Note:
This is the fourth in a series of stories.First entry
Previous entry
Round 3
Stacy rests her forehead against the dressing room door after she closes it. Taking a moment to rest, she lets the exhaustion, physical and mental, wash over her, giving herself one minute to let her guard down while she’s alone.As the minute comes to an end, she forces herself upright.
One more round. Then I’m done.
She strips her bikini off, tossing it in the hamper as she heads for a quick refreshing rinse under the shower. Stepping out and drying off, her eyes flick over the bench where the outfits have been. To her surprise, she doesn’t see anything.
“That’s weird,” she remarks taking a step forward. As her perspective changes, she notices three tiny brown patches blending into the bench’s wooden seat. Picking them up, she realizes that it’s one of the smallest micro-bikinis she’s ever seen. The small triangles of fabric are just large enough to cover her nipples and areola. The thong’s front panel is only a few fingers wide, narrowing quickly to a thin string.
This doesn’t leave much to the imagination does it. They did say the outfits would be acceptable at a beach.. but I never wear outfits this revealing. I guess technically they’re correct. She sighs, “People are topless... or nude... in movies all the time. It’s no big deal.” “I can do this,” she murmurs, "I CAN do this."
Stacy feels a slick surface on the back of the panels. Looking closer, she sees small strips of paper rimming each of the two panels of the bra. She lifts one up and sees adhesive below.
At least I won’t be slipping out accidentally.
She slides the top over her head. After peeling the backing off, she carefully places the first panel over her nipple and presses the adhesive firmly against her flesh. The other panel goes on easily and she bounces up and down a few times.
OK, looks like this’ll hold. Now for the other part…
Stacy holds the thong up to her groin. Her usual landing strip is just hidden by the fabric.
Glad I shaved this morning.
She pulls the tiny piece of fabric in place, settling the string between her cheeks. “Good thing I kept in shape after college,” Stacy says, looking herself over in the mirror.
She quickly checks the clock: five minutes before round 3 starts.
I’ll mediate a bit more.
She settles into the comfortable chair. This time though, she can’t focus. The cool wind blowing across her exposed skin doesn’t let her forget just how exposed she is.
Stacy looks up with relief at Jim’s knock on the door. At least it’ll all be over soon.
Racquel’s usual patter starts as Stacy and Olivia exit their dressing rooms and look across at each other.
“Stacy, Olivia, please join me in the center room here, and I’ll explain how this round will work.”
Stacy takes a nervous step forward as her eyes find Olivia.
She’s stunning.
The black fabric barely covering Olivia perfectly frames her athletic body. Olivia strides confidently to Racquel, not sparing a glance at Stacy.
In a sudden realization, Stacy recognizes that it’s Olivia’s confidence that’s taken the previously pretty woman up several levels to exquisite.
Like hell she’s gonna show me up!
She lifts her head, locks her eyes on Racquel and forces herself to stride confidently to Racquel's side.
“Let’s show our contestants what we’ve cooked up for them,” Racquel exclaims. As she raises her hands, the panels in front of her part and two large, metallic, mechanisms rise from below the floor. Stacy studies the monstrosity trying to make sense of it. She glances at Olivia from the corner of her eye to see an equally confused look filling her face. As one, they turn to Racquel.
“What is that?” Olivia asks in disbelief, just beating Stacy to the punch.
Racquel laughs. “Yeah, someone had a little too much coffee thinking this one up. Let me try to explain.” She looks at Stacy, “Mind helping me demonstrate?” Stacy balks, looking suspiciously at Racquel.
“I mean, you did lose last round, only seems fair,” Olivia chimes in with a wicked smile.
Stacy pointedly ignores her, turning to fully face Racquel. “No tickling until the round starts, not even as a demonstration?” she asks.
“Of course,” Racquel responds, “We want this to be as fair as possible. Neither I, nor the machine, will tickle you before the round starts.” Seeing Stacy’s eyes flick suspiciously to Olivia, Racquel adds, “And neither will Olivia... unless she wants to be disqualified and personally experience what happened to Amber.”
Olivia’s confident expression, melts just for a moment at Amber’s name. She quickly restores her mask, but not before Stacy sees the fear.
“Fine, we'll both be in it eventually,” Stacy agrees, following Racquel as she moves between the two apparatuses.
Racquel points down at two dimples in the floor which look softer than the normal tile. “Please kneel, your knees in those spots, facing toward your opponent.” As Stacy settles in the indicated spots, she feels Racquel slightly adjusting her ankles. “We strap your legs down here.” Stacy feels leather straps tightening across the back of her leg, just above the ankle and above her calf, just below the knee.
“Please sit up as tall as you can,” Racquel asks. Stacy does as instructed; she watches as a plexiglass wall slides towards her legs. It comes to rest just below her upper thigh, softly pressing into her quads. “This wall will keep each of you from pitching forward into the other. We don’t want anyone to get accidentally hurt here on TIGS. After all, that just spoils the laughter.”
Racquel walks behind Stacy, out of her view. Stacy can hear her fiddling with something. She yelps softly as a cold bar of metal lightly rests across the middle of her ass cheeks.
“Sorry about that,” Racquel apologizes. “You can think of this bar as the gas pedal for your tickling, and your firm ass is the foot that controls it. The closer the bar gets to the seat behind you, the harder you’re going to get tickled.”
She walks around to where Olivia will be restrained, releasing the hook restraining the bar to the metal seat. The bar violently pushes up, then quickly slows at it comes to rest vertically, near the plexiglass.
“As you saw, it’s spring loaded. It’s easy to push it when it’s far away from the seat,” she pushes it with a single finger and the bar responds immediately, bouncing back when her finger breaks contact. “But, as it gets closer to the seat, it’ll get harder and harder to push.”
She grips the bar with her entire hand and starts trying to push it down. She gets it about halfway to the seat before it slips, springing up rapidly before slowing quickly as it nears its vertical position.
Racquel looks at Olivia, “Would you mind?”
Olivia shrugs, and standing behind the seat, grabs the bar with both hands. As Olivia’s muscles strain as she pulls the bar past the halfway point, Stacy can’t help but appreciate the view her front row seat provides to Olivia’s body. Olivia looks silently at Racquel as she manages to hold it against the seat. Racquel quickly flips a hook over the bar, securing it back in place.
“Let’s get you strapped in, and then I’ll go over the finer points of the rules before we start,” Racquel says to Olivia. The process goes much quicker for Olivia and moments later, the two woman are face to face with each other. Olivia casually stretches her arm towards Stacy’s belly. Stacy instinctively cringes back as Olivia laughs at her.
“Don’t worry Stace,” she taunts, her wrist resting comfortably on the plexiglass next to Stacy’s thigh. “I just wanted to make sure you’re within easy reach.”
Racquel steps between them, forcing Olivia’s hand back, before Stacy can respond.
“OK ladies, here’s how it’s going to work. Round three is scheduled for up to twenty minutes, after which we enter sudden death. When the time starts, our amazing devices are going to start tickling your feet. As I explained, how hard you’re tickled depends on how much you push on the bar behind you. The round is over when one of you says your safeword or passes out.”
“The seat behind you will also start rising. It’ll take fifteen minutes to reach the bar. No matter what you do, the tickling’s going to get more intense. Whenever the seat touches the bar, the final level of tickling will be engaged.”
Racquel holds up her hand as Olivia starts to ask a question, “You’ll just have to wait to find out what that final level is. In the unlikely event you both last five minutes at max power, we’ll enter sudden death. At that point, everything’s fair game and we’ll ramp up the tickling until one of you quits.”
Stacy and Olivia share an uneasy glance as they imagine what the next moments of their lives are going to be like, all pretense of cockiness gone. “Good luck,” Olivia says softly to Stacy “See you on the other side,” Stacy replies.
Racquel starts to walk away, then turns back and says “Oh right, I almost forgot.”
She picks up two makeup brushes from a tray before handing one to Olivia and then Stacy. “Here’s the tool you selected Olivia. You’re both free to tickle each other any place you can reach. The more you drive them back, the faster the machines go.” She waves one finger at them, saying “No pushing or shoving though, and no trying to bat the other person away. Those will be considered faults. You won’t be disqualified but faults will have consequences. Once your feet are prepped, we’ll begin.”
Stacy and Olivia share another confused look.
Stacy feels the panel under the top of their foot vanish. She winces as four loops of wire whip out and around the big and little toes on each foot.
I guess this is what I did to Olivia.
The wire steadily pulls each foot down until it’s fully flexed, the toes pinned tightly against the vertical panel. The wire on each little toe pulls it away from her other toes, widening the gaps between them. Stacy’s only solace as she watches Olivia silently twitch, is that Olivia's going to suffer too.
Her toes twitch under the growing tension. Each second seems to last an eternity. The anticipation makes her skin crawl. Then-
“Begin!” Racquel chirps.
Stacy feels a number of soft feathers dance over her feet and toes.
At least this isn’t so…
She jerks back as her navel explodes in ticklish sensations. She sees Olivia’s makeup brush quivering where her belly had just been. She explodes in laughter as the softly tickling feathers are replaced by vibrating toothbrushes sliding up and down her arches.
Stacy rocks forward, trying to stop the torment, only to bounce back moments later as Olivia lands another surgical strike on her navel. She manages to hold herself there, laughing steadily as her feet twitch under the tickles.
I need to stay just out of her range to have a chance.
She carefully eases forward until her belly is just out of Olivia’s reach. The intensity on her feet drops, but not back to the soft feather tickling. The tendrils of the feathers are now concentrating on her toes while the quills glide along her arches.
For the next few minutes, Stacy can see Olivia’s steady mien starting to crack as the tickling slowly increases. She rocks forward and back slightly, easing her feet tickling ever so slightly while teasing Olivia with a chance at her navel.
This is kind of fun.
Watching as Olivia misses again, a frustrated glare on her face as she stares at Stacy.
At the five minute mark, Stacy realizes she’s rubbing the tops of her legs without realizing it, the tickling distracting her. With her attention, comes a deep burning sensation.
Oh crap, my legs can’t hold up much longer Her quads shake as she struggles to stay out of reach and away from the seat.
Olivia’s gaze sharpens at Stacy as she sees the fear cross her face. Stacy tries to block out the relentless toe tickling as she racks her brain, trying to think of a solution.
Desperately, she acts on the first idea that pops into her head. She thrusts her hips forward, sighing with relief as they press into the cool plexiglass and can relax. She quickly throws her hands up and back, her head following.
Her torso forms a severe arch from hips as she tries to force her body out of Olivia’s reach. She feels the muscles of her stomach stretch and strain, trying to hold her weight in the awkward position as she searches for a stable balance. She has a moment to relish the lessening tickling on her feet, then—
Stacy’s right hip explodes with tickling as a firework goes off in her belly button. Her arms blindly bat at her stomach as her hips thrust backwards of their own accord. Her tummy muscles reflexively tighten, curling her over into a protective ball.
She's horrified by the solid "click" behind her- the bar bouncing against the seat. Ticklish vibrations immediately cover the skin between her toes. Shrieking, she rocks forward, the bar following her, the vibrations stopping. She comes to a halt, her arms crossed protectively over her belly, hovering once more over her calves.
From above her, she hears, “Blocking fault. Assessing ten second penalty.” Two arms with hands attached rise from the floor. They snake into her ball and firmly take hold of her wrists. They steadily pull her arms straight up until she’s stretched, taut, directly above her knees. The announcer says, “Penalty time beginning.”
Olivia doesn’t hesitate a moment, placing the makeup brush deep within Stacy’s navel and twirling it. Stacy pulls desperately, her stomach pulsing with staccato laughter. She can’t budge an inch.
As soon as her wrists are the released, they drop, trying to cover her sensitive core. They barely get to her ribs before the hands grab hold once more. “Blocking fault. Assessing twenty second penalty.” Says the dispassionate voice from above.
Not again idiot! Stop blocking the brush!
Olivia doesn’t miss a beat, continuing to spin the brush in Stacy's navel. After a moment, her other hand lands on Stacy’s lower belly, fingernails tracing a path just above her bikini. Stacy’s scream rises in pitch as she shakes her head helplessly. Olivia continues to torment Stacy as the timer counts down.
Once again, as soon as her arms are released, Stacy’s hands fly to protect her stomach only to be grabbed again. She shifts into silent laughter as the voice announces, “Blocking fault, Assessing forty second penalty.” Stacy’s world is focused on her belly and her horribly ticklish button. In her mind, she watches each bristle of the brush swirling over the wrinkles of her knot while her lower belly twitches, trying to escape Olivia’s nails.
Through the torment, Stacy manages to pull together a moment of coherent thought.
When this penalty ends, I HAVE to not block. I can’t take another round of this.
As the punishment period ends, Stacy throws her hands down, careful to keep them away from her belly. She pushes off the moment they touch the plexiglass, her body rocking back and out of Olivia’s reach. Stacy barely notices as the tickling on her soles increases as she presses against the bar- the sensations pale in comparison to what she just suffered.
Olivia cocks one eyebrow at her. She taunts: “Really? You’re not giving up? It’s only a matter of time till I break you and that belly button of yours.” Olivia yelps in sudden laughter as the tickling on her soles starts to ramp up, fingertips finding the tender skin at the base of her toes.
Stacy ignores the taunting, catching her breath quickly before the ever increasing tickling of her feet and the fading horror of the tummy tickling leave her laughing steadily once more. She peers up at the clock: seven minutes, thirty seconds have passed. She happily realizes that her quads aren’t burning, the bar is providing the support she needs to stay off the seat and away from Olivia.
Thirty seconds of toothbrushes tickling over her soles have her laughing once more at a fever pitch. She’s relieved to see that Olivia’s desperation is growing. The tickling on her feet is making Olivia laugh loudly. That relief is short lived as she realizes that now, she’s having to fight to hold her hips back. Her hamstrings start burning as she fights to stay out of Olivia’s reach.
Oh god, not my toes!
Two toothbrushes press against the pads of her big toes thirty seconds later, her laughter starting to rise once more. After a minute, and her second and third toes getting dedicated brushes, Stacy is laughing frantically, her hips twitching as she searches for any tiny moment of escape from the torment.
Thirty more seconds, the addition of a fourth toothbrush, have her softly begging between heaving breaths for the tickling to stop. As the last toothbrush lands on the pad of her pinky toe, engulfing it and tickling the sides and the pad, Stacy loses her concentration. Her hamstrings let go and she’s pressed against the plexiglass once more.
Olivia pounces on the opening. She slides her finger into Stacy’s navel, the nail flicking the bottom, and dances the makeup brush along the underside of Stacy’s breasts.
“No!” Stacy yells, her hands flailing to push Olivia away. Her laughter mixes with sobs as she hears, “Blocking fault, assessing one-minute, twenty-second penalty.”
Olivia redoubles her efforts, the makeup brush sliding down Stacy’s smooth skin to plunge once more into her depths. Her other fingers reaching to trace Stacy’s ribs.
Tears flow from Stacy’s eyes, matching her unceasing screams of laughter.
Safeword, why can’t I remember my stupid safeword, Stacy yells at herself.
Anything to make this stop!
Her mind blanks again as Olivia’s fingers find a sensitive spot inside her hip.
In her next coherent thought, Stacy peers up at the clock through tear filled eyes, noting the time: twelve minutes, thirty-eight seconds have passed, and then her penalty countdown: two minutes, twenty seconds remaining.
I must’ve gotten another penalty… I don’t remember it.
It slowly dawns on Stacy that her precious knot isn’t screaming in torment. Blinking she looks across to see Olivia desperately laughing, her hands curled in tight fists.
A moment later, Stacy bursts out laughing as her brain starts processing the tickling sensations flowing from her feet. She grasps the plexiglass tightly.
She’s breaking. She’s going to give up. She studies Olivia’s face, wracked in ticklish agony.
Stacy fights through the escalating tickling, waiting for the moment Olivia caves. Barely hanging on as an army of toothbrushes explore every inch of her soles, the sides of her feet, and her heels, Stacy feels a growing admiration for Olivia.
Her feet are way more sensitive. How has she not quit!?
As the timer crosses fourteen minutes, Stacy feels a squirt of warm oil that covers her feet. Her own screech of laughter as two hairbrushes start flying across her soles is drowned out by the scream of anguish exploding from Olivia’s mouth. Whenever Olivia can get a moment of breath, she screams, “No more! Make it stop” before laughter overtakes her again. The next minute is tickling hell for both women as the nonstop ticklish assault on their feet reaches it climax.
Stacy hears the ominous, “click,” as the seat reaches the bar. “Oh God” is all she can think before the skin between her toes erupts in tickling. Through a haze, she hears Olivia scream primally.
She glimpses Olivia struggling, her back arching painfully, her fingers grasping, reaching, searching to try and protect her toes. “Red! Red! Red! Safeword! Anything! I quit! Make it stop! Pleeeeease!”
Everything stops– the tickling ceases. Stacy and Olivia collapse back, the total silence in the room only broken by their panting breaths and occasional sobs of relief. A minute passes, then two. The women lie there, coated in sweat.
Stacy turns her head to look when she hears the hiss of the door. Racquel, silently walks across the room to them. “I…” she pauses, gathering her thoughts, “I … am in awe. Your determination, your will, truly amazing.”
She walks behind Stacy, tenderly unbuckling one ankle, then the other. Using Racquel’s arm for support, Stacy rises gingerly to her feet. Racquel gestures towards Olivia; Stacy nods. Together, they walk behind Stacy and unbuckle her ankles, each supporting an arm when Olivia wobbles to her feet.
As they start to lead her away from the machines, Olivia pulls against them. “Wait. Wait!” She says. “I have to know what broke me.”
Stacy wraps an arm around Olivia’s waist as Racquel disentangles herself and walks back to the device. Kneeling down, she reaches into the hole. Her hand returns a moment later, holding the same long, bristle tipped probe that had broken Stacy in round one, and that Olivia had passed over for the makeup brush for round three. Stacy and Olivia shudder in unison.
“I guess you were right,” Racquel says softly.
“I guess I was,” Olivia responds quietly. Racquel tosses the tool to the ground and, together, they get some distance from the devices, coming to a halting stop about ten feet away.
A moment passes. Racquel takes a step back from the two women, her hand to her ear. She nods once in understanding. Taking a deep breath, she looks at Olivia with soft, compassionate eyes: “Olivia, that was an amazing performance. You more than earned your second place prize, five thousand dollars.”
She shifts her gaze to Stacy, forces a smile, then cheerfully exclaims, “Congratulations Stacy! That was an amazing win in our final round. With that, you get our first prize of ten thousand dollars. Is there anything either of you’d like to say to our audience.”
Stacy and Olivia exchange a look, then Olivia steps forward. “That was, without a doubt, the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life.” Her fist slaps her thigh as she mutters, “And I couldn’t even win.”
She takes a deep breath and looks back at Stacy. “But Stacy is a worthy champion. She took everything I could dish out and more, and never gave in.” She starts to say something, then pauses and shakes her head. “Congratulations, Stacy,” she finishes as she turns clutching her sore sides, and limps towards her dressing room.
“Wait!” Racquel calls out to Olivia, “Don’t you want to hear if Stacy’s going to go for our grand prize? One— hundred— thousand— dollars in our bonus round!”
Olivia spins around in shock, the disbelief on her face echoing Stacy's. “Bonus round???” they yell in astonishment.
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