At Her Suggestion (f/m predominantly)

NovelTickler · Oct 8, 2022

Hi, I have never posted anything before, I am not a writer, but felt the urge to have a go. Hope you like it.

Chapter 1

“You are going to be late to your brothers stag do Jordan” my mother’s voice calls from downstairs, “stop working on that infernal machine and get ready!”
I love at the age of 35, being told what to do by my mother. On this occasion however, a fleeting glance at my watch confirms that she is correct, so I save the latest version of the spreadsheet I am working on and close down the laptop. “Thanks Mum, I have no idea what I’d do without you!” I call out as I make my way into the bathroom.

Moving back into my parent’s house has been a lot harder than I thought it would be, but when my relationship imploded, I needed somewhere to crash and was grateful for their help, even if it does come with a certain loss of independence.
I shower quickly and dress as befits a stag party, shirt open at the collar, blue jeans and my favourite pair of brown leather boots. I inspect myself in the mirror, noting with some sadness the tired man that stares back at me with, fuck, is that a grey hair among the brown! Ah well, I am still pretty trim for my age and as I head down the spiral staircase that links my loft room to the ground floor, I reflect that ladies still seem to notice me as I walk by, so it can’t be all bad. Bending down, I kiss my mother on the head and tell her not to wait up.
She looks up and instructs me to “be sure to look after your little brother tonight Jordan, I don’t want there to be any problems that could get in the way of the wedding, it is only four days away and bruises take longer to heal.”
Kissing her on the head again I reassure her, “don’t worry Mum, I’ll take good care of him and nothing will happen. I’m not totally sure what Dean and Eddy have planned for us though” which is true, I have no idea what tonight has in store.

I drive to pick up the star of tonight’s gathering, my brother the ‘stag’, Adam. “Where are we going exactly?” I ask as he gets into the car.
“Dean just told me to be at The Waterwheel by 8pm” Adam replies, “he said we would all be meeting up in the pub car park.”
We get to the Waterwheel just before eight and meet with Adam’s friends who are a lively group, most of whom I know, but a few faces that I am meeting for the first time. I walk with Dean, Adam’s lifelong friend and best man, chatting about work, the mess with my ex, his issues with his girlfriend and generally having a catch-up of things that have happened in the year or so since we last met. “What exactly do you have planned for tonight Dean? Have you gone traditional with a stripper or perhaps a Karaoke?” I ask with a grin.
“Jordon, those may be fitting entertainments for normal stag do’s, but we have gone for something a little different, a little more refined...”.
I look at him quizzically and wait for him to fill me in. Dean seems to be deciding whether to tell me or make me wait to find out like all the others. However, he finally relents and with a hushed tone tells me “we have got one of the best stage hypnotists in the country; should be a funny night if you ask me.”
I roll my eyes at him, not bothering to hide the disdain I feel for hypnotism. “It’s all acting Dean, that stuff is never real, the participants are in on it and just act it out. You should have gone with the strippers!”
Dean laughs and shakes his head as he tells me “this one is the real deal mate. Seen them for myself and I am telling you, they get people to do the weirdest shit. Seeing as you are so sure of it all being rubbish, perhaps I’ll give them your name so you can prove me wrong. Should be a giggle at any rate!” We join up with the others and enter the bar where I get the first round of drinks for the group.
The night progresses as expected until the landlord speaks with Dean and confirms the Lounge area is ready for us to go round and meet the entertainment. Adam seems to be enjoying the night and he and the guys are all on their way to being drunk by this time. As designated driver, I am completely sober which will make watching this hypnotist rubbish even more tedious an ordeal.

The Lounge has been reconfigured; the pool table is pushed up against the wall to provide space for a semi-circle of chairs, two rows deep around the outside and four chairs lined up in the middle, facing the ‘audience’. Standing behind the chairs, centre stage, is the most stunning woman I have ever seen; brunette with shoulder length hair, I guess her to be about 28 years old, close to 5”10’ although I can see the hint of a heel under the dress, so she is probably more like 5”8’. The figure-hugging red dress she is wearing displays her curves perfectly and, to my mind, she is nothing short of perfect. I stand slightly confused for a moment until a nudge from Dean’s elbow brings me back to myself.
“See, she already has you standing looking like an idiot before she even tries to hypnotise you! Told you she was the real deal!” He has a hearty laugh at my expense and, as he takes a nearby seat, I tell him to do something very rude to himself and drop down into the next available chair.

Once we are all seated, the hypnotist opens by introducing herself as Karrie, a professional stage hypnotist who has worked in the industry for about 5 years. She goes on to explain that not everyone is susceptible to hypnotism but that most are. Despite my obvious attraction to her, I roll my eyes when Karrie says this; a get-out-of-jail card if ever I have heard one! I look around the group and wonder which of the guys have been selected by Dean and Eddy to take part in this sham. Karrie has the list in her hands and reads out the names: “can I have Adam, Eddy, Laurance and Jordan join me at the front please”.
I look over at Dean who gives me a knowing wink as I stand up and make my way to the ‘performers’ chairs. I watch as Karrie has my brother stare up at her from his seat and then with a sharp tug at the back of his head, I watch him appear to go to sleep. She works down the line, Eddy falling to her touch next and then Laurance who falls so heavily to sleep that he collapses out of his chair. A couple of guys jump up and, laughing hard, manage to lift Laurance back into a seated position. I am feeling a little uneasy at this point seeing the effect this woman has had on the others, but I am also confident that this was still all for show and would not work on me.
Karrie stands before me and I feel my pulse quicken which has nothing to do with nerves. She asks me to look into her eyes, incredibly beautiful hazel brown eyes that I find gazing into no hardship at all. In fact, they are so lovely, I could not have looked away if I wanted to. The effect of her eyes begins to make me feel very relaxed, and then from what seems a confusingly long distance away, I hear her voice telling me not to fight and to just relax. I dimly feel a jolt at the back of my head, but no matter, I think I will just relax into my chair for a bit.

An indeterminable time later, I became loosely aware of a pressure on left shoulder and a voice drifts into my head. “Could the person who’s shoulder my hand is resting upon, please tell me their name”. The voice is delightful and I am very happy to confirm my name for it.
“I’m Jordan” I say sleepily. The voice enters my head again, this time with what a fully conscious me would have determined as a playful tone, but that the very relaxed me, just finds wonderfully alluring.
“Okay Jordan, you will find yourself unable to lie to me when I ask, where are you most ticklish?” I would not dream of lying to such a pleasing voice, so I tell it truthfully that I am not ticklish and never have been. “I see, well Jordan, when I bring you out of trance you will find that anytime I say the word ‘tickle’ you will find yourself extremely ticklish and furthermore, you will experience a hundred fingers begin to tickle you in all the usual ticklish spots, do you understand?”.
With what feels like extreme difficulty, owing to being so very relaxed, I nod my head “when you say the word ‘tickle’ I will become extremely ticklish and will feel tickled all over.” The voice sounds pleased that I have understood what is required and this makes me feel absurdly happy for some reason.
“Jordan”, the voice commands “when I count to three, you will come out of trance and will not recall this conversation or that you have been hypnotised…1“ I feel like I am slowly swimming from the bottom of a great body of water up towards the surface. “….2”, my senses begin to come back along with a sense of myself and on the count of “3”, I explode out of the water and am fully awake. Looking around, I am confused as to why the audience is laughing so hard when all that has happened is that the others have fallen asleep.
As I adjust myself in my chair, I appear to have slouched down for some reason, I am surprised to see that the guys are not asleep at all: my brother is sucking his thumb and playing with his hair; Eddy appears to be making love to his chair and Laurance is strutting around like a 60’s rocker, clearly singing very loudly, but making no sound at all. I take a deep sigh feeling rather relieved that hypnosis clearly does not work on me.
Karrie swerves to avoid Laurance, who is gyrating wildly in all directions and moves herself over to my chair. She offers me her hand as introduction and, whilst I shake it perhaps a little too enthusiastically, she asks my name. I introduce myself at which point she asks, “are you ticklish Jordan?”. Smiling, I respond that no, I have never been ticklish, but that she is welcome to try. Karrie reaches up and gives my ribs a quick tickle, but when no reaction is forthcoming, she looks a little disappointed.
Feeling a little smug, I tell her “sorry, I’m just not ticklish”. She turns to face the audience and must have made a comment that I missed because the audience responds with renewed laughter.
Turning back to me, Karrie says, “that is a shame Jordon as I was looking forward to giving that very fine body of yours a good ‘tickle’”.
Immediately, and for no reason that I can make out, I suddenly begin to feel something unexplainable happening. Initially it feels like tiny brushes are lightly working over every inch of my skin, which is odd. Odder still is the way my body is beginning to quiver and shake in response to this invisible stimulus. Completely outside of my control, my arms begin flapping to try and simultaneously cover my armpits, which are being assaulted by what now feels like a hundred fingernails, and my sides, which are reacting to being poked repeatedly. I must look like some sort of demented giant bird, but the increasingly ticklish sensations on my soles are keeping me for worrying about how I look! Am I perhaps having a stroke? Does a stoke cause you to feel a mad urge to giggle? Scratch that, an overwhelming urge to giggle.
From somewhere outside my harassed vision, Karrie repeats the word ‘tickle’ a couple more times and an avalanche of ticklish giggles and chuckles explode from my mouth. I can sense my back arching over as my tormented torso rotates from side to side trying to evade the poking fingers that I cannot see. My toes are curling and uncurling inside my boots and as I laugh, I try to undo my boots to pull them off and release whatever is tickling me. “Whhaahaat is hahahappening to meheheh?” I cry out to no one in particular.

My body is apparently beset by hundreds of invisible fingers and my helpless brain can only instruct my mouth to release a flood of laughter which grows with an intensity that matches the rate at which my body is jerking and flailing around. I am only partially aware of sudden pain in my backside as I fall from the chair onto the floor and promptly curl up like a fetus. Laughing hysterically, my body is experiencing a savage tickling for the first time in my memory and I have not the mental faculty at this point to determine how or why.
As I begin to fear that I may indeed be dying of a stroke, I am dimly aware of a hand on my shoulder followed by command to “Sleep”.
Instantly I am back in the relaxed place I was in earlier, deep underwater and totally unaware of my pounding heartbeat or laboured breath. The alluring voice is back and this time it instructs me thus, “When you hear the word “tickled” you will feel yourself being tickled all over again but this time, as the tickling intensifies it will also become arousing. Tickling will make you become sexually aroused and pleasured; do you understand?” I nod, repeating the instructions the voice has given to me. Once again, I hear the voice count from 1 and by the time it gets to 3, I am fully awake.
I look up from the floor, confused as to why I am down here; I suspect I fell out of my chair because I was laughing at my brother being an idiot in front of all his friends. I stand, slightly shaken for some reason and retake my chair. Karrie appears before me and asks if I am okay as I seem to have taken a tumble. “Yes, absolutely fine thanks, no worries” I reassure her, “I just laughed too hard at this lot”. I jerk my head towards Eddy who appears to be apologising to his chair for something sexual he apparently did to the chair that Laurance is no longer sitting in.
“Yes” Karrie says, “something definitely tickled you that is for sure!”. For the second time in my life, I am struck with an overwhelming desire to squirm and flail and laugh all at the same time. The spaces between my toes feel like fingers are being repeatedly poked through them making me howl with laughter. Brushes are being used under my arms and my ribs are being played like a grand piano at a concert. I feel strong yet invisible hands squeeze above my hips resulting in a laugh that sounds more like a cackle; tears begin to run down my cheeks and my chest heaves with heavy unstoppable laughter.
In the background, slowly pushing its way into the turmoil that is my tickled brain, I become aware that a feeling of incredible pleasure is spreading through my body. As the tickling becomes more unbearable, this rouge pleasure increases. For the first time, I notice how hard I have become inside my jeans and how my balls are beginning to tingle. What is going on? If this is a stroke, I muse, it is not a bad way to go… The pleasure builds until I feel it becoming slightly stronger than the tickling, then a lot stronger.
My laughter becomes increasingly interspersed with moans as the feeling between my legs becomes more intense. I am now as aroused and turned on as I have ever been in my life, my body tingling with both intense ticklish stimulation and pleasurable sensation. It becomes too much; I need to release these feelings, or I will go mad. My hands naturally move to between my legs and start to rub. Shortly after, I move to unbutton my fly, but as I do so I feel a hand placed sharply on my shoulder and a voice issuing a single command… “Sleep”.

Chapter 2

As the show comes to a close, Karrie brings the four of us out of our suggestible states and thanks us individually for being such good sports. My face must betray that I will not soon forget my experience or the embarrassment I now feel as I tell her that every inch of my body aches from all the tickling she had inflicted on me.
Karrie smiles sweetly as she corrects me, “actually, I didn’t tickle you at all, you did that to yourself” which does not help me rationalise what has happened! She tells me that Dean had tipped her off that I was a non-believer, so she wanted to do something a little special with me and making a 6”4’ guy with muscles dissolve into hysterics seemed to fit the bill. I think I detect a trace of something more that she is not saying, but I suppose that could just be my wish more than the truth.
Then, with a wink, she whispers that she would have liked to have seen where my performance led, “but I didn’t think it was fair to let you continue as you were, with so many people watching!” She giggles, giving me hug and walks off to get her fee from Eddy. I am left wondering where it might have gone had it just been the two of us, but then, feeling the flush of embarrassment still warming my cheeks, perhaps it is better that I just set about forgetting the whole affair and count my loses. I make a swift exit from the Lounge into the main bar only to be greeted by a crowd of laughing locals and at the centre, Dean, happily telling the entire crowd that I nearly had an orgasm just from a bit of tickling!

Thankfully, as tradition decreed, details about the stag party were kept to a minimum and I was spared further embarrassment on my “little performance” as Dean has taken to calling it. Adam is as embarrassed as I, but from what he remembered of his experience, he had just been made to believe he was a seven-year-old girl with pigtails and hadn’t tried to sexually relieve himself onstage.
For a couple of days following the show, I experience strange extremely vivid dreams involving being tickled as part of sex with a partner that looks an awful lot like Karrie. I supposed this is all a way for my sub-conscious to process everything, but what shocks me is how real the dreams are and more surprisingly, that I miss them when they end.
I have never thought much about tickling before, other than as a form of torment I used to inflict upon my siblings growing up. Adam has always been incredibly ticklish and I would frequently win arguments by goosing his hips or poking his sides till he curled up into a ball on the floor yelling for Mum.
My sister Lucy, youngest of the three, had a habit of putting her feet onto my lap as we chilled on the sofa, something she knew would annoy me as I was never keen on feet. A few quick strokes along her arches with my nails and the squeals of laughter she elicited would generally be followed by a removal of the offending objects.
My non-ticklish state had always vexed Adam and Lucy who were frustrated not to be able to get their own back, but I always viewed their sensitivity as a weakness, which I think is one of the reasons I am so embarrassed by what happened at the stag party. Still, I reassure myself with a little shake of the head, I am back too normal now, the suggestions have been removed and I should not dwell on it any longer; hopefully by forgetting the whole sorry episode, my dreams will return to the usual ones that I never remember.

The wedding came round shortly after this and went off without a hitch. Mum was relieved and grateful that Adam had suffered no visible injuries that would have affected the interminable number of photographs that followed the ceremony. I have never liked parties or big crowds, so for me the whole day was a trial, particularly as every other person I met seemed to want to know what had happened between myself and my ex.
I had been married for four years before Tara, my soon to be ex-wife, had left me for a male supermodel. They had met at a photoshoot; Tara is a makeup artist for a glossy magazine and rumour has it that the attraction between the pair on-set was immediate and very obvious. I cannot really blame Tara; I was too focused on my start-up to notice that we were falling rapidly out of love. I suppose I could punish her adultery in the divorce, but I just want it all over with as quickly as possible, so I am settling on irreconcilable differences. It will cost me the house, which Tara still resides in, but I get to keep my fledgling company. A wedding is therefore about the last place in the world I want to be and only the fact that the groom is my brother could tempt me to such a venue.
Escaping the mob of bridal guests milling around outside, I enter the incredible Elizabethan stately home that is acting as the wedding venue. I walk around the large dining hall trying to find the table card with my name on it so that I can move seats should I take a dislike to the intended seating plan. I discover that my card is next to a particularly annoying cousin and decide it needs to be swapped with one on the other side of the hall when a voice that I recognise from my dreams says, “Hello Jordan”.

I spin round, dropping my name card on the floor, as Karrie walks through the door. She is wearing a figure-hugging black off-the-shoulder dress, which literally takes my breath away. Open toed heels click as she walks slowly over to my side and I force myself to breathe at last. “Hi”, oh God that was more of a squeak than a greeting, get a grip. “What are you doing.. I mean.. how are you here?” I flounder and can feel my cheeks colour.
She smiles, thankfully charmed by my discomfort rather than offended by it. “After the show, your brother invited me to the reception and as I had no other plans, here I am”, she gives a little spin on the spot to emphasise her presence.
“Well, it is lovely to see you.” I feel proud of myself for getting this far, don’t screw it up. “You will be in trouble though” I tease her, “the guests are not meant to upstage the bride and you look incredible”. This time, the colour creeps into her cheeks and I fight hard to repress the urge to fist pump the occurrence. Just as I am about to ask her if she would like a drink, someone calls her name from outside the hall.
“I’m in here Brad” she calls in response and I watch as a guy saunters into the room wearing an impeccable suit, that was clearly tailor-made for him, on a frame similar to my own. He watches me suspiciously and I clock his type in an instant. He is a rich boy who collects cars and watches with the same fervor as he collects women and I am a threat to his current acquisition. Karrie introduces us, though thankfully explains that I am the groom’s brother, rather than someone she recently reduced to a puddle on the floor of a pub. Brad offers his hand to shake in the way that ‘real men’ do, offered from above so you have no option but to take a submissive stance to shake it. What on earth was Karrie doing with this douche.

I am saved the awkwardness of conversing further with them as the bridal party begins to fill up the hall. I excuse myself, replace my name card and hope that my annoying cousin has been unable to make the reception.
I pay little attention to the speeches and have no appetite for the food; my focus is on the table across the room and on Karrie. Why have I become so transfixed by this woman and what on earth is she doing with that guy. A personal trainer to the stars, Brad has been entertaining the, largely bored, table guests with tales of the cars he has driven, the celebrities he has met and all the places he has vacationed, all of which I have been listening to intently, still puzzled as to what the point of him is. One of the girls on his table is also drinking in every word of it, but Karrie doesn’t appear to be listening, choosing instead to strike up a conversation with someone I think is a great aunt of mine.
I cannot work out why someone so obviously incredible would demean herself by dating such a shallow human being. Despite only meeting him for a few moments, I am convinced that Brad will never respect her as a person but will just see her as a possession to own, until such time as a better version comes along. Granted, I know next to nothing about Karrie either, but such a beautiful, talented and engaging woman could have anyone she wanted, so why settle for Brad?
My thoughts come back to the present as I hear the ‘ting’ of a fork rapped against glass and, looking to the head table, I see Dean rise to toast the happy couple. Once the speeches are finished and the tables are being cleared away to allow the space to be repurposed as a dance floor, I congratulate my brother and new sister-in-law on their nuptials.
Joking that it is still not too late for her to back out, I make my apologies and explain that I need to leave as I have important meetings in the morning for which I need to prepare. Adam knows I dislike this type of thing and accepts my excuses without question or complaint. My mother is less impressed and tells me, rather loudly because she has enjoyed a fair bit of wine this evening, that she has no idea what could be more important than the happy couples first dance. However, as the music starts up and Brad takes Karrie by the arm and leads her to down to the dance floor, I know it is time to leave.

Chapter 3

Over the past few weeks, I have occupied myself with work so as not to have time to think about Karrie. I have been focused on securing several high-profile investors to help me raise capital to buy the machinery and hire the staff I need to really launch the company. Initial feedback from the meetings was incredibly positive, they liked my ideas, the business approach was sound and the prototypes impressive, but none of the investors had come back with an offer yet which has me a little concerned. Just as I am thinking of taking a walk through the local forest trail to calm myself, my phone vibrates to signal an incoming call. I unlock the screen to see my sister’s caller ID. “Hi Lu, how are you?” I ask and then rapidly pull the phone from my ear to save it from the loud sneeze that explodes from the speaker.
“Hi Jor, I’m ill, flu, feel shitty” is my sisters nasally response which is followed by copious attempts to sniff her nose clear.
“Oh no, sorry to hear that Sis, is there anything I can get you? Some hot soup or cold/flu remedy from the pharmacy?” I offer.
“No, I have all that stuff, ‘sniff’, but you could, ‘sniff’, still help me out with something” she replies.
“Okay, sure thing, what do you need?” I ask.
“Well…” her tone suggests that I am not going to like this, “you know I, ‘sniff’, have been working three jobs in order to save money to go away with the girls, ‘sniff’, well I need you to fill in for me on one of them”. Lucy has indeed been working extremely hard to get money together so that she and her friends can go on the ‘holiday of a lifetime’ to Ibiza and if I could help her, I would, but this is not the best time.
“Which of the three is it you would need me to cover and when Lu?” I ask; I am such a good brother.
“Well, that’s the thing, I need you to go to the hospital to roleplay with some new doctors…this afternoon”, silence on both ends greets this pronouncement.
Then, “are you kidding Lu, I can’t just drop everything to play doctors and nurses”, she clearly doesn’t know I am super focused on work, “can’t one of your friends go instead?”
“I’ve tried them all Jor”, a slightly whiny note to her voice now, “they work for a living, so they don’t have time and I thought, well, it’s not like you are doing anything”. It takes me a few moments to restrain from launching into a furious retort, but I instead decide to take the mature approach.
“Sis, please understand, I would help if I could, but I am super busy with the company and… well… honestly, I hate hospitals” I finish weakly. I love my sister very much, but there is no way in a million years that I am going to be filling in for her this time.

Some hours later, as I drive towards the hospital, I am still at a loss to explain how Lucy got me to concede defeat and say I would take her place. I park the car and begin my walk to the entrance, glancing over the notes that she dictated to me over the phone: Ask for Dr Chappell; it’s just like a normal check-up, wear clean underwear. The last note had made me a little uncomfortable, but as I walk up to the hospital receptionist, I realise it is too late for worry now.
Dr Chappell is an older gentleman sporting rather untidy grey hair, an equally grey moustache, tweed suit and an actual bowtie. I like him immediately and we chat amiably as he leads me through a maze of corridors that all look the same to me. Beginning to get a little dizzy, I ask him what I will need to do.
“Ah, well, there really is nothing to it you see” he begins, “all we want you to do is answer some questions and allow the doctors in training to undertake a full medical exam, couldn’t be simpler.” This does not sound too bad to me and I begin to feel that this might be an okay afternoon when Dr Chappell brings us to a halt outside a pair of green doors.
He opens the doors and points to a room just on the left of the corridor, “please go into treatment room 3, strip off behind the screen and then pop on the gown and I will send in the first doctor shortly, okay?”
“You need me to strip right down doctor, underwear as well?” I asked, a sudden glow in my cheeks.
“Well yes, certainly, that isn’t a problem is it?” he asked, seemingly surprised I should have even questioned such a thing.
“Oh, not at all”, I confirm with confidence that I definitely don’t feel, “no, that is fine… thanks doctor.” With a short nod of thanks Dr Chappell hurries off back down the corridor to arrange the first visit, while I shuffle into treatment room 3.

The room is configured much as you would expect for a doctor’s surgery, a desk with chairs either side, a set of scales, a measure of height and, I notice in surprise, a treatment table with stirrups. I suppose they were expecting my sister, but surely, they would not have roleplayed a gynecology appointment? I undress fully as instructed and then put on the hospital gown, doing my best to tie it so that my private parts are not on display. As I slip on the provided slippers, I hear the door open and close. Taking a deep breath, I move around the screen to meet my first doctor.
He is pale looking guy, I would say 25 years old and dressed in a dull grey suit. There is none of the affability of Dr Chappell to this man and he ignores my proffered handshake. “Please take a seat Mr…?” “Bowman, Jordan Bowman” I supply, lowering into the indicated seat by the desk.
“Okay Mr Bowman, I am going to run through a number of questions related to your health, please answer them as honestly as you can, okay?” he says all of this without once looking at me and does not wait for my response.
He runs through about twenty questions, many of which appear to be related to my drinking or sexual habits and then he weighs me, measures my height and takes my blood pressure. All of this he carries out without the slightest humanity, as if I am a thing to be processed and then forgotten. “Okay Mr Bowman” well, at least he remembered I have a name, “please take off the slippers and the gown and hop onto the table for me”. I do as I am told, laying with my back against the table.

The table is cold and gooseflesh instantly appears on my arms and legs as the doctor approaches with stethoscope in hand. He listens to my heart, taps my chest in various places and then listens to my heart again. “I am going to inspect your abdominal wall now to check for masses or tenderness, please let me know if you experience any pain” he says. Then, taking two fingers, he begins to push them around my lower stomach.
It happens at once, as he pushes his fingers into my stomach and begins to work them around, I begin to giggle. He looks at me, slightly confused and asks if I feel any pain. I reassure him all is well and that he should continue, but all is not well… As he returns to pushing into my stomach, I begin to giggle harder, so much so that I have to grab hold of the rails at the side of the table. “Whatever is the matter Mr Bowman? I really do need you to stay still for this” he admonishes me.
“I am so sorry doctor, it...” I can’t believe I am about to say this, “it tickles”. He gives me a filthy look that implies grown men should know how to control themselves, before suggesting that we move onto the next exam. He holds my testicles and asks me to cough; this catches me by surprise as I thought this test was shill put out by the TV industry to make for funny content, but my cough must not reveal anything untoward as he seems satisfied that my balls are as they should be.
Next, he tells me he is going to check my reflexes. He pulls out a little hammer that he uses to tap various areas of body, watching as the corresponding limbs twitch or flick automatically. He then pulls out a metal implement, shaped like a spatula and runs it from the heel of my foot to the toes. I squeal and giggle as my foot performs a totally involuntary flick upwards that almost kicks him. “Please Mr Bowman, will you control yourself!” he demands, taking my foot by the ankle and repeating the movement. This time, unable to move my foot out of his grasp, I laugh harder and wriggle my toes in a futile attempt to escape. He then runs the spatula along the base of my toes which causes me to squeak and squeal again.
“Please. Doctor. It tickles” I explain. He lowers my foot and picks up the other one. He repeats the slow graceful slide across my sole, all the while ignoring the noises I am making. Rather harder to ignore, is what is happening between my legs. I am fully erect as he lowers my foot back down.
“Good Lord Mr Bowman, I really must ask you to show some control over yourself” he admonishes me as he picks up the gown and hurls it over to me. I am mortified by what has just happened, my face red from shame and laughter.
“I am so sorry doctor, this is not like me at all, I can’t explain it”, I try to explain.
He makes a show of documenting things on his clipboard whilst I cover myself back up and then, with no pre-amble informs me, “you will be asked to rate my performance once you have completed all the exams, I shall go and get the next doctor and I suggest you get a grip of yourself!”. With that, he walks out of the room leaving me feeling like I have been punched in the gut.

The second doctor is a young lady, whilst the third is another young man and they both follow, more or less, the same procedure as my first doctor. For my part, I resolve to try much harder to resist the tickling now that I know to expect it, but in both cases I fail miserably. My body betrays me so completely each time, that I consider just grabbing my clothes and running out of the hospital.
Neither doctor seems to appreciate that I am not doing it on purpose, each getting more frustrated as the exam progresses. At the sight of my hardened member, the male doctor blushes and finishes the exam at that point, but the female doctor manages better, suggesting that I should perhaps explore the link between tickling and my sexual organs with a psychiatrist.
I am about to get dressed when there is a knock at the door. Instinctively I invite them in, before realising that I am still naked. I just have time to cover myself with the gown when the last doctor enters the room. She appears slightly older than the other three and introduces herself as Dr Ash. A not unattractive lady of around 30, she asks me to sit at the table and then runs through the same scripted questions as the others. Having taken all my measurements, she asks me to lay on the table, only this time, she positions the stirrups to the front and asks me to put my feet into them.
I hesitate, before doing as instructed. “My colleagues have told me that you have been having a little trouble today Mr Bowman”, she says, “why is that may I ask?” Sheepishly, I tell her that I am rather ticklish today and that it seems to be causing some unexpected complications. “I see, well we can’t have that now can we, I have just the thing.” I watch as she loops what look like fabric bands over my ankles and around the stirrup, before pushing Velcro tabs together.

It takes a moment for me to realise that she is effectively binding me to the table, “Hey now, I really don’t think there is any need for that!”
“I disagree Mr Bowman, I think that it is best for all concerned that you be restrained for this exam, for your well-being and my safety.” She takes my wrist and restrains it to the rail at the side of the bed and no amount of tugging on my behalf seems to make any difference. “Relax Mr Bowman, this is a hospital, no one is going to hurt you, but we also don’t want you to hurt me by accident, do we,” she explains. I consider this and remembering how close I came to kicking the first doctor in the face, decide that she is probably right and allow her to restrain my other hand.
Once restrained, the doctor proceeds to listen to my heart which has, “a good and strong beat, rather faster than normal, understandable given the restraints, but do please try to relax for me.” Here she changes from the previous scripts of her forebears, “I am going to check your underarms for lymph node activity, do please try to stay still while I do so, okay?”
As I nod my ascent, she lowers her fingers into my left armpit and begins to probe inside it. I bite my lip as the first ticklish sensations begin to course through my body. She works her nail over every inch of skin and as she does so I see her watching for my response. I feel my body shake and I try to cover my armpit, but my bound wrists do not allow my arm to fully cover the area. The doctor changes tack and begins to work her nails in little figure 8’s, smiling as my head tilts back and I begin to giggle continuously. It takes a moment to understand the trouble I am now in. This doctor is not examining me, she is torturing me.

I flail from side to side as she brings her other hand into my right armpit. I begin to plead with her to stop, my back arching off the table, but she ignores me. Moving her left hand downwards, she beings to poke my ribs and then, making a fist, she runs the knuckles up and down my side, causing me to howl and shriek. This can not be happening to me. I am not ticklish, but here I am being annihilated by a dominant doctor! I feel tears forming in my eyes as she moves her other hand from my armpit and down to my hip. Here she begins to squeeze me in that area that aligns to pockets on a pair of trousers. It is ticklish like nowhere else I have been touched today and my poor body lifts entirely off the examination table as she works it over.
“PLEEEHEHEASE.. NOO NO, NOT THEEHEHEHEEHEERRE.. I BEG YOU!!!” I scream.
“But you seem to enjoy it so” she smirks and nods her head towards my groin. I look down and see that I am now fully erect, but I am not prepared to see that it is leaking pre-cum. What is happening to me, when did I become such a freak? The answer of course is not hard to guess… the stag party. Karrie. An image of her floats through my brain as the doctor moves herself between my outstretched feet. I take the moment to rest and try to recover my breath. “Please, doctor, let me go now. I am sorry for being difficult today, it really was not intentional” I explain.
“Oh, I can’t let you go yet Mr Bowman” she says as she reaches into her bag and removes a slim cylindrical object, “no, we need to complete the exam with the reflexes test”. She shows me the object which appears to be about three inches in length with what looks like a very thin, almost needle like plastic tip. “This tool is used to check the soles of diabetic patients; I think you will…like it.” The doctor presses a little button on the top of the object and it begins to emit a high-pitched buzzing sound.

Slowly, Dr Ash lowers the plastic tip into the gap between my big and second toe. The sensation is incredible and horrible in equal measure and it causes me to scream, actual screams. My brain is unable to compute the enormous surge of ticklish stimulation that follows and I am not able to accurately describe it. I explode into a hysterical mix of laughter, pleading and pleasure, all senses overloaded. She moves the little hummingbird between each toe and repeatedly across the base of my toes.
It goes on for about 10 minutes before I reach a point at which I stop making sound. My laughter becomes silent, the only sounds being the intermittent ragged breaths I force into myself and the squeak as my body rocks against the table. I am incredibly turned on by this point, the pleasurable feeling growing inside me all the time, but to my increasing frustration, I can’t bring myself to climax. I am not sure what is worse, being brought to orgasm by tickling, or not actually being able to climax!
Eventually, having seemingly satisfied herself, the doctor switches off the object and puts it back into her bag. As I lay shaking on the table, I feel her remove my ankle restraints and lower my legs back onto the table.
“Thank you, Mr Bowman, for a very enjoyable session” she begins, “normally these things are a tedious waste of time, but you were marvellous!” Unsure of how to respond, I decide instead to say nothing. “I do of course expect you to sing my praises to old Chappell when he asks for your feedback and if I don’t like what you say to him, well, I may just have to release this little show on the internet.
Blood runs from my face into my feet at these words and I look her in the eye. “what… what do you mean by ‘release the show’?” I ask. She points to her desk where I notice one of those small all-action style cameras. I feel sick as I realise what she has done. “Now listen here, you can’t do that, I want that camera” I demand.
Dr Ash just laughs, “Oh my dear Mr Bowman, the camera is connected to the hospital network and is uploading the footage to my private cloud; you can take the camera, but it will do no good.” She continues giggling as she releases the final restraint and then, without another word, picks up the camera and her bag and strides out through the door.
I remain on the table for what must be 10 minutes, my body aching from the ordeal it has just been put through and my mind in turmoil as to what has happened to me. Why am I now so ticklish that it is being used as blackmail and why on earth does being tickled seem to excite me sexually? It has to be something to do with Karrie and the stag party, but why? The suggestions were removed after the show and my brother and his friends are presumably all normal or someone would have said something.

I heave myself off the table and put my clothes back on. Unsure of what to do now, I sit at the desk and determine to wait a little longer for Dr Chappell to come for his feedback before leaving the hospital as quickly as possible. I hear his steps in the corridor shortly after and he enters the room with a big smile on his face. “Ah, Mr Bowman, thank you so much for filling in for your sister today,” he beams as if I have done him a great service, “the doctors have all reported that you were a most interesting patient.” He pulls out some papers and we go through each doctor in turn, Dr Chappell asking me to grade certain attributes out of ten. For doctors one through three I am, more or less, honest about my experiences. When we come to Dr Ash however, I blush fiercely as I detail all the areas in which I believe she excelled. Dr Chappell beams and thanks me again as he gathers up the papers and shows me to the door. As we weave through the labyrinth of corridors back to the front door, I pray that Dr Ash is happy with her feedback.

Chapter 4

Something is wrong, terribly wrong with me and it needs to stop. I call Dean and ask him whether he has Karrie’s phone number or address. “Oh yes, you looking for another session with her are you mate?” he asks me, laughing as he scrolls through the contacts on his phone. “I have her number, I’ll ping it over to you now, but I warn you, she seemed pretty close to that Brad idiot at your brother’s wedding and, no offense, I’m not sure what you could bring to that party.”
“Thanks for the pep talk as always Dean, nice to know you think so highly of my chances” I reply and then hang up with his laughter still ringing in my ears. I call Karrie, but the phone diverts and I am forced to leave a message on her voicemail. “Hi, erm Karrie, its Jordan.. we erm, you hypnotised me.” Oh yes this is going very well. “I need to speak with you, it’s very important, I seem to be experiencing some strange side effects and.. erm.. well.. please call me back as soon as you can - thanks”. Smooth Jordan, very smooth.

I hear nothing from Karrie for two days. It is only as I leave one of many meetings with the investors, that my phone buzzes with a text from her. “Hi Jordan, sorry for the late response, I was out of the country with Bradley and only just got your voicemail. Please come see me at my clinic when you can. I shall be in from 3pm today.” This message was followed shortly after by another with directions to an office that I assume is her clinic.
I park outside the clinic and walk up to the door of an imposing redbrick three storey townhouse. The doorway has a panel housing buttons with names next to them and I press the one for Karrie Shaw, Clinical Hypnotist. “Hi Jordan, please use the elevator and come to the second floor, I’ll buzz you in” comes her voice through a speaker in the panel. Looking up, I see a small camera that must be how she identified me as the button pusher.
I ride the elevator to the second floor and into a hallway with a staircase running up through it and a single blue door. I move to knock on the door when it suddenly opens and Karrie appears, dressed in a white blouse, knee length black skirt and a pair of nude heels. “Hi Jordan, please, come in.” Karrie invites me to walk past her as she closes the door and I find myself in a large open plan room with chaise longue sofa, tall-backed leather seats and a coffee table with a number of large books on it.

“I’m so sorry for not calling you back Jordan, but I was in Marbella with Bradley and my phone broke while we were out there. When I finally heard your message, I tried calling but it went to voicemail so I text you as you sounded somewhat flustered” she explained. “Please take a seat and tell me what seems to be the matter”, she indicated that I should sit on the chaise whilst she took one of the chairs.
Taking my seat, I try to think of how to begin without sounding like I am accusing her of anything. “I’m not sure how to start. Directly after you hypnotised me at Adam’s stag party, I began having, erm, unusual dreams.” I look over to where Karrie is sitting and notice she has slipped off her shoes and has curled her feet up under her legs. She looks so unbelievably cute that I stop talking and just look at her.
Interpreting my silence as hesitancy rather than the reality of being rendered mute by the sight of her, Karrie reassures me, “It’s okay Jordan, I want you to feel comfortable here, you can tell me anything you need to, it will go no further. Please, tell me what form these unusual dreams took.”
From the heat flooding across my cheeks, I know that I am blushing, but I have to fix this situation so I must tell her everything. I talk her through the dreams involving her tickling me, the sexual elements as well, being totally honest with her despite the embarrassment I feel. When I recall the situation at the hospital, I want the floor to open up and swallow me and it takes some time before I am able to look over at her again. When I do, I see that, instead of laughing at me or poking fun, she seems genuinely concerned for my suffering.

“Oh, Jordan, I am so sorry that this has happened to you, I really am. There is a very rare phenomenon that is sometimes triggered through hypnosis whereby a person’s unconscious latent desires are inadvertently unlocked.” She pauses here and moves to join me on the chaise longue. “Normally, when the hypnotic trigger and suggestion are removed, the subject returns to normal, unless there is a desire to adjust behaviour such as with those who wish to stop smoking or lose weight. You should have returned to your former non-ticklish self, but something about the suggestion I planted has grown within your subconscious to form a desire, a sexual desire.”
It takes a moment for her statement to set in. “You mean, if I understand correctly, that I wanted to become ticklish and that I wanted to find tickling… sexually stimulating?” I shake my head, “no, that isn’t possible, I have never wanted this. It must be something else, you need to hypnotise me again and tell me that I am not some sort of tickle fanatic, please Karrie.” I look into her deep brown eyes, visibly upset, but determined.
“We can try Jordan, but I warn you, this may not achieve what you want it to. Please, remove your coat and your shoes and lay back on the sofa”. Karrie rises and brings her chair closer to the sofa whilst I slip off my coat and shoes and relax back into the comfortable embrace of the sofa. Karrie instructs me to close my eyes and begins to talk me into a very relaxed state. Unlike the stage hypnosis, this seems to be a slower descent into that deep water of relaxation, but eventually I am completely calm. All I feel is warm and quiet and then a beautiful voice filters down to me.
“Jordan, I want you to tell me how it feels when someone tickles you” I hear the voice ask.

As before, I find myself only too willing to answer the voice, “I used to feel nothing but now, I feel too much.” The voice says nothing so I feel I must explain. “I was never ticklish, I saw it as a weakness and I used it from a place of control. Now I am ticklish and I can’t control it which is horrible, but also…” I try to stop myself from saying the words, but they just come out, “but also amazing and pleasurable.”
The voice waits a moment before saying, “So you hate being tickled because you lose control, but it makes you feel good. When the ticking stops, how do you feel?” the voice asks me.
“I am frustrated, I want it to go on” I tell the voice.
“And why are you frustrated Jordan?” the voice asks.
“Because…” an awake part of my subconscious tries incredibly hard to stop me saying the next words, but I fight back; I must tell the voice everything. “Because I want to reach the climax. I want to be tickled to orgasm.” I feel my subconscious slam the door and I suddenly wake up.
I look over at Karrie who seems disturbed that I have brought myself out of trance so violently. “Are you okay Jordan?” comes her concerned enquiry.
I take a moment to think about my response. In truth, I am terrified. I have just realised that I do not want her to take my ticklishness away, I want her to help me explore it, but I have no idea how to ask without seeming to be incredibly inappropriate. Karrie looks at me, watching the gears whirring behind my eyes. She seems to have come to her own conclusion, despite running through all the ethical and social reasons against it and says, “Jordan, please let me help you. Let me tickle you.”

A thrill of pleasure runs through me as the words fall from her lips, but I find myself refusing her. “Thanks Karrie, that is incredibly kind of you, but I couldn’t ask you to do that. This is not your fault; it’s not really anyone’s fault and I shall just have to work it out on my own.” I consider for a moment, “Plus, I don’t think that Bradley would appreciate you tickling another man to orgasm!” I laugh as I say this, intending it to be a throw away comment to reduce the tension in the room. Looking over at Karrie though, I can see I have miscalculated.
Her eyes are lit with a fire that I have not seen in them before. She stands up and walks over to me. I stand to meet her and as I get close, she begins to prod me in the chest with her finger. Hard. “And why would Bradley have anything to do with this” she exclaims, prodding my chest so hard that I have to take a step back, “he does not own me, though he likes to think he does.” I take another step back to escape the violent digit and stumble on my discarded shoes. Falling back on to the sofa, Karrie towers over me. “I only went with him to Marbella because it was a double date with my friend and her boyfriend for the week. I was looking forward to spending some time with her and visiting the local areas and maybe do some shopping. All Bradley wanted was to show me off to all his Marbella friends and demanded that I stay with him. I got so annoyed I threw my phone at him which is why it broke. We are no longer together, so, you see, he has no influence over me or my decisions – I will do as I please.” With that, she drops to her knees, leans forward and begins to tickle my ribs.
I barely have time to register the thrill of happiness I feel at the news that Karrie and Brad are no longer dating, when the first shock of ticklish electricity runs through me. I squirm and try to back away from her, but the hug of the chaise longue keeps me pinned in place and horribly vulnerable to the ten poking, probing fingers that I now find in my ribs. I look up into her face and see that she is committed to finding out how ticklish I really am. Laughter begins bubbling up from deep inside me, even as I roll my upper body from side to side. I struggle to get myself free, finally, with a great effort, I push her shoulders away and, my arms being the longer, rendered her unable to tickle me.

Clearly unimpressed, Karrie rises and taking me by the hand, pulls me up off the sofa. “Oh no, this will not do at all Jordan, you need to take your medicine willingly or this will only get worse” she said. “No, this won’t do at all. I think we need to restrain you, for your own good.” This statement makes me visibly shudder and a flashback to Dr Ash in the treatment room comes suddenly into my mind.
“Are you sure that is necessary Karrie. I mean, you seem a little, upset. Perhaps I should leave you for now.” I offer this as a way out, for her as well as me, but I can see her mind is made up and, looking a little closer, something else is behind her eyes now. Desire.
“I am sorry, I’m not upset with you Jordan, quite the opposite. I would feel guilty about all this, except you seem to want it. Please let me help. Tickling you just then was, exhilarating and I must admit, rather exciting, if you know what I mean.” This was delivered in a sort of breathy excitement and any doubts I may have about what is about to occur, disappear. After all, I have literally dreamt about this moment.
“So, how do we do this then?” I ask.

Chapter 5

“Come with me” Karrie says as she walks away down a corridor, pulling me by the hand through another door and into a room which has a bed. “I stay at the office sometimes when I have to come into town to see emergency clients or if I am going out with friends” she explains. She closes the door and moves to a wardrobe with three drawers. From inside one of the drawers, she removes several black stockings which she brings over to the bed. “If you trust me, I can secure you to the four corners of the bed with these. They should be able to keep you still and less likely to accidentally hurt me, what do you say?” she asks, her face showing her inner conflict between concern and commitment.
“It sounds like a good plan to me, but won’t your neighbours worry about the noise I will make laughing my head off?” I asked.
“No, these old building have very thick walls, floors and ceilings. I don’t think they will hear and if they do, well, they will probably assume you have a very deep mental illness that I am helping you to get over, which is actually true!” her last words are followed by a big grin and a small poke of her tongue.

“How dare you” I say in mock outrage, “I’m as sane as the next person!”. I have no idea what prompts me to do it, but as I say this, I poke Karrie in the side, just for a moment, but it is enough to make her squeal and jump back a little. “Ho ho,” I laugh, “seems someone else is a little ticklish too!”.
“Don’t get any ideas mister,” she says as she begins to wrap the first stocking around my wrist, “no tickling the tickler! Now take off your trousers and lay down” she instructs with a smirk. I do as I am told and slide my trousers off and then, on consideration, my socks too. I lay back on the bed and feel Karrie tying the stockings at my wrists onto the bed. She moves down to my ankles and begins to bind the left one. “You have nice feet for a guy Jordan, they are quite big and seem rather… soft” at this, she slides a finger from my heel to the base of the toes. The movement elicits a noise somewhere between a sharp intake of breath and a giggle, which to me sounds horribly like a snort and despite pulling hard to remove my foot from her reach, the stocking around my ankle is already secured to the bed and my foot barely moves. Giggling, Karrie licks her lips and moves to secure my right foot. “This is going to be fun… for me at least” she predicts.

My heart is beating a little faster now, as the full reality of my situation hits home. I am bound to a bed by a beautiful lady I barely know, who is committed to tickling me till I literally explode and there is nothing at all I can do about it. Still, I reason, this is not really anything I haven’t been through before, courtesy of Dr Ash and if there was anyone in the world that I think I might enjoy being tickled by, it’s Karrie. I feel a tingling in my balls that suggests they are not unhappy about the situation and I decide to take my steer from them. Taking a deep breath, I look over to Karrie who is removing her skirt and unbuttoning the top of her blouse and the breath sticks in my throat.
“Erm, not that I am complaining, but what are you doing?” I ask her. Her blouse falls to the floor and she moves over to the bed, sits down next to me and begins to unbutton my shirt.
“I thought this might make you more, erm, comfortable” she says, a look of concern suddenly flickering on her face, “if you would rather, I can put my things back on?”
“NO…” smooth Jordon, “I mean, no, thanks, that is very kind of you and, as long as you don’t mind me seeing you like this, erm, then I am very happy to see you like this.” blushing furiously I laugh and look into her face. “I am going to shut up now and just enjoy the view”.

All the buttons undone, Karrie opens my shirt to expose my torso and slight six pack, before lowering her head and kissing me on the lips. “For luck,” she says, “are you ready?” I nod and try to relax against the pillow.
“I’ll start off slowly and just explore all your ticklish spots” Karrie tells me before moving her hands to my wrists. Slowly and with a gentle pressure, she traces her nails along my forearm and down over my elbow. I giggle a little as she passes the joint, my body tingling with goosebumps as she gives me a raised eyebrow look that clearly says “Really? I can’t believe that tickled you; who has ticklish elbows?” Karrie moves her hand back and runs her nails over my elbow again. Again, her moves are met with a giggle from myself. “Are you putting this on Jordon?” she asks.
“No, I swear I am not – this is the reality of my situation now – hypersensitivity” I explain. She nods and moves her nails along my bicep and then around my armpit. I stiffen as her nails move across the skin of my underarm and flinch, my restrains preventing my from the protection of my arms. “Please. Don’t tickle my armpit, I can’t take it” I plead.
“I’m sorry Jordon, but I have to try every inch of you to determine how much of your body is affected” and with that she begins to trace a one fingered circle from the outside of my armpit which slowly works inwards. My body shudders and I try to twist away from her finger, but it’s no use. The digit works across the sensitive skin and I am unable to silence the giggles that begin to roll out from inside.
“Heeheehee. Noo pleassse.. it tiiickles..” I manage to say before the giggling increases. Instead of stopping, Karrie reaches over and lowers the index finger from her other hand into my second armpit. The shock of ticklish energy that flows from this action turns my giggles into laughter; uncontrollable, unstoppable torrents of laughter. Without any instruction from me, my body begins to buck and twist as Karrie adds more fingers to the dance taking place inside my armpits. I try to breath between the bouts of laughter and I am beginning to wonder if it will ever end, when it suddenly does.

Karrie gives me a few seconds to recover my breathing before she moves her hands out of my armpits and down the sides of my body to my ribs. Swallowing lungful’s of oxygen, my eyes widen in shock as I feel the first prodding on either side of my ribcage. Karrie’s fingers poke in-between each rib and I am immediately laughing again. She plays my ribs like they are the keys on a baby grand and each prod brings out a yelp or a squeal that soon become the soundtrack for my torment. I am laughing so hard by this point that I have tears in my eyes and my body aches from fighting against the cursed stockings, but other things are happening that my brain has not yet had time to process. As the tickling reduces me to a literal puddle on the bed, I am dimly aware that I am also getting the mother of all erections inside my boxers.
Karrie is too focused on my ribs to notice, but as she moves down to my hips, I hear a little cry of surprise escape her lips. “Oh my Jordon, you weren’t lying about the effect this tickling has on you were you!” and she gives a little giggle which makes me blush.
“Erm….no… I really… can’t… control it…I’m afraid…sorry” I manage to say between deep inhalations, my body grateful for the brief respite her question allows.
“Hmm” she says, “I think we need to study this in more detail, don’t you Jordon?” I barely have time to raise a confused eyebrow before Karrie has the boxer elastic in her hands as is pulling them down towards my ankles. It takes maybe a second for me to realise that I am now totally exposed to the lady that I am massively attracted to, whilst also being, fully erect. My balls tingle and I am no longer aware of whether it is possible to blush more.
Karrie stands at the foot of the bed. She seems to be having a conversation with herself; a conversation which I am neither required nor expected to be a part of. When she finally finishes her internal discussion, she asks me “Have you been brought to orgasm through any of the tickling you have experienced yet?” she asks.
“I was very close to it at the hospital with that psycho doctor, but no, no I haven’t. Why?” Karrie looks me in the eye and seems to be considering how best to answer.
“When I put the idea into your head that being tickled made you sexually aroused, I believe I awakened something inside you that has now linked sex and tickling.” She pauses to see if I have followed thus far and I nod to show I have so she continues, “in order to break that link, I think we need to complete the circle, which means, you need to orgasm.” She says all this in such a matter-of-fact way, that I am quite sure she is correct, however, there is a problem.

“I am sure you are right Karrie, but with Dr Ash, I did not seem able to get to a climax. She tickled me out of my mind, but I couldn’t orgasm, it was super frustrating” I try to explain. Karrie considers this for a moment.
“I think we need to help the process along Jordon. I think I need to stimulate you as I tickle you and I think I know how to do it. Do you trust me?” She asks.
“I’m strapped to your bed and all but naked Karrie, I think we both know the answer to that one” I joke, giving my restrains a little pull as if to emphasise the point.
“Very true” she says with a giggle. She unties my feet and removes my boxer shorts from my ankles. Then, taking each foot in turn, she restrains me so that I am fully spread eagle. With a quick jump, Karrie leaps onto the bed and sits between my legs. Her feet next to my balls and her hands I notice, all too close to my sensitive arches.
From between my legs, Karrie looks me in the eye and says, “Jordan, I need you to tell me if you start to feel yourself getting to the point of climax, okay? I want to try something, but it is very important you do not orgasm too quickly.”
“I am not at all sure my conscious mind will know what is happening judging by my experiences thus far, but I promise I will do my best” I tell her earnestly. Karrie nods and I have just enough time to register anxiety at what she has planned for me, when I feel her index finger of each hand, begin to run up and down my arch. My toes curl and my heel hops, but the stockings hold me in place and the only movement I have is side to side as I squirm helplessly under the sensations.

The index fingers are joined in short order by Karrie’s remaining digits and they begin to make lazy figure 8’s across my soles. The resultant waves of laughter explode from within me and I begin to beg and plead for her to stop. “Do you want me to stop tickling you Jordan” she teases, “tell me you want this to stop and I will let you go right now.” Her fingers begin to run along the skin at the base of my toes, causing my head to bounce up and down on the pillows as my body arches and lowers in quick succession.
“Haahaaha.. no.. hehee. don’t.. stooop… keheeheep. tickling me.. hahahah.” I practically scream in response. Pleasure is building throughout my body in equal measure to the violence in which I react to Karrie’s nails on my soles and the result is almost unbelievable. I am being frustrated and turned on as never before and the culmination of these two factors convinces me that I want her to continue for as long as I remain conscious.
Lost to the sensations racking over my body, I almost miss the pressure on either side of my engorged member. With a start, I look down and see that Karrie has the arches of her barefeet against my cock and is beginning to stroke them up and down, whilst her fingers probe in and out of the space between my toes. It is too much. My heart is surely going to stop beating, the combined assault on my feet and the animal between my legs is too much.
Slowly, with every stroke, the pleasure rises, imperceivably at first, but then more strongly. I am panting, laughing, moaning, crying and pleading and still her fingers and feet continue. My melted brain, no longer able to discern whether it has been minutes, hours or days since Karrie began, is able to recognise that I am dangerously close to orgasm. With an incredible force of will, I keep my promise and manage to make sounds that must have told her that I am in the edge.

Karrie stops tickling my feet immediately; subsequent movement of the bed tells me she is relocating and the pressure on my legs tells me that she is over my groin. Through my blurred tear-streaked eyes, I see her move her panties and lower herself on to my erection. Her hips push against me and I see her beautiful body rise and fall in an experienced rhythm. I feel her fingers settle into the space just above my hip bone and from there, begin to tickle me again.
Karrie uses her fingers to squeeze what I am now sure is the most ticklish part of my body and I am immediately reduced to waves of silent laughter. My body is no longer capable of understanding the sensations it is experiencing as they all muddle into one awful, wonderful cacophony that renders me completely helpless.
I feel Karrie’s rhythm increase and I am dimly aware that this must mean she is also close. My own pleasure centre overloads and the release of endorphins floods through me shortly followed by the crashing wave of the most intense orgasm I have ever felt in my life. I cry out and my back arches so violently that I am surprised to see that Karrie is not thrown across the room. I glance up and see that she is arching in her own explosion of climactic pleasure and I reason the symmetry of the two must have cancelled themselves out.
Slowly, as the shuddering orgasm subsides, I lower my sweat covered back onto the bed, breath coming in ragged pulses, occasionally joined by aftershocks of unsolicited giggles or moans. I feel Karrie’s body lower into my chest and we both lay there revelling in the exhausted afterglow of an experience neither of us expected to share.
I lean my head forward as much as the restraints allow and my lips brush against her hair. I kiss the top of her head and in a hoarse, shaky voice tell her that she has just given me the most incredible experience of my life. She smiles at me, moving up my body so that her lips and mine can meet and share our first post-coital kiss.
“The most incredible experience of your life thus far” she jokes as she moves to release me from the stockings, “but I think one that we need to repeat many times more. What do you think?” she looks over at me, a playful expression on her face.
Freed of the restraints, I collapse against the pillow, my body beginning to register the ache in my muscles and how heavy my body feels. “There is nothing I want to do more” I respond honestly “but maybe, if it’s okay, I can just rest a little first!”

Epilogue

Karrie and I recently got married (I banned Dean from helping with the stag do plans) and, with the successful launch of my company, I was able to build our dream house on the outskirts of a small country village. To all intents and purposes, it is just the type of house that a successful professional couple would own, but with one subtle difference. We were quite insistent that we wanted the walls to be well insulated and sound proofed in certain rooms. If the builders wondered why, they were being paid too well to mention it.

On the whole, we have integrated well into village life; have joined the various groups, book clubs and fund raisers that one is expected to and if you asked any one of the locals, they would swear we were the very model of a young successful couple. A few of them may have heard what sounds like the lilt of hysterical laughter carried on the wind now and then, but they know Karrie works with people who suffer mental problems and so dismiss it.
Little do they know that on those occasions, deep inside the house, one or other of us is strapped down and being tickled all over their body to the point of orgasm. Yes, I did say one or other of us. It took a little while to convince her, but eventually Karrie’s curiosity got the better of her and she experienced the terrible pleasure of being tickled to the brink of collapse. Needless to say, she is almost as ticklish as I am. Almost.