DanielTKL
Registered User
- Joined
- Feb 18, 2022
- Messages
- 13
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- 3
I never knew his name. He certainly never cared to introduce himself. By the time we had our first transient interaction, pleasantries had gone out the window, and we didn’t speak a word to each other after that. Such are the joys of the modern workplace.
Me? I was employed as facilities manager, looking after five floors of offices and conference rooms. He was one of the chefs of the restaurant located on the ground floor.
My duties meant I had to open the building in the morning, to be ready for the public at 8.30am. But this one time, soon after I had started working there, I found him waiting by the entrance door at 7.45am. He walked in as I opened the shutter without asking permission nor uttering a good morning. I failed to impose myself that day, and he took advantage, assuming that he could come in anytime. Sometimes, I would be walking by the lobby and hear banging on the shutter: it was him, looking inconvenienced by the fact that I hadn’t opened yet, even though it was way too early still. I believe he oversaw food preparation and deliveries, because I would see him leave just before lunch. No idea where he went from there, if he had another job. What really unnerved me was his demeanor. Never a smile, never a nod, he had a hard face that turned into a sudden smirk anytime he had to interact with other people. About 5.10ft, shaved head, always wearing a baseball cap, athletic and quick on his feet, I would watch him swiftly move delivery boxes.
Then came the fateful day.
The company running the kitchen announced they were moving out, leaving the space vacant until a replacement would be announced. I knew this was going to be a big job, and I also knew what was awaiting me: overtime. I tried my hardest to fit all my tasks within the five-day working week, but I wasn’t in charge of their operations. Eventually, I found myself at work during a very long weekend. The plan was to have everything done by the Saturday evening. However, by 9pm that day, it was clear that they had more to do, and so I found myself back in the building on the Sunday, for last collections and a final walk around with the restaurant manager. Just as we’d finished our walk, around midday, the manager told me that one of his staff members was going to be on site very shortly to collect the last remaining bits from the staff room. Annoyed, I had to agree. 2pm came and went, then 4pm. I called the manager, asking for an update. He apologized and told me the person had their phone turned off but would be on the way soon (How? When? No clue). By 7pm, the building was deserted, and I was left to wait at the front desk.
Then I heard a loud knock on the glass door – it was him, the rude chef dude, standing outside with his usual baseball cap, tracksuit and trainers. I was so done by that point that I did not care to sound professional, so I unceremoniously asked him where he’d been because I’d been waiting all afternoon. He squared me with that hard face of his, like I had no right to speak to him, did not apologize and only gave me a sly smile, as if he knew I had no choice but to wait for him. He muttered the words “don’t stress” in a way that did not sound reassuring, if anything, there could have been a “me” at the end of that sentence.
I walked him to the staff room, located at the back of the building – a dirty, dingy place with lockers, a table, couple chairs and an old sofa. He started rummaging through the lockers, and I went back to the front desk because I didn’t want to spend any time in his presence. But half hour later, he still hadn’t come out. So, I made my way back to the changing room. As I walked in, I found him sitting on the sofa, phone in hand, the glare of the screen illuminating his sour face. I couldn’t believe it.
“DUDE WHAT THE FUCK? I WANT TO LEAVE!”
He stared at me again, this time visibly annoyed. He stood up and squared me straight in the face.
“Man, you are so annoying”
I couldn’t believe his words. Was he the one being inconvenienced now?
“I have been in this building all weekend waiting on you guys”
“Oh, you complain too much”
He went towards the lockers and begun collecting more stuff, but I was determined to stand my ground this time. I grabbed a box of old uniforms that was already on the table and headed towards the door.
“Leave that, I’m not finished packing”
“Sorry, time’s up, I need to leave”
“I said stop”
“Bye”
I headed for the door, my back to the room, which meant I did not see him approach me. Suddenly, I felt two strong hands grab my sides. Instantly, I jolted like I’d been hit by lightning, the box went flying in the air, uniforms all over the floor.
“MAN WHAT THE FU-”, I angrily turned around to face him, “Now you pick this up”, I commanded.
But when I encountered his eyes, I saw a different man staring back at me - his usually stern and impenetrable face had turned into a sinister smirk, which was part amusement, part derision, part hyena savoring a juicy carcass.
“I said you pick this up now” I muttered, now feeling suddenly more unsure of my position in this equation.
He said nothing. Instead, in a surprisingly quick move, he once again threw his arms towards me, light on his feet like a kickboxer, and jabbed my sides at the same time, giving a squeeze that felt powerful, but didn’t hurt, rather alerted my entire nervous system in a way I could not control. I fell to my knees, arms around my torso, heaving. He quickly came behind me, and standing above my head, jabbed my sides again, this time with more intention. I squirmed, wiggled, tried to get away, but he was above me, his hands felt like soft iron claws. He was laughing, clearly intrigued by my reactions, and then he said it:
“You are very ticklish”
It was not a question. He said it with a matter-of-fact tone that hinted at more to come. I couldn’t quite believe what was happening, how weird the situation had turned in a matter of seconds. A whole Sunday waiting for this dickhead to move the fuck on, and now… this?
“You need to stop this bullshit!” was all I could yell. But he was on me again. Soon, we were both down on the dirty floor, rolling on top of the dropped uniforms, his hands attacking my torso non-stop with strong and precise tickles that made my skin crawl back to its Creator. Part shock, part weakness already settling in, I felt utterly powerless, and completely humiliated. I’d lost the power of speech.
“You are annoying me, I’m ready when I am ready” he repeated, but it was clear that he had no intention of going back to pack his stuff. Instead, he had found something else to keep him entertained. I realized I had no ways of combating his remarks, the dynamic between us had dramatically shifted and I was no longer in charge of myself – let alone the rest of the building. He seemed to relish in my reactions, because he kept going. Soon enough, he was openly mocking me.
“Tickle tickle tickle tickle tickle” is all I could hear, voiced in an annoying sing-along tone that promoted more uncontrollable reactions from me.
“Ok now stop, come on, stop stop stop!”
“Are you begging me?”
“Begging you? Fuck no, just stop this!”
“Tickle tickle tickle tickle tickle”
“STOOOOOOOOP!” I screamed, in a high-pitched voice. He laughed hard this time, he sounded sadistic. I could tell he had no intention of stopping, which only unnerved me even more.
I got so lost in the overwhelming tickle attack, and my inability to make it stop, that I did not see him prepare the next move. He quickly grabbed a piece of thin rope from the uniforms laying on the floor, one used to fasten the chef’s apron, then quickly held both my arms in front of me and wrapped it around my wrists. He was fast, he knew his knots. I pulled away as hard as I could, but the movement only helped fasten the rope around my arms even more. Now, with my hands trapped, I could not push him away, only roll on myself, which gave him a better position to continue torturing me. Soon, he had me trapped under his legs, face down on the dirty floor, and kept working my ribs relentlessly, with a conviction that only made the tickling feel even more unbearable. I knew I was ticklish – ok, fine, I’d always been horribly, debilitatingly ticklish – but I had no idea that it could be used to such degree of degradation.
“STOOOOOOOOOOOOP! FUCK, PLEASE SHHHHHTHOP”
“Tickle tickle tickle tickle tickle”
“IF YOU DON’T STOP I’L-“
“Do what? Who you gonna tell?”
That statement chilled me to the bone. He was right, who was I supposed to report this to? And for what? The restaurant was moving out, I’d never see this bastard again. And how could I bring myself to admit that I had been tickled at work?
Taking more delight in my predicament, relishing in my desperation as I frantically failed to find a way out, he made the next, decisive move: he lifted me up over his shoulder, proving to be surprisingly strong, and walked to the table in the middle of the room, cleared off whatever junk was on it with one swift motion, laid me on top of it face up, and jumped on my legs to keep me from kicking. I was rendered immobile, forced to witness a winning grin spread across his face. Then he grabbed my hands and brought them above my head. He had another piece of that damn rope, which he passed through my already tied wrists, and secured it to the leg of the table behind me. I tried to wiggle, I swore to kill him, I did many things in my mind, yet none was effective in saving me from this horrible twist of fate that I could almost see happening in slow motion, hazily, in a bird’s eye view. I couldn’t believe how helpless I felt, how weak the tickling made me, how deeply embarrassed I must have looked. But he kept fastening my arms, that smirk on his face now a full grin of vindictive energy that I was about to experience first-hand. How could someone be so damn devious?
“Look man, OK, listen I’m sorry, I was ju-“
He wasn’t listening anymore. Instead, he pulled my body down the table towards him, causing my arms to stretch even higher above my head, then sat on my lap again, facing me. My torso was laid out in front of him, my short sleeve t-shirt raised from the waistband of my trousers, exposing my midriff. He raised his hands, then approached my upper arms in slow motion, made contact, and started to slowly drag his fingers along the naked skin, teasingly. I lost it.
”AAAAAAAHHAHNNNOOOHAHHA”
But to no avail – he kept heading downwards, until he was less than an inch away from the center of my armpits. I was gasping for air, mad, red-faced, already sweating, shaking left to right as much as I could, which was very little. Instead, the bastard suddenly switched tactic and vigorously jabbed my ribs – I screamed and cussed, but he only laughed at my reactions.
“Man, you are truly ticklish, I love it”
He was openly mocking me. I wanted to be anywhere other than under his sadistic control, but he was not relenting. Soon, he put his hands under my t-shirt and tickled my bare skin, adding new shivers to what was already the most uncontrollable sensation I had ever experienced. In a swift motion, he managed to lift my shirt up above my head, finally exposing my torso. His eyes looked hungry, the smile on his face reminded me of the Joker. And this time, he played no games: he leaned forward, partially laying on my body, and planted both of his hands on my already sweaty armpits, then begun to really tickle torture me in ways I did not believe was possible.
“AHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHHHHHH”
With his full weight over me, I had zero movement available, all I could do was howl and cry and beg, and the more I screamed, the more he enjoyed himself.
I’m not sure how long that stretch of torture went for, but by the time he lifted his body up, I was exhausted. He was not done, though; next came the nasty jabs at my sides, and the tickling of my lower abdomen, stomach and navel. He would do this thing where he would circle his index fingers around my stomach, with larger motions at first, then progressively shorter ones as he approached my belly button, until he would just dig inside and rub the nub of it with a wave-like motion that made me loose all sense of reality. The more I reacted, the more I laughed and begged, the more he kept going.
“Man…. fuck… please, please… come on”
I’m not sure how long that went for, but the belly button torture had left me in a trance, unaware of my surroundings, yet hyper aware of my own body in ways I had never imagined. I did not notice him quickly dismount from my lap and the table, I just laid there, motionless, weakened. I did not see him grab more stuff from the floor. It was more rope of course, which he used to tie my ankles to the bottom of the table, keeping my legs slightly parted, feet sticking out from the edge of the flat tabletop. I should have fought him, but I was too overwhelmed. I had no idea someone could be so unprofessional at work, but then again, thinking back to it, when did this asshole ever give signs of following the rules?
A new jolt of electricity hit me as I felt fingers crawl along my left foot – my shoe was gone and the sock had been pulled halfway out, exposing my heel and the back part of the arch. He masterfully dragged his nails along it, whilst keeping my ankle firmly in place with his other hand – as if I could move it much anyway. I screamed again, with renewed energy driven by panic, but I was just as powerless under his control as before. Soon, the other shoe was gone, then the sock, then both of his hands gliding along the arches, under the toes, in between the toes, right where that thin, soft skin is so sensitive that it can make a grown man cry. I felt like a puppet under someone else’s control, and the fact that I did not like the guy made it that much more unnerving.
Breathless, I found myself beg again.
“Man p---lease stop now, what are you doing? Come on pleasepleaseplease”
Instead, his hand started travelling up my leg, and when it reached my knees, a new energy was unleashed from within me – I shouted at the top of my lungs, as he squeezed, probed and run his fingers behind them.
“AHAHAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH”
He seemed more amused than ever. Soon he was back on the table, sitting on my shins, attacking my legs with both hands like he was paid to do it. I wanted to kick him so bad, but I had zero movement available, so he kept going, reaching all the way up to my stomach, jabbing my belly button as well as my knees. The he clawed both hands and attacked my inner thighs, and that is what drove me over the edge.
“OH NONONONONONON FUCK NONONON STOP NONONONONONON DAMN PLEASE NNO”
No more coherent, I fell into a daze where nothing else mattered. It could have been hours, days, months, who knew? But he kept taking advantage of my weakness with such calculated moves that left me unable to form coherent speech. Eventually, he rotated his position above me, still sitting on my legs but facing my feet, and quickly untied both my ankles. I didn’t notice in the moment, because he was still pressing my legs with the weight of his body, then he was quick on his feet again, and this time he did something even more daring: he grabbed my trousers, which had an elasticated waistband, and pulled them down, sliding past my knees, ankles, and off my feet, then threw them on the floor. I barely had time to shout and protest, and he was sat on my legs again, re-fastening my ankles.
That’s how I found myself in just my light blue briefs, tied to the table of the changing room of the restaurant in the building I worked for – a sentence I would have never thought I’d say. This time he did not climb back on the table, I was completely helpless already. Instead, he started circling me, slowly taking in the view of my unbelievable predicament, that grin on his face more sinister than ever. I was covered in sweat, red-faced, still trying to frantically catch my breath after such incredible attack.
“Man… listen… I’m… sorr”
No answer.
“Man, please? Come on”
No answer
“HEY! COME ON!”
I suddenly realized I was shouting. He wasn’t even touching me, he didn’t need to anymore – he was inside my head, he had successfully played a game of cat and mouse and now was just taunting the prey for his own sadistic enjoyment. I kept shivering, tears straining my cheeks, a quivering mess, feeling so utterly humiliated I had no fight left in me. And that’s when he started tickling me again, this time dragging his strong probing hands swiftly across the entire length of body. I lost consciousness for a while I think, but at the same time, I remember things with a clarity that still makes me shiver – how he slowly dragged his fingers from my forearms down to my pits, and how he did the same from the waist up along my ribs, how he jabbed my sides, and teased my belly button.
At some point, he had his hands on my hip bones, and I felt like I would have jumped out of my skin if I could. He found another spot somewhere along my outer thighs, which made me cry in frustration, and then kept switching between that and the other spots along my inner thighs. I could do nothing but fruitlessly shake my legs, which caused the junk inside my briefs to bounce. He noticed and did the unthinkable: he slid a finger under the fabric of my underwear from the thigh area, teased around my balls, and then planted it down my now sweaty taint, pressing continuously with just enough vigor to send shivers of pure panic up to my brain. I was cooked, the last bit of strength left my body, and I lost all sense of reality.
Eventually the haze lifted; I found myself almost naked on the cold wooden table, hands luckily untied. I was alone, around me the room was clear, I looked at the clock, it was 1am. The guy had gone, just as we’d met: not a word, not a goodbye, but this time he'd taken away more my pride. Slowly, I found a way to untie my legs and crawl on the sofa, where I laid in the fetal position, my skin still tingling, vulnerable to the slightest sensation. Blurred images of what just happened started to flow back into my brain – pits being tickled non-stop, his hungry eyes staring deep into my defenseless soul, my voice strained after crying for mercy, that time he attacked both of my feet just under the toes, forcing me to scream like a bitch. I could not help but feel a deep sting of embarrassment etched in my mind, how utterly humiliating that evening had been. I was only relieved by the fact that I would never have to face that guy again.
Or would I?
Me? I was employed as facilities manager, looking after five floors of offices and conference rooms. He was one of the chefs of the restaurant located on the ground floor.
My duties meant I had to open the building in the morning, to be ready for the public at 8.30am. But this one time, soon after I had started working there, I found him waiting by the entrance door at 7.45am. He walked in as I opened the shutter without asking permission nor uttering a good morning. I failed to impose myself that day, and he took advantage, assuming that he could come in anytime. Sometimes, I would be walking by the lobby and hear banging on the shutter: it was him, looking inconvenienced by the fact that I hadn’t opened yet, even though it was way too early still. I believe he oversaw food preparation and deliveries, because I would see him leave just before lunch. No idea where he went from there, if he had another job. What really unnerved me was his demeanor. Never a smile, never a nod, he had a hard face that turned into a sudden smirk anytime he had to interact with other people. About 5.10ft, shaved head, always wearing a baseball cap, athletic and quick on his feet, I would watch him swiftly move delivery boxes.
Then came the fateful day.
The company running the kitchen announced they were moving out, leaving the space vacant until a replacement would be announced. I knew this was going to be a big job, and I also knew what was awaiting me: overtime. I tried my hardest to fit all my tasks within the five-day working week, but I wasn’t in charge of their operations. Eventually, I found myself at work during a very long weekend. The plan was to have everything done by the Saturday evening. However, by 9pm that day, it was clear that they had more to do, and so I found myself back in the building on the Sunday, for last collections and a final walk around with the restaurant manager. Just as we’d finished our walk, around midday, the manager told me that one of his staff members was going to be on site very shortly to collect the last remaining bits from the staff room. Annoyed, I had to agree. 2pm came and went, then 4pm. I called the manager, asking for an update. He apologized and told me the person had their phone turned off but would be on the way soon (How? When? No clue). By 7pm, the building was deserted, and I was left to wait at the front desk.
Then I heard a loud knock on the glass door – it was him, the rude chef dude, standing outside with his usual baseball cap, tracksuit and trainers. I was so done by that point that I did not care to sound professional, so I unceremoniously asked him where he’d been because I’d been waiting all afternoon. He squared me with that hard face of his, like I had no right to speak to him, did not apologize and only gave me a sly smile, as if he knew I had no choice but to wait for him. He muttered the words “don’t stress” in a way that did not sound reassuring, if anything, there could have been a “me” at the end of that sentence.
I walked him to the staff room, located at the back of the building – a dirty, dingy place with lockers, a table, couple chairs and an old sofa. He started rummaging through the lockers, and I went back to the front desk because I didn’t want to spend any time in his presence. But half hour later, he still hadn’t come out. So, I made my way back to the changing room. As I walked in, I found him sitting on the sofa, phone in hand, the glare of the screen illuminating his sour face. I couldn’t believe it.
“DUDE WHAT THE FUCK? I WANT TO LEAVE!”
He stared at me again, this time visibly annoyed. He stood up and squared me straight in the face.
“Man, you are so annoying”
I couldn’t believe his words. Was he the one being inconvenienced now?
“I have been in this building all weekend waiting on you guys”
“Oh, you complain too much”
He went towards the lockers and begun collecting more stuff, but I was determined to stand my ground this time. I grabbed a box of old uniforms that was already on the table and headed towards the door.
“Leave that, I’m not finished packing”
“Sorry, time’s up, I need to leave”
“I said stop”
“Bye”
I headed for the door, my back to the room, which meant I did not see him approach me. Suddenly, I felt two strong hands grab my sides. Instantly, I jolted like I’d been hit by lightning, the box went flying in the air, uniforms all over the floor.
“MAN WHAT THE FU-”, I angrily turned around to face him, “Now you pick this up”, I commanded.
But when I encountered his eyes, I saw a different man staring back at me - his usually stern and impenetrable face had turned into a sinister smirk, which was part amusement, part derision, part hyena savoring a juicy carcass.
“I said you pick this up now” I muttered, now feeling suddenly more unsure of my position in this equation.
He said nothing. Instead, in a surprisingly quick move, he once again threw his arms towards me, light on his feet like a kickboxer, and jabbed my sides at the same time, giving a squeeze that felt powerful, but didn’t hurt, rather alerted my entire nervous system in a way I could not control. I fell to my knees, arms around my torso, heaving. He quickly came behind me, and standing above my head, jabbed my sides again, this time with more intention. I squirmed, wiggled, tried to get away, but he was above me, his hands felt like soft iron claws. He was laughing, clearly intrigued by my reactions, and then he said it:
“You are very ticklish”
It was not a question. He said it with a matter-of-fact tone that hinted at more to come. I couldn’t quite believe what was happening, how weird the situation had turned in a matter of seconds. A whole Sunday waiting for this dickhead to move the fuck on, and now… this?
“You need to stop this bullshit!” was all I could yell. But he was on me again. Soon, we were both down on the dirty floor, rolling on top of the dropped uniforms, his hands attacking my torso non-stop with strong and precise tickles that made my skin crawl back to its Creator. Part shock, part weakness already settling in, I felt utterly powerless, and completely humiliated. I’d lost the power of speech.
“You are annoying me, I’m ready when I am ready” he repeated, but it was clear that he had no intention of going back to pack his stuff. Instead, he had found something else to keep him entertained. I realized I had no ways of combating his remarks, the dynamic between us had dramatically shifted and I was no longer in charge of myself – let alone the rest of the building. He seemed to relish in my reactions, because he kept going. Soon enough, he was openly mocking me.
“Tickle tickle tickle tickle tickle” is all I could hear, voiced in an annoying sing-along tone that promoted more uncontrollable reactions from me.
“Ok now stop, come on, stop stop stop!”
“Are you begging me?”
“Begging you? Fuck no, just stop this!”
“Tickle tickle tickle tickle tickle”
“STOOOOOOOOP!” I screamed, in a high-pitched voice. He laughed hard this time, he sounded sadistic. I could tell he had no intention of stopping, which only unnerved me even more.
I got so lost in the overwhelming tickle attack, and my inability to make it stop, that I did not see him prepare the next move. He quickly grabbed a piece of thin rope from the uniforms laying on the floor, one used to fasten the chef’s apron, then quickly held both my arms in front of me and wrapped it around my wrists. He was fast, he knew his knots. I pulled away as hard as I could, but the movement only helped fasten the rope around my arms even more. Now, with my hands trapped, I could not push him away, only roll on myself, which gave him a better position to continue torturing me. Soon, he had me trapped under his legs, face down on the dirty floor, and kept working my ribs relentlessly, with a conviction that only made the tickling feel even more unbearable. I knew I was ticklish – ok, fine, I’d always been horribly, debilitatingly ticklish – but I had no idea that it could be used to such degree of degradation.
“STOOOOOOOOOOOOP! FUCK, PLEASE SHHHHHTHOP”
“Tickle tickle tickle tickle tickle”
“IF YOU DON’T STOP I’L-“
“Do what? Who you gonna tell?”
That statement chilled me to the bone. He was right, who was I supposed to report this to? And for what? The restaurant was moving out, I’d never see this bastard again. And how could I bring myself to admit that I had been tickled at work?
Taking more delight in my predicament, relishing in my desperation as I frantically failed to find a way out, he made the next, decisive move: he lifted me up over his shoulder, proving to be surprisingly strong, and walked to the table in the middle of the room, cleared off whatever junk was on it with one swift motion, laid me on top of it face up, and jumped on my legs to keep me from kicking. I was rendered immobile, forced to witness a winning grin spread across his face. Then he grabbed my hands and brought them above my head. He had another piece of that damn rope, which he passed through my already tied wrists, and secured it to the leg of the table behind me. I tried to wiggle, I swore to kill him, I did many things in my mind, yet none was effective in saving me from this horrible twist of fate that I could almost see happening in slow motion, hazily, in a bird’s eye view. I couldn’t believe how helpless I felt, how weak the tickling made me, how deeply embarrassed I must have looked. But he kept fastening my arms, that smirk on his face now a full grin of vindictive energy that I was about to experience first-hand. How could someone be so damn devious?
“Look man, OK, listen I’m sorry, I was ju-“
He wasn’t listening anymore. Instead, he pulled my body down the table towards him, causing my arms to stretch even higher above my head, then sat on my lap again, facing me. My torso was laid out in front of him, my short sleeve t-shirt raised from the waistband of my trousers, exposing my midriff. He raised his hands, then approached my upper arms in slow motion, made contact, and started to slowly drag his fingers along the naked skin, teasingly. I lost it.
”AAAAAAAHHAHNNNOOOHAHHA”
But to no avail – he kept heading downwards, until he was less than an inch away from the center of my armpits. I was gasping for air, mad, red-faced, already sweating, shaking left to right as much as I could, which was very little. Instead, the bastard suddenly switched tactic and vigorously jabbed my ribs – I screamed and cussed, but he only laughed at my reactions.
“Man, you are truly ticklish, I love it”
He was openly mocking me. I wanted to be anywhere other than under his sadistic control, but he was not relenting. Soon, he put his hands under my t-shirt and tickled my bare skin, adding new shivers to what was already the most uncontrollable sensation I had ever experienced. In a swift motion, he managed to lift my shirt up above my head, finally exposing my torso. His eyes looked hungry, the smile on his face reminded me of the Joker. And this time, he played no games: he leaned forward, partially laying on my body, and planted both of his hands on my already sweaty armpits, then begun to really tickle torture me in ways I did not believe was possible.
“AHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHHHHHH”
With his full weight over me, I had zero movement available, all I could do was howl and cry and beg, and the more I screamed, the more he enjoyed himself.
I’m not sure how long that stretch of torture went for, but by the time he lifted his body up, I was exhausted. He was not done, though; next came the nasty jabs at my sides, and the tickling of my lower abdomen, stomach and navel. He would do this thing where he would circle his index fingers around my stomach, with larger motions at first, then progressively shorter ones as he approached my belly button, until he would just dig inside and rub the nub of it with a wave-like motion that made me loose all sense of reality. The more I reacted, the more I laughed and begged, the more he kept going.
“Man…. fuck… please, please… come on”
I’m not sure how long that went for, but the belly button torture had left me in a trance, unaware of my surroundings, yet hyper aware of my own body in ways I had never imagined. I did not notice him quickly dismount from my lap and the table, I just laid there, motionless, weakened. I did not see him grab more stuff from the floor. It was more rope of course, which he used to tie my ankles to the bottom of the table, keeping my legs slightly parted, feet sticking out from the edge of the flat tabletop. I should have fought him, but I was too overwhelmed. I had no idea someone could be so unprofessional at work, but then again, thinking back to it, when did this asshole ever give signs of following the rules?
A new jolt of electricity hit me as I felt fingers crawl along my left foot – my shoe was gone and the sock had been pulled halfway out, exposing my heel and the back part of the arch. He masterfully dragged his nails along it, whilst keeping my ankle firmly in place with his other hand – as if I could move it much anyway. I screamed again, with renewed energy driven by panic, but I was just as powerless under his control as before. Soon, the other shoe was gone, then the sock, then both of his hands gliding along the arches, under the toes, in between the toes, right where that thin, soft skin is so sensitive that it can make a grown man cry. I felt like a puppet under someone else’s control, and the fact that I did not like the guy made it that much more unnerving.
Breathless, I found myself beg again.
“Man p---lease stop now, what are you doing? Come on pleasepleaseplease”
Instead, his hand started travelling up my leg, and when it reached my knees, a new energy was unleashed from within me – I shouted at the top of my lungs, as he squeezed, probed and run his fingers behind them.
“AHAHAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH”
He seemed more amused than ever. Soon he was back on the table, sitting on my shins, attacking my legs with both hands like he was paid to do it. I wanted to kick him so bad, but I had zero movement available, so he kept going, reaching all the way up to my stomach, jabbing my belly button as well as my knees. The he clawed both hands and attacked my inner thighs, and that is what drove me over the edge.
“OH NONONONONONON FUCK NONONON STOP NONONONONONON DAMN PLEASE NNO”
No more coherent, I fell into a daze where nothing else mattered. It could have been hours, days, months, who knew? But he kept taking advantage of my weakness with such calculated moves that left me unable to form coherent speech. Eventually, he rotated his position above me, still sitting on my legs but facing my feet, and quickly untied both my ankles. I didn’t notice in the moment, because he was still pressing my legs with the weight of his body, then he was quick on his feet again, and this time he did something even more daring: he grabbed my trousers, which had an elasticated waistband, and pulled them down, sliding past my knees, ankles, and off my feet, then threw them on the floor. I barely had time to shout and protest, and he was sat on my legs again, re-fastening my ankles.
That’s how I found myself in just my light blue briefs, tied to the table of the changing room of the restaurant in the building I worked for – a sentence I would have never thought I’d say. This time he did not climb back on the table, I was completely helpless already. Instead, he started circling me, slowly taking in the view of my unbelievable predicament, that grin on his face more sinister than ever. I was covered in sweat, red-faced, still trying to frantically catch my breath after such incredible attack.
“Man… listen… I’m… sorr”
No answer.
“Man, please? Come on”
No answer
“HEY! COME ON!”
I suddenly realized I was shouting. He wasn’t even touching me, he didn’t need to anymore – he was inside my head, he had successfully played a game of cat and mouse and now was just taunting the prey for his own sadistic enjoyment. I kept shivering, tears straining my cheeks, a quivering mess, feeling so utterly humiliated I had no fight left in me. And that’s when he started tickling me again, this time dragging his strong probing hands swiftly across the entire length of body. I lost consciousness for a while I think, but at the same time, I remember things with a clarity that still makes me shiver – how he slowly dragged his fingers from my forearms down to my pits, and how he did the same from the waist up along my ribs, how he jabbed my sides, and teased my belly button.
At some point, he had his hands on my hip bones, and I felt like I would have jumped out of my skin if I could. He found another spot somewhere along my outer thighs, which made me cry in frustration, and then kept switching between that and the other spots along my inner thighs. I could do nothing but fruitlessly shake my legs, which caused the junk inside my briefs to bounce. He noticed and did the unthinkable: he slid a finger under the fabric of my underwear from the thigh area, teased around my balls, and then planted it down my now sweaty taint, pressing continuously with just enough vigor to send shivers of pure panic up to my brain. I was cooked, the last bit of strength left my body, and I lost all sense of reality.
Eventually the haze lifted; I found myself almost naked on the cold wooden table, hands luckily untied. I was alone, around me the room was clear, I looked at the clock, it was 1am. The guy had gone, just as we’d met: not a word, not a goodbye, but this time he'd taken away more my pride. Slowly, I found a way to untie my legs and crawl on the sofa, where I laid in the fetal position, my skin still tingling, vulnerable to the slightest sensation. Blurred images of what just happened started to flow back into my brain – pits being tickled non-stop, his hungry eyes staring deep into my defenseless soul, my voice strained after crying for mercy, that time he attacked both of my feet just under the toes, forcing me to scream like a bitch. I could not help but feel a deep sting of embarrassment etched in my mind, how utterly humiliating that evening had been. I was only relieved by the fact that I would never have to face that guy again.
Or would I?
