First story ever, be nice, etc, etc.
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Gabriella at the World Massage Competition (M/F, everywhere) - PART 1
=============================================
Gabriella wasn’t just a budding model, she was a budding super model. Her agent was so immediately confident in Gabriella’s bankability they paid for all of her headshots and portfolio compilation the weekend after she walked through their doors. They had big, big plans for Gabriella, though she didn’t know it yet.
Born and raised in a small beach town west of Florence, Italy, Gabriella lived a normal life into her early-twenties, working as a kindergarten teacher. Her students and fellow teachers adored her, not just because of her stunning good looks but because of her warm and unassuming personality. And she was a darned good teacher. Nevertheless, a week wouldn’t go by when at least one person would ask “Are you a model? Are you a model? You must be a model.” She had no plans for the summer after her first year of teaching, so after the school year ended she said to heck with it and took a train to Florence. Carrying nothing but her iPhone she walked into the first modeling agency she looked up on it. The Banco Agency signed her up on sight, didn’t even interview her, she was that perfect. Her first gig was in a local circular for sweaters for $250, her second was simply as a hand/jewelry model where she got $400 for sticking her beautiful hands on top of a velvet blanket hawking bracelets and rings for three hours. Modeling was almost too easy, but after the first two quick gigs, things quieted down. Then she got a doozy.
“Gabriella, I’ve got a great one for you,” her agent called her one afternoon. "Even easier than the hand one. Massages! You like massages? You just sit there and get a massage for a massage competition they’re shooting at a warehouse on the other side of the city. Three hours you lie on a table and experts gives you a massage. The want models. Pays $1,000. Is good, right?”
“$1,000 to get massaged? That’s crazy! Of course!”
“$900 after my commission, sweetie. It shoots this Saturday, I’ll email you the details. Don’t ever say I don’t take care of you, Gabriella!”
“Ha ha, okay!”
An hour later he phone beeped with an email from Banco: “Call time is 9AM. The shoot begins at 11AM sharp and will be livestreamed on Twitch. You will be naked under towels but your privates will always be covered, the only exception being your breasts which might briefly be exposed for massage but completely in a professional manner. Please also know that just about every inch of your body will be massaged by rotating expert masseuses and masseurs, and there may be closeups of your body at different moments, and it will be broadcast all over the internet, so make proper preparations (shaving, waxing and the like). Your body will also be massage prepped by onsite staff before the competition.”
Gabriella wasn’t particularly alarmed by any of this. She didn’t know what “massage prepped onsite staff” meant but then again she didn’t even know was took place during an actual massage, as she had never had one. Despite her stunning looks she was quite inexperienced in intimacy with other human beings. She had a boyfriend in high school for about 5 months who was a boring fellow 10 in the looks department, but they did nothing more than kiss a couple of times. She later found out he was gay, so it wasn’t a shock that no exploration of their respective bodies ever occurred between them. Even through university the boys tended to be intimidated by her extreme beauty and so she was rarely asked out on dates as they always assumed she was out of their league.
Gabriella was, indeed, out of everyone’s league.
On the spectrum of pure, God-given natural beauty, she was on the extreme end of the scale. She was exactly 5’ 10” with tanned Italian skin, dark brown eyes, salon-perfect lush straight dark brown hair, full lips, high cheekbones, perfect teeth, the works. She had Goldilocks breasts and butt: perfectly proportioned to her body, not too big, not too small. Her long luscious legs were toned and naturally athletic, and though she wasn’t a gym freak, she swore by long hot yoga sessions at a local studio and had killer abs. Her agent first thought it was Italian model Elizabeth Gregoraci playing a joke on them when she walked through the door for the first time, but quickly realized Gabriella was younger, taller and prettier. What brought it all together was her sweet, positive disposition, always.
The night before the shoot she painted her own fingernails and toes the same deep red color, remembering the hand modeling closeups and how high definition cameras can be these days. Other than that she performed the perfunctory shaving any respectable woman would do under her arms and around her lady parts, thought she was not a particularly hairy girl. She loved the beach and had a natural suntan which she tended to be obsessive about. Even tan, all the time. She showered the morning of, deodorized and moisturized everywhere as was her daily ritual, packed a small bag, and off she went to Florence.
“I can’t believe I’m getting paid $1,000…well, $900 – to be massaged today," she texted a friend on the train. "Massaged! Life is good.”
When she arrived at the location she quickly realized what a elaborate production she was about to be a part of. From the outside, the warehouse looked like any other building on the outskirts of Florence, Italy, but once inside it was like being transported to Hollywood. Cameras, lights, stands, tables, more cameras, microphone booms even. A giant banner hung from the rafters “World Massage Championship, Florence 2018.”
A young German staffer immediately recognized her as an obvious model and escorted her to a back room, where with the other models she was told to put her hair in a tight bun and change into a white kimono and white spa slippers. When the twenty models were all ready and lined up they looked like guitarists in a Robert Palmer video, just in robes. Even among the gorgeous models, even dressed exactly the same, Gabriella stood out as the prettiest woman in the room. She was always the prettiest in the room, where ever she went. Always.
A German middle-aged woman entered the room with a clipboard, and spoke to the models in Italian (they were all Italian): “Thank you for coming today. Welcome to the 41st World Massage Championship. My name is Helga, and I will be in charge of things. When you leave this room, go to main area and choose a table to lay down on. One of our staffers will prepare your body for the massage therapists, who will be out later. Every model must be prepared the exact same way so as not to give any competitor an advantage over the other. You will be cleaned of any soap, lotion or makeup you may have put on already, and then some common light oils will be reapplied to your body."
Some of the models grumbled. "I just did my eyes," said a red head in the corner.
"Please be cooperative," shushed Helga. "Remember you are being PAID to be massaged by the world’s greatest massage therapists today, so if you complain about anything, you are crazy!” The models all giggled. Helga was firm but in a motherly way. “Seriously though, you will be on those table for the rest of the day, so use the bathroom now or never. Any questions? No? Follow me then.”
Gabriella followed the other models into the main room where 20 massage tables were lined up, ten on each side, and chose a table near the middle. A Filipino staffer wearing black scrubs, Pani, nodded to her as she politely smiled back. Pani took her robe as she laid on the table, which was covered by a thin sheet of clear plastic. Pani turned his head respectfully and didn't even peek at her entirely bare body for the 2 seconds it was naked before he her covered her entirely in black fluffy towels. Only Gabriella's head peaked out, resting on a small plastic covered pillow. As the other models settled into same position on their respective tables they collectively looked like the prettiest iron lung patients ever assembled.
Pani took a deep breath. He could not believe the choices he made in his young life all resulted in where he was standing, right now. And about to do what he was about to do.
===
Pani was hired earlier in the summer to work at a warehouse facility for $2 an hour in the middle of Florence. He was 22 and lived a spartan life as a foreign national in Italy. He did not speak a lick of Italian or English, only his native language of the Philippines. His whole summer had been miserable. Working 18-hour days, sleeping in a crammed bunk beds for 5 hours tops a night, barely time to eat, one day off a month. But the money was good and he had few other options. Saturday he was only told to show up to the warehouse in the black scrubs provided, meet with a German woman named Helga at 8AM, and be “extremely clean.” Pani was already a meticulously clean man, to a fault, which definitely made him stand out among his fellow bunk mates. His handsome looks and 6 foot 2 stature made him stand out as well, but at this stage of his career neither did him any good. He had ambitious plans to learn other languages, be his own boss and earn lots of money and someday be one of the leaders giving orders, but today he was just a 22-year old foreigner stuck in a grueling daily life thousands of miles from home.
Today was not going to be so grueling for Pani, though. Today was going to be the greatest day of his entire life thus far. Every minute of this particular Saturday was going to be joyously replayed in his mind forever. He just didn’t know it yet.
Pani woke up at 6:30AM that Saturday, did a quick calisthenic workout, showered, filed his nails, put on deodorant and combed his hair, had a snack bar and some coffee for breakfast and showed up with his fellow foreign laborers at the warehouse for his call time. Of the 200 laborers on site, just 20 were chosen by his supervisor to meet with Helga, the German woman in charge of everything, in the northeast corner at 8AM. "Give me your best 20 men of highest character and competence, and make sure they are extremely clean," Helga emailed Pani's boss. Pani got there early to view his workspace that day and was in awe of what he saw: cameras, lights, fans, climate control devices, giant sponsorship banners everywhere, and curiously, 20 massage tables perfectly placed the center of the room. This was quite a high end production apparently, and he was going to be a part of it. He had no idea what he'd be doing mind you, but he was grateful he made the cut.
Helga's personal staff had already placed two galvanized buckets with filtered warm water at the head of each massage table. In each bucket were bars of soap with massage nubs on one side of them, the kind you find in hotels, four high thread count thin washcloths, and two mini horsehair body brushes. The massage tables had half a dozen black towels folded on top. Helga gathered the laborers around and spoke in two other languages Pani didn’t know, then his native Filipino:
“Good morning, my name is Helga, your boss put you all under my charge for the day. My German staff has already set everything up for you, you just need to do the labor part, which I will now explain. After this talk, you will walk to the center of the room and position yourself standing at top left corner of a massage table. There will be massage models who will come out shortly in robes. Take off their robes, have them lay on the table, and cover them completely in three towels leaving only their head exposed. You will first wash their faces of any makeup with the soft cloths provided. Then remove the first towel and wash their torsos. Yes, including their breasts. Lift their arms and wash their entire sides including their armpits. If they are wearing deodorant make sure it is removed with the soap and water provided. Dry off their torsos, cover them again with the black towels, and proceed to their legs. Clean every inch down to their ankles, and pay special attention to their feet. Clean every nook and cranny with the body brushes provided. Have them flip over and wash their backs, buttocks and back of legs down to their ankles, and do the bottoms of their feet again for good measure. Are there any questions?”
Hearing none, the German instructor said one last thing, three times in different languages:
“One last thing: You will be massaging these models in some very intimate areas. If there is any funny business whatsoever you will be fired on the spot, sent back to your home country, and all your wages will be forfeited. Does everyone understand that?”
Everyone nodded affirmatively.
Pani’s heart started beating faster and heavier than it ever had in his life. He could feel his face flushing. He couldn’t believe what was about to happen. Pani was a red-blooded heterosexual young man, at his sexual peak, and he was about to intimately clean some random, smoking hot Italian model. And get paid for it. What’s more, Pani had a deep sexual proclivity which he never spoke of and which he thought he was the only person in the world with: A voracious fetish about women that he never believed could be adequately fulfilled in his wildest dreams.
Only this was not a dream, it was real, and it was about to begin. And that insatiable obsession was about to be fulfilled, in more ways than one.
===
Gabriella closed her eyes and soon felt a warm cloth over them, which quickly swirled around her face. Pani was delicate but assertive as he moved the warm wet cloth over her chiseled cheekbones, poking his fingers behind the cloth into her cute dimples on the each side of her cheeks. He felt like he was buffering a sculpture of the most beautiful face ever created. He wasn’t wrong, it’s just this one was alive, and smiling as he moved the warm cloth around. Her face was upside down to him as he moved around the edge of her hairline and down to her ears. A smile crept on her as earlobes were apparently very sensitive. Her mouth opened wide and smiled cheek to perfect cheek as he poked his washcloth covered fingers inside her ears for a brief second. She let out another light giggle as he swirled around and cleaned the rest of her ears. He then dipped the cloth back in the warm slightly soapy water, rang it out, and slithered it under her chin to her neck. Gabriella immediately scrunched her neck up, scrunched her eyes shut and let out an adorable “click click click click” sort of giggle. “Solletico. Solletico!” Pani did not know the Italian word for “stop” but assumed that’s what she was saying. He looked up, not knowing what to do as Gabriella continued to lightly laugh even though the cloth was no longer stimulating her neck. Helga with her clipboard saw what was happening and just rolled her eyes. “Just clean, you.” Pani looked over to her and mimed, “Me?” “Yes, you! You must clean. Everywhere. Proceed! Keep going. Time is moving.”
Pani put the cloth back under Gabriella’s chin and washed all the way around her neck. Though she didn’t scrunch again she giggled lightly the entire time. Even upside-down, her smile was so incredibly radiant and beautiful, and she opened her eyes and tried to make eye contact to upside down Pani, saying “Scusate, il mio collo e solletico,” she explained her neck was sensitive. “Hindi ko maintindhan.” He replied, not understanding. “Oh, non parli Italiano, non importa, ah ah. Hai fatto un ottimo lavoro. Grazie.” Pani had no idea what she said. He simply repeated, smiling and apologized for not understanding again.
“Pangingiliti. Siya ay pangingiliti” Helga barked from the other side of the room, and she marched back over. “Ticklish. She’s ticklish. She said her neck is ticklish.”
Even hearing someone utter the word “pangingiliti” made Pani’s heart race.
Tickling. The English word for pangingiliti. Pani's overwhelming obsession.
When it dawned on him what this all meant, Pani almost fainted on the spot as all the blood inside him immediate surged to one particular area of his body, while his heart pumped like a piston. Pani had two raging turn ons. Well, three if you count gorgeous women, and here in front of Pani was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen (check). And this most beautiful girl he had ever seen had just given the clearest indication that she was, indeed, the one thing he wonders about every pretty woman: Are they ticklish? This one trait that that turns him on more than any other trait imaginable. Ticklishness (CHECK). She is ticklish, this woman is ticklish. And he, Pani was tasked to clean her. With wash cloths and soap and soft brushes any maybe even his bare hands. And ignore her apparent ticklishness if it arises. AND THIS IS HIS JOB FOR THE DAY.
Pani attempted to compose himself and get a grip on everything that was transpiring so rapidly, and also county his exponentially-increasing blessings. He told himself that if this was the only area of Gabriella's entire body that wound up being ticklish, her neck, this cute giggle and laugh alone from Gabriella’s adorable mouth would be enough for Pani’s memory for years. Washing the rest of her would be gravy. He'll always remember that cute little giggle and smile.
It turned out not to be the only such area.
Helga leaned over Gabriella’s head and whispered to her loudly. “I hope your neck is the only place you’re ticklish because if it’s not, it’s going to be a long next couple of hours, sweetie.”
Helga had been running this competition for the last 22 years, and she had dealt with ticklish models before.
But as everyone would soon find out, Gabriella was in an entirely other ballpark.
===
TO BE CONTINUED...
Actually you can read Part 2 right here:
http://www.ticklingforum.com/showth...d-Massage-Competition-(M-F-everywhere)-PART-2
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Gabriella at the World Massage Competition (M/F, everywhere) - PART 1
=============================================
Gabriella wasn’t just a budding model, she was a budding super model. Her agent was so immediately confident in Gabriella’s bankability they paid for all of her headshots and portfolio compilation the weekend after she walked through their doors. They had big, big plans for Gabriella, though she didn’t know it yet.
Born and raised in a small beach town west of Florence, Italy, Gabriella lived a normal life into her early-twenties, working as a kindergarten teacher. Her students and fellow teachers adored her, not just because of her stunning good looks but because of her warm and unassuming personality. And she was a darned good teacher. Nevertheless, a week wouldn’t go by when at least one person would ask “Are you a model? Are you a model? You must be a model.” She had no plans for the summer after her first year of teaching, so after the school year ended she said to heck with it and took a train to Florence. Carrying nothing but her iPhone she walked into the first modeling agency she looked up on it. The Banco Agency signed her up on sight, didn’t even interview her, she was that perfect. Her first gig was in a local circular for sweaters for $250, her second was simply as a hand/jewelry model where she got $400 for sticking her beautiful hands on top of a velvet blanket hawking bracelets and rings for three hours. Modeling was almost too easy, but after the first two quick gigs, things quieted down. Then she got a doozy.
“Gabriella, I’ve got a great one for you,” her agent called her one afternoon. "Even easier than the hand one. Massages! You like massages? You just sit there and get a massage for a massage competition they’re shooting at a warehouse on the other side of the city. Three hours you lie on a table and experts gives you a massage. The want models. Pays $1,000. Is good, right?”
“$1,000 to get massaged? That’s crazy! Of course!”
“$900 after my commission, sweetie. It shoots this Saturday, I’ll email you the details. Don’t ever say I don’t take care of you, Gabriella!”
“Ha ha, okay!”
An hour later he phone beeped with an email from Banco: “Call time is 9AM. The shoot begins at 11AM sharp and will be livestreamed on Twitch. You will be naked under towels but your privates will always be covered, the only exception being your breasts which might briefly be exposed for massage but completely in a professional manner. Please also know that just about every inch of your body will be massaged by rotating expert masseuses and masseurs, and there may be closeups of your body at different moments, and it will be broadcast all over the internet, so make proper preparations (shaving, waxing and the like). Your body will also be massage prepped by onsite staff before the competition.”
Gabriella wasn’t particularly alarmed by any of this. She didn’t know what “massage prepped onsite staff” meant but then again she didn’t even know was took place during an actual massage, as she had never had one. Despite her stunning looks she was quite inexperienced in intimacy with other human beings. She had a boyfriend in high school for about 5 months who was a boring fellow 10 in the looks department, but they did nothing more than kiss a couple of times. She later found out he was gay, so it wasn’t a shock that no exploration of their respective bodies ever occurred between them. Even through university the boys tended to be intimidated by her extreme beauty and so she was rarely asked out on dates as they always assumed she was out of their league.
Gabriella was, indeed, out of everyone’s league.
On the spectrum of pure, God-given natural beauty, she was on the extreme end of the scale. She was exactly 5’ 10” with tanned Italian skin, dark brown eyes, salon-perfect lush straight dark brown hair, full lips, high cheekbones, perfect teeth, the works. She had Goldilocks breasts and butt: perfectly proportioned to her body, not too big, not too small. Her long luscious legs were toned and naturally athletic, and though she wasn’t a gym freak, she swore by long hot yoga sessions at a local studio and had killer abs. Her agent first thought it was Italian model Elizabeth Gregoraci playing a joke on them when she walked through the door for the first time, but quickly realized Gabriella was younger, taller and prettier. What brought it all together was her sweet, positive disposition, always.
The night before the shoot she painted her own fingernails and toes the same deep red color, remembering the hand modeling closeups and how high definition cameras can be these days. Other than that she performed the perfunctory shaving any respectable woman would do under her arms and around her lady parts, thought she was not a particularly hairy girl. She loved the beach and had a natural suntan which she tended to be obsessive about. Even tan, all the time. She showered the morning of, deodorized and moisturized everywhere as was her daily ritual, packed a small bag, and off she went to Florence.
“I can’t believe I’m getting paid $1,000…well, $900 – to be massaged today," she texted a friend on the train. "Massaged! Life is good.”
When she arrived at the location she quickly realized what a elaborate production she was about to be a part of. From the outside, the warehouse looked like any other building on the outskirts of Florence, Italy, but once inside it was like being transported to Hollywood. Cameras, lights, stands, tables, more cameras, microphone booms even. A giant banner hung from the rafters “World Massage Championship, Florence 2018.”
A young German staffer immediately recognized her as an obvious model and escorted her to a back room, where with the other models she was told to put her hair in a tight bun and change into a white kimono and white spa slippers. When the twenty models were all ready and lined up they looked like guitarists in a Robert Palmer video, just in robes. Even among the gorgeous models, even dressed exactly the same, Gabriella stood out as the prettiest woman in the room. She was always the prettiest in the room, where ever she went. Always.
A German middle-aged woman entered the room with a clipboard, and spoke to the models in Italian (they were all Italian): “Thank you for coming today. Welcome to the 41st World Massage Championship. My name is Helga, and I will be in charge of things. When you leave this room, go to main area and choose a table to lay down on. One of our staffers will prepare your body for the massage therapists, who will be out later. Every model must be prepared the exact same way so as not to give any competitor an advantage over the other. You will be cleaned of any soap, lotion or makeup you may have put on already, and then some common light oils will be reapplied to your body."
Some of the models grumbled. "I just did my eyes," said a red head in the corner.
"Please be cooperative," shushed Helga. "Remember you are being PAID to be massaged by the world’s greatest massage therapists today, so if you complain about anything, you are crazy!” The models all giggled. Helga was firm but in a motherly way. “Seriously though, you will be on those table for the rest of the day, so use the bathroom now or never. Any questions? No? Follow me then.”
Gabriella followed the other models into the main room where 20 massage tables were lined up, ten on each side, and chose a table near the middle. A Filipino staffer wearing black scrubs, Pani, nodded to her as she politely smiled back. Pani took her robe as she laid on the table, which was covered by a thin sheet of clear plastic. Pani turned his head respectfully and didn't even peek at her entirely bare body for the 2 seconds it was naked before he her covered her entirely in black fluffy towels. Only Gabriella's head peaked out, resting on a small plastic covered pillow. As the other models settled into same position on their respective tables they collectively looked like the prettiest iron lung patients ever assembled.
Pani took a deep breath. He could not believe the choices he made in his young life all resulted in where he was standing, right now. And about to do what he was about to do.
===
Pani was hired earlier in the summer to work at a warehouse facility for $2 an hour in the middle of Florence. He was 22 and lived a spartan life as a foreign national in Italy. He did not speak a lick of Italian or English, only his native language of the Philippines. His whole summer had been miserable. Working 18-hour days, sleeping in a crammed bunk beds for 5 hours tops a night, barely time to eat, one day off a month. But the money was good and he had few other options. Saturday he was only told to show up to the warehouse in the black scrubs provided, meet with a German woman named Helga at 8AM, and be “extremely clean.” Pani was already a meticulously clean man, to a fault, which definitely made him stand out among his fellow bunk mates. His handsome looks and 6 foot 2 stature made him stand out as well, but at this stage of his career neither did him any good. He had ambitious plans to learn other languages, be his own boss and earn lots of money and someday be one of the leaders giving orders, but today he was just a 22-year old foreigner stuck in a grueling daily life thousands of miles from home.
Today was not going to be so grueling for Pani, though. Today was going to be the greatest day of his entire life thus far. Every minute of this particular Saturday was going to be joyously replayed in his mind forever. He just didn’t know it yet.
Pani woke up at 6:30AM that Saturday, did a quick calisthenic workout, showered, filed his nails, put on deodorant and combed his hair, had a snack bar and some coffee for breakfast and showed up with his fellow foreign laborers at the warehouse for his call time. Of the 200 laborers on site, just 20 were chosen by his supervisor to meet with Helga, the German woman in charge of everything, in the northeast corner at 8AM. "Give me your best 20 men of highest character and competence, and make sure they are extremely clean," Helga emailed Pani's boss. Pani got there early to view his workspace that day and was in awe of what he saw: cameras, lights, fans, climate control devices, giant sponsorship banners everywhere, and curiously, 20 massage tables perfectly placed the center of the room. This was quite a high end production apparently, and he was going to be a part of it. He had no idea what he'd be doing mind you, but he was grateful he made the cut.
Helga's personal staff had already placed two galvanized buckets with filtered warm water at the head of each massage table. In each bucket were bars of soap with massage nubs on one side of them, the kind you find in hotels, four high thread count thin washcloths, and two mini horsehair body brushes. The massage tables had half a dozen black towels folded on top. Helga gathered the laborers around and spoke in two other languages Pani didn’t know, then his native Filipino:
“Good morning, my name is Helga, your boss put you all under my charge for the day. My German staff has already set everything up for you, you just need to do the labor part, which I will now explain. After this talk, you will walk to the center of the room and position yourself standing at top left corner of a massage table. There will be massage models who will come out shortly in robes. Take off their robes, have them lay on the table, and cover them completely in three towels leaving only their head exposed. You will first wash their faces of any makeup with the soft cloths provided. Then remove the first towel and wash their torsos. Yes, including their breasts. Lift their arms and wash their entire sides including their armpits. If they are wearing deodorant make sure it is removed with the soap and water provided. Dry off their torsos, cover them again with the black towels, and proceed to their legs. Clean every inch down to their ankles, and pay special attention to their feet. Clean every nook and cranny with the body brushes provided. Have them flip over and wash their backs, buttocks and back of legs down to their ankles, and do the bottoms of their feet again for good measure. Are there any questions?”
Hearing none, the German instructor said one last thing, three times in different languages:
“One last thing: You will be massaging these models in some very intimate areas. If there is any funny business whatsoever you will be fired on the spot, sent back to your home country, and all your wages will be forfeited. Does everyone understand that?”
Everyone nodded affirmatively.
Pani’s heart started beating faster and heavier than it ever had in his life. He could feel his face flushing. He couldn’t believe what was about to happen. Pani was a red-blooded heterosexual young man, at his sexual peak, and he was about to intimately clean some random, smoking hot Italian model. And get paid for it. What’s more, Pani had a deep sexual proclivity which he never spoke of and which he thought he was the only person in the world with: A voracious fetish about women that he never believed could be adequately fulfilled in his wildest dreams.
Only this was not a dream, it was real, and it was about to begin. And that insatiable obsession was about to be fulfilled, in more ways than one.
===
Gabriella closed her eyes and soon felt a warm cloth over them, which quickly swirled around her face. Pani was delicate but assertive as he moved the warm wet cloth over her chiseled cheekbones, poking his fingers behind the cloth into her cute dimples on the each side of her cheeks. He felt like he was buffering a sculpture of the most beautiful face ever created. He wasn’t wrong, it’s just this one was alive, and smiling as he moved the warm cloth around. Her face was upside down to him as he moved around the edge of her hairline and down to her ears. A smile crept on her as earlobes were apparently very sensitive. Her mouth opened wide and smiled cheek to perfect cheek as he poked his washcloth covered fingers inside her ears for a brief second. She let out another light giggle as he swirled around and cleaned the rest of her ears. He then dipped the cloth back in the warm slightly soapy water, rang it out, and slithered it under her chin to her neck. Gabriella immediately scrunched her neck up, scrunched her eyes shut and let out an adorable “click click click click” sort of giggle. “Solletico. Solletico!” Pani did not know the Italian word for “stop” but assumed that’s what she was saying. He looked up, not knowing what to do as Gabriella continued to lightly laugh even though the cloth was no longer stimulating her neck. Helga with her clipboard saw what was happening and just rolled her eyes. “Just clean, you.” Pani looked over to her and mimed, “Me?” “Yes, you! You must clean. Everywhere. Proceed! Keep going. Time is moving.”
Pani put the cloth back under Gabriella’s chin and washed all the way around her neck. Though she didn’t scrunch again she giggled lightly the entire time. Even upside-down, her smile was so incredibly radiant and beautiful, and she opened her eyes and tried to make eye contact to upside down Pani, saying “Scusate, il mio collo e solletico,” she explained her neck was sensitive. “Hindi ko maintindhan.” He replied, not understanding. “Oh, non parli Italiano, non importa, ah ah. Hai fatto un ottimo lavoro. Grazie.” Pani had no idea what she said. He simply repeated, smiling and apologized for not understanding again.
“Pangingiliti. Siya ay pangingiliti” Helga barked from the other side of the room, and she marched back over. “Ticklish. She’s ticklish. She said her neck is ticklish.”
Even hearing someone utter the word “pangingiliti” made Pani’s heart race.
Tickling. The English word for pangingiliti. Pani's overwhelming obsession.
When it dawned on him what this all meant, Pani almost fainted on the spot as all the blood inside him immediate surged to one particular area of his body, while his heart pumped like a piston. Pani had two raging turn ons. Well, three if you count gorgeous women, and here in front of Pani was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen (check). And this most beautiful girl he had ever seen had just given the clearest indication that she was, indeed, the one thing he wonders about every pretty woman: Are they ticklish? This one trait that that turns him on more than any other trait imaginable. Ticklishness (CHECK). She is ticklish, this woman is ticklish. And he, Pani was tasked to clean her. With wash cloths and soap and soft brushes any maybe even his bare hands. And ignore her apparent ticklishness if it arises. AND THIS IS HIS JOB FOR THE DAY.
Pani attempted to compose himself and get a grip on everything that was transpiring so rapidly, and also county his exponentially-increasing blessings. He told himself that if this was the only area of Gabriella's entire body that wound up being ticklish, her neck, this cute giggle and laugh alone from Gabriella’s adorable mouth would be enough for Pani’s memory for years. Washing the rest of her would be gravy. He'll always remember that cute little giggle and smile.
It turned out not to be the only such area.
Helga leaned over Gabriella’s head and whispered to her loudly. “I hope your neck is the only place you’re ticklish because if it’s not, it’s going to be a long next couple of hours, sweetie.”
Helga had been running this competition for the last 22 years, and she had dealt with ticklish models before.
But as everyone would soon find out, Gabriella was in an entirely other ballpark.
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TO BE CONTINUED...
Actually you can read Part 2 right here:
http://www.ticklingforum.com/showth...d-Massage-Competition-(M-F-everywhere)-PART-2
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