RobertWalton
Registered User
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- Oct 29, 2019
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CHAPTER ONE
WELCOME TO THE FORGE
Vivian Hale built her empire on poise and precision. She was getting older but still stunningly beautiful with platinum blonde hair. And she wasn’t afraid to use that beauty to intimidate and get what she wanted. No matter the cost.
At thirty-nine, she was the type of leader who never fumbled her words, never let her face betray fatigue, and never lost her grip on control. But in the quiet hours, she admitted to herself that her strength had calcified into rigidity. She could command a thousand employees, yet the idea of showing vulnerability—even to herself—felt impossible. She something more. She wanted to feel not like an executive, not like the boss, not even a woman. She wanted to feel like a girl again.
So when she heard about The Forge, she scoffed. But yet, curiosity tugged at her.
That’s how she ended up on a Saturday evening in the loft, dressed not in her tailored Christian Dior or Armani armor but in the kind of thing she hadn’t dared to wear in years, ready to be tickled.
The outfit was her choice. The requirements were simple. A top that leaves the midriff and underarms bare and tight pants. Something that would call attention to the body.
Earlier that morning, Vivian stood in front of her bedroom mirror, staring at the Dolce and Gabbana white ribbed sleeveless crop top lying across her bed. She had picked it out deliberately, but that didn’t make slipping it on any easier. The fabric clung to her skin as she pulled it over her head, exposing her midriff, a strip of pale, tanned flesh she’d cultivated with deliberate hours at the beach. The Prada jeans that followed were tight, hugging her hips and thighs, the kind that made her feel simultaneously strong and trapped. When she slid her feet into the Manolo Blahnik high heels, the last piece of the ensemble, she wobbled slightly, then steadied herself.
The reflection staring back at her was not the executive who normally wore tailored blazers and silk blouses to command a room. This was something else entirely.
Yes, she looked sensational. In her zeal to never be less than anyone, she kept her body in impeccable shape. Her midriff was stunning, arms toned, legs long. But, she didn’t feel powerful. She felt stripped down, raw, vulnerable. Her makeup, carefully applied, seemed heavier, more noticeable against her face—as if it broadcasted her vulnerability before she even spoke. A knot twisted in her stomach. She looked both powerful and exposed, and the contradiction unnerved her.
As usual, Vivian showed up on time. Inside, the loft was dimly lit. Shadows stretched across the polished floor, the glow of desk lamps throwing small pools of light.
Waiting there was Marcus Rell, the so-called consultant. Tall, with an easy, grounded presence, Marcus spoke in calm tones.
“Thank you for coming” Marcus said. “There aren’t many who accept my methods and who are willing to pay my fee. Welcome to the Forge”
“Your advertisement intrigued me. If you can help me get to the next level. I’m willing to give it a try. Though, why tickling?”
There she had said it. Tickling. It felt so silly. How would this help?
“This way please.” He said.
Vivian arched an eyebrow, skepticism intact.
Marcus led her into a loft. There was a space where straps hung from the ceiling like snakes about to strike and cuffs were bolted to the floor. Clearly this was meant to restrain her for the ‘consultation.’
She allowed herself to be bound at the wrists and ankles with padded straps as Marcus explained. “I use torture to bring out your vulnerability. It forces you to confront what you can’t control,” he said. “It pushes you past your armor and shows you that you can survive being disarmed.”
Marcus tugged at the ropes, ensuring their efficacy. “Tickling is the safest method of torture. And it leaves no trace behind.”
That was when things changed. Tickling sounded silly. But torture? Already, her pulse was erratic. She tugged at the restraints. She could move yes, but she was unable to cover herself.
She could now feel the cool air on her naked midriff and the fabric of the skintight jeans felt like a prison.
Marcus stood before her. His eyes scanned her body and landed on her belly button. He nodded. Then he walked around her, slowly.
She could feel his gaze, even as he walked behind her.
“Taking the time to check out my ass?” she fired off in an attempt to deflect the tension.
Marcus didn’t respond. That unnerved Vivian.
The session was about to begin.
Vivian shifted uneasily, platinum hair catching the soft light, tanned skin glowing from her week-long preparation at the beach. Her crop top clung snugly to her torso, tight jeans accentuating her hips, and high heels forced her to balance with precision. Her chest rose quickly with anxiety, fingers brushing nervously at the restraints.
Then her tone softened. She was scared. Torture was coming.
“I… I don’t know if I should do this,” she admitted, her voice catching. “I mean… I agreed, but… I feel so exposed already.” Her eyes flickered nervously toward him, and she shifted her weight on the heels.
Marcus smiled knowingly, moving closer, tone both teasing and measured. “Reluctance is part of the process, Vivian. That hesitation, that nervous energy — it’s exactly what this exercise is designed to confront. Every moment you feel unsure is a chance to observe yourself, to see how you manage vulnerability.”
Vivian hesitated, biting her lip. “But… the outfit, being tied up… the heels… it all feels… I don’t know, overwhelming.”
“Exactly,” Marcus responded, stepping closer. “Every detail heightens your awareness, every nerve, every muscle. That exposure, that imbalance, it teaches endurance and self-awareness. Vulnerability isn’t just physical—it’s mental. And tonight, you’ll experience both.”
She swallowed hard, shoulders tensing. “I just… I feel like I’m on the edge already.”
Marcus leaned in slightly, letting his fingers hover teasingly near her sides. “On the edge, yes. Perfect. I want you to feel that tension, that anticipation. I want to see how long you can maintain your composure while I explore your reactions. That’s where the real lessons begin.”
Vivian shifted uncomfortably, a mix of nerves and curiosity pulsing through her. “I… it’s terrifying.”
Marcus chuckles softly, circling her slowly. “Terrifying, yes. Exciting, yes. And in a moment, you’ll discover that the very thing that terrifies you can become empowering. But first, we enjoy this delicious tension.”
He stepped behind her, letting his fingers lightly brush along her shoulders and sides. “Tell me, Vivian, do you feel how exposed you are? Look at you—hands tied, heels forcing balance, every nerve alert. You’re trembling, aren’t you?”
Vivian laughed nervously, a little breathless. “I… I am! And I hate how much I’m… aware… of every part of me!” She swayed slightly, tugging at the rope. “This… this is so unfair already.”
Marcus grinned running his hands along her arms. “Unfair, yes. Perfect. That helpless tension is what we cultivate. You’re at my mercy in every sense, yet completely safe. That contradiction—fear and safety together—is where growth happens.” He stopped suddenly. “Tell me again what you feel and why you are here”
Vivian’s chest heaved, her heart racing. “I feel… ridiculous and terrified, but also… curious. I want to see if I can endure it.”
Marcus leaned closer, voice soft, teasing, deliberate. “Curious, yes. That’s good. You’ll learn more about yourself than you ever expected tonight. And every moment before I even touch you will heighten the experience. Can you feel that anticipation? That tension coiling in your stomach?”
“Yes… I… I can feel it,” she breathed. “And I hate it… it scares me.”
Marcus smiled, brushing lightly along her midriff without full contact, letting her awareness heighten. “Exactly. That mix of fear, anticipation, and curiosity — it’s the perfect start. Every flinch, every heartbeat, every gasp before the tickling begins teaches you control, observation, and patience. Soon, you’ll see the shift from reluctant tension to powerful awareness.”
Vivian shivered at the teasing, her platinum hair swaying as she adjusted on her heels. “I… I don’t know if I can handle it,” she whispered, voice tight.
“Let’s see.” With that, Marcus began the first deliberate flick along her ribs. Vivian jerked instantly, squealing and twisting against the rope, chest heaving. The terror of the first touch spiked sharply through her, but beneath it, her focus sharpened, nerves alight, anticipation growing. Every motion, every teasing adjustment, every playful word from Marcus kept her on edge, balancing between fear and exhilaration.
“Ohhhh! Already?” Marcus teased, fingers brushing lightly over her ribs. “Look at you, squirming before I even truly begin. You’re deliciously helpless. What else are you feeling?”
Vivian laughed breathlessly, twisting and swaying in the rope. “I… I am! And it’s… so unfair! I’m completely at your mercy!”
Marcus smirked, pressing gently under her arms. “Hopeless, aren’t you? Every wiggle, every squeal, every gasp — it’s perfect. Can you feel how exposed you are, how fully vulnerable?”
“Yes! I… I can feel it!” she responded between laughter and gasps.
“Good. Let’s take you on your journey.” Marcus faced her and started the true torture.
He began tickling Vivian using only his fingertips, brushing lightly against her nude sides. The effect was instant and maddening—her body twisted reflexively, laughter bubbling up despite her resistance.
“No,” she gasped between giggles.
“Hush.” He replied.
Hush? She thought to herself. Nobody hushes me. “What did you…”
But before she could even get the sentence out, Marcus let loose all he had. He flitted his fingers under her arms as he looked in her eyes and just said “Hush.”
Vivian raged. She pulled against the restraints, wanting to swat his hand away. But she couldn’t. Marcus tickled her under her arms like a machine. No compassion. No sympathy. No Mercy.
“Hush” His tone wasn’t mocking, but steady. “There’s no strategy here. No escape through intellect. Just feel it.” His fingers like spiders stayed right on her freshly shaved underarms.
Vivian’s fury intensified. She wasn’t used to feeling helpless. And this wasn’t playful anymore.
She tried again to pull her hands down, but the restraints were too strong. She tried to kick him, but the ankle cuffs were just as effective. Vivian was completely under the control of Marcus and she had no method of stopping him.
“You’re beginning to confront the fact that you truly can’t fight me.”
Her whole body tensed.
Marcus walked behind and pulled at the rope. She could hear a machine click as the ropes stretched her a little further, causing her crop top to rise higher, showing more of her midriff. She felt more off balance. More vulnerable with her ribs now showing too.
Marcus decided how much of her body would be exposed and that had proven he was even more in his control than she originally thought.
The teasing continued, every moment stretching anticipation before the tickling escalated. Marcus alternated circles, flicks, and taps along her midriff and ribs, each one deliberate, each touch teasing. Vivian’s squealed, twisted, and flailed more intense as the session continued, her frustration and helplessness blended into full acknowledgment.
The tickling intensified in short bursts, pulling uncontrollable laughter out of her until her cheeks were flushed, her blonde hair tangled, her control shattered. Every instinct screamed at her to resist, but Marcus’s calm voice reminded her, You’re in my care. Let go.
He drifted lower. Just beneath her belly button. Vivian froze. Her whole body just locked as she gasped. Her eyes opened wider than ever.
Marcus saw it instantly. His voice dropped — almost triumphant. “Here we are.”
“No, not there!” She begged.
And then he attacked.
Vivian nearly lost her mind. Marcus’s fingers scribbled right under her navel — and her whole body exploded. She bucked so hard against the rope even Marcus thought it would snap. Her legs kicked uselessly, held tight by her restraints, her laughter broke into something wild and raw. It felt like he was dismantling her piece by piece, leaving nothing she could hide.
She hated Marcus. She hated her crop top. She hated her body for betraying her, telegraphing her most ticklish place to Marcus.
She screamed, “Stop, it’s too much!” and she meant it — but he leaned close, coaching her even as she thrashed. “Stay with it, Vivian. This is the edge. Every second you last here, you grow stronger.”
Marcus seemed less like a coach and more like a monster. A sociopath who tricked her into this position. How could she be so stupid? “Stop! Stop—please!” She screamed, the laughter twisting into sobs.
“Stay with it!” Marcus yelled. “What do you feel?”
“It’s too much! It’s torture!”
“That is the result. What do you feel?”
Vivian couldn’t fight back so she gave in. She focused on her sensation. Her stomach felt warm.
“Fire!”
“Good!” he said.
“What else?” He maintained the tickling on her midriff.
Every touch of his finger felt like a spark.
“Electricity!” she said. “It’s like a poker!”
“What is it doing?”
“It’s controlling me!” She squealed. “Please, Please! Stop it!”
“Listen to yourself,” Marcus said, his voice calm even as his fingers tormented her “You’re still here. Still laughing. Still enduring. This is your power, Vivian. You’re standing in the fire, and you’re not burning. Give in and feel it! Really feel it!”
And eventually, she did. She stopped fighting. She let the laughter roll out of her, wild and unfiltered. She hadn’t laughed like this in years—full-bodied, shaking, helpless laughter that left her lungs aching but her mind strangely clear.
Marcus smiled quietly. “Strength isn’t only about control. It’s also about surrender.”
When he finally slowed, easing his hands away, she sagged against the rope, trembling. Sweat trickled down her temple, her hair plastered damp against my cheeks. Vivian’s stomach still tingled with the memory of his touch, like an echo etched into her skin.
But she wasn’t broken.
She lifted her head, breath still ragged, and met his eyes. She felt the corners of her mouth twitch into a smile. Not the nervous smile she’d worn before. Something steadier. Fiercer.
“I did it,” she whispered.
Marcus nodded, satisfaction warming his expression. “You didn’t just do it. You mastered it. And now you’ll carry it. The memory of this moment — of facing your most ticklish place and enduring — will stay with you. It will remind you what it’s like to vulnerable. You have now been forged.”
And he was right.
Vivian could feel it already. That impossible, unbearable tickling beneath her belly button — the way it had felt like she’d lose herself, only to discover that she didn’t — that was hers now. That was her touchstone.
Walking back through the city later that day, Vivian realized the absurdity of what she’d just done. Yet, absurd or not, she’d glimpsed something rare: the ability to let herself be undone—and come out stronger for it.
The next time she was about to deliver a brutal rebuff to an employee, or try to squeeze more out a negotiation, she would call to mind the torture she felt and ensure she did not inflict that on anyone else, symbolically or in any other way.
She walked a little taller. This time instead of hiding behind her Christian Dior suit, she walked proudly showcasing her naked midriff in her Dolce and Gabbana Crop top and her ass in her skintight Prada faded jeans for everyone to see.
WELCOME TO THE FORGE
Vivian Hale built her empire on poise and precision. She was getting older but still stunningly beautiful with platinum blonde hair. And she wasn’t afraid to use that beauty to intimidate and get what she wanted. No matter the cost.
At thirty-nine, she was the type of leader who never fumbled her words, never let her face betray fatigue, and never lost her grip on control. But in the quiet hours, she admitted to herself that her strength had calcified into rigidity. She could command a thousand employees, yet the idea of showing vulnerability—even to herself—felt impossible. She something more. She wanted to feel not like an executive, not like the boss, not even a woman. She wanted to feel like a girl again.
So when she heard about The Forge, she scoffed. But yet, curiosity tugged at her.
That’s how she ended up on a Saturday evening in the loft, dressed not in her tailored Christian Dior or Armani armor but in the kind of thing she hadn’t dared to wear in years, ready to be tickled.
The outfit was her choice. The requirements were simple. A top that leaves the midriff and underarms bare and tight pants. Something that would call attention to the body.
Earlier that morning, Vivian stood in front of her bedroom mirror, staring at the Dolce and Gabbana white ribbed sleeveless crop top lying across her bed. She had picked it out deliberately, but that didn’t make slipping it on any easier. The fabric clung to her skin as she pulled it over her head, exposing her midriff, a strip of pale, tanned flesh she’d cultivated with deliberate hours at the beach. The Prada jeans that followed were tight, hugging her hips and thighs, the kind that made her feel simultaneously strong and trapped. When she slid her feet into the Manolo Blahnik high heels, the last piece of the ensemble, she wobbled slightly, then steadied herself.
The reflection staring back at her was not the executive who normally wore tailored blazers and silk blouses to command a room. This was something else entirely.
Yes, she looked sensational. In her zeal to never be less than anyone, she kept her body in impeccable shape. Her midriff was stunning, arms toned, legs long. But, she didn’t feel powerful. She felt stripped down, raw, vulnerable. Her makeup, carefully applied, seemed heavier, more noticeable against her face—as if it broadcasted her vulnerability before she even spoke. A knot twisted in her stomach. She looked both powerful and exposed, and the contradiction unnerved her.
As usual, Vivian showed up on time. Inside, the loft was dimly lit. Shadows stretched across the polished floor, the glow of desk lamps throwing small pools of light.
Waiting there was Marcus Rell, the so-called consultant. Tall, with an easy, grounded presence, Marcus spoke in calm tones.
“Thank you for coming” Marcus said. “There aren’t many who accept my methods and who are willing to pay my fee. Welcome to the Forge”
“Your advertisement intrigued me. If you can help me get to the next level. I’m willing to give it a try. Though, why tickling?”
There she had said it. Tickling. It felt so silly. How would this help?
“This way please.” He said.
Vivian arched an eyebrow, skepticism intact.
Marcus led her into a loft. There was a space where straps hung from the ceiling like snakes about to strike and cuffs were bolted to the floor. Clearly this was meant to restrain her for the ‘consultation.’
She allowed herself to be bound at the wrists and ankles with padded straps as Marcus explained. “I use torture to bring out your vulnerability. It forces you to confront what you can’t control,” he said. “It pushes you past your armor and shows you that you can survive being disarmed.”
Marcus tugged at the ropes, ensuring their efficacy. “Tickling is the safest method of torture. And it leaves no trace behind.”
That was when things changed. Tickling sounded silly. But torture? Already, her pulse was erratic. She tugged at the restraints. She could move yes, but she was unable to cover herself.
She could now feel the cool air on her naked midriff and the fabric of the skintight jeans felt like a prison.
Marcus stood before her. His eyes scanned her body and landed on her belly button. He nodded. Then he walked around her, slowly.
She could feel his gaze, even as he walked behind her.
“Taking the time to check out my ass?” she fired off in an attempt to deflect the tension.
Marcus didn’t respond. That unnerved Vivian.
The session was about to begin.
Vivian shifted uneasily, platinum hair catching the soft light, tanned skin glowing from her week-long preparation at the beach. Her crop top clung snugly to her torso, tight jeans accentuating her hips, and high heels forced her to balance with precision. Her chest rose quickly with anxiety, fingers brushing nervously at the restraints.
Then her tone softened. She was scared. Torture was coming.
“I… I don’t know if I should do this,” she admitted, her voice catching. “I mean… I agreed, but… I feel so exposed already.” Her eyes flickered nervously toward him, and she shifted her weight on the heels.
Marcus smiled knowingly, moving closer, tone both teasing and measured. “Reluctance is part of the process, Vivian. That hesitation, that nervous energy — it’s exactly what this exercise is designed to confront. Every moment you feel unsure is a chance to observe yourself, to see how you manage vulnerability.”
Vivian hesitated, biting her lip. “But… the outfit, being tied up… the heels… it all feels… I don’t know, overwhelming.”
“Exactly,” Marcus responded, stepping closer. “Every detail heightens your awareness, every nerve, every muscle. That exposure, that imbalance, it teaches endurance and self-awareness. Vulnerability isn’t just physical—it’s mental. And tonight, you’ll experience both.”
She swallowed hard, shoulders tensing. “I just… I feel like I’m on the edge already.”
Marcus leaned in slightly, letting his fingers hover teasingly near her sides. “On the edge, yes. Perfect. I want you to feel that tension, that anticipation. I want to see how long you can maintain your composure while I explore your reactions. That’s where the real lessons begin.”
Vivian shifted uncomfortably, a mix of nerves and curiosity pulsing through her. “I… it’s terrifying.”
Marcus chuckles softly, circling her slowly. “Terrifying, yes. Exciting, yes. And in a moment, you’ll discover that the very thing that terrifies you can become empowering. But first, we enjoy this delicious tension.”
He stepped behind her, letting his fingers lightly brush along her shoulders and sides. “Tell me, Vivian, do you feel how exposed you are? Look at you—hands tied, heels forcing balance, every nerve alert. You’re trembling, aren’t you?”
Vivian laughed nervously, a little breathless. “I… I am! And I hate how much I’m… aware… of every part of me!” She swayed slightly, tugging at the rope. “This… this is so unfair already.”
Marcus grinned running his hands along her arms. “Unfair, yes. Perfect. That helpless tension is what we cultivate. You’re at my mercy in every sense, yet completely safe. That contradiction—fear and safety together—is where growth happens.” He stopped suddenly. “Tell me again what you feel and why you are here”
Vivian’s chest heaved, her heart racing. “I feel… ridiculous and terrified, but also… curious. I want to see if I can endure it.”
Marcus leaned closer, voice soft, teasing, deliberate. “Curious, yes. That’s good. You’ll learn more about yourself than you ever expected tonight. And every moment before I even touch you will heighten the experience. Can you feel that anticipation? That tension coiling in your stomach?”
“Yes… I… I can feel it,” she breathed. “And I hate it… it scares me.”
Marcus smiled, brushing lightly along her midriff without full contact, letting her awareness heighten. “Exactly. That mix of fear, anticipation, and curiosity — it’s the perfect start. Every flinch, every heartbeat, every gasp before the tickling begins teaches you control, observation, and patience. Soon, you’ll see the shift from reluctant tension to powerful awareness.”
Vivian shivered at the teasing, her platinum hair swaying as she adjusted on her heels. “I… I don’t know if I can handle it,” she whispered, voice tight.
“Let’s see.” With that, Marcus began the first deliberate flick along her ribs. Vivian jerked instantly, squealing and twisting against the rope, chest heaving. The terror of the first touch spiked sharply through her, but beneath it, her focus sharpened, nerves alight, anticipation growing. Every motion, every teasing adjustment, every playful word from Marcus kept her on edge, balancing between fear and exhilaration.
“Ohhhh! Already?” Marcus teased, fingers brushing lightly over her ribs. “Look at you, squirming before I even truly begin. You’re deliciously helpless. What else are you feeling?”
Vivian laughed breathlessly, twisting and swaying in the rope. “I… I am! And it’s… so unfair! I’m completely at your mercy!”
Marcus smirked, pressing gently under her arms. “Hopeless, aren’t you? Every wiggle, every squeal, every gasp — it’s perfect. Can you feel how exposed you are, how fully vulnerable?”
“Yes! I… I can feel it!” she responded between laughter and gasps.
“Good. Let’s take you on your journey.” Marcus faced her and started the true torture.
He began tickling Vivian using only his fingertips, brushing lightly against her nude sides. The effect was instant and maddening—her body twisted reflexively, laughter bubbling up despite her resistance.
“No,” she gasped between giggles.
“Hush.” He replied.
Hush? She thought to herself. Nobody hushes me. “What did you…”
But before she could even get the sentence out, Marcus let loose all he had. He flitted his fingers under her arms as he looked in her eyes and just said “Hush.”
Vivian raged. She pulled against the restraints, wanting to swat his hand away. But she couldn’t. Marcus tickled her under her arms like a machine. No compassion. No sympathy. No Mercy.
“Hush” His tone wasn’t mocking, but steady. “There’s no strategy here. No escape through intellect. Just feel it.” His fingers like spiders stayed right on her freshly shaved underarms.
Vivian’s fury intensified. She wasn’t used to feeling helpless. And this wasn’t playful anymore.
She tried again to pull her hands down, but the restraints were too strong. She tried to kick him, but the ankle cuffs were just as effective. Vivian was completely under the control of Marcus and she had no method of stopping him.
“You’re beginning to confront the fact that you truly can’t fight me.”
Her whole body tensed.
Marcus walked behind and pulled at the rope. She could hear a machine click as the ropes stretched her a little further, causing her crop top to rise higher, showing more of her midriff. She felt more off balance. More vulnerable with her ribs now showing too.
Marcus decided how much of her body would be exposed and that had proven he was even more in his control than she originally thought.
The teasing continued, every moment stretching anticipation before the tickling escalated. Marcus alternated circles, flicks, and taps along her midriff and ribs, each one deliberate, each touch teasing. Vivian’s squealed, twisted, and flailed more intense as the session continued, her frustration and helplessness blended into full acknowledgment.
The tickling intensified in short bursts, pulling uncontrollable laughter out of her until her cheeks were flushed, her blonde hair tangled, her control shattered. Every instinct screamed at her to resist, but Marcus’s calm voice reminded her, You’re in my care. Let go.
He drifted lower. Just beneath her belly button. Vivian froze. Her whole body just locked as she gasped. Her eyes opened wider than ever.
Marcus saw it instantly. His voice dropped — almost triumphant. “Here we are.”
“No, not there!” She begged.
And then he attacked.
Vivian nearly lost her mind. Marcus’s fingers scribbled right under her navel — and her whole body exploded. She bucked so hard against the rope even Marcus thought it would snap. Her legs kicked uselessly, held tight by her restraints, her laughter broke into something wild and raw. It felt like he was dismantling her piece by piece, leaving nothing she could hide.
She hated Marcus. She hated her crop top. She hated her body for betraying her, telegraphing her most ticklish place to Marcus.
She screamed, “Stop, it’s too much!” and she meant it — but he leaned close, coaching her even as she thrashed. “Stay with it, Vivian. This is the edge. Every second you last here, you grow stronger.”
Marcus seemed less like a coach and more like a monster. A sociopath who tricked her into this position. How could she be so stupid? “Stop! Stop—please!” She screamed, the laughter twisting into sobs.
“Stay with it!” Marcus yelled. “What do you feel?”
“It’s too much! It’s torture!”
“That is the result. What do you feel?”
Vivian couldn’t fight back so she gave in. She focused on her sensation. Her stomach felt warm.
“Fire!”
“Good!” he said.
“What else?” He maintained the tickling on her midriff.
Every touch of his finger felt like a spark.
“Electricity!” she said. “It’s like a poker!”
“What is it doing?”
“It’s controlling me!” She squealed. “Please, Please! Stop it!”
“Listen to yourself,” Marcus said, his voice calm even as his fingers tormented her “You’re still here. Still laughing. Still enduring. This is your power, Vivian. You’re standing in the fire, and you’re not burning. Give in and feel it! Really feel it!”
And eventually, she did. She stopped fighting. She let the laughter roll out of her, wild and unfiltered. She hadn’t laughed like this in years—full-bodied, shaking, helpless laughter that left her lungs aching but her mind strangely clear.
Marcus smiled quietly. “Strength isn’t only about control. It’s also about surrender.”
When he finally slowed, easing his hands away, she sagged against the rope, trembling. Sweat trickled down her temple, her hair plastered damp against my cheeks. Vivian’s stomach still tingled with the memory of his touch, like an echo etched into her skin.
But she wasn’t broken.
She lifted her head, breath still ragged, and met his eyes. She felt the corners of her mouth twitch into a smile. Not the nervous smile she’d worn before. Something steadier. Fiercer.
“I did it,” she whispered.
Marcus nodded, satisfaction warming his expression. “You didn’t just do it. You mastered it. And now you’ll carry it. The memory of this moment — of facing your most ticklish place and enduring — will stay with you. It will remind you what it’s like to vulnerable. You have now been forged.”
And he was right.
Vivian could feel it already. That impossible, unbearable tickling beneath her belly button — the way it had felt like she’d lose herself, only to discover that she didn’t — that was hers now. That was her touchstone.
Walking back through the city later that day, Vivian realized the absurdity of what she’d just done. Yet, absurd or not, she’d glimpsed something rare: the ability to let herself be undone—and come out stronger for it.
The next time she was about to deliver a brutal rebuff to an employee, or try to squeeze more out a negotiation, she would call to mind the torture she felt and ensure she did not inflict that on anyone else, symbolically or in any other way.
She walked a little taller. This time instead of hiding behind her Christian Dior suit, she walked proudly showcasing her naked midriff in her Dolce and Gabbana Crop top and her ass in her skintight Prada faded jeans for everyone to see.
