Amanda's Amazing Transformation (MMM/F, noncon, hypnosis)

[Eucatastrophist]

A tickling and hypnosis story, published here with the gracious permission of my client.

Tickling | Hypnosis | Milf | Clowns | Corporate Sabotage | Aphrodisiac

Part One - An Unexpected Performance

The grand tent blazed with colored lights, and the air hung thick with the rich scent of popcorn and cotton candy. Amanda Turner sat rigidly in her front-section seat, her expensive tailored blazer a stark contrast to the chaotic spectacle around her. At forty-three, she commanded boardrooms and billion-dollar deals, and felt out of her element amidst this garish nightmare of sequins and sawdust.

"Aren't you excited, Mom?" Brittany whispered, practically bouncing in her seat. Brittany had just turned eighteen, so Amanda felt the girlish sentiment was a little juvenile for her, but she kept her lips sealed and merely grunted a general affirmative.

But then again, Amanda mused, it's not like we'd ever have taken her someplace like this.

She forced a tight smile towards her daughter, then turned back to glance elsewhere. Across the aisle, Jun Wong - the Singaporean media mogul whose partnership could expand her empire into Asian markets - was practically glowing as he applauded the previous act. His children squealed with delight. Her husband John gave her an apologetic look that said, at least they're enjoying it.

She'd survived worse than this. One evening of manufactured joy for a multi-million dollar deal.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen," the ringmaster's voice boomed, "our HILARIOUS troupe of CLOWNS!"

Amanda's jaw clenched. Of course. Fucking clowns.

Three performers tumbled into the spotlight - one tall and gangly in polka dots, another short and rotund in rainbow stripes, the third wearing an oversized bowler hat. Their makeup was garish, and their movements exaggerated. Everything Amanda despised, she noted: loud, undignified, pointless.

She watched with boredom and exasperation as they capered through their routine. Beside her, her eldest son James chuckled at their pratfalls. Jun Wong was in stitches. Amanda's face remained stony.

The tall clown's gaze swept the crowd and locked onto her.

No.

He approached, that grotesque painted smile widening. "Well, well! Looks like someone forgot this is a FUN show!" His voice carried across the tent. "Why the sour face, pretty lady?"

The spotlight swung to her. Hundreds of eyes followed.

"I'm perfectly fine," Amanda said coolly, aware of Jun Wong watching.

"Fine? FINE?" The clown clutched his chest dramatically. "That's the saddest word in the English language! We need to fix this!" He extended a white-gloved hand. "Come on up here! Let's turn that frown upside down!"

The crowd began to cheer. Amanda felt John's hand on her shoulder. Jun Wong was clapping encouragingly, his expression expectant.

This is business, she reminded herself. Smile. Play along. Get through this.

"Come on, Mom!" Brittany urged.

Amanda stood and smoothed out her suit. As she approached the stage, however, someone's glance caught her eye. An unexpectedly familiar face.

Debra fucking Morrison.

Her rival from Zenith Media sat three rows up, perfectly coiffed auburn hair and that insufferable smirk. Their companies had been locked in a vicious battle for the Wong contract. Debra's presence here was no coincidence.

Their eyes met. Debra's smile turned predatory. She mouthed something that looked like this should be good.

Amanda's spine straightened. She would not give that bitch the satisfaction.

The clowns helped her onto the stage with surprising strength, their grips firm on her elbows. She stood center stage in her black heels and business attire, a sleek businesswoman amidst grinning buffoons.

"What's your name, gorgeous?" the tall clown asked.

"Amanda."

"Well, Amanda, we're gonna make you LAUGH if it's the last thing we do!" He pulled out an enormous rubber chicken and squeezed it.

Amanda stared at him blankly.

The short clown pulled out juggling balls and began an elaborate routine, dropping them comically. The crowd howled. Amanda remained impassive.

The third clown did a ridiculous dance, flapping his arms like a deranged chicken. Nothing.

"Tough customer!" the tall clown declared. "Okay, okay. What do you call a bear with no teeth?"

Amanda raised an eyebrow. "I'm sure you'll tell me."

"A GUMMY BEAR!" All three clowns collapsed in exaggerated laughter.

"Hilarious," Amanda said, her tone desert-dry. From the front row, she could see Debra's predatory gaze boring into her.

The tall clown's painted smile never wavered, but something shifted in his eyes. "You know what we do with grumpy audience members, don't you, boys?"

The other two clowns exchanged theatrical glances. "THE TICKLE CHAIR!"

The crowd erupted in excited cheers, and Amanda felt their hands on her arms again, that surprisingly firm grip.

"That won't be necessary," she said, not quite pulling away. She wasn't about to make a scene in front of Jun Wong.

Besides, she had a secret weapon: she wasn't ticklish. Never had been. They could try all they wanted, she'd stand there stoically and this ridiculous charade would end.

They guided her to an ornate contraption that had been wheeled onto the stage - a chair with wooden stocks at the bottom and restraints at the top. Vintage circus kitsch.

"Really, this is-" Amanda began, but the clowns were already positioning her.

"Don't worry, gorgeous, it's all in good fun!" the tall clown said cheerfully.

She sat stiffly in the ridiculous chair, trying her best to maintain her dignity. The stocks were opened, and she placed her ankles inside, feeling the wood close around them with a solid click. Her expensive designer heels were removed with a theatrical flourish, exposing her pale and smooth bare feet. The crowd oohed.

Her wrists were guided upward and secured with velvet-lined cuffs, stretching her arms above her head. The position pulled her blazer open slightly, and Amanda felt the first stirring of genuine unease.

"Alright!" the tall clown announced. "Now, we can't have our volunteer getting all uncomfortable and sweaty in that fancy suit, can we?"

"What?" Amanda's eyes narrowed. "No, I'm perfectly-"

But the short clown was already behind her, his fingers finding the buttons of her tailored blue blazer. "Let's get you comfy!"

"Don't you dare-!" Amanda tried to pull her arms down, but the restraints held firm. The clown deftly undid each button despite her squirming. Within seconds, he slipped the blazer off her shoulders and down her raised arms, leaving her in her crisp white blouse.

The crowd laughed and applauded.

"Stop this right now!" Amanda hissed, her face flushing. She could see Jun Wong watching with bemused interest. Debra was leaning forward, practically salivating.

"But we're just getting started!" the clown with the bowler hat chirped. He moved to her feet, running his finger along the sole experimentally. Amanda remained stoic - still not ticklish. Yet.

Meanwhile, the tall clown examined her blouse with exaggerated consideration.

"Hmm, this fancy silk shirt looks expensive!" he mused. "We wouldn't want to ruin it with all the tickling, would we?"

"You're not going to..." Amanda started, but his fingers were already working on the top button of her blouse.

"Stop! This is completely inappropriate!" She twisted against the restraints, but two clowns held her shoulders steady while the third continued unbuttoning. Her professional white blouse fell open, revealing the ivory lace bra beneath and the white ribbed tank top she wore underneath.

The crowd's laughter grew louder. Amanda's face burned crimson.

"Much better!" the tall clown declared, pulling the blouse free from her raised arms and tossing it aside. "But wait... what's this?"

His fingers traced along the line of her bra strap, visible above the tank top. Amanda's eyes went wide.

"No. Absolutely not. You will NOT-"

"Can't have any uncomfortable underthings digging in during our treatment!" He winked at the audience. "Trust me, she'll thank us later!"

"I will do no such - hey!" Amanda jerked as she felt hands at her back, reaching under her tank top. The short clown had positioned himself behind the chair. Through the thin fabric, she felt him locate the clasp of her bra.

"Don't you fucking dare," Amanda growled, all pretense of politeness evaporating.

Click.

The pressure around her ribcage released. Amanda gasped as she felt her bra loosen. The clown's hands worked the straps down her shoulders, sliding them along her raised arms. Within moments, he pulled the ivory lace bra free through one armhole of her tank top like a magician pulling scarves from a hat.

"Ta-da!" the clown said, holding it up triumphantly.

The crowd roared. Wolf whistles pierced the air. Amanda's children looked mortified. John's face had gone pale. Jun Wong was laughing so hard he was crying. And that bitch Debra was recording everything, her expression pure malicious glee.

Amanda sat there in the stocks and wrist restraints, stripped down to just her blue slacks and white tank top, her full breasts now obviously unrestrained beneath the thin fabric. The cool air of the tent made her nipples visibly peak against the cotton. She was trembling - not from cold, but from pure, unadulterated rage and humiliation.

"You absolute bastards," she seethed. "Do you have any idea who I am?"

"Sure!" the tall clown said brightly, draping her bra over his shoulder like a trophy. "You're Amanda, the sourpuss who needs to learn how to LAUGH!"

He tickled under her arm experimentally. Still nothing - her body remained unresponsive despite her fury.

"Wow, she really isn't ticklish," the short clown marveled, running his fingers along her now more exposed ribs through the thin tank top. "That's actually impressive."

"We'll see how impressive she is in a minute," the tall clown said, a wicked gleam in his eye.

From her bound position, Amanda could see Debra clearly now, zooming in with her phone, capturing every detail of Amanda's humiliation - the powerful CEO stripped to her underwear, bound and helpless on stage.

"When I get out of this," Amanda said quietly, her voice deadly calm despite her racing heart, "I will personally ensure that each of you never works in entertainment again. I will sue this circus into bankruptcy. I will... "

"Oooh, scary!" the tall clown mocked. "Boys, I think our volunteer needs an attitude adjustment!"

He reached into his voluminous pocket and produced a small ornate bottle. The label read "GIGGLEDUST" in swirling letters.

"Our secret weapon," he announced to the crowd, uncorking it. A fine, shimmering powder sparkled inside. "Fair warning, Amanda, this might tingle a bit!"

"What is that? Don't-!"

Before she could finish, he blew a cloud of the glittering dust directly into her face.

Amanda coughed, blinking as the particles settled on her skin, her lips, into her nose and mouth. It tasted sweet, almost effervescent. A strange warmth spread through her face, down her neck, radiating outward through her chest and belly. The sensation intensified where her skin was more exposed - her arms, her neck, the thin barrier of her tank top suddenly feeling like no barrier at all.

What the hell did they just...?

The first finger touched her ribs again, this time directly against the cotton of her tank top.

"AH-!" The sound that escaped her was shocking. High-pitched. Vulnerable. "Nnngh - what... what did you-?"

"There we go!" the clown crowed.

Another finger poked her armpit, and Amanda's entire body convulsed.

"NHHHHAHAHAHA!" The laugh exploded from her throat, wild and uncontrolled. "Stop! STOP IT!"

But they didn't stop. All three clowns descended on her bound body.

Fingers scrabbled across her ribs, her sides, her belly. Every touch felt like fire, like being shocked and caressed and tortured all at once. The thin tank top provided absolutely no protection. She could feel every individual finger, every slight movement, magnified a thousand times. Amanda thrashed against her restraints, her carefully styled blonde hair whipping around her face. Her breasts bounced beneath the tank top with each violent movement, drawing more catcalls from the audience.

"AHAHAHAHA! NO! NOHOHOOO!" she was screaming now, screaming and laughing in equal measure. Tears were already forming in her eyes.

"PLEASE! I - HAHA- I CAN'T-!"

"Can't what?" the tall clown teased, his fingers dancing up her ribs toward her underarms. Without her bra, without the protection of her blouse, she was so much more exposed. "Can't handle a little tickling, Miss Fancy Executive?"

"Look at her wiggle!" the short clown laughed, his hands squeezing her sides. Her breasts shook with each squeeze, each desperate attempt to escape. "All that corporate power, and she's just a ticklish little girl!"

"STAHAHAHAP!!!"

Amanda bucked in the chair, her tank top riding up slightly as she twisted, exposing a strip of toned midriff. The sensation was overwhelming - not just physical but mental. She could feel her control slipping, her stiff, rigidly maintained composure crumbling like sand.

The short clown produced an enormous feather, pink and fluffy. He dragged it slowly, deliberately, across the arch of her bare foot.

The effect was devastating.

"GAHAHAHAHA! OH GOD! OH GOD PLEASE!"

Amanda's laughter pitched higher, more desperate. Her toes curled and flexed uselessly. The feather traced patterns on her sole, between her toes, across her heel. Each stroke sent lightning bolts of sensation up her trembling legs.

She was dimly aware of the crowd's roar, of Jun Wong's family laughing and pointing, of her own children's shocked giggles. But mostly she was aware of the unbearable, unrelenting tickling.

"Such pretty feet," the clown cooed, switching to a stiff brush. "And SO ticklish now! Just like the rest of her!"

"NOHOHOHOOOO! NOT THERE! NAHAHAHAT - HAHAHAHA!"

The brush scraped across her arch and Amanda shrieked, her whole body shuddering. Fresh tears streamed down her face, ruining her makeup. Her breasts heaved with each gasping breath beneath the sweat-dampened tank top.

"Please! I'll do ANYTHING!"

"Anything?" The tall clown grinned. His fingers found her underarms, wiggling mercilessly into the hollows. The naked, shaved skin was impossibly sensitive. "Will you SMILE at our jokes now?"

Amanda was beyond words. Her laughter had become a continuous stream of shrieks, giggles, and desperate gasping. The giggledust had lowered every defense, stripped away every wall. She felt raw, exposed, utterly helpless in front of this crowd.

And somewhere in the chaos, she felt something worse: a strange, humiliating lightness. The dust wasn't just making her more ticklish, it was making her more mirthful, stripping away her inhibitions. Part of her, buried deep beneath the horror, was almost enjoying the loss of control.

No. No no no.

"Tickle tickle tickle!" the clowns sang in unison, their fingers everywhere at once. Ribs, sides, belly, feet, underarms. Amanda couldn't track it all. She just laughed and laughed and laughed, her body on full display in nothing but her tank top and slacks, writhing and bucking for the entertainment of hundreds.

"HAHAHAH - CAN'T - BREATHE - HAHA!" she managed between bursts of hysterical laughter.

Through her tear-blurred vision, she saw Debra in the front row, phone held high, absolutely delighted. The humiliation crashed over her in waves - not just being tickled, but being stripped, exposed, reduced to this bouncing, giggling mess.

Amanda Turner, president of a multi-billion dollar media empire, respected businesswoman, powerful executive, now half-dressed and screaming with laughter in front of hundreds of people. In front of a crucial client. In front of her rival.

"Look at her go!" the short clown called to the audience. "I think we found her laugh button! All we had to do was get rid of all those stuffy business clothes!"

The tall clown held up her bra again, waving it at the crowd. "Who knew corporate types wore such fancy underwear?"

Fresh fingers attacked her belly, skittering across the exposed strip of skin where her tank top had ridden up. Amanda's laughter went silent for a moment, too intense for sound, before returning as desperate, breathless wheezing.

"PLEASE! MERCY! MERCY-HEE-HEE!!!" She was begging now, all pride abandoned. Her tank top was soaked with sweat, clinging to her curves.

"I'm - HAHAHA! Sorry!!"

"Sorry for what?" the tall clown asked innocently, his feather tracing her collarbone, down between her breasts through the thin fabric.

"FOR - NAHAHAH! EVERYTHING! FOR NOT SMILING! FOR - HAHAHA!"

Amanda could feel her consciousness fraying at the edges. The overwhelming, unbearable tickling felt like it was rewiring her entire nervous system. Every nerve ending was on fire with a thrilling rush, especially where her skin was most exposed.

Time lost meaning. It could have been seconds or hours. All she knew was fingers and feathers and brushes and that awful, wonderful, terrible laughter pouring out of her.

Finally,finally.... the touches slowed. Stopped.

Amanda hung in her restraints, chest heaving, face soaked with tears. Her laughter continued in helpless giggles, little aftershocks she couldn't control.

"Hehe...haha...nngh..." Her tank top clung to her body, her hair was a disheveled mess, and she was still half-naked in front of everyone.

"There's that smile!" the tall clown announced triumphantly.

The crowd erupted in applause.

As they released her wrists and ankles, one of the clowns' hands lingered on her hip, on her back pocket of her slacks. Amanda was too dazed to notice the subtle movement, the small object slipped inside.

The tall clown handed her back her blouse and blazer, but kept her bra, tucking it into his costume with a wink.

"A souvenir!" he announced to the audience's delight.

They helped her stand. Her legs were jelly. She tried to pull on her blouse with shaking hands, but the giggledust was still working. Her fingers fumbled with the buttons. Finally, she gave up and just clutched the blouse closed over her tank top, not bothering with the blazer.

She staggered, still giggling uncontrollably, tears streaming down her ruined makeup.

"Hehe...oh god...haha..."

The walk back to her seat felt endless. Amanda stumbled down the stage steps, barefoot, half-dressed, her blouse hanging open. Her breasts moved freely beneath the damp tank top with each unsteady step. The giggledust was still working - every tiny sensation felt amplified. Her skin tingled.

Hands reached out from the crowd as she passed.

A teenage boy poked her side.

"Eeep! Hehee... don't-!" Amanda flinched and giggled.

An older woman tickled under her arm as she squeezed by.

"Na-HA!" Amanda jerked away, nearly falling, her blouse slipping off one shoulder.

More hands, more pokes, more tickles. Each one sent little shocks through her hypersensitive body, drawing involuntary squeaks and giggles. She was running a gauntlet, and everyone wanted a piece of the stern businesswoman who'd been broken on stage.

Finally, she collapsed into her seat beside John. Her family stared at her - Brittany wide-eyed and mortified, her eldest son James trying desperately not to laugh, John's expression somewhere between concern and complete bewilderment.

Across the aisle, Jun Wong was wiping tears from his own eyes, having laughed so hard.

"That was WONDERFUL!" he called over. "Best circus act I've ever seen! You're a great sport, Amanda!"

Amanda could only nod, still giggling helplessly, her body shaking with residual laughter, one hand clutching her open blouse closed.

"Hehe...glad you...haha...enjoyed it..."

Three rows up, Debra Morrison caught her eye, held up her phone, and mouthed: This is going EVERYWHERE.

The circus continued around them, but Amanda barely noticed. She sat there in her wrinkled slacks and damp tank top, her blouse hanging open because she couldn't control her trembling fingers enough to button it, barefoot and tear-stained, feeling the phantom touches of a hundred fingers.

And in her back pocket, completely unnoticed, a small tracking device blinked its first signal.

Part Two - Kidnapping and Corruption

Amanda stood in her home office well past midnight, staring at her reflection in the darkened window. The glass showed a woman she barely recognized - hair still disheveled, makeup smeared, eyes red from crying and laughing. She'd managed to button her blouse finally, once the giggledust had worn off enough for her hands to stop shaking, but she still felt... wrong. Exposed. Vulnerable.

Her laptop glowed on the mahogany desk. She'd been trying to work, to reclaim some sense of normalcy, but every few minutes another involuntary giggle would escape. The effects were fading, but slowly.

Amanda pressed her palms against the cool glass, trying to ground herself. She needed to-

She heard a door creak behind her, unnaturally swift.

Before Amanda could scream, a white-gloved hand clamped over her mouth. The sickly-sweet smell of the circus filled her nostrils.

"Shhh, shhh," a familiar voice whispered. The tall clown from the show. "We wouldn't want to wake your family, would we?"

Amanda's eyes went wide. She tried to bite, to struggle, but two more sets of hands grabbed her. The short clown and the one with the bowler hat materialized from the darkness of her office. How long had they been hiding there?

"Mmmmph!" she screamed against the gloved palm, thrashing.

"Easy, easy," the tall clown cooed. "We're not going to hurt you. We just... well, we've never seen anyone react to the giggledust quite like you did. You were magnificent. Too good to let go."

Amanda's heart hammered against her ribs. This couldn't be happening. This was insane.

The short clown produced a small cloth from his pocket. Even in her panic, Amanda recognized the sickly-sweet smell. Chloroform.

No. No no no.

She bucked harder, her silk blouse tearing as she twisted, but their grip was iron. The cloth pressed against her nose and mouth, replacing the hand. Amanda held her breath, eyes streaming, but her lungs were already screaming from the earlier hysterical laughter. She couldn't-

She gasped. The chemical flooded her system.

The office tilted. Her legs gave out. Strong arms caught her.

"That's it," the tall clown whispered as darkness crept in from the edges of her vision. "Just relax, Amanda. We're going to have so much fun together."

The last thing she saw was the bowler-hat clown at her desk, writing something on her corporate letterhead in her own handwriting - a disturbingly perfect forgery.

Then nothing.

---

Amanda woke to the smell of sawdust and greasepaint.

Her head throbbed. Her mouth tasted like chemicals. And she couldn't move.

Panic slammed into her as consciousness returned fully. She was on her back on some kind of padded surface, her arms stretched above her head and out to the sides. Her legs were spread wide, ankles pulled apart. Every limb was secured with thick leather straps.

X-shaped. Spread-eagle. Completely helpless.

"No. No!" Amanda yanked against the restraints. They didn't budge. The leather bit into her wrists and ankles. "Let me GO!"

"Oh good, you're awake!"

Amanda's head whipped to the side. The three clowns stood around her in a semicircle, still in their costumes and makeup. But they weren't in the circus tent anymore. This was somewhere else... a small room with concrete walls, exposed bulbs casting harsh light. Storage? A basement?

"Where am I? What the fuck do you think you're-"

"Language, language," the tall clown tutted. "Is that any way for a corporate executive to talk?"

Amanda looked down at herself and her stomach dropped. They'd stripped her again while she was unconscious. Her blazer, blouse, and slacks were gone. She lay spread-eagle in nothing but her white tank top and a pair of black lace panties that matched the bra they'd stolen.

"You sick fucks," she hissed, yanking harder against the straps. "Do you have ANY idea what you've done? I will have you arrested. I will have you-"

"You'll have us what?" the short clown asked with genuine curiosity. "Your husband thinks you're at work."

"What?"

The bowler-hat clown held up a piece of paper - it had her corporate letterhead across the top.

"We left dear John a letter explaining everything," the clown said. "Urgent crisis at the Singapore office. You had to fly out immediately. Might be gone several days."

Amanda's blood went cold. "He'll know. He'll know I didn't write that."

"Will he?" The tall clown tilted his head. "Your assistant Debra was very helpful in getting the tone right. I believe we nailed your passive-aggressive corporate-speak."

"Debra..." Amanda's voice came out as a horrified whisper. "Debra isn't my- Debra Morrison was involved in this?"

"Oh, not in the kidnapping! She just... appreciated our circus act so much that she wanted to help us understand you better. Very chatty woman. Told us all about your schedule, your habits, your corporate writing style." He grinned. "She might have mentioned that you pull these kinds of disappearing acts for work all the time. Seemed almost happy to help."

The betrayal cut deeper than the restraints. Debra had set her up. Had given these lunatics everything they needed.

"This is insane," Amanda said, forcing her voice to stay steady. "You can't just kidnap people because they were good at your circus act. Let me go right now and I'll consider not pressing charges."

The three clowns exchanged glances and burst into laughter.

"Press charges?" the tall clown wheezed. "Oh Amanda. Sweet, serious Amanda. You still don't get it, do you?"

He moved closer, looming over her spread form. Amanda tried to shrink away but had nowhere to go.

"You were the most incredible thing we've ever seen," he said, his voice dropping to something almost reverent. "The way you responded to the giggledust, the way that stern corporate ice queen melted into a giggling, squealing mess..."

He sighed happily, and the others nodded along.

"We've been doing this for twenty years. We've never seen anything like you."

"So we're keeping you," the short clown added cheerfully, as if this were perfectly reasonable.

"Keeping - you can't keep a person!" Amanda's voice pitched higher despite herself. "I'm not a fucking pet!"

"Not yet," the tall clown agreed. "But you will be. We're going to break down all those walls, Amanda. All that corporate conditioning, that rigid control. We're going to find the real you underneath - the giggling, playful girl who's been buried under decades of ambition and severity."

Amanda stared at him in horror. "You're actually insane."

"Maybe." He shrugged. "But we're very good at what we do. And what we do..."

He produced that ornate bottle again. The giggledust.

"...is make people laugh."

"No. No, don't you dare-"

But the short clown had already moved to her head, holding it still with surprising gentleness. The tall clown uncorked the bottle.

He blew a cloud of shimmering dust directly into her face.

Amanda coughed, spluttered, tried desperately not to breathe it in. But it was useless. The sweet, effervescent powder coated her face, her lips, flooded into her nose and mouth. The warmth began immediately, spreading through her like liquid fire.

"No no no..." she whimpered as the tingling intensified. Her skin felt hypersensitive already. The air moving across her exposed arms and legs felt like feathers. "Not again, please not again..."

"Oh yes," the tall clown purred. "Very much again. But this time, we have hours. No crowd to perform for. No time limits. Just you, us, and all the laughter we can wring from that beautiful body."

"NO!" Amanda screamed. "Let me go!"

"Oh, we will," the tall clown assured her. "Eventually. But first, we need to help you... relax."

He produced a bottle of pink oil, and poured it onto his hands. The oil was warm against her skin as he rubbed it into her ribs, her sides, soaking through the tank top. The scent was oddly pleasant - vanilla and something floral. Amanda barely noticed through her hysteria as the other clowns followed suit, coating her feet, her legs, her inner thighs.

What she did notice, after a few minutes, was the heat.

The oil wasn't just warming her skin - it was doing something else. A flush spread through her body, pooling low in her belly. Her skin felt even more sensitive, but in a different way. Every touch sent tingles radiating outward that were almost... pleasurable?

No. No, what is that?

"There we go," the tall clown murmured, watching her face. "Starting to feel it, aren't you?"

"What... what did you..." Amanda panted between giggles. The tickling had slowed to teasing touches now, enough to keep her squirming but not screaming. "What was in that oil?"

"Just a little something to help you open up." His fingers trailed along her oiled ribs, and Amanda gasped. The sensation was still ticklish, but there was an edge of pleasure to it now that made her skin crawl with confused arousal. "To lower those inhibitions. Make you more... receptive."

"You... you drugged me?" Amanda's voice was horrified, but it came out breathy, husky and inviting.

Amanda felt it spreading through her system like poison. Or like relief. Her thoughts were getting fuzzy at the edges, her resistance softening. The fear was still there, but it was getting harder to hold onto. Other feelings were pushing through - vulnerability, yes, but also a strange, unwelcome warmth.

The tall clown's oiled fingers found her inner thigh, just above her knee, and squeezed.

"EEEEEE!" The sound that came out of Amanda was high-pitched and girlish, nothing like her usual controlled voice. "Hehehehe! Nohoho!"

"So ticklish," he cooed, his fingers walking higher up her thigh. "Such a stern, severe businesswoman, and you're so wonderfully, helplessly ticklish everywhere."

His fingers danced closer to the edge of her panties. Amanda's hips bucked involuntarily - whether trying to escape or press into the touch, she couldn't tell anymore.

"Look at her squirm," the bowler-hat clown laughed, his own oiled fingers working her sides. "I bet she's never let anyone see her like this. All that power and success, and underneath she's just a ticklish little girl who can't stop giggling."

"NAHAHAHA!" she screamed. "I-I'M NOHOHOT-"

"Not what? A carny girl?" He grinned. "But you already are, aren't you? You're ours now. Our special little carnival attraction. Our giggling toy."

"NAHAHA!" But the words sent an unwelcome thrill through her drugged system.

The tickling intensified again. All six hands working in concert, attacking every sensitive spot they'd discovered. Ribs, feet, sides, thighs, underarms, belly. The oil made every touch impossibly intense. Amanda's laughter turned frantic, hysterical, broken.

And underneath it, growing stronger with each passing minute, was the arousal. The heat. The chemicals in the oil were breaking down more than just her inhibitions - they were rewiring her responses, making the torture feel like pleasure, making submission feel like relief.

"PLEASE!" Amanda sobbed through the laughter. "PLEASE I CAN'T - I CAHAHAN'T-!~"

"Can't what?" the tall clown whispered, his fingers dancing across her oil-slicked ribs. "Can't take it? Or can't resist it?"

Amanda didn't have an answer. Her mind was fracturing, her sense of self dissolving under the relentless assault of tickling, drugs, and wondrous pleasure.

Part Three - Descent Into Hilarity
Amanda lay trembling on the restraint table, her chest heaving, her mind fractured. The oil coating her skin had turned her entire body into an instrument of overwhelming sensation. Every breath, every slight movement of air, sent little sparks of ticklish pleasure dancing across her nerves.

The tall clown circled her slowly, studying her with the intensity of an artist examining his canvas.

"Under all that corporate severity, all that rigid control... there's something beautiful waiting to emerge." He said, then leaned closer. "A perfect addition to our troupe. Mature, elegant, sophisticated - everything a proper clown act needs. A gorgeous MILF who knows how to laugh."

"No..." Amanda's protest was barely audible. "I'm not... I hate clowns..."

"You hate what they represent," he corrected. "Chaos. Joy. Freedom from control." His fingers traced along her oiled collarbone, making her shudder. "But that's exactly what you need, isn't it? What you've always needed."

The short clown wheeled something into Amanda's peripheral vision. She turned her head weakly and felt her stomach drop.

It was a machine - sleek and chrome, but unmistakably sinister. A large screen was mounted on an adjustable arm, currently dark. Wires and cables snaked to a black box covered in dials and switches, and a pair of large padded headphones hung off the side.

"What... what is that?" Amanda's voice cracked.

"Shhhh." The bowler-hat clown began adjusting the machine, positioning the screen directly in Amanda's line of sight. "You'll love it. Everyone does, eventually."

The short clown approached with the headphones. Amanda thrashed her head from side to side, but he caught her easily, his grip firm but not cruel. "Easy now. This'll feel good. We promise."

"I don't WANT it to feel good!" Amanda screamed, her composure completely shattered. "I want to go HOME! I want-"

The headphones settled over her ears, and the world went quiet.

For a moment, there was nothing. Just Amanda's harsh breathing and the pounding of her heart. Then...

Click.

The screen flickered to life.

A spiral. Black and white, rotating slowly clockwise. Hypnotic in its simplicity. The spiral filled her vision.

So simple. So beautiful.

"Good girl," the tall clown's voice came through the headphones, warm and approving. "Just watch. That's all you have to do. Just watch and listen."

Amanda wanted to resist. Wanted to look away, to break the spiral's pull. But the pattern was mesmerizing. The smooth rotation drew her gaze to the center, then spiraled outward, then back again. Endless. Soothing.

"The more you watch," the voice continued, "the more relaxed you become. The more relaxed you become, the more you watch. It's so simple, Amanda. So easy."

No. Fight it. You're strong. You're-

Fingers touched her oiled ribs.

"AH!" Amanda gasped, her body jerking. The tickling had returned, but gentler now. Teasing. The fingers danced across her pale, sensitive skin in slow, deliberate patterns.

The spiral kept turning.

"That's it," the voice purred. "Feel how good it is to let go. Feel how the tickling makes you giggle, makes you squirm. You can't fight it. You don't want to fight it."

More fingers joined the first. One set working her feet, another her sides. The sensations built slowly, carefully, keeping her right on the edge between pleasure and torment. The aphrodisiac made everything feel amplified, confusing, good in ways that terrified her.

"Hehe... no... hehehe..." Amanda's giggles came soft and helpless. She couldn't look away from the spiral. Couldn't stop watching as it pulled her deeper.

"You're doing so well," the voice praised. "So open. So receptive. The old Amanda.... the stern, serious one... she's drifting away. Can you feel it? All that control, all that power... slipping away with every rotation of the spiral."

No. I'm Amanda Turner. I'm the President. I'm...

But the thoughts were getting harder to hold. The spiral made thinking difficult. Made everything difficult except watching and feeling and giggling.

The fingers moved to her inner thighs, tracing patterns on the oil-slicked skin. Amanda's hips shifted involuntarily, a soft moan escaping her lips.

"Oh my," the tall clown's voice held genuine delight. "Someone's responsive. The oil is really working now, isn't it, Amanda?"

It was. God help her, it was. The heat between her legs had grown from an uncomfortable warmth to an aching, desperate need. Every tickle, every touch, every word from the headphones sent pulses of arousal through her drugged body.

"Watch the spiral," the voice commanded. "Watch and feel. Feel how good it is to surrender. How good it is to let go."

Colors began bleeding into the spiral. Swirls of red and blue and yellow - bright, garish, carnival colors. They pulsed in time with Amanda's heartbeat, or maybe her heartbeat synced to them. She couldn't tell anymore.

"You hate clowns," the voice said. "That's what you told yourself. But that's not really true, is it, Amanda?"

"I... I do..." she mumbled, her words slurring. "I hate..."

"You hate losing control. You hate joy you can't quantify. You hate the parts of yourself that want to be silly and playful and free." The fingers danced higher on her thighs. "But those parts are still there. Buried deep. We're just going to help them come out."

The spiral spun faster. The colors intensified. Amanda felt like she was falling into it, falling through layers of herself, each one stripped away.

The corporate executive.

The powerful CEO.

The stern mother.

The controlled wife.

All of it peeling back like old paint, revealing something underneath. Something she'd buried for decades.

"Hehehehe... oh... ohhh..." Amanda's giggles took on a different quality. Lighter. More genuine. The tickling was making her feel... good? How was it making her feel good?

"That's it," the voice encouraged. "Let yourself feel it. Let yourself enjoy it. There's no shame in laughter, Amanda. No shame in pleasure."

Fingers found her nipples through the thin, oil-soaked tank top. They pinched gently, rolled, teased. Amanda's back arched, pressing into the touch.

"Ahhh! Hehe... oh god..." She was humping the air now, her hips rolling in desperate circles. The arousal had become unbearable. She needed-needed-

"Look how eager you are," the voice mused. "Look how ready. The serious businesswoman, reduced to a horny, giggly mess. Humping the air like a desperate little slut."

The words should have humiliated her. Should have rekindled her anger and resistance.

Instead, they made her wetter.

"Please," Amanda whimpered, still staring at the spiral. "Please, I need..."

"Soon," the voice promised. "But first, you need to understand what you're becoming. Watch the spiral. Watch carefully."

The colors swirled faster, forming shapes. A red nose. A painted smile. Oversized shoes. All the elements of a clown, dancing through the hypnotic pattern.

"You're transforming," the voice explained. "Becoming what you were always meant to be. Not a rigid executive, but something better. Something happier."

"No... heehee... I can't be..." Amanda tried to protest, but the words came out wrong. Giggly. Playful.

"You can. You will." The tickling intensified across her entire body - feet, ribs, thighs, breasts. "Feel it happening. Feel the old Amanda dissolving. Feel the new one emerging."

The fingers between her legs finally, finally touched where she needed them most. Just a light brush through her soaked panties, but it was enough to make Amanda scream.

"YEEEESS! HAHAHAHA! YES, PLEEEEASE!"

"That's not Amanda Townsend talking," the voice said. "That's someone new. Someone giggly and horny and obedient. Someone who loves to laugh and play and perform."

The fingers rubbed slow circles through the fabric, building the pressure. The tickling never stopped - if anything, it grew more intense. Amanda was caught in a feedback loop of sensation, each pleasure amplifying the other.

"I'm... hehe... I'm not..." She couldn't finish the sentence. Couldn't remember what she was trying to say.

"You're ours," the voice stated simply. "Our giggling toy. Our perfect addition. Our sexy, mature, clown slut."

Each word sank into Amanda's fractured consciousness like a stone into water. The spiral kept spinning. The colors kept dancing. The tickling kept building. The pleasure kept mounting.

"Repeat after me," the voice commanded. "I am a clown."

"No... I can't... haha..."

The fingers pulled away from her center. The tickling slowed to maddening teasing.

"NOOOO! Please!" Amanda bucked desperately. "Don't stop!"

"Say it. Feel it."

Amanda stared at the spiral. The painted smile in the colors seemed to wink at her.

"I... I'm a..." the words caught in her throat as her last defenses slipped away.

The fingers returned, rubbing harder. The tickling exploded across her body with renewed intensity.

"I AM A CLOWN!" Amanda shrieked, the words torn from her in a moment of overwhelming sensation. "I'M A CLOWN! I'M A CLOWN! HAHAHA!"

"Good girl! Such a good, honest girl!" The praise flooded through the headphones. "Say it again. Tell us what you are."

"I'M A CLOWN! HEHEHEHE! I'M A GIGGLY CLOWN!" Each repetition made it more real, more true. Amanda felt something fundamental shift inside her. "I'M YOUR CLOWN! YOUR TOY! HAHAHA!"

"And what do clowns do?"

"THEY LAUGH!" Amanda was humping frantically against the fingers now, chasing her release. "THEY PLAY! THEY MAKE PEOPLE HAPPY! HEHEHEHE!"

"And what about serious businesswomen? What about stern executives?"

"BORING! HAHAHA! SO BORING!" The words came easily now, naturally. "NO MORE! DON'T WANNA BE BORING! WANNA BE FUN! WANNA LAUGH!"

"Yes! YES!" The voice was ecstatic. "Feel it, Amanda! Feel yourself transforming! Feel the joy!"

The fingers rubbed faster. The tickling reached a crescendo. The spiral filled her entire world with swirling colors and painted smiles.

And Amanda felt it: felt something inside her shift.

All the walls she'd built over decades of climbing the corporate ladder, all the control she'd maintained, all the severity and seriousness and power - it shattered like glass, the pieces dissolving into the spiral.

What emerged in its place was something bright and chaotic and free.

"I'M CUMMING!" Amanda screamed, her voice high and wild and nothing like her usual controlled tone. "OH GOD I'M CUMMING! HAHAHAHA! I'M A CLOWN AND I'M CUMMING!"

The orgasm crashed into her psyche like a circus elephant. Her entire body convulsed, straining against the restraints as waves of pleasure radiated through her. And she couldn't stop laughing - the tickling combined with the hypnosis combined with the drugs created a perfect storm of sensation that left her shrieking with hysterical joy.

"HAHAHA! YES! YES! YESSSSSSS!"

Through her tear-blurred vision, the spiral kept spinning. And in its center, Amanda saw herself - not as she was, but as she was becoming.

Blonde hair in pigtails. Face painted with exaggerated makeup. A huge red smile. Sparkly costume. And an expression of pure, mindless, blissful joy.

"I'M A CLOWN!" she screamed again as another wave hit her. "I'M A HORNY GIGGLY CLOWN BIMBO! HAHAHAHA!"

"Perfect," the tall clown's voice emanated jubilantly through the headphones. "Absolutely perfect. Welcome to the circus, Amanda. Welcome home."

The orgasm seemed to last forever, each tickle prolonging it, each word of praise intensifying it. Amanda laughed and came and confessed and transformed, all boundaries between these states dissolving into one endless stream of overwhelming sensation.

When it finally began to subside, when her laughter turned to gasping giggles and her body went limp in the restraints, Amanda felt... different.

"Perfect," the tall clown's voice purred through the headphones. "Absolutely perfect. Welcome to the circus, Amanda. Welcome home."

The orgasm seemed to last forever, each tickle prolonging it, each word of praise intensifying it. Amanda laughed and came and confessed and transformed, all boundaries between these states dissolving into one endless stream of overwhelming sensation.

When it finally began to subside, when her laughter turned to gasping giggles and her body went limp in the restraints, Amanda felt... different.

Amanda giggled - a high, bubbly sound that seemed to come from someone else. Except it didn't. It came from her. From the new her.

"Hehehe... I feel... giggly!" She tested the word, loved how it sounded. "I feel so giggly and silly and... and happy!"

"And what are you, Amanda?"

She smiled - a huge, genuine smile that hurt her cheeks. "Hehehe! I'm a clown! I'm your clown! Your giggly, ticklish, horny clown!"

The three performers exchanged triumphant looks.

"Then welcome," the tall clown said, beginning to unbuckle her restraints, "to your new life."

As the leather straps came loose, as Amanda sat up on shaky legs, she caught sight of herself in a mirror across the room. Her hair was a mess, her makeup ruined, her tank top soaked with oil and sweat. She looked nothing like the polished executive who'd walked into that circus tent.

And for the first time in decades, Amanda Turner - or whatever was left of her - laughed with pure joy.

"Hehehehe! When do I get my costume?"

---

Later that day, the clowns convened to discuss the results of their experiment.

"Gentlemen," the clown in the bowler hat said, his voice carrying the precise diction of academia corrupted by madness, "the preliminary results exceed all projections."

"According to the charts, it happened precisely as you said it would," the tall clown murmured in agreement. "The pleasure centers ignited, while executive function collapsed. The subject experienced overwhelming euphoria while losing all capacity for higher reasoning, impulse control, and self-awareness."

"And the hypnosis!" the short clown added. "The subject entered a state of extreme suggestibility, just like we would have hoped."

The clown in the bowler hat pulled up the readings on Amanda's cognitive assessment.

"Degraded to forty percent of baseline," he remarked.

"How long does it last?"

"Indefinitely, with proper maintenance doses. The neural plasticity changes appear to be permanent after the second application of the aphrodisiac. The subject's personality has been effectively overwritten with our clown template."

The others nodded along, their painting faces glowing with perverse pride. From the other room, they heard Amanda begin laughing again - high and shrill.

"Science meets showmanship," the clown in the bowler hat declared, and the others raised their rubber chickens in a toast to his words.

Epilogue

Three Weeks Later - The Turner Residence

John Turner sat in his home office, staring at his laptop screen in numb disbelief. The video had been sent to him anonymously, but he recognized the circus tent immediately - the same one they'd attended with Jun Wong.

On screen, his wife - his wife - pranced onto the stage in the most ridiculous costume he'd ever seen.

Amanda wore a sparkly pink and silver leotard cut high on her hips, fishnet stockings, and oversized polka-dot platform shoes. Her blonde hair was styled in high pigtails with enormous rainbow bows. Her face was painted with exaggerated makeup - huge fake lashes, glittery eyeshadow, an absurdly large red smile painted over her natural lips, and of course, a bright red foam nose.

She looked like a pornographic parody of a clown.

But what made John's stomach turn wasn't the costume - it was the expression on her face. Pure, vacant, delighted joy. Like a child on Christmas morning. His serious, ambitious, powerful wife had been replaced by a giggling bimbo who couldn't stop bouncing with excitement.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" the ringmaster announced. "Our NEWEST addition to the circus family - the one, the only, TICKLISH TIFFANY!"

Ticklish Tiffany? John felt bile rise in his throat.

The audience roared with approval. Amanda - no, this thing that looked like Amanda - waved enthusiastically, blowing kisses and doing little twirls that made her leotard ride up, showing off her ass to the crowd.

"Hiya everyone!" she chirped, her voice pitched higher than normal, breathy and ditzy. "Hehehe! I'm SO excited to be here! Being a clown is like, the BEST thing ever!"

John's hands trembled on the mouse. This couldn't be real. This had to be some kind of breakdown, some psychotic episode. His wife would never...

The tall clown from that night appeared on stage, and John's blood ran cold. That was one of the fuckers who'd "tickled" Amanda in front of everyone. What had they done to her?

"Well, Ticklish Tiffany," the clown said with theatrical concern, "I heard you have a little problem. Want to tell everyone about it?"

Amanda giggled, twirling one of her pigtails. "Hehehe! Well, I'm like, SUPER ticklish! Everywhere! And I just can't help getting into situations where people tickle me! It's sooooo embarrassing!"

The crowd laughed. John wanted to vomit.

"Then we better make sure you're all tied up safe and sound!" the clown announced. "Wouldn't want you wandering into any ticklish situations!"

"Oooh, good idea!" Amanda clapped her hands together. "Tie me up really tight, okay? Hehehe!"

John watched in horror as they brought out the same contraption from before: the X-frame with restraints. But this time, Amanda practically skipped over to it, helping them position her, giggling the entire time.

They secured her wrists and ankles, spreading her wide. The position was risqué, sexual, her leotard stretched tight across her body. The audience could see everything.

And Amanda was smiling about it. Wiggling her hips. Playing to the crowd.

"Tickle tickle tickle!" the short clown teased, wiggling his fingers in the air. "I wonder where our Tiffany is most ticklish?"

"Hehehe! Not my feet! Please not my feet!" Amanda squealed, but there was no real fear in her voice. Just playful anticipation. She was performing.

When the tickling started, her reaction was immediate and explosive. She shrieked with laughter, thrashing in her bonds, her body writhing in ways that were unmistakably sexual. The costume shifted and rode up with each movement, giving the audience tantalizing glimpses.

And through it all, she laughed. Real, genuine, hysterical laughter. Like she was having the time of her life.

John slammed the laptop closed, his heart pounding. He'd been searching for Amanda for three weeks. The "work emergency" note had seemed legitimate at first, but when her assistant claimed to know nothing about a Singapore trip, when her phone went straight to voicemail for days, when the company reported she hadn't shown up for crucial meetings...

He'd filed a missing persons report. The police had been useless. And now this.

Worst of all, there was a small, traitorous part of him that wondered - what if she really is happier?

He'd been married to Amanda for twenty years. He'd seen her stressed, driven, and cold. He'd watched her sacrifice everything - time with the kids, her health, their relationship - for her career.

He'd never seen her laugh like she was laughing in those videos.

John buried his face in his hands. He didn't know what to do. How could he save someone who didn't want to be saved?

---

The Same Day - Turner Media Headquarters

The emergency board meeting was in its second hour, and the tension in the room was suffocating.

Debra Morrison sat at the far end of the conference table, struggling to keep the smile off her face. Around her, the board members and major investors were in various states of shock, disgust, and fury.

On the screen at the front of the room, the video played on loop. Amanda Turner - their President, their leader, their public face - dressed like a cheap ***** and giggling like a brain-damaged teenager while being tickled to screaming orgasms in front of a circus crowd.

"Turn it off," George Hartley, the Chairman, said tightly. "We've all seen enough."

The screen went dark, but the image was burned into everyone's minds.

"Gentlemen," Debra began, her voice carefully measured, "I bring this to your attention not out of malice, but out of concern for your company's reputation. Your President has been missing for three weeks. Her family claims she's on a business trip, but clearly..." she gestured to the dark screen, "she's been engaged in... other activities."

"This is a fucking disaster," muttered investor Richard Wong - no relation to Jun, but equally influential. "Our CEO is performing in some degenerate sex circus?"

"The media will crucify us when this gets out," another board member added. "Our stock will tank. Investors will flee."

"Assuming it hasn't gotten out already," Debra said smoothly. "These videos have been circulating online for days. It's only a matter of time before someone connects 'Ticklish Tiffany' to Amanda Turner."

The room erupted in worried murmurs.

Debra watched them panic with barely concealed satisfaction. She'd orchestrated this perfectly. Helped the clowns understand Amanda's schedule, her personality, even provided writing samples for the forged note. All she'd asked in return was the videos and the promise they'd keep Amanda "busy" for a while.

She'd expected them to embarrass Amanda, maybe blackmail her. She hadn't expected them to turn her into a giggling sex clown. But honestly? This was so much better.

"We need damage control," Hartley said. "Legal, get me everything on mental incapacity clauses in her contract. PR, prepare a statement about medical leave and..."

"If I may," Debra interrupted. "I've been Amanda's friend and advisor for years. I know this company inside and out. Perhaps, in her absence, the board should consider interim leadership?"

Several heads turned toward her. She saw the calculation in their eyes.

"You want her job," Richard Wong said flatly.

"I want to protect this company," Debra corrected. "Which is more than Amanda seems interested in doing these days."

Hartley's jaw clenched. "We'll take it under advisement. This meeting is adjourned. And for God's sake, someone find out if we can get that video taken down."

As the board members filed out, several of them lingering to whisper among themselves, Debra noticed a few - mostly the younger ones, the ones with wandering eyes and rumors of mistresses - tapping notes into their phones.

She'd bet money they were writing down the name of the circus. For "research purposes," of course.

Debra gathered her materials and headed for Amanda's old office - soon to be her office, if everything went according to plan. As she passed Amanda's secretary, she couldn't help but smile.

"Any word from Mrs. Turner?" the secretary asked hopefully.

"I'm afraid not," Debra said with false sympathy. "But I'm sure wherever she is, she's doing exactly what makes her happy."

The secretary looked puzzled. Debra didn't elaborate.

She had an empire to run.