milagros317
Wielder of 500 Feathers
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This is an F/m story; if you don't like that, don't read it. All of the characters in this story are over 18 years old.
A Great Summer
by Milagros
This was going to be a great summer, thought Bob. Living at home and commuting to college classes was not good for his social life, not with parents who didn't give him any privacy, that is, no right to have a date stay overnight. But now his parents were on a 90-day, around-the-world cruise to celebrate their 25th anniversary. Classes were over, his sophomore year was done, and the 19-year-old had the huge house to himself for the summer. Except for Clara, the live-in maid, but she stayed out of his way, watching TV in her room in the basement when she wasn't cleaning.
Tonight was his second date with Kristine. Also 19, she had been in his chemistry class, and it had taken him all semester to work up the courage to ask her out. He had been surprised and pleased when she accepted, considering that she was athletic and attractive, with blonde hair down to her shoulders. Their first date had been dinner and a movie, two weeks ago. With his parents still home, he had not brought her to his house, but driven her home and just tried for a good-night kiss. She had turned her head, and only allowed him the cheek, but that was o.k., because she had promised to see him again after final exams, and tonight was the night.
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The date had gone well so far, thought Bob. At dinner, Kris had been ethusiastic about playing billiards back at his house. It was embarrassing to lose all three games of 8-ball to her, but she was a gracious winner, and now they were sitting together on the living room couch.
Bob turned to kiss her, and she again turned her head to offer him only her cheek. As he kissed it, he was horrified to hear people enter the room. It was his two sisters.
"Hey, what are you two doing here?" asked Bob, startled.
"Is that a polite way to introduce us to your friend?" asked Beth.
"Sorry. These are my twin sisters, Beth and Barbara. They're both 23, and between their first and second years of law school. They share an apartment in town, ten miles from here. So I didn't expect them," said Bob, with emphasis on the last phrase. "This is my friend Kristine. She's a student at Woodrow College, and was in my chem class last semester."
"Pleased to meet you," said Kristine.
"And we're pleased to meet you," said Barbara. "But before you get too comfortable with our brother, Bobby, there's something you should know about him."
"Don't call me that! I'm Robert, or Bob. And there's nothing that you need to tell Kris about me."
"There's something you should know, besides the fact that he hates to be called 'Bobby'. It's something else that he hates. You see, Bobby is ticklish. _Extremely_ ticklish."
"No, no ..." mumbled Bob, stunned into silence as all three women were staring at him intently, and his sisters came close to the couch. His hands went near his ribs, in a protective gesture.
Kris grinned a big grin. "I'm not sure that I'm ready to be that intimate with your brother yet. This is only our second date. But I would like to watch you two demonstrate."
As Kris got out of the way, both sisters pounced on Bob. He had no chance--they were both 5'10", athletic, and fit. He was, at a mere 5'7", the 'runt of the litter', as they had always described him.
As Kris watched with wide eyes, Beth removed his shirt and undershirt, and, taking two old stockings from the pocket of her jeans, tied his wrists together, and then tied them to the armrest of the couch. Barbara took off his shoes and socks, and even pulled off his pants, leaving him in just his briefs. She had also, apparently, come with some old stockings in her pocket, and she tied his ankles together, and then to the other armrest of the couch. Beth went into Bob's room, and came back with some neckties. The sisters used these to tie his elbows together, although he was not flexible enough to make them touch. Also, they tied his legs together just above the knees.
Bob had turned red with embarrassment at being nearly naked in front of his date. He closed his eyes; he could not bear seeing Kris giggling at his predicament.
"Did you two do this to him when you were growing up?" she asked.
"We tickled him a lot, but never got to tie him up and really get him good. Our parents were around all the time. We decided to get him tonight--the first day of their cruise. I hope that you don't mind our interrupting your date."
"Not at all! I enjoyed the dinner and the billiards, but he was just about to get annoying, trying to kiss me on the lips. I like your brother, but not in that way. I was going to tell him that we should just be friends, when you came in."
Bob groaned. That dreaded phrase, 'just friends'. He struggled, but the stockings and ties were tight, and he couldn't escape. He could only wriggle.
"He is rather cute all tied up like that. Please go on with your plan--really get him good." Kris pulled up a chair, to have a good view, and took her digital camera out of her purse.
Beth began by digging her fingers into his ribs on both sides. Bob's reaction was immediate--he howled with laughter, and pulled on his bonds vigorously. Barbara began to poke into his armpits, and the noise level increased considerably. Bob shrieked, and pounded his head on the couch, but he could not distract himself from the sensations.
As Kris began to snap photos, Beth began to taunt her brother.
"Tickle, tickle, tickle. Isn't this fun, Bobby? Now we've got you, and you can't get away. Tickle, tickle, tickle, Bobby. We've always wanted to do this, and now we are. No hope of escape, Bobby-poo. None. The tickling will go on and on. Tickle, tickle, tickle."
Kris got close-ups of Bob's face, contorted with laughter. She got close-ups of fingers digging into his ribs, and into his armpits. She took a shot of his full body, stretched out, but left the sisters' faces out of that photo. She had taken about two dozen photos, when she noticed that he was not laughing any more. His face was still contorted, and his mouth was making laughing motions, but he had insufficient breath to make a sound. His struggles had ceased; he was now merely squirming weakly. It was 45 minutes into his torture.
"This is so cool," said Kris, "he's almost passed out. Keep it up, he's ever so cute when he's helpless and being tickled! Keep it up, don't give him a break. Tickle him more!"
The twins needed no encouragement. They never paused, they just tickled with no mercy. Bob was a helpless mass of quivering ticlish flesh under their fingers, and they fully enjoyed keeping him that way. His ribs were bright red where they had been continually scratched. Tears streamed down his cheeks, and sweat poured off of him as they tickled and tickled, probing his quivering flesh sometimes with their nails, and sometimes with their fingertips.
After an hour and a quarter, Bob finally fainted. The sisters satisfied themselves that he was not faking, and stood up.
"I'll get some twine to tie his toes," said Beth, "and you get some water--he'll need it with all the crying and sweating he's done."
As the twins went off, Kris took a shot of Bob unconscious. Barbara came back from the bathroom with not just water, but two electric toothbrushes also.
Bob stirred and awoke. Beth let him drink from the cup, and he was thirsty, and drank it all. When Barbara began to tie his toes with the twine, he began to beg.
"Please, oh, please no more! Not my feet!! I'm begging you, please, not my feet, not--"
"Shut up, little Bobby-poo," said Beth, "or we'll tickle you even more than we're already planning to."
"Oh, but it's fun to hear him beg," said Kris. "Are his feet ticklish,too?"
"Are they? They've always been his best spot. Worst from his point of view--he'll go mad, as you'll see. But we never had the chance to tickle his feet with them tied. This should be epic. I'm glad that you have a camera--get some shots of his feet. Is there any film left?"
"Sure, Beth, this is a digital camera, with a memory card that can hold up to 400 still shots. I've only taken 25 so far."
While Beth and Kris had been talking, Barbara tied a loop of twine around both of Bob's big toes, tying them together. She then bent them back, and tied them to the stocking holding his ankles together. Each of his other eight toes then was tied back to his ankle bonds, also.
"Just for Kris' sake, Bobby, you will now be allowed to beg for mercy. We are planning to tickle your feet for two full hours, reviving you if you faint again. Use no more than ten words."
As Kris took some close-ups of his elaborately bound toes, Bobby gulped and said, "Please have mercy, please, I've been tickled so much already."
Barbara, now standing near his head, smiled down at him. "I'm afraid that the contraction 'I've' counts as two words, Bobby, so that you used eleven. Not only do you get no mercy, but we'll add time for your disobedience. I'm inclined to add half an hour."
"At least one hour for one word extra," said Beth, "is my inclination. But it was Kris who wanted to hear him beg. So let's let her decide."
"Well," said Kris, "here is my judgement. His gross disobedience is an insult to all three of us. So he gets the first two hours from you two, as planned. Then an hour extra from each one of you, separately. Then I believe that I will take a turn--the fifth hour is mine. I usually don't believe in touching so much on the second date, but he is well tied, and I don't believe that he will get fresh with me as I tickle-torture him. And I do intend to enjoy it."
As Bob gasped in horror, the twins took up positions at his feet, and Kris took up a position to shoot close-up of the tickling.
They began slowly, just dragging one fingernail each up the soles of his feet, slowly from heel to toe. It was amazing how just that caused him to laugh out loud. Soon they were scraping all twenty fingernails on his soles, and he was shrieking and yanking on his bonds. After Kris had taken about twenty photos of his feet being tormented, she stepped around to his head, looked down into his eyes, and taunted him.
"Just 22 minutes into the tickle-torture of your feet, Bobby-poo, and you're already getting weak. How sad for you. Your sisters still have over an hour and a half to go together, and then we each have our individual hours. How will you stand it? I'll bet you faint several times. But we'll revive you, don't worry. So you can laugh, and laugh, and laugh. Poor dear. I do find you quite attractive when you're all tied up and helpless, in a puppy-dog kind of way. I do like you, as a friend, but I never found you attractive, in a romantic way, if you know what I mean. So you should thank your sisters for showing me this side of you--the cute, helpless little boy that you can be. Poor Bobby-poo, we're going to be tickling you all night long."
Bob was now reduced to the jelly state, unable to make a sound or to struggle much. He just quivered and squirmed slightly, and they never stopped scratching at his soles, which were now getting red from their attention.
When the twins took up the electric toothbrushes, and applied one to each sole, he momentarily got new energy. It was as if electric prods had been used; he was able to struggle vigorously for a minute, until he lapsed back into the jelly state.
Kris took photos of the toothbrushes rotating on his soles, and also of his sisters tickling his toes with the brushes. The batteries ran out just about when he fainted, after the first hour.
Kris got some water to splash on him, and some for him to drink. The sisters then resumed scratching his soles.
Bob was in a timeless state. No world existed, no college, no town, no house, no living room. The universe consisted of his sore wrists and ankles, his aching diaphragm, his agonized lungs, and, above all, his poor red soles, endlessly scratched. He hardly noticed when the original two hours was up, and only Beth was tickling him, because she used one hand on each of his soles. He hardly noticed fainting several more times. He was in constant tickle-torture hell. The women kept him that way, a quivering mass of ticklish jello, for the full five hours.
It was about 4am when his torture was done, and his sisters left him tied to the couch, as Kris thanked them for a grand time, and went home. He was embarrassed when Beth pulled down his briefs, and had him urinate into an empty milk carton, which she took away. He slept.
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Bob awoke at 9am, but not because he had slept sufficiently. Clara, the maid, was vigorously tickling his ribs.
"HaHaHa, Oh, stop, Clara, ahahaha, stop and, ha ha oh, untie me, ha,"
cried Bob desperately.
"Oh, no, Bobby, I don't wish to stop," said Clara, as she continued to dig into his ribs with her thumbs. Clara, a widow aged 30 with no children, was working for them until she qualified for her green card. She had come to them speaking no English, but she was now quite fluent.
"You sisters are in charge while your parents are away, so don't you give me orders, Bobby. You lazy thing! No summer job, you don't even put your dirty clothes in the laundry room. No, you dump them on the floor, wherever you please, and expect me to clean them."
Clara never stopped tickling him as she spoke, but did switch to his feet, scratching the soles with all her fingernails as he howled.
"About the longest sentence you ever spoke to me was 'Ropa para lavar,' [note: translation is 'Clothes to wash'] when you pointed to all the dirty laundry on the floor of your bedroom when I came in to clean. That was the first week I was here. You deserve what you're going to get this summer, Bobby, because you're a lazy spoiled brat."
Clara scratched his soles without mercy, until he fainted, at about 10:30am. She left him tied to the couch, and went about her morning's work.
About ten minutes later, Beth and Barbara came in, with several shopping bags.
Beth got the empty milk carton, and allowed Bobby to urinate again. Then the sisters grinned at him.
"Here's the news of the day for you, Bobby. Kris has put all 117 photos that she took last night onto her hard disk, and e-mailed copies to us at our apartment. She's put the memory card in her safe deposit box. If you give us any trouble, any trouble at all, then copies will be e-mailed, anonymously, to every computer account holder at Woodrow College, students, staff, and faculty. Along with your name, and the fact that you're a student there. How nice would it be if everybody knew how ticklish you are? And how you were humiliated?"
Bobby didn't bother to answer the rhetorical question. Barbara went on.
"What we've got in the bag here is bondage equipment. All sorts of restraints, including a straightjacket."
"No, no-"
"You shut up, Bobby. This is you last warning. Speaking unless one of us specifically gives you permission is giving us trouble. So don't. We're going to move you to your own bedroom, and make you quite secure there. And you're going to stay there all summer."
Bobby gasped, but didn't speak.
"You're so lazy, that you didn't get a job for this summer. Just because our grandparents left us all a trust fund, you didn't have to be such a lazy pig. That makes it easy--Mom and Dad on their cruise, no employer expecting you. You'll be spending all summer with your new friend, Kris."
Bobby looked stunned.
"She really does like you. Just as a friend. A cute, helpless, little puppy-dog of a friend. And she'll show you great affection as your dear friend, by tickling you, about six or eight hours every day."
Bobby looked very perplexed, and Beth took pity on him.
"Go ahead, you have permission to speak."
"But Kris has a job for the summer, in the mall in town."
"Sure, she had one, at $7 an hour. We persuaded her to resign it, and work for us instead. $20 an hour to tickle you, paid in cash, with no tax withheld. Seven days a week, all summer long."
Barbara took over the explanation. "And we're paying Clara $200 per week extra to make sure that your're kept in bondage 24-7, with no hope of escape. Clara considers permission to tickle you, as much as she wants, as even more important than the money. You must have really pissed her off."
"We're both working this summer, but we can come by on weekends, and some evenings, and help out," added Beth. "Poor Bobby-poo, I almost feel sorry for you. We, by which I mean me, Barbara, Kris, and Clara, are all going to have a great summer. It will be so much fun having you as a tickle toy! A great summer!"
Barbara finished up their chat. "If you behave yourself very, very well, and are ever so obedient to us four women, every day, then we'll erase all the photos when you go back to school in September."
The twins smiled at each other. They knew very well that they had already decided to keep Bob as their tickle slave forever.
The End
A Great Summer
by Milagros
This was going to be a great summer, thought Bob. Living at home and commuting to college classes was not good for his social life, not with parents who didn't give him any privacy, that is, no right to have a date stay overnight. But now his parents were on a 90-day, around-the-world cruise to celebrate their 25th anniversary. Classes were over, his sophomore year was done, and the 19-year-old had the huge house to himself for the summer. Except for Clara, the live-in maid, but she stayed out of his way, watching TV in her room in the basement when she wasn't cleaning.
Tonight was his second date with Kristine. Also 19, she had been in his chemistry class, and it had taken him all semester to work up the courage to ask her out. He had been surprised and pleased when she accepted, considering that she was athletic and attractive, with blonde hair down to her shoulders. Their first date had been dinner and a movie, two weeks ago. With his parents still home, he had not brought her to his house, but driven her home and just tried for a good-night kiss. She had turned her head, and only allowed him the cheek, but that was o.k., because she had promised to see him again after final exams, and tonight was the night.
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The date had gone well so far, thought Bob. At dinner, Kris had been ethusiastic about playing billiards back at his house. It was embarrassing to lose all three games of 8-ball to her, but she was a gracious winner, and now they were sitting together on the living room couch.
Bob turned to kiss her, and she again turned her head to offer him only her cheek. As he kissed it, he was horrified to hear people enter the room. It was his two sisters.
"Hey, what are you two doing here?" asked Bob, startled.
"Is that a polite way to introduce us to your friend?" asked Beth.
"Sorry. These are my twin sisters, Beth and Barbara. They're both 23, and between their first and second years of law school. They share an apartment in town, ten miles from here. So I didn't expect them," said Bob, with emphasis on the last phrase. "This is my friend Kristine. She's a student at Woodrow College, and was in my chem class last semester."
"Pleased to meet you," said Kristine.
"And we're pleased to meet you," said Barbara. "But before you get too comfortable with our brother, Bobby, there's something you should know about him."
"Don't call me that! I'm Robert, or Bob. And there's nothing that you need to tell Kris about me."
"There's something you should know, besides the fact that he hates to be called 'Bobby'. It's something else that he hates. You see, Bobby is ticklish. _Extremely_ ticklish."
"No, no ..." mumbled Bob, stunned into silence as all three women were staring at him intently, and his sisters came close to the couch. His hands went near his ribs, in a protective gesture.
Kris grinned a big grin. "I'm not sure that I'm ready to be that intimate with your brother yet. This is only our second date. But I would like to watch you two demonstrate."
As Kris got out of the way, both sisters pounced on Bob. He had no chance--they were both 5'10", athletic, and fit. He was, at a mere 5'7", the 'runt of the litter', as they had always described him.
As Kris watched with wide eyes, Beth removed his shirt and undershirt, and, taking two old stockings from the pocket of her jeans, tied his wrists together, and then tied them to the armrest of the couch. Barbara took off his shoes and socks, and even pulled off his pants, leaving him in just his briefs. She had also, apparently, come with some old stockings in her pocket, and she tied his ankles together, and then to the other armrest of the couch. Beth went into Bob's room, and came back with some neckties. The sisters used these to tie his elbows together, although he was not flexible enough to make them touch. Also, they tied his legs together just above the knees.
Bob had turned red with embarrassment at being nearly naked in front of his date. He closed his eyes; he could not bear seeing Kris giggling at his predicament.
"Did you two do this to him when you were growing up?" she asked.
"We tickled him a lot, but never got to tie him up and really get him good. Our parents were around all the time. We decided to get him tonight--the first day of their cruise. I hope that you don't mind our interrupting your date."
"Not at all! I enjoyed the dinner and the billiards, but he was just about to get annoying, trying to kiss me on the lips. I like your brother, but not in that way. I was going to tell him that we should just be friends, when you came in."
Bob groaned. That dreaded phrase, 'just friends'. He struggled, but the stockings and ties were tight, and he couldn't escape. He could only wriggle.
"He is rather cute all tied up like that. Please go on with your plan--really get him good." Kris pulled up a chair, to have a good view, and took her digital camera out of her purse.
Beth began by digging her fingers into his ribs on both sides. Bob's reaction was immediate--he howled with laughter, and pulled on his bonds vigorously. Barbara began to poke into his armpits, and the noise level increased considerably. Bob shrieked, and pounded his head on the couch, but he could not distract himself from the sensations.
As Kris began to snap photos, Beth began to taunt her brother.
"Tickle, tickle, tickle. Isn't this fun, Bobby? Now we've got you, and you can't get away. Tickle, tickle, tickle, Bobby. We've always wanted to do this, and now we are. No hope of escape, Bobby-poo. None. The tickling will go on and on. Tickle, tickle, tickle."
Kris got close-ups of Bob's face, contorted with laughter. She got close-ups of fingers digging into his ribs, and into his armpits. She took a shot of his full body, stretched out, but left the sisters' faces out of that photo. She had taken about two dozen photos, when she noticed that he was not laughing any more. His face was still contorted, and his mouth was making laughing motions, but he had insufficient breath to make a sound. His struggles had ceased; he was now merely squirming weakly. It was 45 minutes into his torture.
"This is so cool," said Kris, "he's almost passed out. Keep it up, he's ever so cute when he's helpless and being tickled! Keep it up, don't give him a break. Tickle him more!"
The twins needed no encouragement. They never paused, they just tickled with no mercy. Bob was a helpless mass of quivering ticlish flesh under their fingers, and they fully enjoyed keeping him that way. His ribs were bright red where they had been continually scratched. Tears streamed down his cheeks, and sweat poured off of him as they tickled and tickled, probing his quivering flesh sometimes with their nails, and sometimes with their fingertips.
After an hour and a quarter, Bob finally fainted. The sisters satisfied themselves that he was not faking, and stood up.
"I'll get some twine to tie his toes," said Beth, "and you get some water--he'll need it with all the crying and sweating he's done."
As the twins went off, Kris took a shot of Bob unconscious. Barbara came back from the bathroom with not just water, but two electric toothbrushes also.
Bob stirred and awoke. Beth let him drink from the cup, and he was thirsty, and drank it all. When Barbara began to tie his toes with the twine, he began to beg.
"Please, oh, please no more! Not my feet!! I'm begging you, please, not my feet, not--"
"Shut up, little Bobby-poo," said Beth, "or we'll tickle you even more than we're already planning to."
"Oh, but it's fun to hear him beg," said Kris. "Are his feet ticklish,too?"
"Are they? They've always been his best spot. Worst from his point of view--he'll go mad, as you'll see. But we never had the chance to tickle his feet with them tied. This should be epic. I'm glad that you have a camera--get some shots of his feet. Is there any film left?"
"Sure, Beth, this is a digital camera, with a memory card that can hold up to 400 still shots. I've only taken 25 so far."
While Beth and Kris had been talking, Barbara tied a loop of twine around both of Bob's big toes, tying them together. She then bent them back, and tied them to the stocking holding his ankles together. Each of his other eight toes then was tied back to his ankle bonds, also.
"Just for Kris' sake, Bobby, you will now be allowed to beg for mercy. We are planning to tickle your feet for two full hours, reviving you if you faint again. Use no more than ten words."
As Kris took some close-ups of his elaborately bound toes, Bobby gulped and said, "Please have mercy, please, I've been tickled so much already."
Barbara, now standing near his head, smiled down at him. "I'm afraid that the contraction 'I've' counts as two words, Bobby, so that you used eleven. Not only do you get no mercy, but we'll add time for your disobedience. I'm inclined to add half an hour."
"At least one hour for one word extra," said Beth, "is my inclination. But it was Kris who wanted to hear him beg. So let's let her decide."
"Well," said Kris, "here is my judgement. His gross disobedience is an insult to all three of us. So he gets the first two hours from you two, as planned. Then an hour extra from each one of you, separately. Then I believe that I will take a turn--the fifth hour is mine. I usually don't believe in touching so much on the second date, but he is well tied, and I don't believe that he will get fresh with me as I tickle-torture him. And I do intend to enjoy it."
As Bob gasped in horror, the twins took up positions at his feet, and Kris took up a position to shoot close-up of the tickling.
They began slowly, just dragging one fingernail each up the soles of his feet, slowly from heel to toe. It was amazing how just that caused him to laugh out loud. Soon they were scraping all twenty fingernails on his soles, and he was shrieking and yanking on his bonds. After Kris had taken about twenty photos of his feet being tormented, she stepped around to his head, looked down into his eyes, and taunted him.
"Just 22 minutes into the tickle-torture of your feet, Bobby-poo, and you're already getting weak. How sad for you. Your sisters still have over an hour and a half to go together, and then we each have our individual hours. How will you stand it? I'll bet you faint several times. But we'll revive you, don't worry. So you can laugh, and laugh, and laugh. Poor dear. I do find you quite attractive when you're all tied up and helpless, in a puppy-dog kind of way. I do like you, as a friend, but I never found you attractive, in a romantic way, if you know what I mean. So you should thank your sisters for showing me this side of you--the cute, helpless little boy that you can be. Poor Bobby-poo, we're going to be tickling you all night long."
Bob was now reduced to the jelly state, unable to make a sound or to struggle much. He just quivered and squirmed slightly, and they never stopped scratching at his soles, which were now getting red from their attention.
When the twins took up the electric toothbrushes, and applied one to each sole, he momentarily got new energy. It was as if electric prods had been used; he was able to struggle vigorously for a minute, until he lapsed back into the jelly state.
Kris took photos of the toothbrushes rotating on his soles, and also of his sisters tickling his toes with the brushes. The batteries ran out just about when he fainted, after the first hour.
Kris got some water to splash on him, and some for him to drink. The sisters then resumed scratching his soles.
Bob was in a timeless state. No world existed, no college, no town, no house, no living room. The universe consisted of his sore wrists and ankles, his aching diaphragm, his agonized lungs, and, above all, his poor red soles, endlessly scratched. He hardly noticed when the original two hours was up, and only Beth was tickling him, because she used one hand on each of his soles. He hardly noticed fainting several more times. He was in constant tickle-torture hell. The women kept him that way, a quivering mass of ticklish jello, for the full five hours.
It was about 4am when his torture was done, and his sisters left him tied to the couch, as Kris thanked them for a grand time, and went home. He was embarrassed when Beth pulled down his briefs, and had him urinate into an empty milk carton, which she took away. He slept.
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Bob awoke at 9am, but not because he had slept sufficiently. Clara, the maid, was vigorously tickling his ribs.
"HaHaHa, Oh, stop, Clara, ahahaha, stop and, ha ha oh, untie me, ha,"
cried Bob desperately.
"Oh, no, Bobby, I don't wish to stop," said Clara, as she continued to dig into his ribs with her thumbs. Clara, a widow aged 30 with no children, was working for them until she qualified for her green card. She had come to them speaking no English, but she was now quite fluent.
"You sisters are in charge while your parents are away, so don't you give me orders, Bobby. You lazy thing! No summer job, you don't even put your dirty clothes in the laundry room. No, you dump them on the floor, wherever you please, and expect me to clean them."
Clara never stopped tickling him as she spoke, but did switch to his feet, scratching the soles with all her fingernails as he howled.
"About the longest sentence you ever spoke to me was 'Ropa para lavar,' [note: translation is 'Clothes to wash'] when you pointed to all the dirty laundry on the floor of your bedroom when I came in to clean. That was the first week I was here. You deserve what you're going to get this summer, Bobby, because you're a lazy spoiled brat."
Clara scratched his soles without mercy, until he fainted, at about 10:30am. She left him tied to the couch, and went about her morning's work.
About ten minutes later, Beth and Barbara came in, with several shopping bags.
Beth got the empty milk carton, and allowed Bobby to urinate again. Then the sisters grinned at him.
"Here's the news of the day for you, Bobby. Kris has put all 117 photos that she took last night onto her hard disk, and e-mailed copies to us at our apartment. She's put the memory card in her safe deposit box. If you give us any trouble, any trouble at all, then copies will be e-mailed, anonymously, to every computer account holder at Woodrow College, students, staff, and faculty. Along with your name, and the fact that you're a student there. How nice would it be if everybody knew how ticklish you are? And how you were humiliated?"
Bobby didn't bother to answer the rhetorical question. Barbara went on.
"What we've got in the bag here is bondage equipment. All sorts of restraints, including a straightjacket."
"No, no-"
"You shut up, Bobby. This is you last warning. Speaking unless one of us specifically gives you permission is giving us trouble. So don't. We're going to move you to your own bedroom, and make you quite secure there. And you're going to stay there all summer."
Bobby gasped, but didn't speak.
"You're so lazy, that you didn't get a job for this summer. Just because our grandparents left us all a trust fund, you didn't have to be such a lazy pig. That makes it easy--Mom and Dad on their cruise, no employer expecting you. You'll be spending all summer with your new friend, Kris."
Bobby looked stunned.
"She really does like you. Just as a friend. A cute, helpless, little puppy-dog of a friend. And she'll show you great affection as your dear friend, by tickling you, about six or eight hours every day."
Bobby looked very perplexed, and Beth took pity on him.
"Go ahead, you have permission to speak."
"But Kris has a job for the summer, in the mall in town."
"Sure, she had one, at $7 an hour. We persuaded her to resign it, and work for us instead. $20 an hour to tickle you, paid in cash, with no tax withheld. Seven days a week, all summer long."
Barbara took over the explanation. "And we're paying Clara $200 per week extra to make sure that your're kept in bondage 24-7, with no hope of escape. Clara considers permission to tickle you, as much as she wants, as even more important than the money. You must have really pissed her off."
"We're both working this summer, but we can come by on weekends, and some evenings, and help out," added Beth. "Poor Bobby-poo, I almost feel sorry for you. We, by which I mean me, Barbara, Kris, and Clara, are all going to have a great summer. It will be so much fun having you as a tickle toy! A great summer!"
Barbara finished up their chat. "If you behave yourself very, very well, and are ever so obedient to us four women, every day, then we'll erase all the photos when you go back to school in September."
The twins smiled at each other. They knew very well that they had already decided to keep Bob as their tickle slave forever.
The End
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