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Hold That Laugh! Part 2 - A tickling Game Show m/f, f/m, f/f

MasCosquillas

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Dec 5, 2022
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This one isn't really a series, just a long story. But I finished a lot more than last time and wanted to share. I posted the full story here to make it easier:

Penny had been fascinated with tickling people since she could remember. Nothing excited her more than the power to make people laugh, squirm, and even beg simply by poking or sliding her fingers on them. At first it was her younger cousin Tillie, then her neighbor’s bratty boy, girls in the locker room after a volleyball game, her boyfriends, mother, or anyone really. The thrill of pinning them to the ground, clawing at their armpits or kneading their ribs, watching them giggle, thrash, squeal, and even pee themselves when she really had them was so exhilarating. It was as easy as molding a ball of clay - if that ball was a flailing, squealing mess of thrashing limbs, belly laughs and cries for mercy. As she progressed into adulthood, she loved to exchange volcanic sex, or a long, teasing blowjob with her boyfriends for a chance to rack their feet or be tied up in bed, only to be edged to aching agony and tickled silly. Sometimes she’d even withhold sex until they complied. Sure, it was cruel, but it was so much fun!

Also invigorating was that she didn’t consider herself very ticklish. Her victims would try to tickle her in retaliation, or hold her wrists, or wrestle her into submission, something to get the skilled laugh queen away from them. Sometimes they’d get a few laughs and squirms out of her, but it was nothing compared to how crazy she could make them. The only memory she had of falling victim to an overwhelming tickle fit was from her older brother, Michael, and his girlfriend, Indira. Upset because she had spilled nail polish on his favorite shirt, he snuck behind her, hoisted her in a fireman’s carry, sat on the couch, pinned her around the waist with a leg lock and went to town on her ribs and armpits. Being surprised at how much it tickled, she cursed and screamed at him between laughing fits out of frustration.

“Oooh, you little potty mouth,” he said. “Doesn’t feel so good, huh? Indira, please help me do onto my sister what she loves to do to others.”

Indira smiled like a mischievous imp and sprang into action. She secured Penny’s ankles together with a jump rope, held them fast with one arm and raked at her feet until Penny’s legs thrashed so hard, she wondered if she’d pull a muscle. On and on they went, long black fingernails scratching her soles, poking between her toes, soft fingers scurrying up and down her arches… The torture only lasted a minute, but it seemed like a year. Somehow, Michael and Indira had found a perfect way to get to her. Because no one had come close to replicating the experience, she figured she’d grown out of it. After all, she was in middle school at the time, now pushing 30.

So, when Netflix aired a game show involving tickling, Penny jumped at the chance to sign up. When she heard about the rules and the exorbitant prize money, the opportunity was no longer a desire, it was an insatiable quest. The show was called Hold That Laugh!, which pretty much explained the rules.

In Round One, four contestants would compete in challenges like tossing beanbags or racing through an agility course. The winner earned the opportunity to tickle the loser for up to thirty seconds. He or she would start with $3000, and for every second it took to make the loser laugh they’d lose $100 until nothing remained.

Round two was The Endurance Round. Each contestant would choose another and tickle them with the assistance of one of the “Tickle Demons” – a group of tickling experts employed by the show. A machine known as The Giggle Meter would track a contestant’s laughter, perform a complex calculation based on volume and length of time, and produce an “Endurance Score.” The two contestants with the lowest scores earned $10,000 each and proceeded to the Face Off Round.

During the Face-Off round, players took turns tickling each other for thirty seconds in a series of seven body parts: feet, thighs, hips and waist, stomach, ribs, armpits, and a wildcard choice, which could be any body part. When a contestant made the other laugh, they’d bank the remaining points and proceed to the next challenge. Whoever finished with the most points earned $10,000, a chance at $50,000 in the final round, and the right to tie and tickle the loser for three minutes nonstop during a commercial break, an act known as a “Bonus Humiliation Trip.”. An additional wrinkle was that each contestant could choose between several bonus items at any time to assist them: a feather duster, electric toothbrush, hairbrush, bottle of baby oil, a “magic wheel,” or fingernail extensions, which resembled fingernail-tipped thimbles that fit snugly over a contestant’s fingertips. While Penny knew she would be more successful with certain items such as the baby oil, she’d lose precious seconds off the clock applying it rather than just going to town.

The final round was the Agony Gauntlet. The five Tickle Demons would restrain the final contestant in a “magic wheel” and use 10 minutes to tickle the unholy hell out of him or her. No body part was safe – including privates – and any inanimate object item known to man was available. $50,000 in grand prize money was awarded to the final contestant if he or she survived the Agony Gauntlet without using a safe word.

To avoid an unfair advantage, the four contestants were put through a series of ticklishness tests to determine their suitability. Tickle experts targeted each body part with unique techniques, culminating in a one-minute, full, spread-eagle bondage session. Penny was surprised at how many times she laughed, and for so long, but she figured the other contestants would be worse. She also exaggerated her laughing and squirming, hoping it would put her in a higher category with more ticklish people. She never found out if it worked, but she figured it was worth a try. Anyway, she was selected, so who cared? No one would be able to deal with her. It would be fun to make them lose their minds one-by-one and earn thousands of dollars doing it.

When the curtain opened and the show host sprung to the stage on game day, the reality of what sent waves of tingling chills across her back. She found it difficult to avoid studying her opponents as she contemplated which nooks and crannies of their bodies would cause them to wilt when attacked by her devilish touch. Each contestant wore a white tank top, short red shorts, and lime green flip-flops. Far to the right was a tall, muscular black man – maybe 6’1 & 210 – with big, beefy hands and a space between his front teeth. He wasn’t chiseled, but his muscles rippled as his hands slapped together in applause at the start of the show.

Next to him was a lithe woman with green eyes and fire-red hair. Of course, she’d perfectly manicured her fingernails, properly long, painted a dark, shiny purple. Tattoos covered her entire left arm, including a melting star on the top of her hand. Penny imagined she was bisexual and had tag-teamed a shy, cute girl she’d lured into a private room at a night club, smirking at the poor girl as her voice turned raspy from prolonged laughter. She looked like she had a wild side, and something about her long, lithe fingers unnerved Penny.

The weakest link seemed to be the stocky, brown-haired, white man standing next to her. He just looked awkward, and he had immense feet. She had to stifle a giggle as she imagined him squealing for mercy as she scratched at the base of his toes one-by-one. The image seemed so real she wondered how he could stand still right now. Then again, you never knew about people, she thought.

The host was perfect: an energetic man with wide, blue eyes and perfect teeth. He wore trendy black jeans, boots and a T-shirt that featured the image of two hands poised to tickle someone. A modest crowd of maybe 100 people applauded as he waved and bowed.

“Welcome, everyone to Hold That Laugh!, the game where big tickles and bigger silence can earn you big bucks! Let’s meet our contestants. First, we have Marvin, an accountant from Tacoma, Washington.”

An accountant? Come on!

“Next to him is Kelly, a nail technician from Buffalo, New York.”

Yup. There’s the competition.

“Then we have Paul, a construction foreman from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.”

And about to fall apart like a six-story building with no nails.

“And finally, we have Penny, a graduate student and journalist from Los Angeles, California.

Damn it! They don’t look scared. Dopes.

“Ok, everyone,” the host said into his microphone with a strong voice, “Our first two contestants for the Physical Challenge Round will be Penny and Paul. Step over here both of you.”

Penny smirked as she and Paul moseyed toward the host, loud applause thundering in the background. His fingers flexed and he shook his arms. He was either warming up or scared out of his mind.

“Ok, everyone knows the rules for this round. We bring out one of our physical challenges for each contestant to perform. Whoever wins gets $3000 and 30 seconds to tickle the loser on a body part of their choice. $100 is subtracted from the winner’s total for every second the loser holds in their laugh. If they make it through 30 seconds, the winner gets nothing. Contestants, do you understand?”

She was encouraged that Paul just nodded and didn’t speak. He was already trying to hold it in.

Two tall, beaming female models rolled a large, smiling clown statue on to the set. It had a small hole in the center of its mouth. About 20 feet away from the clown was a bucket of bean bags and a strange chair. About three feet above the back of the chair was what looked like a pull-up bar, and two planks extended out from the front of the seat.

“Ok, everyone, we call this game the Circus Toss. You each take turns tossing bean bags at the clown, trying to force one down its mouth. Whoever reaches three first, wins. Penny, you were selected at random to go first. Ready?”

“Ready!”

“Go!”

Penny lined up the goofy, Ronald McDonald-looking thing across the room and picked up a beanbag. It was heavier than she expected it to be. With a big, underhand heave, she sent the bean bag toward the clown directly into its mouth. She raised her arms and hollered with joy.

“Score on the first try! That’s never happened before. What do you think about that, Penny?”

“I think Paul better hope his body isn’t as ticklish as it looks.”

“Whoooaaaa!!!” the host said and turned to Paul. “I think we’ve got a real competition here, folks. What do you say, Paul?”

“I say that girl is going to wish she was never born.”

Off went his first toss – striking the clown in the chest and falling to the ground with a Thud! Penny chuckled.
After about a minute, the score was tied 2-2. Penny took an extra moment to line up her next shot, which seemed to help because it scored a direct hit. Tickle time!

“We have a winner!” the host cried. “Congratulations, Penny! I’m sorry, Paul, but you need to go have a seat in the special Hold That Laugh! Tickle Chair. Come on over.”

Paul waddled to the chair and plopped into it; shoulders slouched. He raised his arms up to grip the bar and extended his legs on the planks. As the two smiling models removed his flip-flops, his bare-footed toes wiggled in anticipation.

“Ok, Penny, you get to choose one body part to tickle. Which will it be?”

She strutted around him like a peacock, smirking, eyes darting about to get a look at every inch of his body. The muscles around his underarms unyieldingly quivered when her eyes focused on them. His lips seemed to clamp together like a sprung bear trap to stay closed as she gazed at him there. That's the spot. She briefly considered imagining a better one but decided that the clues indicated she could drop him before the clock started.

“I’m going to go at those ticklish pits.”

The host smiled and shook his head.

“There’s a lot of confidence coming from over here, ladies and gentlemen. Put thirty seconds on the clock, please.”
Penny crept around Paul’s quivering body to take her position behind him. She poised her fingers inches from the depths of his armpits and wiggled them in a furious flutter. She noticed that his body was blanketed by goosebumps. She leaned in toward him and whispered into his ear:

“I’m going to make $3000 right now, buddy.”

“Ready?” the host said. “Tickle!”

The fluttering of Penny’s fingers did not waver as they touched down on Paul’s armpits. His skin was surprisingly soft. For some reason, she imagined a construction foreman’s skin would be tougher, but then remembered that it was the guy’s armpits. He didn’t haul bricks and heavy machinery with his armpits.

The moment she touched him, his body came to life, percolating like boiling water. He swayed vigorously, trying to swing as far away from Penny’s hands as possible, but that made it no more difficult for her adroit fingers to stay attached to his body.

The clock beeped. 29.

“Tickle, tickle, Paul. Give me a giggle.”

And with that, he lost it. Like boa constrictors, he squeezed his massive arms against his sides, trapping Penny’s hands in his armpits as he bellowed laughter. Penny continued squeezing his quivering underarm muscles well after the buzzer sounded. She was having too much fun.

“Enough!!!!!” he squealed and leapt out of the chair while a few hoots and hollers joined the wild applause from the audience.

“Wow, everyone. That was fast! Congratulations, Penny. You won $2900!”

She waved to the audience and flashed a cute, girlish grin, reveling in the moment as if standing on the Olympic podium with a gold medal hanging from her chest. Paul shook his head and made tight fists out of frustration; but upon calming down, he grinned at Penny, acknowledging that he’d just been skillfully humiliated. She winked at him, admiring his ability to take his tickling like a man. After the split-second love affair ended, they scurried back to their places next to the host to await the next challenge.

“Sounds like some people are getting a little excited in the crowd,” he said. “I think today might be a special show!”

After the crowd silence, the models arranged two squares of construction cones on the stage, each side measuring about 10 yards.

“All right, Marvin and Kelly, step right up here.”

They strode forward to take their place next to the host. Marvin closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“You ok?” the host said and laughed.

“Yep, but those nails look pretty cruel!”

A wide smile grew across Kelly’s face, and she wiggled her fingers at him.

“They sure do! I think we just gave someone a little extra incentive to win our next challenge, folks! We call this one the Square-off shuttle race. Each of you will race forward from the cone at your feet to the next, then shuffle to the cone to the left, back pedal to the next one, shuffle right, then left, forward, right, and backpedal to the finish line.”

“Umm, what?” Kelly said, causing Marvin to laugh and clap his hands. A smattering of laughs erupted from the audience.

“You’re not the first one to say that Kelly,” the host said. “But we like to twist people up a bit on this show in case you didn’t notice. You’re basically racing around the square once, then in the opposite direction. Up, left, back, right then left, up, right, back.”

Kelly shood her head in slight, staccato bursts, counting the steps in her while trying to align the full sequence in her mind. With one final nod, she clapped her hands and turned to the host.

“I’m ready,” she said.

“You sure?”

“I hope so.” A few laughs and more clapping from Marvin.

“How about you, sir?” the host asked.

“I played college football, and we did this thing every morning. So yeah, I got it.”

“Uh-oh!!!” the host said, staring at Kelly with wide eyes. The crowd applauded in anticipation of what seemed to be an impending ass-whooping. “You’ve got your work cut out for you, young lady.”

He held his arm up and inverted the microphone like a hip-hop artist during a particularly hard rhyme.

“Contestants, ready?”

They leaned forward, prepared to spring into action.

“Go!”

Penny thoroughly enjoyed watching Marvin and Kelly dog it through the race. She’d been involved in two bondage tickling sessions in her life, and one was with a football player - Chad Paloma. The guy was a mess. She’d barely had a chance to explore his ribs and he was already screaming to uncuff him. Of course, he wasn’t getting off that easy! She kept her fingers glued to a particularly weak spot where his massive pectoral muscles attached to his rib cage and kneaded and massaged him as if preparing bread dough.

“Chad, what’s wrong with you?” she said, leering at him with a teasing grin.

“You shouldn’t laugh so hard. You’ll pull a muscle.”

“Penny, get the fuck off me!!!” he screamed between explosions of laughter. “I hate it! I hate it!”

When convinced he truly was losing his shit, she’d clutch his stiff, oiled cock and tease it with one long stroke that took 30 seconds to make it from the base of his shaft to a palm rub atop the head. A few times she’d stroke it swiftly in the pattern of a song, at least until the contractions indicated a load was coming.

“Up and down, la la la,” she’d sing, giggling.

“Do you hate that?”

“Mmmmmmmm, no.”

“Well, you’ll need to deal with this, until we get to that!” was the reply just before her fingers slid into his armpits or across his waist, quivering flat tummy, inner thighs… She enjoyed flicking her tongue on the guy’s nipples while scurrying her nails just on the outskirts of his groin. They tasted faintly of fruit punch for some reason, and the fingernail scratches got him laughing to tears within minutes.

For an hour it was like that, arousing him just enough to prevent him from surrendering, pleading that she’d overstepped his boundaries and he’d do some bitch move like call security or scream rape. After he came all over her tits, she untied him and ordered him to smear it on her. She loved dry cum on her tits.

“That was…awesome,” he said like a little boy after a roller coaster ride. “Can you make me cum like that again?”

She pushed him onto the bed, straddled him and tickled the tip of his nose with the satin wrist bindings.

“Well, that depends…”

The other session was with a woman. It was a foot session with her college roommate’s friend, a rich, tall, shy blonde lesbian who offered $100 to have her huge size 11 feet tickled. Penny told her that she would certainly tickle her until the cows came home for free. The girl insisted that Penny accept the money, so she approached the session like a professional would: baby oil, hairbrushes, toe ties, an electric toothbrush, and a foot rack she borrowed from a real estate agent/fetishist she’d befriended.

Penny gave the girl credit: she gave her the business yet she wouldn’t yield to a safe word. Fingernails burrowing into the bases of her toes and vigorous hairbrushes on her soles had her screaming, laughing, thrashing, cursing…but not surrendering. She wanted to break the chick so bad, but it wasn’t happening. She even let Penny have a go at her upper body – which she enjoyed tickling much more - as a bonus reward. It was during this session when Penny realized she had little to no interest in women sexually. Though her entire crotch tingled from the power she held over the poor girl, she dreamed of big, rough hands rubbing her tits and a stiff cock inside her rather than some pretty redhead’s fingers or vibrating wand playing with her clit while she sucked on her neck or whatever else they might try to arouse her with. Then again, she hadn’t experienced such a thing; maybe it was a case of you don’t know what you haven’t experienced for yourself.

Marvin won the race but did not dominate as Penny had suspected he would. Kelly was a bit clunky, floundering around the course like a marionette but finished only two seconds behind Marvin. Her last place finish excited Penny: Kelly was probably a good tickler, but it was time to witness her on the other side of the fingers.

“Ok, nice try!” the host said and put his arm around Kelly as she stumbled past the final cone. “But it’s time to take a seat in the tickle chair. Get on over there.”

With that, she plopped into the seat, grabbed the bar above her head, and watched the models slide the flip-flops from her tiny, silky feet; a tattoo of a mermaid rising from the top of her foot to her calf partially obscured it, but the other foot, and the pink toes, the heels and soles absent the hint of a callous… these baby-soft feet had to be weak. She kicked at one of the model’s hands when a wayward fingernail scratched her big toe, confirming her suspicion.

“Monica! You devil,” the host said.

“I’m so sorry,” Monica said, holding her hands over her mouth in embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to do that!”

“A likely story. We may need to tie you into the tickle chair for some punishment for cheating after the show.”

Monica approached Kelly and placed her hand on her forearm.

“It was an accident, I swear.”

“It’s okay,” Kelly said, smiling, and turned away to prepare for what seemed like a foregone conclusion.

“Ok, Marvin, I think we know what you’re going after now,” the host said.

“She may be ticklish somewhere else, Bob. But I’m not taking any chances. I’ll get her feet.”

A smattering of anticipatory applause erupted in the crowd and Marvin circled toward Kelly and hovered his hands just above her wiggling toes. Every muscle in Kelly’s lithe body tensed, and a helpless smile emerged.

“What a shock!” the host said in mock surprise and stood next to Kelly.

“The rules for feet, Kelly, are like the upper body. If you move your legs from the support planks or laugh, you lose. Understand?”

"I hope so," she said and closed her eyes/

“Ready? Go!”

Marvin immediately went for Kelly’s toes, his fingers scurrying all over them looking for a week spot. Kelly’s eyes shut in a vice grip and her smile widened, but her feet kept still.

“28!” the crowd counted down.

Figuring she wouldn’t break from the toe tickle, he quickly moved to her arches, cascading his fingertips up and down like a waterfall, accentuating the touches with soft fingernail scratches. Her legs fluttered and her hips bucked, yet she hadn’t folded yet.

“24!”

His fingers next reached her soles, which began with long strokes around the circumference, followed by rapid flurries of strokes across the entire pallet. She bucked so hard now that her ass lifted at least a foot above the seat, as if she was doing pull-ups in self-defense.

“19, 18, 17!!!”

17 was it: she kicked away and exhaled a wild belly laugh before leaping out of her seat and stumbling away from the chair. The crowd applauded.

Penny wasn’t sure what to make of this one: 13 seconds wasn’t a long holdout, but it showed some discipline. Marvin’s technique seemed sound, though Penny believed she could have broken Kelly sooner by getting her in between her toes. Most people never get tickled between their toes; so, if they are ticklish there, the foreign chill might creep up on their funny bone before they knew what hit them!

During the first commercial break, the contestants mingled, discussing their lives, families, the giddy feeling they all got from feeling exposed already. Penny spoke little, choosing instead to study the four Tickle Demons at the far end of the stage. Each wore skintight black pants and shirts, red sneakers, and a black eye mask atop their faces, which were painted stark white. Their hands were also white, and their fingernails painted fire red. She admired the costume; it gave her the chills, which was tough to do.

One of the Tickle Demons was a tall, thin guy with gaunt cheeks and bony fingers. She wondered if he actually was a skeleton. Another was a short, plump woman with stumpy, fat fingers and long nails. She was probably the best of the bunch. The other two didn’t inspire her: a man of average height, with an average build, who moseyed around on the stage with an average gait. He was probably an intern or fill-in or…. maybe a complete sadist, who knew… The other was a remarkably tall woman with fingers like beanstalks. She wondered if she could wrap her fingers around a petite woman’s waist and touch the fingertips of the other hand. She seemed awkward and dorky, though, waddled around like she was drunk.

The camera lights brightened as the commercial break ended; the stage director cued the audience to applaud, which they did in force, and the host brought the microphone up to his perfect smile and spoke:

“Welcome back to Hold That Laugh! It’s been an interesting first round. Penny is atop the leader board with $2900, Marvin has $1700, Kelly $1300, and Paul is in last place with $100. That’s okay, though, because the scores can really climb in what we lovingly like to call “The Endurance Round.” In this round each of the players will reach into the satin sack that Monica is so menacingly fondling and select another contestant. Therefore, each will have the chance to tickle and be tickled by another contestant for two minutes with the assistance of one of our deadly Tickle Demons over here.”

Another of the models rolled a table onto the stage. On it was a strange machine that looked like a boom mic atop a gas meter. In the place of a simple clock hand on the meter readout was a bright, pink feather.

“Ok, everyone, we know how the infamous Giggle Meter works. The microphone is placed six inches from a ticklee’s face after the session begins. Based on the length of time and volume of the ticklee’s laughter, it generates a score using a complicated algorithm. The ticklee score is subtracted from the tickler score. So, for example, if Paul tickles the hell out of Penny and scores a perfect 500, but then gets destroyed by Marvin and earns another score of 500, he ends up with zero points. If Kelly tickles Paul silly and earns a perfect score but is able to withstand Penny’s attack well for a score of 200, she finishes with a better total of 300. Does everyone understand?”

A series of head nods and grunts of affirmation…

“Ok then, everyone to Monica to select a partner.”

Penny was ecstatic when she saw Kelly’s name. A two-minute, tag-team tickle torture with a professional tickler? The girl was going to be drooling on herself. Ironically, Kelly selected Penny, leaving Marvin and Paul to square of in a man vs. man matchup. Penny got a rise out of watching men tickle other men. She got lost on the Internet for about a month watching porn videos of it. Strong fingers and masculine aggression in relentless tickle assaults, leaving some dudes in ecstasy, others in agony. And the edging? Well, what guy hasn’t beat off a million times? You think he doesn’t understand how to tickle another dude’s cock and gauge how close he is to blowing a load? It would take a degree in hand job science for a woman to attain that skill level.
 
Last edited:
Hopefully this weekend. Time of from the J.O.B. and I have a paid writing project in the works. My ass hurts from sitting in this chair all day!
 
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