MasCosquillas
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This is the full version of a story I began about a week ago. Instead of posting only part three, I figured it would be easier to include the entire story. 9,500 words. I hope you enjoy it!
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 pretty, pink feet until Penny’s long, skinny 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 every bit of the feet she packed into her size six Nikes. Penny squealed, shrieked, kicked, shoulder length amber hair billowing across her face, partially obscuring her wide green eyes and pouty lips, now trapped into a permanent smile. 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. Round One had an interesting format: four contestants would compete in various physical challenges. 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, $100 would transfer to his or her account. By the end of the round, the winner could end up with $3000 if the first finger tap got a laugh, or nothing if they failed to break the loser.
Round two was The Endurance Round. Each contestant would choose another and tickle them for a full two minutes 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, 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.
“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 and transferred to the loser’s bank for every second they hold 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 Three-Ring Circus Bean Bag 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 that attached his underarms to his pecs unyieldingly quivered when her eyes focused on them. His lips seemed to clamp together like a sprung bear trap to stay closed when the shock hit him. His pits were clearly a good spot. She briefly considered imagining a better one but decided that the clues indicated she could drop him before the clock started when she got to his terrified armpits.
“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 - Michael 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.
“Michael, 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 rub it on her like lotion.
“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 and 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. 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?”
Kelly nodded 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!
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 off 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.
As expected, Marvin dominated Paul in both rounds. He had selected the skeleton to assist him, and he turned out to be an excellent choice. At one point, Marvin stood up and backed off and allowed the Tickle Demon to work by himself. Penny couldn’t decide if it was for show or because he didn’t want to expose himself as a substandard tickler. Who knew, though, because the Tickle Demon so destroyed Paul that ten hands on him wouldn’t have seemed much different. He found a few spots on Paul’s ribs that he goosed and stroked relentlessly, causing him to buck so hard he bruised his tailbone. He added to this technique a flurry of rapid finger strokes across his waist; because the men wore only thongs in this round, it weakened him far more.
Penny smirked though the entire treatment. The guy was good. He’d found that perfect balance between pressure and friction on the soft flesh just above Paul’s cock, and thoroughly confused him with the pattern of attacks on his ribs; the kind of rib tickle you convince yourself you can withstand, but the relentless randomness of the grabs and strokes remains always one step ahead of you. Soon you find yourself screaming, bucking and yanking at your cuffs without knowing how or when you’d succumbed to domination and frustration. Nothing to do at that point but laugh and hope his hands fumbled, which they didn’t.
Paul’s tickling was quite effective, though, especially because he’d chosen another evil Tickle Demon: the short girl. Her fingernails went to town on Marvin’s feet. It didn’t take long for her to learn that slow and steady teases on his soles followed by pokes between his toes made him weakest. When she did, she poured it on until by about the 1:30 mark he was vomiting high-pitched laughter. Paul had underarm duty, which meant digging his fat fingers into the depths of his armpits while flicking Marvin’s nipples with his pinky fingers. Toes, soles, hard on the pits, that muscular chest, waterfall tickles on the ribs as a warmup… Penny took notes in her mind as Marvin weakened. The final score for the men was Marvin 150, Paul -44. He’d been tickled worse than he tickled, poor schlub.
Kelly got first crack at Penny. She’d chosen the tall woman, which pissed off Penny because it meant she was stuck with the milquetoast. It also meant she would learn about Kelly’s ticklish spots, which she would certainly hoping to get similar reactions.
Penny wiggled her fingers and toes in anticipation as the two women hovered over The Tickle Demon had an odd ritual of outlining Penny’s body with her tremendous hands, as if massaging the three inches of space above her. At first it seemed silly, but as the clock ticked down, the routine made her shiver. Smart woman.
In this round, the women were stripped to only their panties. Penny had selected a silky green pair with a picture of the Incredible Hulk that she’d found in a thrift store. It was the most ridiculous thing she’d ever seen, and she couldn’t refuse buying them. Who knew they’d be the only protection between her pussy and four tickling hands on a televised game show?
The round began slowly. Penny didn’t crack a smile for nearly 30 seconds, simply wiggling a bit, eyes closed, meditating. Then the Tickle Demon struck gold on her feet: a hard clawing at her arches just as Indira had done to her years ago. The Tickle Demon knew it was getting to Penny, so she kept at it until her victim erupted into a sortie of intensifying giggles.
“Uh oh. Looks like they finally got to her,” the host said as the crowd cheered.
Penny figured the ordeal turned Kelly on because, at that point, she launched a barrage of spider tickles over the center of her breasts. It shocked her. Long nails had never went at her breasts like that, and it tickled. Bad! She couldn’t believe how hard she was laughing. With 20 or so seconds remaining, Kelly’s finger patterns and stroke lengths were pure torture. Penny tried so hard to hold it in, but it was impossible.
“Fucking stop it!” she screamed in frustration, not used to being so out of control. This made Kelly laugh and increase the pace.
“No way, you arrogant bitch,” she whispered as Penny thrashed and laughed.
“Remember, folks,” the host said, “volume is important to your score, so screaming and cursing isn’t the best idea – if you can help it.”
After snorting and snickering through the final few seconds, Penny leapt from the table, drenched in sweat, gasping, glaring at Kelly as the hosts secured her. Arrogant bitch, huh? You have no idea, chick. The Tickle Demon shuffled over to center stage next to Penny, preparing for the round.
“You’d better be good,” she whispered to him. He glared at her and smirked.
“Don’t worry about me.”
After the host did his thing and the buzzer sounded, Penny went right for Kelly’s neck. Her head thrashed around like a bobble-head doll, and she giggled almost immediately. Penny wanted to surprise Kelly, put her on the defensive, and it worked. Meanwhile, the Tickle Demon explored her inner thighs and knees, but it didn’t seem to have much effect.
“Come on!” Penny barked at him. He scowled at her.
“Are you even trying?” A pang of guilt swept through Penny when she noticed that her diatribe seemed to embarrass him. He flashed a glance at the crowd and his once eager hands had lost some steam. Then she realized he could be sabotaging her. Whatever it was, she knew she was on her own. Time to get busy.
By going at everyone’s armpits first, Kelly had tipped her hand. Within seconds, Penny had her. Her fingers crept into the fleshy depths of Kelly’s sweaty underarms, sliding back and forth like two octopi swimming in place on all the tingly parts inside and around her pits. The giggles cascaded from Kelly, intensifying into a constant, sweet, girlish belly laugh. Her flat tummy contracted as the laughs poured from her, and she closed her eyes, resigned to knowing life would be hell for the next two minutes.
“Tickle, tickle, you arrogant bitch,” Penny whispered, though loud enough for others to hear.
“Isn’t that what you said? Well, you’re mine now.” She noticed that a minute wet spot had formed in the center of her panties.
“This turns you on, doesn’t it?” she whispered. “How about I yank those white panties off and give a nice tickle to that little flap of skin inside you? Or do you want me to kiss it, hmmm? That’s it, isn’t it? I think you want my tongue on your clit while I rub oil on my fingertips and shine your nipples.”
Kelly’s hips bucked and she snorted between uproarious fits of laughter.
“Look how turned on you are,” Penny said. “Maybe you’ll cum on stage. I’ll keep tickling you to find out, turn you into a blubbering mess. They’ll roll you out of here on a cart like a pile of straw. Then I’ll tickle it some more. God, I want to poke inside that wet pussy, Kelly. And God, you want it. I promise, when I win, I’ll buy you a nice dinner, take you home, and vibrate you to sleep, while I tickle you, of course. I love it when people scream and laugh at the same time, don’t you? Are they in ecstasy or agony? That’s what turns me on: watching them try to explain it to me. So, you can turn me on while I pleasure you. Deal?”
But Kelly, being so overwhelmed with the constant barrage of relentless electricity had ceased listening to Penny’s taunts. Unfortunately for her, Penny’s arousal grew with each giggle and quiver she forced out of her. It took a great deal of will to resist touching herself right in front of the TV audience. Instead, she took it out on Kelly. When the buzzer sounded, Kelly discharged a few sobs, inaudible to everyone but her malevolent torturer.
“Poor baby just got abused,” she said and made a pouty face as the models released Kelly.
“I hope you have a heart attack, ****,” Kelly whispered in return. Penny blew her a kiss.
After watching Kelly stumble away, Penny’s wrath targeted her tickling partner.
“What the hell did you do, anyway? Were you trying to make me lose?”
“Maybe,” he said and smirked. “But you won. Good for you. Can’t wait to see you in the finals.”
“Right, good luck, buddy.”
The final score between the girls was Penny: 180, Kelly: -5. Again, someone tickled worse than they had tickled.
With Kelly out of the way, Penny figured it would be smooth sailing into the final round. And it was. 30 seconds was not enough time for Marvin to get Penny started on any part of her body. She barely laughed the entire round. Marvin was able to hold up on a few body parts, but he laughed through almost the entire 30 seconds on his feet and stomach. The score wasn’t even close.
Marvin shook hands with and congratulated Penny, then retreated backstage to witness the final round with the other defeated contestants. As they all clapped in unison with the audience, Penny’s second round Tickle Demon partner winked at Kelly.
“Don’t worry, we’re going to fuck her up,” he said and flashed a big smile at the camera.
“Okay, ladies and gentlemen,” the host said in a booming. “The final round is upon us! Penny performed beautifully through the first few rounds, but the Agony Gauntlet has humbled many of our top performers.”
He motioned for Penny to look at the scoreboard: $27,000 in garish, silver letters, surrounded by bright marquee lights.
“Ok, Penny. You have a choice: keep the money or face the Agony Gauntlet. If you can withstand ten minutes of torture from the Tickle Demons, you walk away with a cool $77,000. What’s it going to be?”
“I’m gonna do the gauntlet. I know I can do it.”
The host laughed and the crowd went wild.
“I can’t remember such a confident contestant, folks. I wish you well, young lady.”
A hint of anxiety and doubt crept into Penny as the beaming models wheeled a circular steel cage to center stage. It was an imposing contraption: four thick steel cuffs for her wrists and ankles, a padded seat with a hole to allow access to a contestant’s ass, a steel ring around her waist to keep her hips completely immobilized… no detail was ignored. It stood about four feet from the ground, which allowed the Tickle Demons equal access to both sides of her body. Standing in front of a whistling, applauding crowd, naked, cold tile under her bare feet, watching four clawed, black-clad professional ticklers prepare a medieval torture device made Penny cringe. Fear had finally arrived.
“It’s time, Penny. In you go!” the host said and retreated a few steps. She climbed into the cage, spread her limbs, and lay on the squishy seat that reminded her of a comfort pad for a ten-speed bicycle. Soft leather hugged her wrists and ankles as the models closed the restraints. At least they made it comfortable. The most unnerving sensation was the breeze billowing into her asshole, perfectly centered above the hole in the seat. Her sphincter pulsed in short intervals as the Tickle Demons circled around her into position.
“Ok, ladies and gentlemen. One more thing we need to sort out before they go to work. Penny, you need to choose a safe word.” He held the microphone to her lips.
She’d spent a few minutes considering a word. It obviously couldn’t be something like “stop,” or “please.” Only a moron would take the chance of letting that slip out. It needed to be something strange, that she’d never utter on a lark under duress. Grapefruit. Perfect – a fruit she despised, which she hadn’t seen for years. No way in hell that would slip out.
“Grapefruit,” she said and smiled. The host looked at her cockeyed.
“Grapefruit?”
“You wouldn’t hear someone say that by mistake, right?”
“I suppose not.” He backed away and pointed to a black screen. Ding! There it was: grapefruit, in big, bright letters.
“Ok, Penny. Ready?”
She nodded and tensed her muscles as the moment of truth arrived.
The crowd shouted the countdown: “Three…two…one…Tickle!”
For the rest of her life, Penny could vividly recall the first jarring sensation the Tickle Demons enacted upon her. The memory didn’t exist only in her mind, though. She could feel it, almost as if the harrowing shock was upon her again. The tall woman jabbed a vibrating wand through the seat into Penny’s ass and poked at her as if trying to settle into her rectum. Penny’s round two partner doused his right hand with sex lube, slid his middle and ring fingers deep into her pussy, and vigorously massaged her clit with his index finger and thumb while using his left hand to pepper her nipple with quick teasing pokes. The short woman oiled Penny’s feet and raked at them with two soft-bristled hairbrushes. The walking skeleton sat on a chair just below Penny’s chest and wiggled his fingers in relentless, teasing strokes around the outskirts of her armpits. For some reason it tickled more than a direct attack into the hollows.
Her body stiffened as if her spinal cord had been severed, and she grunted so resoundingly her ribs shook. The violence of the poking at her g-spot and asshole, coupled with the expert rubbing on her slick clit made her cum before she was aware of what happened. She discharged a geyser of cum into her ex-partner’s face and bucked against the bar constricting her hips as if trying to cleanse her uterus of fire.
As the orgasm faded, Penny became aware of the brushes scraping at her now supersensitive feet. The tall Tickle Demon locked the still-vibrating wand in place inside Penny’s ass while her ex-partner fastened a vibrating toy the size of a golf ball on her clit with an elastic waistband. Now free to join the tickling festivities, they assumed their roles: the tall woman dangled a feather inside of Penny’s nostril while her partner massaged the flabbiest part of her inner thighs. It was so intrusive it felt like he was tickling her uterus. Maybe he was better than he seemed, Penny thought. Maybe he was getting the reaction from Kelly. She’d been overestimating her ability. Whatever it was, between the vibrating ball on her clit and his hands groping her thighs, she thought her groin might melt.
As the orgasm passed, the laughter took over. Deep, guttural, girlish shrieks, punctuated by giggles and moans from the erogenous pleasure. Up and down, she bounced, yanking at the restraints, trying to wriggle free of the wand on her ass, to accustom herself to the cataclysmic shocks jolting her clit - at least enough to control the frantic pounding of her increasingly mortified heart. But the vibrating machines knew nothing of her plight; they continued burrowing into her from both sides, constant, consistent, unconscious. If only they knew the strength of their control, Penny imagined they’d miraculously come to life to relish the power.
She realized that the combination of machine and human molestation was what most bothered her: the buzzing machines had her most sensitive erogenous zones locked down in constant captivity, but the living creatures had the ability to…adjust. The pressure and speed of the fingertips on her armpits varied as they detected weakness. A quivering muscle, bodily jolt, spasm of laughter, all clues that the man exploited. Penny thrashed her head so hard she felt sick from dizziness, yet the dainty little feather followed her, dipping into her nostril to peck at the little hairs that the human body had developed to prevent this very thing from happening. The Tickle Demon working her feet seemed excited by the peals of laughter pouring from Penny because she dropped the brushes in favor of scraping at all parts of her shiny, pink feet. Penny’s feet jolted against the toe restraints when the woman’s fingers found the right spots at the base of her toes to tickle. How could someone know how to touch me so capably, Penny thought. Had someone painted targets on my toes? How could the woman figure out in such a short amount of time what infinitesimal patches of skin on my toes turned me to a giggling mess of goo?
It wasn’t long until the post-orgasm torture got her to do what she vowed never to do; never thought she would do because she hadn’t ever been close to needing to do it: she screamed in terror.
“Oh my god, STOP!!!!” she shrieked like a voice actress in a slasher flick.
The plea achieved nothing, except to reinvigorate the collective tickling effort. She’d turned the volume from 10 to 11.
“Please, please fucking STOPPPPP!!!!!!”
“That’s two minutes, Penny,” the host said with a look of concern. He knew this woman was too stubborn for her own good, that her mind might travel to a terrible place, never to return.
“Come on, Penny, just say the word!” her ex-partner teased. “I’ll stop, I promise. You’ll never get to feel my hands eating up your beautiful thighs again. And they are beautiful: tight, firm and really ticklish. Surprise, surprise!”
“Fuck you!” she screamed as if exorcising a demon. “Fuck, fuck, FUUUCCCKKKK!!!!!!!”
“One juicy, yellow word, Penny. Grapefruit. Grape. Fruit. Grapefruit. Just say it, you don’t need to prove anything to us. You’re pretty tough. Nowhere near the badass you think you are, but you made a good show. Just give up and we can go home.”
She closed her eyes and concentrated on letting the sensations overwhelm her, to subdue her body’s will to defend itself. But the human body is too resilient – and weak – to perform such an act. The nervous system doesn’t relax. Ever. It won’t give up on you, which makes it an extraordinary liability in a situation like this. A growing, volcanic tingle blossomed inside her: another orgasm. A dribble of cum seeped out from underneath the vibrating ball to join the first wave of warm goo that had begun to dry on her crotch.
“God, damn it, NO MORE!!!!! FUCK ALL OF YOU ASSHOLES…GGGGGGGGRRRRRRR. STOP!!”
Penny’s blood-curdling screams seemed to delight the tall woman. She dropped the feather, took a seat underneath Penny and groped her ribs, up and down, systematically. She then reached a bit higher and danced her fingernails across her belly, which earned a massive jolt and a series of giggles.
“Someone has a ticklish belly,” she said and increased the pace. After teasing her sweaty belly for a bit, the woman’s hands slowly crept higher.
“And as I recall, she's even more ticklish right… Here!”
At that, her massive hands surrounded Penny’s breasts and squeezed them tenderly. Penny’s eyes widened and an explosion of laughter detonated inside of her. The woman giggled, dribbled baby oil on Penny’s chest, lathered her up her tits and lowered her soft fingers on to them. Her index fingers remained glued to her nipples, peppering them with quick teases while the other four fingers dug into Penny’s squishy c-cups, fruitlessly (and knowingly) trying to gain traction. Feet, armpits, tits and thighs: they’d found Penny’s four worst tickle spots, and she knew they wouldn’t relent, nor would the two machines practically electrocuting her crotch and asshole. At least that’s what it like felt by now.
Through all of the monstrous torture, Penny still believed she could take it. When the timer passed the seven-minute mark, a swell of hope invigorated her. Ironically, this glimmer of hope was her downfall, because when the Tickle Demons tickled it out of her within seconds, it broke her. For an aggressive person like Penny, she realized the elimination of one quality indicates defeat: anger. Anger is defense, strength… anger believes it can fight off anything through will and determination. It will destroy everything in its path. When anger is defeated, all you have is hope. And hope is nothing to a beaten, helpless body under the constant duress of tickle torture and sexual humiliation. It will do anything to save itself. Tears of defeat replace angry screams. Fear creeps in. You wonder if this bodily torture will scar your mind. Grapefruit? Did I actually pick that one? What a weirdo I am…
As if reading her mind, her ex-partner’s hand clamped down over Penny’s mouth as she screamed the safe word. Her green eyes bulged in panic and she tried to shake her head free, but his heavy hand would not relent.
“Are you trying to say something?” he asked.
“grmmmmmppphhh.fmmmmppphhh…”
“What?” He leaned to within inches of her face and grinned.
“Spit it out, Penny. I’m not very good at this, you need to speak up a bit.”
“That’s enough,” the short Tickle Demon said and giggled. "She's gonna lose it."
“No, it’s not. We need to help Penny help herself. $50,000 is a lot of money to lose just from a little tickle torture. A strong woman like her wouldn’t forgive herself if she gave in now. Come on guys, let’s give her what she deserves.”
He turned the vibrators on to maximum speed and held both hands over her mouth while his partners tickled her through to the finish line. After a few failed attempts to wriggle free of the powerful hands and scream grapefruit loud enough to break a window, Penny relented. For the final minute or so she thrashed, screamed, wailed, and sobbed, her mind clouded by supersonic synapses firing in her brain, victim to an amorphous stew of devilish tickles. It didn’t get better. Places that didn’t tickle very much two minutes ago now made her shriek, as if her body was mutating in real time to protect her, only to be outsmarted by tickling hands that found another spot to tease during the adjustment. Time didn’t exist, and her mind clouded, as if in a trance: her conscious was beaten into submission, while her subconscious processed the violent sensations relentlessly assaulting her body. She giggled, laughed, sobbed, and thrashed without awareness, as if destroyed and banished to another plane of existence where the marriage of agony and ecstasy perpetually owning her was the norm.
When the clock struck 10:00, a loud siren went off and confetti fell from the sky, blanketing everyone: the host, models, Tickle Demons, and Penny, whimpering and wheezing.
“Congratulations, Penny, you just won $50,000!!! The crowd leapt to its feet in thunderous applause. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see her ex-partner, the Tickle Demon, applauding, smiling. He noticed her looking at him, winked and blew her a kiss.”
“Thank you,” she called to him.
“Don’t mention it.”
She closed her eyes and let her head collapse on the pillow, wearing a thin, dreamy smile.
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 pretty, pink feet until Penny’s long, skinny 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 every bit of the feet she packed into her size six Nikes. Penny squealed, shrieked, kicked, shoulder length amber hair billowing across her face, partially obscuring her wide green eyes and pouty lips, now trapped into a permanent smile. 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. Round One had an interesting format: four contestants would compete in various physical challenges. 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, $100 would transfer to his or her account. By the end of the round, the winner could end up with $3000 if the first finger tap got a laugh, or nothing if they failed to break the loser.
Round two was The Endurance Round. Each contestant would choose another and tickle them for a full two minutes 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, 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.
“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 and transferred to the loser’s bank for every second they hold 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 Three-Ring Circus Bean Bag 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 that attached his underarms to his pecs unyieldingly quivered when her eyes focused on them. His lips seemed to clamp together like a sprung bear trap to stay closed when the shock hit him. His pits were clearly a good spot. She briefly considered imagining a better one but decided that the clues indicated she could drop him before the clock started when she got to his terrified armpits.
“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 - Michael 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.
“Michael, 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 rub it on her like lotion.
“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 and 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. 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?”
Kelly nodded 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!
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 off 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.
As expected, Marvin dominated Paul in both rounds. He had selected the skeleton to assist him, and he turned out to be an excellent choice. At one point, Marvin stood up and backed off and allowed the Tickle Demon to work by himself. Penny couldn’t decide if it was for show or because he didn’t want to expose himself as a substandard tickler. Who knew, though, because the Tickle Demon so destroyed Paul that ten hands on him wouldn’t have seemed much different. He found a few spots on Paul’s ribs that he goosed and stroked relentlessly, causing him to buck so hard he bruised his tailbone. He added to this technique a flurry of rapid finger strokes across his waist; because the men wore only thongs in this round, it weakened him far more.
Penny smirked though the entire treatment. The guy was good. He’d found that perfect balance between pressure and friction on the soft flesh just above Paul’s cock, and thoroughly confused him with the pattern of attacks on his ribs; the kind of rib tickle you convince yourself you can withstand, but the relentless randomness of the grabs and strokes remains always one step ahead of you. Soon you find yourself screaming, bucking and yanking at your cuffs without knowing how or when you’d succumbed to domination and frustration. Nothing to do at that point but laugh and hope his hands fumbled, which they didn’t.
Paul’s tickling was quite effective, though, especially because he’d chosen another evil Tickle Demon: the short girl. Her fingernails went to town on Marvin’s feet. It didn’t take long for her to learn that slow and steady teases on his soles followed by pokes between his toes made him weakest. When she did, she poured it on until by about the 1:30 mark he was vomiting high-pitched laughter. Paul had underarm duty, which meant digging his fat fingers into the depths of his armpits while flicking Marvin’s nipples with his pinky fingers. Toes, soles, hard on the pits, that muscular chest, waterfall tickles on the ribs as a warmup… Penny took notes in her mind as Marvin weakened. The final score for the men was Marvin 150, Paul -44. He’d been tickled worse than he tickled, poor schlub.
Kelly got first crack at Penny. She’d chosen the tall woman, which pissed off Penny because it meant she was stuck with the milquetoast. It also meant she would learn about Kelly’s ticklish spots, which she would certainly hoping to get similar reactions.
Penny wiggled her fingers and toes in anticipation as the two women hovered over The Tickle Demon had an odd ritual of outlining Penny’s body with her tremendous hands, as if massaging the three inches of space above her. At first it seemed silly, but as the clock ticked down, the routine made her shiver. Smart woman.
In this round, the women were stripped to only their panties. Penny had selected a silky green pair with a picture of the Incredible Hulk that she’d found in a thrift store. It was the most ridiculous thing she’d ever seen, and she couldn’t refuse buying them. Who knew they’d be the only protection between her pussy and four tickling hands on a televised game show?
The round began slowly. Penny didn’t crack a smile for nearly 30 seconds, simply wiggling a bit, eyes closed, meditating. Then the Tickle Demon struck gold on her feet: a hard clawing at her arches just as Indira had done to her years ago. The Tickle Demon knew it was getting to Penny, so she kept at it until her victim erupted into a sortie of intensifying giggles.
“Uh oh. Looks like they finally got to her,” the host said as the crowd cheered.
Penny figured the ordeal turned Kelly on because, at that point, she launched a barrage of spider tickles over the center of her breasts. It shocked her. Long nails had never went at her breasts like that, and it tickled. Bad! She couldn’t believe how hard she was laughing. With 20 or so seconds remaining, Kelly’s finger patterns and stroke lengths were pure torture. Penny tried so hard to hold it in, but it was impossible.
“Fucking stop it!” she screamed in frustration, not used to being so out of control. This made Kelly laugh and increase the pace.
“No way, you arrogant bitch,” she whispered as Penny thrashed and laughed.
“Remember, folks,” the host said, “volume is important to your score, so screaming and cursing isn’t the best idea – if you can help it.”
After snorting and snickering through the final few seconds, Penny leapt from the table, drenched in sweat, gasping, glaring at Kelly as the hosts secured her. Arrogant bitch, huh? You have no idea, chick. The Tickle Demon shuffled over to center stage next to Penny, preparing for the round.
“You’d better be good,” she whispered to him. He glared at her and smirked.
“Don’t worry about me.”
After the host did his thing and the buzzer sounded, Penny went right for Kelly’s neck. Her head thrashed around like a bobble-head doll, and she giggled almost immediately. Penny wanted to surprise Kelly, put her on the defensive, and it worked. Meanwhile, the Tickle Demon explored her inner thighs and knees, but it didn’t seem to have much effect.
“Come on!” Penny barked at him. He scowled at her.
“Are you even trying?” A pang of guilt swept through Penny when she noticed that her diatribe seemed to embarrass him. He flashed a glance at the crowd and his once eager hands had lost some steam. Then she realized he could be sabotaging her. Whatever it was, she knew she was on her own. Time to get busy.
By going at everyone’s armpits first, Kelly had tipped her hand. Within seconds, Penny had her. Her fingers crept into the fleshy depths of Kelly’s sweaty underarms, sliding back and forth like two octopi swimming in place on all the tingly parts inside and around her pits. The giggles cascaded from Kelly, intensifying into a constant, sweet, girlish belly laugh. Her flat tummy contracted as the laughs poured from her, and she closed her eyes, resigned to knowing life would be hell for the next two minutes.
“Tickle, tickle, you arrogant bitch,” Penny whispered, though loud enough for others to hear.
“Isn’t that what you said? Well, you’re mine now.” She noticed that a minute wet spot had formed in the center of her panties.
“This turns you on, doesn’t it?” she whispered. “How about I yank those white panties off and give a nice tickle to that little flap of skin inside you? Or do you want me to kiss it, hmmm? That’s it, isn’t it? I think you want my tongue on your clit while I rub oil on my fingertips and shine your nipples.”
Kelly’s hips bucked and she snorted between uproarious fits of laughter.
“Look how turned on you are,” Penny said. “Maybe you’ll cum on stage. I’ll keep tickling you to find out, turn you into a blubbering mess. They’ll roll you out of here on a cart like a pile of straw. Then I’ll tickle it some more. God, I want to poke inside that wet pussy, Kelly. And God, you want it. I promise, when I win, I’ll buy you a nice dinner, take you home, and vibrate you to sleep, while I tickle you, of course. I love it when people scream and laugh at the same time, don’t you? Are they in ecstasy or agony? That’s what turns me on: watching them try to explain it to me. So, you can turn me on while I pleasure you. Deal?”
But Kelly, being so overwhelmed with the constant barrage of relentless electricity had ceased listening to Penny’s taunts. Unfortunately for her, Penny’s arousal grew with each giggle and quiver she forced out of her. It took a great deal of will to resist touching herself right in front of the TV audience. Instead, she took it out on Kelly. When the buzzer sounded, Kelly discharged a few sobs, inaudible to everyone but her malevolent torturer.
“Poor baby just got abused,” she said and made a pouty face as the models released Kelly.
“I hope you have a heart attack, ****,” Kelly whispered in return. Penny blew her a kiss.
After watching Kelly stumble away, Penny’s wrath targeted her tickling partner.
“What the hell did you do, anyway? Were you trying to make me lose?”
“Maybe,” he said and smirked. “But you won. Good for you. Can’t wait to see you in the finals.”
“Right, good luck, buddy.”
The final score between the girls was Penny: 180, Kelly: -5. Again, someone tickled worse than they had tickled.
With Kelly out of the way, Penny figured it would be smooth sailing into the final round. And it was. 30 seconds was not enough time for Marvin to get Penny started on any part of her body. She barely laughed the entire round. Marvin was able to hold up on a few body parts, but he laughed through almost the entire 30 seconds on his feet and stomach. The score wasn’t even close.
Marvin shook hands with and congratulated Penny, then retreated backstage to witness the final round with the other defeated contestants. As they all clapped in unison with the audience, Penny’s second round Tickle Demon partner winked at Kelly.
“Don’t worry, we’re going to fuck her up,” he said and flashed a big smile at the camera.
“Okay, ladies and gentlemen,” the host said in a booming. “The final round is upon us! Penny performed beautifully through the first few rounds, but the Agony Gauntlet has humbled many of our top performers.”
He motioned for Penny to look at the scoreboard: $27,000 in garish, silver letters, surrounded by bright marquee lights.
“Ok, Penny. You have a choice: keep the money or face the Agony Gauntlet. If you can withstand ten minutes of torture from the Tickle Demons, you walk away with a cool $77,000. What’s it going to be?”
“I’m gonna do the gauntlet. I know I can do it.”
The host laughed and the crowd went wild.
“I can’t remember such a confident contestant, folks. I wish you well, young lady.”
A hint of anxiety and doubt crept into Penny as the beaming models wheeled a circular steel cage to center stage. It was an imposing contraption: four thick steel cuffs for her wrists and ankles, a padded seat with a hole to allow access to a contestant’s ass, a steel ring around her waist to keep her hips completely immobilized… no detail was ignored. It stood about four feet from the ground, which allowed the Tickle Demons equal access to both sides of her body. Standing in front of a whistling, applauding crowd, naked, cold tile under her bare feet, watching four clawed, black-clad professional ticklers prepare a medieval torture device made Penny cringe. Fear had finally arrived.
“It’s time, Penny. In you go!” the host said and retreated a few steps. She climbed into the cage, spread her limbs, and lay on the squishy seat that reminded her of a comfort pad for a ten-speed bicycle. Soft leather hugged her wrists and ankles as the models closed the restraints. At least they made it comfortable. The most unnerving sensation was the breeze billowing into her asshole, perfectly centered above the hole in the seat. Her sphincter pulsed in short intervals as the Tickle Demons circled around her into position.
“Ok, ladies and gentlemen. One more thing we need to sort out before they go to work. Penny, you need to choose a safe word.” He held the microphone to her lips.
She’d spent a few minutes considering a word. It obviously couldn’t be something like “stop,” or “please.” Only a moron would take the chance of letting that slip out. It needed to be something strange, that she’d never utter on a lark under duress. Grapefruit. Perfect – a fruit she despised, which she hadn’t seen for years. No way in hell that would slip out.
“Grapefruit,” she said and smiled. The host looked at her cockeyed.
“Grapefruit?”
“You wouldn’t hear someone say that by mistake, right?”
“I suppose not.” He backed away and pointed to a black screen. Ding! There it was: grapefruit, in big, bright letters.
“Ok, Penny. Ready?”
She nodded and tensed her muscles as the moment of truth arrived.
The crowd shouted the countdown: “Three…two…one…Tickle!”
For the rest of her life, Penny could vividly recall the first jarring sensation the Tickle Demons enacted upon her. The memory didn’t exist only in her mind, though. She could feel it, almost as if the harrowing shock was upon her again. The tall woman jabbed a vibrating wand through the seat into Penny’s ass and poked at her as if trying to settle into her rectum. Penny’s round two partner doused his right hand with sex lube, slid his middle and ring fingers deep into her pussy, and vigorously massaged her clit with his index finger and thumb while using his left hand to pepper her nipple with quick teasing pokes. The short woman oiled Penny’s feet and raked at them with two soft-bristled hairbrushes. The walking skeleton sat on a chair just below Penny’s chest and wiggled his fingers in relentless, teasing strokes around the outskirts of her armpits. For some reason it tickled more than a direct attack into the hollows.
Her body stiffened as if her spinal cord had been severed, and she grunted so resoundingly her ribs shook. The violence of the poking at her g-spot and asshole, coupled with the expert rubbing on her slick clit made her cum before she was aware of what happened. She discharged a geyser of cum into her ex-partner’s face and bucked against the bar constricting her hips as if trying to cleanse her uterus of fire.
As the orgasm faded, Penny became aware of the brushes scraping at her now supersensitive feet. The tall Tickle Demon locked the still-vibrating wand in place inside Penny’s ass while her ex-partner fastened a vibrating toy the size of a golf ball on her clit with an elastic waistband. Now free to join the tickling festivities, they assumed their roles: the tall woman dangled a feather inside of Penny’s nostril while her partner massaged the flabbiest part of her inner thighs. It was so intrusive it felt like he was tickling her uterus. Maybe he was better than he seemed, Penny thought. Maybe he was getting the reaction from Kelly. She’d been overestimating her ability. Whatever it was, between the vibrating ball on her clit and his hands groping her thighs, she thought her groin might melt.
As the orgasm passed, the laughter took over. Deep, guttural, girlish shrieks, punctuated by giggles and moans from the erogenous pleasure. Up and down, she bounced, yanking at the restraints, trying to wriggle free of the wand on her ass, to accustom herself to the cataclysmic shocks jolting her clit - at least enough to control the frantic pounding of her increasingly mortified heart. But the vibrating machines knew nothing of her plight; they continued burrowing into her from both sides, constant, consistent, unconscious. If only they knew the strength of their control, Penny imagined they’d miraculously come to life to relish the power.
She realized that the combination of machine and human molestation was what most bothered her: the buzzing machines had her most sensitive erogenous zones locked down in constant captivity, but the living creatures had the ability to…adjust. The pressure and speed of the fingertips on her armpits varied as they detected weakness. A quivering muscle, bodily jolt, spasm of laughter, all clues that the man exploited. Penny thrashed her head so hard she felt sick from dizziness, yet the dainty little feather followed her, dipping into her nostril to peck at the little hairs that the human body had developed to prevent this very thing from happening. The Tickle Demon working her feet seemed excited by the peals of laughter pouring from Penny because she dropped the brushes in favor of scraping at all parts of her shiny, pink feet. Penny’s feet jolted against the toe restraints when the woman’s fingers found the right spots at the base of her toes to tickle. How could someone know how to touch me so capably, Penny thought. Had someone painted targets on my toes? How could the woman figure out in such a short amount of time what infinitesimal patches of skin on my toes turned me to a giggling mess of goo?
It wasn’t long until the post-orgasm torture got her to do what she vowed never to do; never thought she would do because she hadn’t ever been close to needing to do it: she screamed in terror.
“Oh my god, STOP!!!!” she shrieked like a voice actress in a slasher flick.
The plea achieved nothing, except to reinvigorate the collective tickling effort. She’d turned the volume from 10 to 11.
“Please, please fucking STOPPPPP!!!!!!”
“That’s two minutes, Penny,” the host said with a look of concern. He knew this woman was too stubborn for her own good, that her mind might travel to a terrible place, never to return.
“Come on, Penny, just say the word!” her ex-partner teased. “I’ll stop, I promise. You’ll never get to feel my hands eating up your beautiful thighs again. And they are beautiful: tight, firm and really ticklish. Surprise, surprise!”
“Fuck you!” she screamed as if exorcising a demon. “Fuck, fuck, FUUUCCCKKKK!!!!!!!”
“One juicy, yellow word, Penny. Grapefruit. Grape. Fruit. Grapefruit. Just say it, you don’t need to prove anything to us. You’re pretty tough. Nowhere near the badass you think you are, but you made a good show. Just give up and we can go home.”
She closed her eyes and concentrated on letting the sensations overwhelm her, to subdue her body’s will to defend itself. But the human body is too resilient – and weak – to perform such an act. The nervous system doesn’t relax. Ever. It won’t give up on you, which makes it an extraordinary liability in a situation like this. A growing, volcanic tingle blossomed inside her: another orgasm. A dribble of cum seeped out from underneath the vibrating ball to join the first wave of warm goo that had begun to dry on her crotch.
“God, damn it, NO MORE!!!!! FUCK ALL OF YOU ASSHOLES…GGGGGGGGRRRRRRR. STOP!!”
Penny’s blood-curdling screams seemed to delight the tall woman. She dropped the feather, took a seat underneath Penny and groped her ribs, up and down, systematically. She then reached a bit higher and danced her fingernails across her belly, which earned a massive jolt and a series of giggles.
“Someone has a ticklish belly,” she said and increased the pace. After teasing her sweaty belly for a bit, the woman’s hands slowly crept higher.
“And as I recall, she's even more ticklish right… Here!”
At that, her massive hands surrounded Penny’s breasts and squeezed them tenderly. Penny’s eyes widened and an explosion of laughter detonated inside of her. The woman giggled, dribbled baby oil on Penny’s chest, lathered her up her tits and lowered her soft fingers on to them. Her index fingers remained glued to her nipples, peppering them with quick teases while the other four fingers dug into Penny’s squishy c-cups, fruitlessly (and knowingly) trying to gain traction. Feet, armpits, tits and thighs: they’d found Penny’s four worst tickle spots, and she knew they wouldn’t relent, nor would the two machines practically electrocuting her crotch and asshole. At least that’s what it like felt by now.
Through all of the monstrous torture, Penny still believed she could take it. When the timer passed the seven-minute mark, a swell of hope invigorated her. Ironically, this glimmer of hope was her downfall, because when the Tickle Demons tickled it out of her within seconds, it broke her. For an aggressive person like Penny, she realized the elimination of one quality indicates defeat: anger. Anger is defense, strength… anger believes it can fight off anything through will and determination. It will destroy everything in its path. When anger is defeated, all you have is hope. And hope is nothing to a beaten, helpless body under the constant duress of tickle torture and sexual humiliation. It will do anything to save itself. Tears of defeat replace angry screams. Fear creeps in. You wonder if this bodily torture will scar your mind. Grapefruit? Did I actually pick that one? What a weirdo I am…
As if reading her mind, her ex-partner’s hand clamped down over Penny’s mouth as she screamed the safe word. Her green eyes bulged in panic and she tried to shake her head free, but his heavy hand would not relent.
“Are you trying to say something?” he asked.
“grmmmmmppphhh.fmmmmppphhh…”
“What?” He leaned to within inches of her face and grinned.
“Spit it out, Penny. I’m not very good at this, you need to speak up a bit.”
“That’s enough,” the short Tickle Demon said and giggled. "She's gonna lose it."
“No, it’s not. We need to help Penny help herself. $50,000 is a lot of money to lose just from a little tickle torture. A strong woman like her wouldn’t forgive herself if she gave in now. Come on guys, let’s give her what she deserves.”
He turned the vibrators on to maximum speed and held both hands over her mouth while his partners tickled her through to the finish line. After a few failed attempts to wriggle free of the powerful hands and scream grapefruit loud enough to break a window, Penny relented. For the final minute or so she thrashed, screamed, wailed, and sobbed, her mind clouded by supersonic synapses firing in her brain, victim to an amorphous stew of devilish tickles. It didn’t get better. Places that didn’t tickle very much two minutes ago now made her shriek, as if her body was mutating in real time to protect her, only to be outsmarted by tickling hands that found another spot to tease during the adjustment. Time didn’t exist, and her mind clouded, as if in a trance: her conscious was beaten into submission, while her subconscious processed the violent sensations relentlessly assaulting her body. She giggled, laughed, sobbed, and thrashed without awareness, as if destroyed and banished to another plane of existence where the marriage of agony and ecstasy perpetually owning her was the norm.
When the clock struck 10:00, a loud siren went off and confetti fell from the sky, blanketing everyone: the host, models, Tickle Demons, and Penny, whimpering and wheezing.
“Congratulations, Penny, you just won $50,000!!! The crowd leapt to its feet in thunderous applause. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see her ex-partner, the Tickle Demon, applauding, smiling. He noticed her looking at him, winked and blew her a kiss.”
“Thank you,” she called to him.
“Don’t mention it.”
She closed her eyes and let her head collapse on the pillow, wearing a thin, dreamy smile.
