Here's the second of the current Dr. Smith quartet. If you want to see the previous episodes, here's the original trilogy:
http://www.ticklingforum.com/showthread.php?97720-A-Philosophic-Tickle-(m-f-teacher-student)
http://www.ticklingforum.com/showth...-Ticke-Secunda-Pars-(m-f-f-f-student-teacher)
http://www.ticklingforum.com/showth...Tickle-Tertia-Pars-(m-f-ff-f-teacher-student)
And here's part one of this quartet:
http://www.ticklingforum.com/showthread.php?313714-Philosophic-Tickle-Cursus-Ruber-Prima-Pars-(m-f)
But if you just want to go straight into this one, here you go. Be sure to leave a comment!
KI
Philosophic Tickles: Cursus Ruber, Secunda Pars
by
Kid Indy
The Main Street Grill was just about as small-town West Virginia as anyone could imagine: next to the town’s two chain pharmacies and its lonely grocery store, the place had a charm that said someone had made his fortune in the city and come back home to run a hobby business. And as is often the case, the prettiest girls in town tended to find their way there, picking up tips from old men and marking time until they found somewhere else to be.
Smith had his eye on one in particular, a dark-eyed girl with smooth brown hair and a small-town tan whose smile brought the money to the table every time she served up a cheeseburger and whose walk made the customers want to add that milkshake for dessert. He had only been in town a few days, and she was the best thing going. He picked up quickly enough that, between tables and whenever she had a break, she was looking at her phone. That wasn’t unusual for a pretty girl in her twenties, but this one seemed distressed when she did look.
While he ate a late lunch, he saw her open a message, and her face dropped in a mask of shock and anger. Placing her order pad on the grill’s small bar, she told the bartender to cover for her, and she stormed out of the side door, dialing her phone as she went. Smith stood up and, in quick strides, made his way to the bar to pick up the pad. He followed her out the door.
Smith lingered and listened near the corner of the restaurant. The waitress was occupied with her phone call and did not seem to see him.
“What do you mean, two thousand dollars? What did you do?”
Smith ducked behind the dumpster as she pivoted angrily towards him.
“No, I can’t bring it over there! Where do you think I’m going to get two thousand dollars?”
As he heard her voice turn away from him, he rose again and watched her.
“Look, I’ll ask your parents what they can do, but I’m barely making rent every month!”
She struck a hand-on-hip pose with her free hand.
“Then you’ll just have to wait!” She pressed the glass screen and rammed the phone into her pocket. Smith saw his moment and took a long stride towards her.
“Pardon me, miss. I believe you dropped this back there.” He handed the pad to her.
“Thank you. I’m sorry you had to hear that.”
“Hear what? Oh, were you on the phone?”
She looked relieved. “Yes. Like I said, sorry.”
“Oh, no problem. Is everything alright?”
Her hands raised in claws to gesture her frustration. “No! I can’t believe he would do this!”
Smith knew that he was in. “What happened?”
“Look, I’m sorry. I’ll be back to your table in a minute. Just give me a second here.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Not unless you’ve got two thousand dollars sitting around.”
Smith let himself pretend to be surprised, and he seemed to be selling it alright. “That’s a lot of money. What do you need that for?”
“My boyfriend. He got picked up for selling.”
Smith tried not to oversell the rube. “Selling what?”
She glared. Maybe he oversold. “Look, mister, thank you for my pad back. I’ll be back to your table in a minute.”
Smith turned around and took a step, then stopped and turned. “I might actually be able to help you.”
She raised an eyebrow at him. “What do you mean?”
And there’s the tug on the line. “I’m just a teacher, but I recently came into some money that I don’t immediately need. Two thousand dollars in cash I could come up with pretty quickly.”
“Are you serious?”
“Sure. If I had family that needed help, I would want someone to help them. So, Golden Rule, right?”
“Look, I can pay you back. I’ll just need some time.”
“No, I heard that part too. You won’t be able to pay me back with this job.”
Her expression shifted from gratitude to suspicion. “What are you talking about, then? Look, I’m not going to have--”
“Yes, I know. And I wasn’t going to ask for that.”
“What, then?”
And the trap was set. “I have to ask you something, though.”
“...what?”
“What’s your name?”
“I’m Robin.”
“My name is Smith. I’ll only be in town a couple weeks.”
“I already told you I’m not--”
“I know. Still not going to ask you for that.”
“Look, what are you getting at?”
“Robin, how well could you keep a secret from your boyfriend while he’s in jail?”
* * * * * *
The river was a bit swollen from a recent rain, but it wasn’t dangerous. Robin knew that the campsites would be fine anyway--the floods, when they did come, usually happened downstream from there. She could see the small fire when she pulled her jeep up next to the other car in the makeshift roadside parking lot, and she walked sure-footedly down the dirt trail towards it. The strange man was sitting on a stump stoking the fire, a scene that was more than familiar in places like this, where people loved the outdoors. He looked up and greeted her as she came within the campfire’s illumination.
“Can I get you something to drink?”
“I’m alright for now. Can we get started?”
“Oh, don’t be in a hurry. We’ve got time!”
“Can I see the money?”
Smith reached into a back pocket and produced a folded stack of twenty-dollar bills. “One hundred dollars for the hour, just like I said. You’ll have the money when the hour is up.”
“And no rape or anything, right? You’re just going to tickle me.”
“You have my word. My clothes are going to stay on the whole time.”
“And then what?”
“Then, if I like what I see tonight, we might make arrangements for more. And you know I’ve got the money your boyfriend needs.”
Robin cast her eyes one way, then another. No other lights to be seen. “How do we start this?”
Smith smiled, stood, walked over to his tent. He reached in and brought out a nylon gym bag and a camping blanket, rolled up. He made his way underneath a tree, near the fire, that he had scouted before Robin arrived, and he unrolled the blanket underneath a thick limb about eight feet off the ground.
“You’re going to stand on this for the first part of tonight. No shoes on the blanket, of course.” She walked over next to him, slid her sandals off her feet, and stepped onto the blanket next to him. She was wearing the tank top that he had requested at the restaurant, and in the fire’s light her jean shorts couldn’t have ended soon enough as they gave way to tanned, young legs. Smith reached into the bag and pulled out some coiled fabric, maybe twisted bed sheets. He held onto one end and threw the other over the limb, and he gestured for Robin to extend her hands. She did, and with efficient motions he looped the bedsheet around one, then the other, switching back as the loops compounded and eventually binding her securely but comfortably from her wrists halfway to her elbows. He finished tying the knot on that end, then pulled on the other. Robin felt her arms raise, and soon her arms were suspended over her head, her bare feet on the blanket and her black tank top exposing her midsection. The skin in the fire’s light was nothing short of a religious experience as Smith looped the other end of the sheet around another tree limb and tied a knot.
“Your time begins now.” He took a step sideways, then behind Robin, and she tried to turn her head to follow him. Then the waiting ended: His fingers were under her arms, or rather prodding at the skin that normally would be under her arms, and she squealed at his touch. He could tell that her knees went weak on her, but the sheet only extended a few inches as her body-weight dropped. He took the opportunity to step even closer to her, his fingertips still gripping her body from both sides. As her feet found the ground again, she started to bounce just a bit, just as Smith hoped, her backside rubbing against the front of his pants. With her body bent at the waist, one of his hands found its way to the edge of her short jean shorts, and with a squeeze she jumped up again, squealing at his claw and falling into a steady laugh as he kept tickling her underarms.
She was laughing as soon as he started in, and it was music to his ears as his hands squeezed and pinched at her underarms. He wriggled fingers over the cotton tank-top that covered the skin between her underarms and her exposed midsection, but he didn’t linger there: his hands almost immediately found their way to that cotton border, and as Smith’s fingertips began to glide over her skin between her soft hips and her bottom rib, he could feel her start a dance that took her in a half-turn this way, then that. His own feet started to move with the motion, and he discovered without much trouble that she danced with more energy when he scratched at her hips, and with her hands suspended, he had an all-night pass to play across that ticklish skin. His fingers pinched at her skin, then his fingertips would lightly glide as she twisted away. All the while she squealed and giggled and protested, and he knew this was going to be worth every penny.
Her knees were going to jelly on her, and the sheet stretched under her body’s weight. Smith’s knees bent to follow her body, and as he tickled her sides, he could see her legs in the fire’s light, and he wanted what he saw. His hands stopped tickling, and he could hear her panting as he walked over to the tree and untied the blanket. “I’m going to let you sit down for a while, but your hands I’m going to leave tied.” He resecured the bedsheet after she sat herself down. Her arms were now able to come all the way down, though the sheet was still looped over the limb, so that with a tug he could bring them up again. He lowered himself to the ground, sitting on the blanket next to her, and used one arm to pull her hip close to his. With her warmth hip to hip with his, he used that same hand to squeeze her side, and her body twisted into a sidewinding squirm. One side of her bottom came up off the blanket, and the professor did not waste the moment: his free hand quickly pinched the ticklish flesh of the back of her thigh, and she nearly flipped herself over as she thrashed from that touch. Unable to steady herself with her hands, Robin tipped over sideways, and Smith’s pinching hands immediately found where her shorts exposed the lines between legs and buttocks. Her back arched, and his fingers kept tickling and squeezing, and Robin quickly abandoned any pretense of resistance: every time his hands touched her skin--and they were touching every inch of skin that they could, with an appetite that never tired of hearing her laugh, of feeling her body’s attempts to escape--her laughter’s pitch flew high, then returned to a steady, bubbling roll of giggles.
This girl seemed to be one, endless stretch of ticklish joy, and Smith had to remind himself to stop after several minutes to let her rest. She panted on the blanket, her flushed skin intoxicating to the eye in the campfire’s light. With some help from Smith, she did manage to sit up on the blanket, to his side. As her chest heaved, Smith started to maneuver one ankle, then the other into his lap.
“Please, no. You’re not going to tickle my feet now, are you?”
“I certainly am! I’d live the rest of my life wondering whether they’re as ticklish as the rest of you!”
“I can just tell you--they’re worse!”
Smith licked his lips. “Then I definitely have to have my try!” Smith pulled the bedsheet, which was still within arm’s reach, until her arms came up just a bit and he could reach her midsection, and he sat on the end to brace it. With an index finger that had become a connoisseur of sensitive feet he began his first exploration, running it from toes to heel. Robin, already so ticklish from the evening that the summer breeze felt like it was tickling her, squealed as he ignited her reaction. On the same sole he began to pluck with two fingers as at guitar strings, and the girl giggled at each imaginary string that he strummed.
With a sudden acceleration Smith lit into her foot with all four fingers, and a satisfying scream, a sound that nearly brought him to the peak of his tension, echoed through the mountain air. His fingers had gotten fast with practice, and his whole body could tell that she had never been tickled this way. One of his favorite sounds--a girl trying to keep from losing control utterly welled up from her small body, but she really didn’t stand any real chance. He was too good a tickler. Once again she tipped over, and his hands wreaked havoc on her soles. Without the time to thrash her whole body before her treacherous soles overrode the motion, she squirmed in short, interrupted jerks as he tickled, the whole time hearing her own voice making the sounds of the tickle-tortured, noises that she didn’t know she could make.
Smith was nearly out of body as her ticklish body responded to his every touch.
One of his merciless paws caught the flesh of her upper, inner thigh, just below the ending of her short shorts, and the evening was complete. Robin, every part of her skin an overloaded ticklish electric circuit, just couldn’t bear the sudden feeling of his hand squeezing that close to her sexual center--or at least what her boyfriend had treated as the extent of sex--and her mouth flew open in a combination of an aroused moan and a ticklish squeal. When his other hand squeezed just under her ribs, where she had always thought tickling happened, the combined sensations ended her body’s attempts to escape. Her back once again arched, her shoulders and heels pushing her back off the ground. Smith’s pants never moved from his own hips, but hers were stretching, reaching to the sky for some kind of release.
Smith had no conception of releasing her that way.
He stopped tickling and began to untie the bedsheet from around her hands. Adjusting himself so that he could stand up, he lifted himself from the ground and walked back over to his tent. Robin pushed herself up to a sitting position, then with wobbly knees stood up herself and looked for her sandals.
Smith stood next to his tent’s entrance. He extended the roll of bills towards Robin. “Two hundred dollars, just as we agreed. If you want to do this again, I’m in town for a couple weeks. You know how to contact me.”
Robin, newly shod, took the money and made her way to her car, her hands shaking as she opened her car door to drive home.
* * * * * * *
“I’m getting the money as fast as I can, Jimmy!”
Robin felt something--whether guilt or a phantom tickle--as she said that. She listened on her mobile phone.
“Look, I’ve got a few hundred dollars together, but I’m still more than a thousand short!”
Another pause. Smith waited around the corner, once again unheard, for her turn to come again.
“I’ll try, but just be careful until I can get the money, alright?” She pressed the end-call icon on her screen. Her hand went to her mouth as she tried not to sob. Smith waited and let her pass by his hiding place and return to her shift at Main Street Grill. When he made his way into the restaurant and leisurely took his table, Robin came to him, glancing over her shoulder to make sure no management followed.
“I need the money faster than I thought. Jimmy isn’t safe in there!”
Smith presented her with a look of feigned surprise and false concern. “I could advance you the rest of the two thousand, but I’ll still want you to visit me. What will Jimmy say to that?”
Her guilty look wasn’t the same as feeling her ticklish body in his hands, but it was still delicious.
“You haven’t told him how you’re getting the money, have you?”
“No, I’m not telling him that!”
“Don’t you think he’ll find out if he’s out on the streets again?”
Robin slammed a hand down on the table. “Look, he’s in danger in there--can you help me?”
Smith felt his web tremble as this beautiful butterfly tangled herself in its strands. “I can have the cash for you tonight, and you can bail him out until his trial tomorrow. But it’s going to cost you.”
Robin looked for her manager again. “What do you mean?”
“You’ll come to my hotel when you’re off work tonight. And this time you’re not going to have as much on.”
Robin whispered. “Underwear?”
Smith still spoke, but his voice was so low that Robin had to lean in to hear. “Panties only.” Robin’s face bent into a scowl. “Tonight for that, then we’ll work out nights and times to meet once Jimmy is out in the world.”
She leaned in, her hand on the table, and whispered. “There’s no way I’m taking off my bra for you!”
He grabbed her wrist, and she recoiled. He held on and pressed a small roll of bills into her palm. “When you’re done with lunch shift, go across the street and get a pedicure, and meet me tonight at 7:00. If you don’t show, your boyfriend gets whatever his new county lockup buddies have for him.”
Robin left his table and would not make eye contact the rest of the time Smith finished his late lunch. Smith’s salad tasted good.
* * * * * * *
Her car pulled up, and Smith could see her from the motel’s balcony. As one of the place’s only guests at the moment, he knew that the rooms on either side of his own were empty, and that was good.
As she ascended the stairs to the motel’s second floor, Smith unlocked his door--the old motels still had real keys, and he appreciated that--and let her into the room. She smelled good as she went past him--Smith guessed some kind of cucumber-scented lotion.
“Did you get that pedicure?”
She nodded.
“Not talkative yet. That’s alright--you’ll be talking to me soon anyway.” He reached into his pocket and handed Robin a stack of hundred-dollar bills. “Count them. There are eighteen, enough to pay the bail in the morning.” He watched as she held her breath and counted the money. “Now hand that money back to me, and we’ll get to the business of getting the money for you.” She extended the money to him, and he took it from her hand and set it on the motel bed’s small nightstand, keeping it where she could see it.
“Now take those shoes off for me.” She sat on the bed, took them off, and placed her flip-flops to one side of the bed.
“Now your shorts.” She stood, hesitated, then unbuttoned them and let them drop. Smith’s mouth was watering.
“Now your tank top.” Her slender fingers grabbed the bottom of the cotton and pulled upward, showing him her smooth, tanned skin and the body beneath. She wasn’t a fitness buff by any means, but the softness of what emerged made him as hungry as he had been in the presence of a woman’s body.
She stood in front of the bed, and Smith stepped in closer. “And now what I’ve been waiting for. How badly do you want him out of county lockup?” To answer she reached behind herself, unsnapped her bra, and let it fall on the floor. Only the light purple cotton of her panties now obscured any part of her body, and Smith was loving his life.
“Sit on the bed for me.” She did. “Extend your feet towards me.” She did, slowly. She leaned back against the headboard, her hands crossed over her chest to cover up. Smith inhaled slowly, enjoying this moment of anticipation and utter power. He reached into his pocket and extended his hand once more towards Robin. Even though it meant showing him what before she wanted to conceal, she took it from his hand.
“Count these.”
Robin shuffled another stack of hundred-dollar bills as Smith watched. “Another two thousand.”
“Now give them back.” She did. He set them on the table next to the other stack.
Robin leaned forward as Smith returned to the motel’s nightstand. “What’s the rest of that money for?”
“Patience, patience. Right now it’s tickling time!” Sitting at the foot of the bed, he reached out and swiped a finger across one of her unrestrained soles. Her knee reflexively bent, pulling the foot away from her hand.
“No, seriously! What’s the rest of the money for?” He reached out with the other hand and grabbed her ankle. As he reached in for another tickle he felt her try to pull the foot away from him, but she only managed to pull herself forward as he started to tickle her sole with four fingers. Immediately, instinctively, her hands came down from covering herself up to grab at his wrists, and as he tickled, she gave him a show, her soft body and smooth skin twisting as she tried in vain to get at his hands. Her breast rubbed against his forearm as she finally got her hands on his tickling hand’s wrist, and immediately he stopped tickling her foot and grabbed her wrist. He pulled that arm across his body, and Robin’s legs, kicking from the tickling, rolled out from under her. Smith kept her natural rotation going, bracing her back against his belly, and both of his hands left her arms and reached across the front of her body. His right hand grabbed as much of her ticklish left flank as they could, and his right hand squeezed the bottom of her left ribs, and Robin’s arms flailed as they tried to reach spots that they were too long to reach. Her back, completely bare, bounced against his chest, and her legs kicked empty air as Smith tickled her soft skin, his energy far more than she would expect of a man in his forties.
Smith’s body hardly needed to move to maintain this hold and give his hands all the ticklish girl that they could torture, but Robin’s arms and legs began to tire, and he could feel the kicks getting slower and weaker. He kept tickling her sides, hearing moans of desperation and torment rise up between laughs and giggles, and he waited until the kicking motion became mere shaking before he executed his next shift. Shimmying down her body, Smith wrapped his legs around hers, using his ankles to pull her calves apart from each other as he turned her belly-down on to the bed. He used his neck to bridge just at the level of her ribs, on the bed to her left, still not anywhere her hands could reach, but his hands left their criss-cross and pushed him up to a kneeling position, his knees inside of her legs, keeping them from closing. Her own arms pushed down against the mattress to try to turn back over onto her back, but she couldn’t get any leverage before his hands started squeezing her hips. The panic at feeling the new ticklish assault, and the laughter that joined it, were absolutely intoxicating to Smith, and now his view was of her behind clenching and then wriggling as she tried to decide what to do about the tickling. A leg flexed, kicking a heel up towards his back, and he hooked an arm around the front of her ankle.
“No! Let my foot go!”
He did not let her foot go but tickled the helpless sole, loving the feel of her struggling body and watching her arms go crazy trying to reach back and protect a foot that they could never reach. Again her struggles weakened, and he dropped the foot, shooting both hands up to her ribs again and trapping her delicious abdomen in his claws. Her knees clamped together in vain at his own legs, and she squealed as he squeezed her sides.
“Please! I can’t take any more!”
He shifted his grip downward to wriggle his fingers into her belly, and her struggles intensified. Her round bottom bobbed and twisted as he tickled, and he could feel the moment when she stopped struggling to escape and just started laughing harder than she ever knew that she could laugh. He lifted one knee and crossed it over the other, using his own socked foot to move himself out from between her legs. She rolled to her own side, her ribs heaving as she recovered from the merciless tickling.
“I can slow down for a while if you let me tie your wrists and ankles.”
“No! Not like this!”
“Have it your way.” His right hand grabbed at her right side, which faced up at the ceiling. She squealed, and her knees came up, and her elbow came down in some vain attempts to dislodge his grip, but his strong fingers were pulsing between ribs and hips, and in no time Robin was thrashing wildly as he tickled her side.
“Alright! Alright! Please slow down!”
He gave her side several more aggressive squeezes, just to let her feel the consequences of telling him no, but then pushed himself up, and entirely off the bed. Robin curled into a feltal position. She glanced at the motel room’s alarm clock and realized that she had only disrobed ten minutes ago.
Smith ducked under the bed, coming back up with a stack of neatly folded bed sheets. “This bed doesn’t have posts, so I’m going to tie you to the legs underneath. I’m going to make them tight enough that you can’t cover up, but not enough to hurt you.”
Robin nodded her assent and swallowed in fear. Smith began with her left calf, wrapping the sheet in an intricate pattern up and down her lower leg before securing the sheet, out of sight, to the leg of the bed. He moved with an efficiency that made Robin worry: he had done this before. He similarly wrapped and secured her right calf, then her right forearm, then her left. Robin found herself able to pull on the sheets but not to bring her arms or legs completely to her body. The motel’s air-conditioned cool atmosphere reminded her breasts of their exposure, and she knew that if he wanted to touch them, she could do nothing about it.
Her eye went back to the two stacks of bills on the nightstand. With a voice shaky from forced laughter she asked, “Are you going to tell me what the rest of the money is for?”
Smith smiled as he sat at the foot of the bed. “No talk right now. You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to tickle this foot.” He seemed to mean the right foot, and Robin whimpered as she felt one finger begin to wander her sole. Her leg pulled back, but this time she had nowhere to go. Her breathing sped up as the finger darted across the sole, then swiped across the ball of her foot. She felt it depart for a moment, but then she felt it scratching at the edge of her heel. She could feel her body laughing before she realized she was making a sound, and she gave up much more quickly this time. This was like nothing she had ever felt before, a libido that only wanted her to laugh and hands that knew the body of a woman as this hand did, working in concert with no intent of weakening her resolve to get her into bed (she was already in bed, and bound) or to move on to a ten-second finish but only to tickle, to work her skin and her muscles and the long nerves of her feet so methodically that refusing to laugh would never have been an option. Her back arched, and her lungs quivered as her laughter took over every squealing inward breath and every giggling outward breath. Never once had she looked at this middle-aged man with anything like attraction, yet his hands were pulling desires out of her through her toes that would have troubled her had the tickling given her enough time to be troubled.
When his hands left her right foot, Robin opened her eyes--she didn’t even realize that she had closed them--and panted from being made to laugh. Her eyes followed his form, watching his face beam as he moved to her left foot. She had no breath to scream; she only shook her head “No.” His teeth bared in a conqueror’s grin as he started to work on her left foot. Weakened by twenty minutes’ tickling, she gave in utterly, throwing her head back against her pillow and letting out loud laughter immediately. Fed by her surrender, Smith tickled her left foot with such ardor and such precision and such burning lust that Robin’s shoulders relaxed and her knees stopped bucking, leaving her voice and her bucking hips to do all the laughing as his fingers tormented her sole and her toes and her heel and her ankle. She had given up, but those hands were not taking any prisoners, and when he stopped the next time, Robin had to look at the clock to realize that he had now been tickling her for thirty minutes.
“Please. I need a break.”
“I know you do. Here, have a sip of water.” Smith picked up a plastic bottle that Robin had not even noticed on the nightstand and let her drink. Her breathing slowed, and she could feel her skin in the cool air, almost radiating ticklish energy as she inhaled and exhaled. She looked at the money again.
“Please tell me what the rest of the money is for!”
Smith smiled quietly. “When the moment comes.”
“What moment? Please, I can’t have sex with you.”
“And I’m still going to keep all my clothes on. But it’s not time for you to find out about the money yet. It is time for some toys.”
Robin’s eyes widened as Smith walked across the room and opened a dresser drawer. He pulled out a small leather bag and brought it to the bed. He reached in and pulled out two sharp, stiff feathers, their tips coming down to a knife’s point. She gasped in spite of herself as she looked at them.
“Do you want me to work on your right foot first or your left foot with these?”
“Please, no more on my feet! I can’t stand any more!”
He twirled one of them between his thumb and forefinger, and Robin shuddered at its movement. “You’re sure you don’t want me to tickle your feet with these?”
“Please, no, I can’t take any more.”
“Your choice.” With that he sat on the bed at Robin’s side and began to bring the feathers, one in each hand, towards her chest.
“Wait! You can’t tickle my--”
The word turned into a screaming squeal as the swirling feather brushed against her right nipple. Robin had been a pretty girl at the town’s swimming pool, so people had tickled her feet and her underarms before, but nothing like this had ever happened to her breast. This was not a high school date’s fumbling grasp or her boyfriend’s randy tongue but a laser beam targeting the nerves straight to her heart and her abdomen and beyond. When both feathers’ tips began their dance on one breast, all she could do was inhale: she felt her lungs expand beyond what she thought she could hold, and as they zipped here and shuttled there around and across her nipple, the breath came out of her in a roar of laughter. Smith’s grinning face became the moon above her as she moaned and giggled and pulled at the sheets binding her arms. The feathers drew invisible and magical runes on her skin, and her laughter became so wild that she could not even beg any more. Her toes curled and flexed in the motel room’s cool air, and her eyes squeezed shut as she started to sense something inside her, something that wanted Jimmy here, not to rescue her from the tremendous tickling but to release the energy that pressed outward from inside her. Her neck strained forward as one of the feathers remained on her right breast and the other started drawing rapid messages to her body on the left.
He tickled and he tickled, and she didn’t have any sense of how long, but when the feathers stopped their electric travels, she returned to sensing the room in a rush of sights and smells. Smith grinned at her: he know that she had just gone nearly out of her body, and he was devouring the power that he wielded over her.
She whispered a plea: “Can we stop now? I don’t think I can take any more.”
Smith’s grin did not go away. “We still have fifteen minutes.” Robin felt her face drop at the prospect. “But I want to tell you what the other two thousand dollars are for.”
Robin nodded.
Smith set the feathers on the nightstand, slid himself off the side of the bed, and walked towards her feet again. He placed one fingertip against her left sole, and Robin whimpered. “You do know that once Jimmy goes to trial he’s going to prison for dealing, right?”
Robin had no energy to deny that; she nodded again.
“And when he gets out in a few years, he’s probably going back to dealing, right?”
She was starting to recover some of the ability to lie to herself. “He’ll be different when he gets out.”
Smith’s fingers suddenly started scratching at her sole, and Robin’s butt jumped off the bed as he tickled her foot. “You can’t be serious, Robin! Tell me he’s really going to change!” Robin was going crazy; she didn’t know how close Smith had taken her to climax tickling her breasts, but the skin of her soles was charged up and driving her crazy as he tickled. “Tell me he’s going to change!”
“He’s not going to change! Just stop tickling me!”
Smith immediately stopped. “Good! I’m glad you’re confronting that. Now here’s the thing: this time, he dealt drugs, and you ended up in the hands of an old man who likes to tickle pretty girls. What happens when he deals for the third time? The fourth time? Do you think that the big gangs are going to be satisfied tickling you when THEY get ahold of you?”
“Nothing can be worse than this!”
“Oh, you’re so naive.” He stood up again and picked up the feathers again and sat at her side.
“Don’t tickle my titties!”
He did.
Smith’s time for talking had well ended, and he tickled Robin’s breasts with the tips and the blades of the feathers for what seemed like forever. When he stopped again, Robin looked at the motel’s clock and saw that the hour was up. Smith untied one of her wrists and let the bedsheet drift to the ground. She reached across to start to untie the other wrist. Smith intercepted her hand and held it in his own.
He leaned in so that their faces were mere inches apart. “Listen. I’m going to tickle your breasts like this for the next eight nights, until you’ve paid off the two thousand. If Jimmy’s out of jail, he can come watch me.”
Robin glared.
“If you don’t bail him out tomorrow, it’ll just be the two of us for the next eight nights, and I’ll let you keep your bra on, and I’ll just tickle your feet and your legs and whatever your underwear doesn’t cover up.”
Her resolve weakened; he could see it in her eyes. He picked up the two-thousand-dollar stack. “I’m going to take this money with me, and I’m going to watch the court reports. If Jimmy goes to trial without your bailing him out, I’m going to send you a cashier’s check for two thousand dollars. You can use that to move over to Winchester Virginia or whatever you want to do, but that’ll be your incentive to cut ties with him.”
The conflict burned in her eyes.
“The choice is yours. If you leave Jimmy in jail, it’s four thousand dollars in your pocket, enough to start over. If you get him out, he gets to watch me take you places you’ve never been before. Your choice.”
Smith let her untie herself, and she left the apartment with eighteen hundred dollars in cash.
http://www.ticklingforum.com/showthread.php?97720-A-Philosophic-Tickle-(m-f-teacher-student)
http://www.ticklingforum.com/showth...-Ticke-Secunda-Pars-(m-f-f-f-student-teacher)
http://www.ticklingforum.com/showth...Tickle-Tertia-Pars-(m-f-ff-f-teacher-student)
And here's part one of this quartet:
http://www.ticklingforum.com/showthread.php?313714-Philosophic-Tickle-Cursus-Ruber-Prima-Pars-(m-f)
But if you just want to go straight into this one, here you go. Be sure to leave a comment!
KI
Philosophic Tickles: Cursus Ruber, Secunda Pars
by
Kid Indy
The Main Street Grill was just about as small-town West Virginia as anyone could imagine: next to the town’s two chain pharmacies and its lonely grocery store, the place had a charm that said someone had made his fortune in the city and come back home to run a hobby business. And as is often the case, the prettiest girls in town tended to find their way there, picking up tips from old men and marking time until they found somewhere else to be.
Smith had his eye on one in particular, a dark-eyed girl with smooth brown hair and a small-town tan whose smile brought the money to the table every time she served up a cheeseburger and whose walk made the customers want to add that milkshake for dessert. He had only been in town a few days, and she was the best thing going. He picked up quickly enough that, between tables and whenever she had a break, she was looking at her phone. That wasn’t unusual for a pretty girl in her twenties, but this one seemed distressed when she did look.
While he ate a late lunch, he saw her open a message, and her face dropped in a mask of shock and anger. Placing her order pad on the grill’s small bar, she told the bartender to cover for her, and she stormed out of the side door, dialing her phone as she went. Smith stood up and, in quick strides, made his way to the bar to pick up the pad. He followed her out the door.
Smith lingered and listened near the corner of the restaurant. The waitress was occupied with her phone call and did not seem to see him.
“What do you mean, two thousand dollars? What did you do?”
Smith ducked behind the dumpster as she pivoted angrily towards him.
“No, I can’t bring it over there! Where do you think I’m going to get two thousand dollars?”
As he heard her voice turn away from him, he rose again and watched her.
“Look, I’ll ask your parents what they can do, but I’m barely making rent every month!”
She struck a hand-on-hip pose with her free hand.
“Then you’ll just have to wait!” She pressed the glass screen and rammed the phone into her pocket. Smith saw his moment and took a long stride towards her.
“Pardon me, miss. I believe you dropped this back there.” He handed the pad to her.
“Thank you. I’m sorry you had to hear that.”
“Hear what? Oh, were you on the phone?”
She looked relieved. “Yes. Like I said, sorry.”
“Oh, no problem. Is everything alright?”
Her hands raised in claws to gesture her frustration. “No! I can’t believe he would do this!”
Smith knew that he was in. “What happened?”
“Look, I’m sorry. I’ll be back to your table in a minute. Just give me a second here.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Not unless you’ve got two thousand dollars sitting around.”
Smith let himself pretend to be surprised, and he seemed to be selling it alright. “That’s a lot of money. What do you need that for?”
“My boyfriend. He got picked up for selling.”
Smith tried not to oversell the rube. “Selling what?”
She glared. Maybe he oversold. “Look, mister, thank you for my pad back. I’ll be back to your table in a minute.”
Smith turned around and took a step, then stopped and turned. “I might actually be able to help you.”
She raised an eyebrow at him. “What do you mean?”
And there’s the tug on the line. “I’m just a teacher, but I recently came into some money that I don’t immediately need. Two thousand dollars in cash I could come up with pretty quickly.”
“Are you serious?”
“Sure. If I had family that needed help, I would want someone to help them. So, Golden Rule, right?”
“Look, I can pay you back. I’ll just need some time.”
“No, I heard that part too. You won’t be able to pay me back with this job.”
Her expression shifted from gratitude to suspicion. “What are you talking about, then? Look, I’m not going to have--”
“Yes, I know. And I wasn’t going to ask for that.”
“What, then?”
And the trap was set. “I have to ask you something, though.”
“...what?”
“What’s your name?”
“I’m Robin.”
“My name is Smith. I’ll only be in town a couple weeks.”
“I already told you I’m not--”
“I know. Still not going to ask you for that.”
“Look, what are you getting at?”
“Robin, how well could you keep a secret from your boyfriend while he’s in jail?”
* * * * * *
The river was a bit swollen from a recent rain, but it wasn’t dangerous. Robin knew that the campsites would be fine anyway--the floods, when they did come, usually happened downstream from there. She could see the small fire when she pulled her jeep up next to the other car in the makeshift roadside parking lot, and she walked sure-footedly down the dirt trail towards it. The strange man was sitting on a stump stoking the fire, a scene that was more than familiar in places like this, where people loved the outdoors. He looked up and greeted her as she came within the campfire’s illumination.
“Can I get you something to drink?”
“I’m alright for now. Can we get started?”
“Oh, don’t be in a hurry. We’ve got time!”
“Can I see the money?”
Smith reached into a back pocket and produced a folded stack of twenty-dollar bills. “One hundred dollars for the hour, just like I said. You’ll have the money when the hour is up.”
“And no rape or anything, right? You’re just going to tickle me.”
“You have my word. My clothes are going to stay on the whole time.”
“And then what?”
“Then, if I like what I see tonight, we might make arrangements for more. And you know I’ve got the money your boyfriend needs.”
Robin cast her eyes one way, then another. No other lights to be seen. “How do we start this?”
Smith smiled, stood, walked over to his tent. He reached in and brought out a nylon gym bag and a camping blanket, rolled up. He made his way underneath a tree, near the fire, that he had scouted before Robin arrived, and he unrolled the blanket underneath a thick limb about eight feet off the ground.
“You’re going to stand on this for the first part of tonight. No shoes on the blanket, of course.” She walked over next to him, slid her sandals off her feet, and stepped onto the blanket next to him. She was wearing the tank top that he had requested at the restaurant, and in the fire’s light her jean shorts couldn’t have ended soon enough as they gave way to tanned, young legs. Smith reached into the bag and pulled out some coiled fabric, maybe twisted bed sheets. He held onto one end and threw the other over the limb, and he gestured for Robin to extend her hands. She did, and with efficient motions he looped the bedsheet around one, then the other, switching back as the loops compounded and eventually binding her securely but comfortably from her wrists halfway to her elbows. He finished tying the knot on that end, then pulled on the other. Robin felt her arms raise, and soon her arms were suspended over her head, her bare feet on the blanket and her black tank top exposing her midsection. The skin in the fire’s light was nothing short of a religious experience as Smith looped the other end of the sheet around another tree limb and tied a knot.
“Your time begins now.” He took a step sideways, then behind Robin, and she tried to turn her head to follow him. Then the waiting ended: His fingers were under her arms, or rather prodding at the skin that normally would be under her arms, and she squealed at his touch. He could tell that her knees went weak on her, but the sheet only extended a few inches as her body-weight dropped. He took the opportunity to step even closer to her, his fingertips still gripping her body from both sides. As her feet found the ground again, she started to bounce just a bit, just as Smith hoped, her backside rubbing against the front of his pants. With her body bent at the waist, one of his hands found its way to the edge of her short jean shorts, and with a squeeze she jumped up again, squealing at his claw and falling into a steady laugh as he kept tickling her underarms.
She was laughing as soon as he started in, and it was music to his ears as his hands squeezed and pinched at her underarms. He wriggled fingers over the cotton tank-top that covered the skin between her underarms and her exposed midsection, but he didn’t linger there: his hands almost immediately found their way to that cotton border, and as Smith’s fingertips began to glide over her skin between her soft hips and her bottom rib, he could feel her start a dance that took her in a half-turn this way, then that. His own feet started to move with the motion, and he discovered without much trouble that she danced with more energy when he scratched at her hips, and with her hands suspended, he had an all-night pass to play across that ticklish skin. His fingers pinched at her skin, then his fingertips would lightly glide as she twisted away. All the while she squealed and giggled and protested, and he knew this was going to be worth every penny.
Her knees were going to jelly on her, and the sheet stretched under her body’s weight. Smith’s knees bent to follow her body, and as he tickled her sides, he could see her legs in the fire’s light, and he wanted what he saw. His hands stopped tickling, and he could hear her panting as he walked over to the tree and untied the blanket. “I’m going to let you sit down for a while, but your hands I’m going to leave tied.” He resecured the bedsheet after she sat herself down. Her arms were now able to come all the way down, though the sheet was still looped over the limb, so that with a tug he could bring them up again. He lowered himself to the ground, sitting on the blanket next to her, and used one arm to pull her hip close to his. With her warmth hip to hip with his, he used that same hand to squeeze her side, and her body twisted into a sidewinding squirm. One side of her bottom came up off the blanket, and the professor did not waste the moment: his free hand quickly pinched the ticklish flesh of the back of her thigh, and she nearly flipped herself over as she thrashed from that touch. Unable to steady herself with her hands, Robin tipped over sideways, and Smith’s pinching hands immediately found where her shorts exposed the lines between legs and buttocks. Her back arched, and his fingers kept tickling and squeezing, and Robin quickly abandoned any pretense of resistance: every time his hands touched her skin--and they were touching every inch of skin that they could, with an appetite that never tired of hearing her laugh, of feeling her body’s attempts to escape--her laughter’s pitch flew high, then returned to a steady, bubbling roll of giggles.
This girl seemed to be one, endless stretch of ticklish joy, and Smith had to remind himself to stop after several minutes to let her rest. She panted on the blanket, her flushed skin intoxicating to the eye in the campfire’s light. With some help from Smith, she did manage to sit up on the blanket, to his side. As her chest heaved, Smith started to maneuver one ankle, then the other into his lap.
“Please, no. You’re not going to tickle my feet now, are you?”
“I certainly am! I’d live the rest of my life wondering whether they’re as ticklish as the rest of you!”
“I can just tell you--they’re worse!”
Smith licked his lips. “Then I definitely have to have my try!” Smith pulled the bedsheet, which was still within arm’s reach, until her arms came up just a bit and he could reach her midsection, and he sat on the end to brace it. With an index finger that had become a connoisseur of sensitive feet he began his first exploration, running it from toes to heel. Robin, already so ticklish from the evening that the summer breeze felt like it was tickling her, squealed as he ignited her reaction. On the same sole he began to pluck with two fingers as at guitar strings, and the girl giggled at each imaginary string that he strummed.
With a sudden acceleration Smith lit into her foot with all four fingers, and a satisfying scream, a sound that nearly brought him to the peak of his tension, echoed through the mountain air. His fingers had gotten fast with practice, and his whole body could tell that she had never been tickled this way. One of his favorite sounds--a girl trying to keep from losing control utterly welled up from her small body, but she really didn’t stand any real chance. He was too good a tickler. Once again she tipped over, and his hands wreaked havoc on her soles. Without the time to thrash her whole body before her treacherous soles overrode the motion, she squirmed in short, interrupted jerks as he tickled, the whole time hearing her own voice making the sounds of the tickle-tortured, noises that she didn’t know she could make.
Smith was nearly out of body as her ticklish body responded to his every touch.
One of his merciless paws caught the flesh of her upper, inner thigh, just below the ending of her short shorts, and the evening was complete. Robin, every part of her skin an overloaded ticklish electric circuit, just couldn’t bear the sudden feeling of his hand squeezing that close to her sexual center--or at least what her boyfriend had treated as the extent of sex--and her mouth flew open in a combination of an aroused moan and a ticklish squeal. When his other hand squeezed just under her ribs, where she had always thought tickling happened, the combined sensations ended her body’s attempts to escape. Her back once again arched, her shoulders and heels pushing her back off the ground. Smith’s pants never moved from his own hips, but hers were stretching, reaching to the sky for some kind of release.
Smith had no conception of releasing her that way.
He stopped tickling and began to untie the bedsheet from around her hands. Adjusting himself so that he could stand up, he lifted himself from the ground and walked back over to his tent. Robin pushed herself up to a sitting position, then with wobbly knees stood up herself and looked for her sandals.
Smith stood next to his tent’s entrance. He extended the roll of bills towards Robin. “Two hundred dollars, just as we agreed. If you want to do this again, I’m in town for a couple weeks. You know how to contact me.”
Robin, newly shod, took the money and made her way to her car, her hands shaking as she opened her car door to drive home.
* * * * * * *
“I’m getting the money as fast as I can, Jimmy!”
Robin felt something--whether guilt or a phantom tickle--as she said that. She listened on her mobile phone.
“Look, I’ve got a few hundred dollars together, but I’m still more than a thousand short!”
Another pause. Smith waited around the corner, once again unheard, for her turn to come again.
“I’ll try, but just be careful until I can get the money, alright?” She pressed the end-call icon on her screen. Her hand went to her mouth as she tried not to sob. Smith waited and let her pass by his hiding place and return to her shift at Main Street Grill. When he made his way into the restaurant and leisurely took his table, Robin came to him, glancing over her shoulder to make sure no management followed.
“I need the money faster than I thought. Jimmy isn’t safe in there!”
Smith presented her with a look of feigned surprise and false concern. “I could advance you the rest of the two thousand, but I’ll still want you to visit me. What will Jimmy say to that?”
Her guilty look wasn’t the same as feeling her ticklish body in his hands, but it was still delicious.
“You haven’t told him how you’re getting the money, have you?”
“No, I’m not telling him that!”
“Don’t you think he’ll find out if he’s out on the streets again?”
Robin slammed a hand down on the table. “Look, he’s in danger in there--can you help me?”
Smith felt his web tremble as this beautiful butterfly tangled herself in its strands. “I can have the cash for you tonight, and you can bail him out until his trial tomorrow. But it’s going to cost you.”
Robin looked for her manager again. “What do you mean?”
“You’ll come to my hotel when you’re off work tonight. And this time you’re not going to have as much on.”
Robin whispered. “Underwear?”
Smith still spoke, but his voice was so low that Robin had to lean in to hear. “Panties only.” Robin’s face bent into a scowl. “Tonight for that, then we’ll work out nights and times to meet once Jimmy is out in the world.”
She leaned in, her hand on the table, and whispered. “There’s no way I’m taking off my bra for you!”
He grabbed her wrist, and she recoiled. He held on and pressed a small roll of bills into her palm. “When you’re done with lunch shift, go across the street and get a pedicure, and meet me tonight at 7:00. If you don’t show, your boyfriend gets whatever his new county lockup buddies have for him.”
Robin left his table and would not make eye contact the rest of the time Smith finished his late lunch. Smith’s salad tasted good.
* * * * * * *
Her car pulled up, and Smith could see her from the motel’s balcony. As one of the place’s only guests at the moment, he knew that the rooms on either side of his own were empty, and that was good.
As she ascended the stairs to the motel’s second floor, Smith unlocked his door--the old motels still had real keys, and he appreciated that--and let her into the room. She smelled good as she went past him--Smith guessed some kind of cucumber-scented lotion.
“Did you get that pedicure?”
She nodded.
“Not talkative yet. That’s alright--you’ll be talking to me soon anyway.” He reached into his pocket and handed Robin a stack of hundred-dollar bills. “Count them. There are eighteen, enough to pay the bail in the morning.” He watched as she held her breath and counted the money. “Now hand that money back to me, and we’ll get to the business of getting the money for you.” She extended the money to him, and he took it from her hand and set it on the motel bed’s small nightstand, keeping it where she could see it.
“Now take those shoes off for me.” She sat on the bed, took them off, and placed her flip-flops to one side of the bed.
“Now your shorts.” She stood, hesitated, then unbuttoned them and let them drop. Smith’s mouth was watering.
“Now your tank top.” Her slender fingers grabbed the bottom of the cotton and pulled upward, showing him her smooth, tanned skin and the body beneath. She wasn’t a fitness buff by any means, but the softness of what emerged made him as hungry as he had been in the presence of a woman’s body.
She stood in front of the bed, and Smith stepped in closer. “And now what I’ve been waiting for. How badly do you want him out of county lockup?” To answer she reached behind herself, unsnapped her bra, and let it fall on the floor. Only the light purple cotton of her panties now obscured any part of her body, and Smith was loving his life.
“Sit on the bed for me.” She did. “Extend your feet towards me.” She did, slowly. She leaned back against the headboard, her hands crossed over her chest to cover up. Smith inhaled slowly, enjoying this moment of anticipation and utter power. He reached into his pocket and extended his hand once more towards Robin. Even though it meant showing him what before she wanted to conceal, she took it from his hand.
“Count these.”
Robin shuffled another stack of hundred-dollar bills as Smith watched. “Another two thousand.”
“Now give them back.” She did. He set them on the table next to the other stack.
Robin leaned forward as Smith returned to the motel’s nightstand. “What’s the rest of that money for?”
“Patience, patience. Right now it’s tickling time!” Sitting at the foot of the bed, he reached out and swiped a finger across one of her unrestrained soles. Her knee reflexively bent, pulling the foot away from her hand.
“No, seriously! What’s the rest of the money for?” He reached out with the other hand and grabbed her ankle. As he reached in for another tickle he felt her try to pull the foot away from him, but she only managed to pull herself forward as he started to tickle her sole with four fingers. Immediately, instinctively, her hands came down from covering herself up to grab at his wrists, and as he tickled, she gave him a show, her soft body and smooth skin twisting as she tried in vain to get at his hands. Her breast rubbed against his forearm as she finally got her hands on his tickling hand’s wrist, and immediately he stopped tickling her foot and grabbed her wrist. He pulled that arm across his body, and Robin’s legs, kicking from the tickling, rolled out from under her. Smith kept her natural rotation going, bracing her back against his belly, and both of his hands left her arms and reached across the front of her body. His right hand grabbed as much of her ticklish left flank as they could, and his right hand squeezed the bottom of her left ribs, and Robin’s arms flailed as they tried to reach spots that they were too long to reach. Her back, completely bare, bounced against his chest, and her legs kicked empty air as Smith tickled her soft skin, his energy far more than she would expect of a man in his forties.
Smith’s body hardly needed to move to maintain this hold and give his hands all the ticklish girl that they could torture, but Robin’s arms and legs began to tire, and he could feel the kicks getting slower and weaker. He kept tickling her sides, hearing moans of desperation and torment rise up between laughs and giggles, and he waited until the kicking motion became mere shaking before he executed his next shift. Shimmying down her body, Smith wrapped his legs around hers, using his ankles to pull her calves apart from each other as he turned her belly-down on to the bed. He used his neck to bridge just at the level of her ribs, on the bed to her left, still not anywhere her hands could reach, but his hands left their criss-cross and pushed him up to a kneeling position, his knees inside of her legs, keeping them from closing. Her own arms pushed down against the mattress to try to turn back over onto her back, but she couldn’t get any leverage before his hands started squeezing her hips. The panic at feeling the new ticklish assault, and the laughter that joined it, were absolutely intoxicating to Smith, and now his view was of her behind clenching and then wriggling as she tried to decide what to do about the tickling. A leg flexed, kicking a heel up towards his back, and he hooked an arm around the front of her ankle.
“No! Let my foot go!”
He did not let her foot go but tickled the helpless sole, loving the feel of her struggling body and watching her arms go crazy trying to reach back and protect a foot that they could never reach. Again her struggles weakened, and he dropped the foot, shooting both hands up to her ribs again and trapping her delicious abdomen in his claws. Her knees clamped together in vain at his own legs, and she squealed as he squeezed her sides.
“Please! I can’t take any more!”
He shifted his grip downward to wriggle his fingers into her belly, and her struggles intensified. Her round bottom bobbed and twisted as he tickled, and he could feel the moment when she stopped struggling to escape and just started laughing harder than she ever knew that she could laugh. He lifted one knee and crossed it over the other, using his own socked foot to move himself out from between her legs. She rolled to her own side, her ribs heaving as she recovered from the merciless tickling.
“I can slow down for a while if you let me tie your wrists and ankles.”
“No! Not like this!”
“Have it your way.” His right hand grabbed at her right side, which faced up at the ceiling. She squealed, and her knees came up, and her elbow came down in some vain attempts to dislodge his grip, but his strong fingers were pulsing between ribs and hips, and in no time Robin was thrashing wildly as he tickled her side.
“Alright! Alright! Please slow down!”
He gave her side several more aggressive squeezes, just to let her feel the consequences of telling him no, but then pushed himself up, and entirely off the bed. Robin curled into a feltal position. She glanced at the motel room’s alarm clock and realized that she had only disrobed ten minutes ago.
Smith ducked under the bed, coming back up with a stack of neatly folded bed sheets. “This bed doesn’t have posts, so I’m going to tie you to the legs underneath. I’m going to make them tight enough that you can’t cover up, but not enough to hurt you.”
Robin nodded her assent and swallowed in fear. Smith began with her left calf, wrapping the sheet in an intricate pattern up and down her lower leg before securing the sheet, out of sight, to the leg of the bed. He moved with an efficiency that made Robin worry: he had done this before. He similarly wrapped and secured her right calf, then her right forearm, then her left. Robin found herself able to pull on the sheets but not to bring her arms or legs completely to her body. The motel’s air-conditioned cool atmosphere reminded her breasts of their exposure, and she knew that if he wanted to touch them, she could do nothing about it.
Her eye went back to the two stacks of bills on the nightstand. With a voice shaky from forced laughter she asked, “Are you going to tell me what the rest of the money is for?”
Smith smiled as he sat at the foot of the bed. “No talk right now. You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to tickle this foot.” He seemed to mean the right foot, and Robin whimpered as she felt one finger begin to wander her sole. Her leg pulled back, but this time she had nowhere to go. Her breathing sped up as the finger darted across the sole, then swiped across the ball of her foot. She felt it depart for a moment, but then she felt it scratching at the edge of her heel. She could feel her body laughing before she realized she was making a sound, and she gave up much more quickly this time. This was like nothing she had ever felt before, a libido that only wanted her to laugh and hands that knew the body of a woman as this hand did, working in concert with no intent of weakening her resolve to get her into bed (she was already in bed, and bound) or to move on to a ten-second finish but only to tickle, to work her skin and her muscles and the long nerves of her feet so methodically that refusing to laugh would never have been an option. Her back arched, and her lungs quivered as her laughter took over every squealing inward breath and every giggling outward breath. Never once had she looked at this middle-aged man with anything like attraction, yet his hands were pulling desires out of her through her toes that would have troubled her had the tickling given her enough time to be troubled.
When his hands left her right foot, Robin opened her eyes--she didn’t even realize that she had closed them--and panted from being made to laugh. Her eyes followed his form, watching his face beam as he moved to her left foot. She had no breath to scream; she only shook her head “No.” His teeth bared in a conqueror’s grin as he started to work on her left foot. Weakened by twenty minutes’ tickling, she gave in utterly, throwing her head back against her pillow and letting out loud laughter immediately. Fed by her surrender, Smith tickled her left foot with such ardor and such precision and such burning lust that Robin’s shoulders relaxed and her knees stopped bucking, leaving her voice and her bucking hips to do all the laughing as his fingers tormented her sole and her toes and her heel and her ankle. She had given up, but those hands were not taking any prisoners, and when he stopped the next time, Robin had to look at the clock to realize that he had now been tickling her for thirty minutes.
“Please. I need a break.”
“I know you do. Here, have a sip of water.” Smith picked up a plastic bottle that Robin had not even noticed on the nightstand and let her drink. Her breathing slowed, and she could feel her skin in the cool air, almost radiating ticklish energy as she inhaled and exhaled. She looked at the money again.
“Please tell me what the rest of the money is for!”
Smith smiled quietly. “When the moment comes.”
“What moment? Please, I can’t have sex with you.”
“And I’m still going to keep all my clothes on. But it’s not time for you to find out about the money yet. It is time for some toys.”
Robin’s eyes widened as Smith walked across the room and opened a dresser drawer. He pulled out a small leather bag and brought it to the bed. He reached in and pulled out two sharp, stiff feathers, their tips coming down to a knife’s point. She gasped in spite of herself as she looked at them.
“Do you want me to work on your right foot first or your left foot with these?”
“Please, no more on my feet! I can’t stand any more!”
He twirled one of them between his thumb and forefinger, and Robin shuddered at its movement. “You’re sure you don’t want me to tickle your feet with these?”
“Please, no, I can’t take any more.”
“Your choice.” With that he sat on the bed at Robin’s side and began to bring the feathers, one in each hand, towards her chest.
“Wait! You can’t tickle my--”
The word turned into a screaming squeal as the swirling feather brushed against her right nipple. Robin had been a pretty girl at the town’s swimming pool, so people had tickled her feet and her underarms before, but nothing like this had ever happened to her breast. This was not a high school date’s fumbling grasp or her boyfriend’s randy tongue but a laser beam targeting the nerves straight to her heart and her abdomen and beyond. When both feathers’ tips began their dance on one breast, all she could do was inhale: she felt her lungs expand beyond what she thought she could hold, and as they zipped here and shuttled there around and across her nipple, the breath came out of her in a roar of laughter. Smith’s grinning face became the moon above her as she moaned and giggled and pulled at the sheets binding her arms. The feathers drew invisible and magical runes on her skin, and her laughter became so wild that she could not even beg any more. Her toes curled and flexed in the motel room’s cool air, and her eyes squeezed shut as she started to sense something inside her, something that wanted Jimmy here, not to rescue her from the tremendous tickling but to release the energy that pressed outward from inside her. Her neck strained forward as one of the feathers remained on her right breast and the other started drawing rapid messages to her body on the left.
He tickled and he tickled, and she didn’t have any sense of how long, but when the feathers stopped their electric travels, she returned to sensing the room in a rush of sights and smells. Smith grinned at her: he know that she had just gone nearly out of her body, and he was devouring the power that he wielded over her.
She whispered a plea: “Can we stop now? I don’t think I can take any more.”
Smith’s grin did not go away. “We still have fifteen minutes.” Robin felt her face drop at the prospect. “But I want to tell you what the other two thousand dollars are for.”
Robin nodded.
Smith set the feathers on the nightstand, slid himself off the side of the bed, and walked towards her feet again. He placed one fingertip against her left sole, and Robin whimpered. “You do know that once Jimmy goes to trial he’s going to prison for dealing, right?”
Robin had no energy to deny that; she nodded again.
“And when he gets out in a few years, he’s probably going back to dealing, right?”
She was starting to recover some of the ability to lie to herself. “He’ll be different when he gets out.”
Smith’s fingers suddenly started scratching at her sole, and Robin’s butt jumped off the bed as he tickled her foot. “You can’t be serious, Robin! Tell me he’s really going to change!” Robin was going crazy; she didn’t know how close Smith had taken her to climax tickling her breasts, but the skin of her soles was charged up and driving her crazy as he tickled. “Tell me he’s going to change!”
“He’s not going to change! Just stop tickling me!”
Smith immediately stopped. “Good! I’m glad you’re confronting that. Now here’s the thing: this time, he dealt drugs, and you ended up in the hands of an old man who likes to tickle pretty girls. What happens when he deals for the third time? The fourth time? Do you think that the big gangs are going to be satisfied tickling you when THEY get ahold of you?”
“Nothing can be worse than this!”
“Oh, you’re so naive.” He stood up again and picked up the feathers again and sat at her side.
“Don’t tickle my titties!”
He did.
Smith’s time for talking had well ended, and he tickled Robin’s breasts with the tips and the blades of the feathers for what seemed like forever. When he stopped again, Robin looked at the motel’s clock and saw that the hour was up. Smith untied one of her wrists and let the bedsheet drift to the ground. She reached across to start to untie the other wrist. Smith intercepted her hand and held it in his own.
He leaned in so that their faces were mere inches apart. “Listen. I’m going to tickle your breasts like this for the next eight nights, until you’ve paid off the two thousand. If Jimmy’s out of jail, he can come watch me.”
Robin glared.
“If you don’t bail him out tomorrow, it’ll just be the two of us for the next eight nights, and I’ll let you keep your bra on, and I’ll just tickle your feet and your legs and whatever your underwear doesn’t cover up.”
Her resolve weakened; he could see it in her eyes. He picked up the two-thousand-dollar stack. “I’m going to take this money with me, and I’m going to watch the court reports. If Jimmy goes to trial without your bailing him out, I’m going to send you a cashier’s check for two thousand dollars. You can use that to move over to Winchester Virginia or whatever you want to do, but that’ll be your incentive to cut ties with him.”
The conflict burned in her eyes.
“The choice is yours. If you leave Jimmy in jail, it’s four thousand dollars in your pocket, enough to start over. If you get him out, he gets to watch me take you places you’ve never been before. Your choice.”
Smith let her untie herself, and she left the apartment with eighteen hundred dollars in cash.