The Forgotten Forfeit

[chandor864]

The Forgotten Forfeit
​

The atmosphere was electric, not just because of the storm rumbling in the distance, but also because of the stakes. It was the annual "Night of the Eclipse" party that Léo and Alix, best friends since childhood, hosted. It was their tradition: a night of silly dares and challenges to test their friendship, their courage, and above all, their tolerance for humiliation. That evening, the challenge was deceptively simple: a "double or nothing" card game with a single special rule. The loser had to submit to the winner's Forgotten Forfeit, whatever it might be, for a duration of one hour. Léo, with his usual concentration, had taken a comfortable lead. Alix, impulsive and overconfident, bet everything on the final hand. Léo laid down his three Aces, and Alix's smile froze. She had lost. "One hour, Léo. But nothing permanent, nothing painful. We said silly dares, not torture!" Alix protested, trying to hide her frustration. Léo, the young man with the serious look, smiled, a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Don't worry, it's purely theatrical. It's the Forgotten Forfeit; I chose it months ago. I thought you'd appreciate the staging." They went upstairs to the room they called the "Stone Chamber" for its rough brick walls—in reality, an old cellar converted into a guest room. "You have to lie on your stomach," he instructed. Alix, resigned and a little amused by the absurdity of the situation, complied. "And you'll only wear this," he added, handing her the minimalist white underwear, a nod to an inside joke about yoga outfits. Léo then brought the ties—black silk ribbons he took from a box. "These ribbons are for dramatic effect. You can easily slip out of them if you want, but that ruins the fun!" he said. He tied her wrists and ankles, stretching them slightly to secure them to the corners of the bed. Alix scoffed. "It looks like a modern art installation. But what do you have in mind, Léo?" Léo stepped back, sitting on the bed near her, his face taking on a pensive expression. It was then that he pulled out the final item for the Forgotten Forfeit: a white goose feather. "The Forgotten Forfeit," Léo declared, with a sudden seriousness in his voice, "is one hour of strategic tickling and pure anticipation. You're tied up, you can't move, and you know I'm going to use this." For anyone else, being stretched out and tied with simple silk ties would have been only a mild, almost amusing constraint. But for Alix, whose senses were so heightened that a mere brush could trigger an uncontrollable fit of laughter, this situation was a true psychological nightmare. The moment Léo presented the feather, the lightness of the joke vanished, replaced by blinding panic. She didn't fear physical pain—after all, a feather couldn't hurt. She feared the total loss of her physical and emotional control. She could already feel a flush of heat rising in her throat and cheeks, the prelude to silent hysteria. Her muscles, though initially relaxed by resignation, suddenly tensed in
anticipation. It was the worst form of mental torture: she knew what was coming, she was powerless to stop it, and she knew the act itself would only make her look ridiculous.
Her brain was engaged in a fierce internal battle. One part of her, the friendly, playful part, recognized it was a forfeit and she should take it in good spirits. She told herself: "It's only an hour. It's not so bad. Just give in, laugh, and it'll pass faster."
But the other part, the one that remembered the tears of exhaustion and the inability to breathe after long tickling sessions in her childhood, cried out betrayal. This part saw Léo not as a friend, but as a patient executioner, preparing to exploit her greatest weakness.
Her body was immobilized, forcing all her emotional intensity to concentrate on her face, the only element free from constraint (apart from her tongue, which she bit).
Turned in profile against the cool fabric of the pillow, her face was a battleground of emotions.
Her jaws were clenched so tightly that small veins were visible on her temples. She was angry at herself for losing the bet, and angry at Léo for choosing such a diabolical forfeit. Her eyebrows were furrowed, casting a shadow that betrayed her displeasure.
Despite the anger, the mere idea of the touch made her grimace. The corners of her mouth trembled slightly, struggling to remain straight. Her nose occasionally wrinkled in a movement of pre-laughter, and she felt air accumulating in her chest. It wasn't laughter yet, but the uncontrollable and unbearable anticipation of it.
She was trapped, and Léo, who watched her with calculated intensity while holding the instrument of soft torture, clearly relished the power the Forgotten Forfeit gave him. The waiting, that moment before the feather's first contact, was the true peak of the torture.
Léo had examined the feather at length. He knew the first five minutes would be the hardest for her. He would start with the sole of her foot, visible at the end of the bed.
Léo had savored the moment. He held the white goose feather between his thumb and forefinger, observing it as if it were the most sophisticated weapon in the world. His eyes, fixed on Alix, showed a calm concentration, in stark contrast to the storm brewing in his friend.
He began with the cruelest of preliminaries: the brush of air. He slowly brought the object toward the sole of Alix's right foot, visible and tense at the end of the bed. The feather hadn't touched yet, but the tiny air displacement caused by his movement was enough to make Alix's toes twitch. It was only the shadow of a sensation, but Alix's nervous tension made her perceive it like a cold burn.
Then, contact was made. It wasn't a sudden move, but a light sweep across the most sensitive part of the arch of her foot.
It was immediate and explosive.
Alix's laughter was not joyful amusement, but a purely reflexive and violent bodily reaction. A guttural, stifled sound escaped her throat—a hiccup-laugh that indicated surprise and distress.
Her legs, despite the ties holding them, contracted violently. Her feet squirmed in a desperate attempt to escape the source of the torment, causing her body to sway slightly on the mattress. The ties, although loose, were enough to keep her in place, emphasizing the feeling of helplessness.
The initial hiccup was quickly replaced by bursts of sharp, shrill laughter. This laughter was not melodious; it was gasping, cut short by attempts to inhale air, making it sound more like modulated screams.
On the pillow, her face was a mask of comical agony. She tried to bite her lip to stop the sound, but the force of the reaction made her emit convulsive sighs. Her eyes, though turned to the side, were full of tears—tears not of sadness, but of the intense physical exertion and lack of oxygen caused by the laughter spasms.
Léo maintained a silent and unflappable seriousness. He wasn't laughing; he executed the Forgotten Forfeit with the cold determination of a scientist. He let the feather travel along the Achilles tendon, an incredibly receptive area for Alix, then slowly moved up toward the back of the knee.
Alix's laughter shifted from hysteria to inarticulate pleading:
"A-ha-ha-Léo! St-top! I-ha-ha-I beg you!" Her words were choppy, distorted by the inability to control her diaphragm.
When he brushed the back of her knee, the nerve center of tickles, Alix erupted into a full-blown fit of hilarity. She arched her back, then collapsed back onto the mattress, her shoulders shaking uncontrollably.
She tried to use her voice, not to plead, but to negotiate, or at least, threaten, all while laughing:
"I... ha-ha-ha... will make you pa-ha-ha-y for this! This is... this-ha-ha-one... is the w-worst!"
Léo leaned in slightly, his expression still serious, and a very faint smile played on his lips. He knew the torment wasn't the tickling itself, but the long hour left to endure, tied up, unable to protect herself, facing this friend turned game-executioner.
He withdrew the feather for a moment, granting her a half-second of reprieve to take a large, trembling breath, before moving it to the outside of her thigh, where she was less sensitive, but where the surprise factor was maximal.
The hour had only just begun.
Léo had observed the devastating effect of the feather on Alix's feet and legs. He had granted her a brief second to catch her breath, but he knew he had to maintain the pressure. He then leaned over her, his hand holding the feather moving with calculated slowness toward the upper part of her body.
"You managed the lower half, but the upper... that's a different story, isn't it?" Léo murmured in a neutral tone, his eyes fixed on the spot he was targeting.
Since Alix was tied down on her stomach, Léo had to slightly pull her right arm out and gently lift her torso at the shoulder to reach the target area. The silk ribbon holding her wrist already stretched her arm, making her right armpit vulnerable and totally exposed. Alix immediately understood his intention, and a shiver of absolute terror ran down her spine. Armpits were her most intimate and uncontrollable weak spot.
The panic that had brushed her legs became suffocating terror in her chest. She desperately tried to struggle, to pull her elbow forward, but the tie held firm.
"No! Léo, please! Not there! That's... that's cheating!" she pleaded, her voice already hoarse from previous laughter.
Léo didn't reply. He allowed the feather to gently slip under her arm.
The contact was initially extremely light, just the down of the feather sweeping the delicate skin. This first touch provoked a phenomenal and instantaneous reaction:
Alix's laughter escalated to a level of pure hysterical crisis. It was guttural, desperate cackles, strangled screams that no longer sounded like human laughter, but like uncontrolled sonic spasms. She couldn't catch her breath, her attempts to inhale turning into loud, high-pitched gasps, just before being submerged by a new wave of laughter.
She arched her back violently and involuntarily. Her abdominal muscles contracted from the spasmodic laughter, lifting her pelvis off the bed in a desperate rejection reaction. The movement was so powerful that the ties on her ankles stretched for an instant, producing a small squeak on the metal bed frame.
Her right arm, the one under attack, was shaking with tremors. Even though her hand and wrist were tied, her shoulder and elbow worked frantically to pull away, a totally ineffective neurological flight attempt. Her face contorted: her eyes were clenched shut, her cheeks red and wet with tears mixed with sweat. Her mouth was open in a silent circle of heaving breath.
Léo slightly intensified the attack, letting the feather trace small, quick circles in the hollow of her armpit.
"I... I-ha-ha-ha... beg you! It's too much! Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! I'll give you... anything you want! The cards... everything! Ha-ha-ha!"
Léo knew he had reached the point of no return. The armpit was the crux of his torment. He maintained the pressure for another intense minute, savoring the full effect of his Forgotten Forfeit. When he finally withdrew the feather, Alix collapsed onto the mattress, panting, her chest rising and falling in faint moans and residual laughter.
She still had forty-five minutes left of the forfeit. Léo smiled, knowing she would probably never challenge him to cards again.
After the devastating assault on her armpits, Léo showed calculated mercy. He didn't immediately relaunch the attack. He simply sat back, rested the feather, and looked at Alix, who was now exhausted and faintly laughing on the pillow. The last thirty minutes of the Forgotten Forfeit turned into a more subtle form of torture: the anticipation of the next attack.
Alix, her muscles sore from the spasms and her throat burning from screaming with laughter, was reduced to weak moans and sporadic movements. She had stopped pleading. She only had energy left for sporadic attempts to squirm.
Léo used the feather sparingly for the rest of the time, occasionally targeting her sides or the hollow behind her knees, just enough to trigger a new wave of hoarse giggles, but never enough to bring her back to the threshold of total hysteria. He wanted the memory to be vivid, but not traumatizing.
Then, Léo's watch chimed, signaling that the hour was up.
Léo placed the feather on the nightstand. "It's over, Alix. The Forgotten Forfeit is complete."
He immediately leaned over and undid the ties that held her ankles, then her wrists. The ties, which had been only a symbol of restraint at the beginning, had ultimately become the symbol of utter powerlessness.
Alix didn't move right away; she stayed lying on her stomach, savoring the recovered freedom of her limbs. A final, weak, trembling laugh escaped her lips.
Léo sat beside her and gently stroked her back. "That was... intense."
Alix slowly turned onto her side, her eyes red but her expression finally calm. She punched him on the shoulder, a punch without force.
"Never. Again. Ever. I swear I will never accept a double-or-nothing challenge with you again, Léo. That was the worst... the worst humiliation you could have imagined."