabbed her wrist forcefully. "What? I signed! Now let me go!"
"You're right. You signed. Now you don't have that to offer me any more, do you?"
"Dr. Smith!"
"That's right, Nikki. Now you've given me everything I need from you, and I can take what I want. As long as my power stays invisible, I've got six hours. You want to see power? Now you're going to see it!" He reached into his bag and pulled out a stiff green feather, an electric toothbrush, and a plastic hair brush. "You thought my fingers got you ticklish? Wait until I get these babies going. Didn't you wonder about why I didn't do your feet yet?"
"Please, just stop!"
"Good, Nikki. You're learning a good lesson. Power is being able to stop or not to stop when someone begs." He picked up the feather. "Right now, I have the power to stop or to tickle you with this feather. What power do you have?"
"Please!"
"No power, Nikki. No power at all. So if I decide to start tickling with this feather, you just have to hate it or enjoy it. That's your only power now. Are you going to enjoy this or hate it?"
"Please, Dr. Smith, just let me go!"
Smith reached out with his free hand and squeezed a hip. Nikki's tension mounting, she let out a shriek. He calmly continued, "Not one of your choices, Nikki. Are you going to love it or hate it?" He began to twirl the feather between his fingers. Her eyes fixated on the spinning motion.
"No... please..." He grabbed her again, and she began begging in earnest. "Please, please, just don't, please, just don't!"
He smirked as he brought the feather down towards her midsection. He gave it a spin just as it entered he belly button, and she arched and bucked, thumping down on the bed as she squealed. He began to trace the feather's tip along a triangle from her belly button, to her hip, along the panty line, back to her belly button. The feather's slow motion made Nikki moan slightly, and Smith asked again, "Are you going to love it or hate it? That's the question, Nikki. Are you going to love it or hate it?"
"Hate it! I hate it!"
Smith withdrew the feather. "Good. You made a decision. Now you're willing to live with it, right?"
Nikki began to beg again: "I answered your question, Dr. Smith! Now just let me go home!"
"You said you hated it when I tickled you like this. People don't laugh at the things they find hateful, right?"
"Please, Dr. Smith!"
"I'm going to tickle your feet with this feather for a while. If you hate it, you won't find it funny, right?"
"Please!"
"Just be sure not to laugh while I do this, or we'll have to continue your education. I'm certain my attention span won't last if you don't laugh, for, say, five minutes."
"But you already got me all ticklish!"
"Good--you're recognizing that conditioning affects our love and hatred of these things. Time starts now." Before she could object further, he started jabbing at her left sole with the tip of the feather. Poke, poke, poke, poke went the feather, and Nikki bit her lip, fighting the urge to laugh as her toes curled. His rhythm changed, and he began to draw the feather's full length across her instep, then along the edge of her heel, then across the soft sole, and her fists clenched and her eyes shut. He moved to the other foot, and she began to squeal behind closed lips. He stopped only for a moment, and she opened her eyes to see his thumb and forefinger about to grab her big toe.
"No!"
"Good, Nikki. A good, hateful noise. Not funny at all, is it?" He grabbed her right big toe and pulled it back and away from the other toes, getting ready to push the feather between the toes.
"Please, Dr. Smith! I can't take any more!"
"We'll see." Still holding her toes apart, he began to saw the feather between the first two, and Nikki's pent-up laughter exploded. Smith's eyes glowed with the glow of power as he tickled the tender flesh between those two, then the next two, then the next, then the next, and Nikki screamed and thrashed with ticklish abandon. She barely even fought back when he grabbed her left foot and began to hold the toes apart.
"Please, just let me go."
"Do you want to reconsider your answer? Will you love it or will you hate it?"
"Please!"
"Okay, let's try this again. You answer my question, or I will tickle this foot for ten minutes. Will you love it or hate it?"
"I'll love it!"
"Good. Very good." He put down the feather and released her foot, and she breathed a sigh of relief. Reaching into his bag again, he produced what looked like a bottle of lotion. "Now if you love it, and love does not end, you won't ask me to stop, right?"
"Please, Dr. Smith! I just want to go home! I won't tell anyone!"
He began to rub the lotion into her right foot. "Of course you won't, Nikki. I've got your signed confession that you tried to seduce me. That's not a card you're holding any more. So long as I leave no marks, you just don't have the power to deny or release this incident to the world. But as I was saying, what you love, you don't want to stop, right?" He began to rub lotion into the other.
"No..."
"Actually, yes. So let's see how long it takes you to tell me stop. If you do tell me to stop, we go to the toothbrush!" Having set the lotion bottle down, he picked up an electric toothbrush and turned it on for a second to demonstrate. "Can you imagine how much that will tickle these slick feet of yours? Can you imagine how long those batteries will last?"
Nikki just looked on in despair. Smith set the toothbrush down and picked up the hair brush. "This will be much nicer, no?" Without waiting for her response, he grabbed her right ankle and began to stroke up and down with the bristles of the hair brush. The plastic shafts, round-tipped and just flexible enough to make the sensation intense, began to slide over her slippery soles, and she exploded. Her head rocked back against the pillow as she screamed her unwilling delight, sang her ticklish, agonizing ecstasy. The plastic bristles slid through the slick lotion, parting but never taking away the amazing oil. Nikki's body thrashed, but a strong grip on her ankle refused her ticklish sole a moment's respite.
Nikki squealed as the brush made yet another pass, and somewhat to Smith's surprise, she cried out, "No more! I can't take any more!" A moment of compassion made him set the brush down and allow her to breathe a moment.
Then he realized he'd been cheated. "Well, Nikki, you seem to want the toothbrush awfully badly!"
Her voice was quiet and slightly higher-pitched. "Please..."
"But I didn't get to work on your feet with the hairbrush very long, did I?"
"Dr. Smith?"
"I think that, before I move on to the toothbrush, I need to enjoy your feet a little more... personally."
"Please! No more!"
"No, you need to beg me for more, not for no more." He grabbed her ankle and began to skitter his fingertips over the slick sole. She squealed, and almost instantly her laughter broke into such a volume and such a sustained rhythm that he had to shout over her to be heard when he said, "Beg me for the toothbrush!"
She did not beg, though. She laughed and screamed, but she kept screaming "No!" Every inhalation was a gasp, and after every inhalation was laughing, almost ecstatic squeals. As his fingers rubbed and tormented her smooth foot, Smith did not know it yet, but his fingertips repeatedly rolled over a certain spot, a nerve that perhaps an acupuncturist would find but that Nikki knew not, at least not until he kept tickling it. Her laughing squeals began to drop in pitch after they peaked, and her hips began to strain upwards. Smith, caught for a time in amazement watching the college girl in the throes of a new sensation, kept tickling as his own body strained forward. As he tickled and rubbed that magic spot on pass after pass after pass, Nikki's laughter became huskier, her squeals moans, her inhalations the desparate breathing-in of air that would not satisfy. Smith came to himself when Nikki's cries shifted from "No" to "More."
Getting back into character, he continued to rub, focusing even harder on the middle of her sole as he taunted: "You want that toothbrush, don't you? You want it as much as you want a hand free to let loose that energy that's building up, don't you?"
Nikki moaned in ecstasy, then kept laughing.
"Tell me you want the toothbrush, and I'll let you loose to do what you want to do so badly." He kept tickling, though, and although he saw her desperate eyes open, he kept tickling through her attempts to nod. When her eyes seemed like they could not open any further, he stopped. "Beg me for the toothbrush! Beg me!"
Nikki's voice trembled as she squeaked out, "Please... I'll do anything. Just let my hands free."
"Do you want the toothbrush?"
"Yes."
"Louder."
"YES!"
"Beg me to tickle you with the toothbrush!"
"PLEASE! Tickle me!"
Smith's grin was as broad as his pants were stretched. "That's power, my dear. I'll let your hands free, but first I get to have my fun." Nikki's head fell backwards in resignation as he picked the toothbrush up and turned it on. The vibrating sound served as a lead-in to the moaning, screaming, giggling symphony that arose when he placed the pulsating bristles precisely on that magic spot, only on the other foot. Nikki's hips jolted off the bed, and her voice soared into out-of-body places. He did not, would not move the toothbrush's head from that electric spot, and he kept it torturously in sync with Nikki's thrashing body. The wet spot that had begun to surface on her panties was now threatening to change the undergarment's color entirely. When he turned the toothbrush off, she panted and kept her head back, and he slowly set the toothbrush down and picked up the cuffs' key.
He unlocked her left foot, then her right. Her face, tormented with desire, seemed against her will to move towards gratitude as he let the ankle cuffs fall dangling from the bed's frame. He climbed onto the bed and straddled her waist as he began to move towards the first wrist cuff.
"Please, let me!"
He unlocked one, but he would not move as she pawed for her own pelvis. He unlocked the other and began to move off of her. As his weight shifted off of her, she rolled over onto her side and reached down with both hands to give herself the release that the cruel teacher denied her through all of the awful tickling. But as she began to rub, to her horror, his tickling fingers assaulted her ribs, making her jump and thrash. With that movement, his hands were all over her, tickling those spots that were inaccessible when she lay on her back.
"Dr. Smith! Let me do this!"
"Do what, Nikki? I still have places to tickle!"
Her mind raced, and her hands could not help but try to repel those fingers that minutes before they were helpless to block. Her body still wanted to explode with passion, but Smith's torments kept her now-unrestrained body from that. He squeezed her knees, dug into the bottom rib, dug into underarms and squeezed hips, moving faster than her libido-soaked reflexes could handle. As they wrestled and as he tickled, she ended up once again on her back, with Smith straddling her.
She looked up, beyond desparation. "Take me."
His eyes, cruel and irresistable, burned, but his control seemed absolute. "I already have."
* * * * * * * * * *
Nikki returned to her dormitory late that night, still not technically deflowered (an obsession for such evangelical girls) but far wiser in the ways of her own body, and her roommate suspected nothing, herself out for the night doing more conventional things with more conventional boys. About a week later, the semester drawing to a close, she could not help but remember her encounter every time she read and studied for the upcoming final exam.
On the day of the final, attached to Nikki's exam was a post-it note. Smith removed it and read, "Saturday. 9:00. Same place."
Smith, who could not conceive of such a girl seeking revenge, mused to himself, "Why not?"
That said, enjoy the story, and please leave feedback! (no, really--please leave feedback!)
A Philosophic Tickle
by
Kid Indy
Dr. Smith had heard of students who threatened and cried and appealed for higher grades, but he was never so lucky. The sole professor of philosophy at a small evangelical college, he always got the wannabe rebels, the kids who, because they doubted the goodness of the Republican party, thought they were as good as Che Guevara. They never begged for grades; instead they treated him as some kind of revolutionary leader, assuming that since he taught Marx he must be an anarchist and that since he taught Freud, he could give them inner peace as they contemplated sexual adventures that would scandalize their parents. Usually the guitar-playing, long-haired future seminary students would bring their unshaven selves to the shrine of Smith to learn the ways of postmodernism, only to become mostly conventional associate pastors five or six years later.
This time was different.
Nikki smelled much nicer than those Bible major boys. And she looked much nicer in shorts. And she was not an unshaven part-time youth pastor but a twenty-year-old, smooth-skinned, lightly tanned, medium-tall, blue-eyed blond piece of Renaissance artwork. (Smith had more of a Botticelli taste than a Reubens.) Her eyes looking up at him as he lectured had been distracting Smith for the last couple weeks of philosophy classes, gazing with such earnestness that he knew she had a Nietzsche-crush.
He had seen such things when he was a TA at state university--young women, who had never been exposed to any theories of beauty or reality or morality beyond MTV, would develop crushes on the instructors who taught them. Smith, who made very intentional a practice of avoiding such run-ins, had listened but never shared in the stories that his colleagues back at the university told about bagging undergrads.
But here he was, the young legs (he corrected his interior monologue--lady! lady!) was now in his office, and after just two days of discussing Nietzsche (it was always Nietzsche), the young lady (he congratulated himself on not thinking legs--but those legs were to die for) was there, in his office, beginning to confess her long-held, secret desire to "find something bigger." The script had not varied in the hundred years that philosophy professors taught Nietzsche, and the only variable was whether or not the teacher's own morality or timidity kept the young woman's clothes on. Smith went into damage control mode.
"Look, these texts will be around for as long as you want to read and reread them. Why don't you take some time to think about and internalize them" (this verb made his pants a little tight) "and wait to declare your verdict on traditional morality?"
"No, Dr. Smith. You know better than that. If the people of greatness hesitate, they'll just slide backwards back into slave morality. I know you haven't done that, and I'm not either!"
Smith fought the urge to roll his eyes; usually the undergrads didn't try to recite their Nietzsche-in-English texts directly to him. He tried to move to exhortation since caution didn't work. "Look, Nikki, you haven't been around these philosophies nearly long enough to say whether you're a person of greatness or not. Why don't you think about writing your term paper on that, and--"
Nikki's thin fingers gripped Smith's wrist. "No! Philosophy isn't something to write papers about. It's about living!"
Smith half-shrugged; she did have a point there. But no matter. He pulled free from her grasp and went back to professor mode. "Look, Nikki. Do you have a question about the class?"
Her blue eyes pinned him to his chair. "Yes. When are you going to take me beyond the textbook?"
Morality or no, Smith's silent member voted in the affirmative, forcing him to shift in his seat. "I'm not going to inquire further into that one, Nikki. I think you need to let me get back to work." He turned away from her, and he heard the door slam behind him.
More classes passed, and Fall was in its full throes. Smith taught his diligent undergrads Weber and utilitarianism and Freud and futurism, and Nikki's eyes grew more and more intense as the weeks passed, begging for his... he wasn't sure what. He did begin to respect more his fellow grad students back at university: one didn't need to go hunting for this kind of encounter; she was hunting him down, and flight from those eyes and that body and her full lips as she licked them, moving her tongue from one corner across the top lip and then... Smith snapped out of it and realized that he was not alone in his office.
"You can't wait forever, Dr. Smith. I can see that you want me."
He jumped up out of his chair and closed the door behind her. "Do you want to get me fired? Don't you remember where we are?"
"I remember, and I remember how you looked at me yesterday in class."
"Keep your voice down. Look, Nikki, you need to get your mind off of this bad idea. Even if I wanted to be the first to... I mean, you are... Are you--"
She looked down at her shoes, and he knew that she was.
"Right. Even if I wanted to be your first, you really don't want to go down this road. This semester will end, and you'll be in other classes and meet other people, and you don't want to have to go through life remembering a thirty-three-year-old man as your first... You know..."
Her eyes now glared into his, a fire sparking in those blue orbs. "You want to talk about being fired? I'll tell you about being fired!" She reached into her bag and produced a page of printed text with an Internet address at the bottom. Smith took the sheet from her and could feel himself going pale as he recognized a steamy romance novel that he'd written during grad school when he was hard up for cash. The little book had only sold a few copies by industry standards, enough to cover his debts, and was now circulating on the Internet under his former pen name, the original publishing company long having gone out of business. Beyond being the sort of thing that his employer would frown upon, Smith was somewhat disappointed in himself for writing such conventional sex scenes.
Nikki snapped him out of his reverie. "I know this is yours. I had a friend of mine track it to your home computer."
Now Smith was panicked. "A friend on campus?"
Nikki smiled like a cat eating a canary. "No, a friend back in Ohio. So now I know you're not conventional. I know you fantasize about power and domination and control. I know you're not a slave to lesser moralities. Now I want you to take me there!"
"You want me..." his pants expanded even as he thought it, "to..."
"Say it, Dr. Smith."
"You mean you want me to be the first to..."
She nodded.
"And you're sure you want it to be me who..."
She nodded. Smith was stuck between a rock and his hard-on as his brain fought for the now-scarcer blood supply. "So be it." He began to scribble something on a notecard. "Do not let anyone see this. Be there, then, and make sure you're alone."
The grin never left her face as she pocketed the note and left his office.
The rest of the week passed with little visible event; Smith taught his classes preoccupied but professionally, and he kept grading papers and planning lessons, knowing that Friday night was going to be anything but the usual.
Nikki had some trouble finding the small town on the notecard; Internet driving directions sites always do have trouble finding the out-of-the way. She pulled up to the nearly-abandoned motel where she saw Smith's car, her heart beating faster as she saw the room number on the door. She opened her cell phone, dialled the number on the notecard, and heard Smith on the other end.
"Are you alone?"
"Yes."
"Were you followed?"
"There was nobody on the road but me."
Smith was silent for a moment. "Come to the door and knock precisely four times." Nikki did so, and the door opened just enough for her to fit through. Smith remained hidden behind the door.
Smith saw a canvas sneaker come through first, then one jeans-clad leg. She wrapped herself around the door as she came in, and Smith beheld the form of woman. Her blue jeans and hooded sweatshirt concealed much of her skin, but for the first time, as he stood next to the closing door, he paid real attention to the way she moved. Her legs were long but not awkward, and her hips acted in concert with her abdomen so that her entire body seemed to glide towards him. She placed her hands on the wall, on either side of his shoulders, and leaned in close to him.
"What would you like to do first, teacher?"
Smith brushed her out of the way and grabbed the doorknob. "First I'd like to lock the door." He did so, turned back towards Nikki, and began to pace towards her, his hands clasped behind him as if he were about to lecture. "Now I'd like to get ready for your experience." As he drew the syllables of this last word out, he began to unzip a small suitcase on the floor next to the bed.
Nikki leaned in to catch a glimpse of what was inside. "What do you have in there? Are you going to change clothes?"
Smith chuckled. "No, that's not what I've got here." He stood up and displayed one of the artifacts, what looked like an archer's arm brace, made out of thick leather, with fur on the inside. She could see that he had four of these sorts of things, and she began to look from her own arm to her own leg, apparently piecing things together. Nonetheless, she had to ask.
"What are those for?"
"To take you places sexually that most people don't go. You wanted to go outside the textbook; I'm going to take you outside all kinds of conventional bounds. Now take your clothes off."
"That fast? We're not going to make out first?"
"Is this prom night, or is this philosophy? Now take your clothes off."
"All of them?"
"No; leave your underwear on. We'll start you off just in your underwear."
"Are you going to take some off?"
"When the time comes, Nikki. Now do you want to go where you've never gone before, or should I send you home now?" She quickly complied, and Smith got a show that he'd dreamed of before then but never allowed himself to dwell on. Her shoes came off easily enough, and when she peeled each sock back, he saw pink-painted nails on the ends of long, pink toes. Her feet were long but not big, beautiful delicate landing pads for her exquisite body. As she began to take her jeans off, he got his first chance since summer to see those long, shapely legs, the musculature not so pronounced as to lose its classical femininity but certainly discernible and, when displayed from the ankles up to the panty line, enough to make him take an extra breath in. As she pulled her sweatshirt up over her head, the tee underneath lifted just a bit, giving him a brief glimpse of a soft, thin waist and a belly button that looked like a brush stroke. The sweatshirt fell to the ground, and he beheld paradise: thin but womanly arms, a figure that would ruin Botticelli forever, and and overall healthy, still-lightly-tanned skin that, by the tan lines, he could see came at poolside rather than in a tanning bed. As she took off the tee shirt to reveal the curves of her body in a grand, steamy epiphany, Temptation stood before him, a figure that made Eve seem like Lolita and gave him a strange desire to read the story of David and Bathsheba (later, of course).
She could not maintain her dominating air in her underwear, and she crossed her legs as she asked, "Are you going to tie me to the bed?"
"I'm going to secure you there, yes. These cuffs won't cause much discomfort and won't leave any marks, so we can take you places you've never been without scarring these lovely arms of yours." He ran one hand from her shoulder to her wrist as he talked to her. "When we do what we're going to do, you'll know more about power than you ever thought you'd learn."
Nikki took a breath and sat down on the bed. "Okay." She stretched her hands above her head and spread her feet. Smith attached her right foot's cuff, then her left's, then her left foot's cuff. He stood back to admire his work and the anatomy of beauty stretched forth for dissection. Nikki's face took on some confusion. "Why didn't you cuff my right hand?"
Smith smiled as he reached into his bag again. "Because you write right-handed." He produced a clipboard with a sheet of typed text attached and an ink pen and walked over to the bed.
"What is that?"
"It's a typed confession that you attempted to offer sexual favors for a better grade in my class. I pseudonymously wrote it using your writing style as I've seen it on your papers, and now all you have to do is sign it."
"What are you talking about? I didn't do that!"
"That will be for the administration to judge if you ever decide to go public with that romance novel or with anything that happens tonight. I told you I was going to teach you about power. Well, here we are. You never should have let yourself get tied down by someone you were blackmailing."
Nikki swatted the pen out of his hand and scowled. "Forget it! I'm not confessing something I didn't do."
"Oh, I think you will. You see, you're tied to a bed, and I'm not."
"You can't keep me here forever, and if you don't let me go right now, I'm going to the police when I get out. What are you doing?"
Smith was in fact grabbing her right hand to force it into the fourth cuff. He did so with little difficulty, and when he engaged the lock, he said, "Now you're going to get lesson number two in power. You see, invisible power is the most potent kind. We're out here in the middle of nowhere, at a motel that only gets used for NASCAR races and college football weekends. Nobody can hear anything that happens tonight. And as long as I don't leave any marks on your body, you won't have any evidence that anything happened. And once you sign that confession, you won't be able to pull any of your little power tricks on me."
"I'll get the hotel records!"
"Signed in under a false name and paid with cash. You wouldn't believe how much these places need cash flow once the stock cars have left the area."
"I just won't sign! You can't keep me here forever!"
"That's the second time you've said that, and it betrays a false premise in your thinking. If I can make you sign in two hours, there's no need to keep you here forever, is there?"
"I won't do it!"
"Yes you will. Miss Brown, are you ticklish?"
"What?"
"I should rephrase that. After all, I've seen you jump and heard you squeal when the boys on campus tickle you. I should ask, do you know just how ticklish you can get?"
"Don't you touch me! Don't you touch me!"
"Now this is funny." He set the clipboard on the night stand, picked up the pen, and sat down on the bed next to her hips. "You came in here wanting me to deflower you, and now you don't want me to touch you. You're a little girl who doesn't know what she wants if I've ever seen one." He began to stroke her belly lightly with the butt of the pen, going from the ribs down to the panty line, steering around her belly button, then going back up to the ribs again on the other side. She clenched her teeth, and he set the pen down so that he could enjoy touching her. He began gently to stroke her side, plucking her soft flesh as one might pluck guitar strings. Her skin was warm and smooth, and her torso was pleasantly soft, and he was already enjoying himself immensely.
"I'm not going to lie for you just because you're..." her protest trailed off into a giggle. She pressed her lips together, a horrified look taking over her face as she realized she was laughing against her will.
"You'll do anything I tell you to if I tickle you right. And I'm going to until you agree to sign that contract." He brought his other hand over to her torso and started running eight fingers over her torso, feeling the pull of the muscles underneath as they tried to jump out of the way of his touches. Each finger zigged and zagged, but his wrists maintained a smooth, up and down motion, moving from the parts of her hips that stuck up above the panty line and back up to the sides of her ribs, down to the place where her abdomen tapered down into her underclad zones and back up to either side of her sternum.
Nikki could only chant, "No, no, no, no," as he wore away at her defenses. Her eyes clamped shut, and her arms pulled in vain against her restraints. Before long she was giggling sweetly, squrming as his fingers traced paths along her abdomen. Without warning, he jumped in with full vigor, and she shrieked as he pushed hard into her flesh. His hard tickles took by surprise; she had been pawed at by boys interested in dates, but this was something different: his fingers would not leave, and she could not block them. She laughed with full voice as he squeezed and poked, and when he pressed her bottom ribs, she squealed in unwilling delight. His fingers tickled incredibly, and the forced laughter was intense, and she could feel her toes curl as he worked on her sides. Especially bad were his tickles on her hips: he would move down close to her panties and begin to knead them with his thumbs and fingers, making her back arch as she shut her eyes and laughed and giggled.
He tickled her abdomen until she laughed, until tears started to come, through a spell when she couldn't laugh out loud but only contort her face in a mirth-tortured mask, and back into her sweet giggling. Then he moved up, skirting her bra and digging into her underarms. These sensations were something entirely different: each touch, each scratch and prod and wiggle was more intense than the belly-tickles. Nikki tried to scream as he worked on her, but her dignity couldn't even keep her screaming; soon every one of his touches was making her laugh again. Her midsection was starting to get sore from the constant laughter, but she just couldn't stop. As she giggled to his delight, he started alternating hands, moving one to her hip or her belly as the other did work on her underarm. When he finally let up, her forehead was sweaty, and she had to gasp to catch her breath.
"You should have had your friend in Ohio do some more digging. I did that Harlequin for money, but my really good stuff is Internet writing."
Nikki just had to know. "You mean you write stories about tickling?"
"I do. People enjoy them. Of course, this is the first time I've ever actually tied someone up and tickled her, so you could say that you're giving me my first time tonight. And I haven't even really warmed up."
"Please, Dr. Smith--just let me go home."
Smith picked up the confession and waved it at her. "This is all you have to do." With his other hand he grabbed a handful of her flesh, making her squirm.
"But I'll get kicked out of college!"
"No you won't Nikki. As long as you don't cross me, I'll keep this in a safe place forever. You'll graduate college and go on to do whatever you do, and nobody will ever know." As he drew out the last clause, he trailed his finger around her belly button, making her wiggle.
"Nobody?"
"Not unless you make me use it. After all, what would I have to gain by making this public?"
"I don't know..."
He pushed one finger into her underarm, and she squealed. "I do. It's only eight o'clock. I could reasonably let you go at two in the morning, and nobody would be the wiser on a Friday night. That's six hours, Nikki. You've been tied up for fifteen minutes now. All you have to do to give me what I need is to sign this paper."
"Then let me sign it." He took the cuff off of her right hand and let her sign the paper on the clipboard. He set the pen and paper down on the nightstand and grabbed her wrist forcefully. "What? I signed! Now let me go!"
"You're right. You signed. Now you don't have that to offer me any more, do you?"
"Dr. Smith!"
"That's right, Nikki. Now you've given me everything I need from you, and I can take what I want. As long as my power stays invisible, I've got six hours. You want to see power? Now you're going to see it!" He reached into his bag and pulled out a stiff green feather, an electric toothbrush, and a plastic hair brush. "You thought my fingers got you ticklish? Wait until I get these babies going. Didn't you wonder about why I didn't do your feet yet?"
"Please, just stop!"
"Good, Nikki. You're learning a good lesson. Power is being able to stop or not to stop when someone begs." He picked up the feather. "Right now, I have the power to stop or to tickle you with this feather. What power do you have?"
"Please!"
"No power, Nikki. No power at all. So if I decide to start tickling with this feather, you just have to hate it or enjoy it. That's your only power now. Are you going to enjoy this or hate it?"
"Please, Dr. Smith, just let me go!"
Smith reached out with his free hand and squeezed a hip. Nikki's tension mounting, she let out a shriek. He calmly continued, "Not one of your choices, Nikki. Are you going to love it or hate it?" He began to twirl the feather between his fingers. Her eyes fixated on the spinning motion.
"No... please..." He grabbed her again, and she began begging in earnest. "Please, please, just don't, please, just don't!"
He smirked as he brought the feather down towards her midsection. He gave it a spin just as it entered he belly button, and she arched and bucked, thumping down on the bed as she squealed. He began to trace the feather's tip along a triangle from her belly button, to her hip, along the panty line, back to her belly button. The feather's slow motion made Nikki moan slightly, and Smith asked again, "Are you going to love it or hate it? That's the question, Nikki. Are you going to love it or hate it?"
"Hate it! I hate it!"
Smith withdrew the feather. "Good. You made a decision. Now you're willing to live with it, right?"
Nikki began to beg again: "I answered your question, Dr. Smith! Now just let me go home!"
"You said you hated it when I tickled you like this. People don't laugh at the things they find hateful, right?"
"Please, Dr. Smith!"
"I'm going to tickle your feet with this feather for a while. If you hate it, you won't find it funny, right?"
"Please!"
"Just be sure not to laugh while I do this, or we'll have to continue your education. I'm certain my attention span won't last if you don't laugh, for, say, five minutes."
"But you already got me all ticklish!"
"Good--you're recognizing that conditioning affects our love and hatred of these things. Time starts now." Before she could object further, he started jabbing at her left sole with the tip of the feather. Poke, poke, poke, poke went the feather, and Nikki bit her lip, fighting the urge to laugh as her toes curled. His rhythm changed, and he began to draw the feather's full length across her instep, then along the edge of her heel, then across the soft sole, and her fists clenched and her eyes shut. He moved to the other foot, and she began to squeal behind closed lips. He stopped only for a moment, and she opened her eyes to see his thumb and forefinger about to grab her big toe.
"No!"
"Good, Nikki. A good, hateful noise. Not funny at all, is it?" He grabbed her right big toe and pulled it back and away from the other toes, getting ready to push the feather between the toes.
"Please, Dr. Smith! I can't take any more!"
"We'll see." Still holding her toes apart, he began to saw the feather between the first two, and Nikki's pent-up laughter exploded. Smith's eyes glowed with the glow of power as he tickled the tender flesh between those two, then the next two, then the next, then the next, and Nikki screamed and thrashed with ticklish abandon. She barely even fought back when he grabbed her left foot and began to hold the toes apart.
"Please, just let me go."
"Do you want to reconsider your answer? Will you love it or will you hate it?"
"Please!"
"Okay, let's try this again. You answer my question, or I will tickle this foot for ten minutes. Will you love it or hate it?"
"I'll love it!"
"Good. Very good." He put down the feather and released her foot, and she breathed a sigh of relief. Reaching into his bag again, he produced what looked like a bottle of lotion. "Now if you love it, and love does not end, you won't ask me to stop, right?"
"Please, Dr. Smith! I just want to go home! I won't tell anyone!"
He began to rub the lotion into her right foot. "Of course you won't, Nikki. I've got your signed confession that you tried to seduce me. That's not a card you're holding any more. So long as I leave no marks, you just don't have the power to deny or release this incident to the world. But as I was saying, what you love, you don't want to stop, right?" He began to rub lotion into the other.
"No..."
"Actually, yes. So let's see how long it takes you to tell me stop. If you do tell me to stop, we go to the toothbrush!" Having set the lotion bottle down, he picked up an electric toothbrush and turned it on for a second to demonstrate. "Can you imagine how much that will tickle these slick feet of yours? Can you imagine how long those batteries will last?"
Nikki just looked on in despair. Smith set the toothbrush down and picked up the hair brush. "This will be much nicer, no?" Without waiting for her response, he grabbed her right ankle and began to stroke up and down with the bristles of the hair brush. The plastic shafts, round-tipped and just flexible enough to make the sensation intense, began to slide over her slippery soles, and she exploded. Her head rocked back against the pillow as she screamed her unwilling delight, sang her ticklish, agonizing ecstasy. The plastic bristles slid through the slick lotion, parting but never taking away the amazing oil. Nikki's body thrashed, but a strong grip on her ankle refused her ticklish sole a moment's respite.
Nikki squealed as the brush made yet another pass, and somewhat to Smith's surprise, she cried out, "No more! I can't take any more!" A moment of compassion made him set the brush down and allow her to breathe a moment.
Then he realized he'd been cheated. "Well, Nikki, you seem to want the toothbrush awfully badly!"
Her voice was quiet and slightly higher-pitched. "Please..."
"But I didn't get to work on your feet with the hairbrush very long, did I?"
"Dr. Smith?"
"I think that, before I move on to the toothbrush, I need to enjoy your feet a little more... personally."
"Please! No more!"
"No, you need to beg me for more, not for no more." He grabbed her ankle and began to skitter his fingertips over the slick sole. She squealed, and almost instantly her laughter broke into such a volume and such a sustained rhythm that he had to shout over her to be heard when he said, "Beg me for the toothbrush!"
She did not beg, though. She laughed and screamed, but she kept screaming "No!" Every inhalation was a gasp, and after every inhalation was laughing, almost ecstatic squeals. As his fingers rubbed and tormented her smooth foot, Smith did not know it yet, but his fingertips repeatedly rolled over a certain spot, a nerve that perhaps an acupuncturist would find but that Nikki knew not, at least not until he kept tickling it. Her laughing squeals began to drop in pitch after they peaked, and her hips began to strain upwards. Smith, caught for a time in amazement watching the college girl in the throes of a new sensation, kept tickling as his own body strained forward. As he tickled and rubbed that magic spot on pass after pass after pass, Nikki's laughter became huskier, her squeals moans, her inhalations the desparate breathing-in of air that would not satisfy. Smith came to himself when Nikki's cries shifted from "No" to "More."
Getting back into character, he continued to rub, focusing even harder on the middle of her sole as he taunted: "You want that toothbrush, don't you? You want it as much as you want a hand free to let loose that energy that's building up, don't you?"
Nikki moaned in ecstasy, then kept laughing.
"Tell me you want the toothbrush, and I'll let you loose to do what you want to do so badly." He kept tickling, though, and although he saw her desperate eyes open, he kept tickling through her attempts to nod. When her eyes seemed like they could not open any further, he stopped. "Beg me for the toothbrush! Beg me!"
Nikki's voice trembled as she squeaked out, "Please... I'll do anything. Just let my hands free."
"Do you want the toothbrush?"
"Yes."
"Louder."
"YES!"
"Beg me to tickle you with the toothbrush!"
"PLEASE! Tickle me!"
Smith's grin was as broad as his pants were stretched. "That's power, my dear. I'll let your hands free, but first I get to have my fun." Nikki's head fell backwards in resignation as he picked the toothbrush up and turned it on. The vibrating sound served as a lead-in to the moaning, screaming, giggling symphony that arose when he placed the pulsating bristles precisely on that magic spot, only on the other foot. Nikki's hips jolted off the bed, and her voice soared into out-of-body places. He did not, would not move the toothbrush's head from that electric spot, and he kept it torturously in sync with Nikki's thrashing body. The wet spot that had begun to surface on her panties was now threatening to change the undergarment's color entirely. When he turned the toothbrush off, she panted and kept her head back, and he slowly set the toothbrush down and picked up the cuffs' key.
He unlocked her left foot, then her right. Her face, tormented with desire, seemed against her will to move towards gratitude as he let the ankle cuffs fall dangling from the bed's frame. He climbed onto the bed and straddled her waist as he began to move towards the first wrist cuff.
"Please, let me!"
He unlocked one, but he would not move as she pawed for her own pelvis. He unlocked the other and began to move off of her. As his weight shifted off of her, she rolled over onto her side and reached down with both hands to give herself the release that the cruel teacher denied her through all of the awful tickling. But as she began to rub, to her horror, his tickling fingers assaulted her ribs, making her jump and thrash. With that movement, his hands were all over her, tickling those spots that were inaccessible when she lay on her back.
"Dr. Smith! Let me do this!"
"Do what, Nikki? I still have places to tickle!"
Her mind raced, and her hands could not help but try to repel those fingers that minutes before they were helpless to block. Her body still wanted to explode with passion, but Smith's torments kept her now-unrestrained body from that. He squeezed her knees, dug into the bottom rib, dug into underarms and squeezed hips, moving faster than her libido-soaked reflexes could handle. As they wrestled and as he tickled, she ended up once again on her back, with Smith straddling her.
She looked up, beyond desparation. "Take me."
His eyes, cruel and irresistable, burned, but his control seemed absolute. "I already have."
* * * * * * * * * *
Nikki returned to her dormitory late that night, still not technically deflowered (an obsession for such evangelical girls) but far wiser in the ways of her own body, and her roommate suspected nothing, herself out for the night doing more conventional things with more conventional boys. About a week later, the semester drawing to a close, she could not help but remember her encounter every time she read and studied for the upcoming final exam.
On the day of the final, attached to Nikki's exam was a post-it note. Smith removed it and read, "Saturday. 9:00. Same place."
Smith, who could not conceive of such a girl seeking revenge, mused to himself, "Why not?"
