Howdy, all.
I'm really having fun with this character now, and I while won't promise a sequel, I will say that a sequel is possible and even probable. Enjoy, and post feedback if you enjoy it--we writers live for the comments!
A Philosohpic Tickle
Tertia Pars
by Kid Indy
Prima Pars: http://www.ticklingforum.com/showthread.php?97720-A-Philosophic-Tickle-(m-f-teacher-student)
Secunda Pars: http://www.ticklingforum.com/showth...Ticke-Secunda-Pars-(m-f-f-f-student-teacher)&
"Nietzsche's basic move here is to change up the story. The way most people in his moment think about punishment is as rehabilitation: you do it for the criminal's own good. That idea's been around since Plato at least, and it's the most popular one among Christian thinkers. But what story does he suggest lies behind that?"
"That government is the enemy?"
"Mr. Stevens, did you read for today, or are you making things up?"
No reply. Making things up. Another hand went up.
"That people punish each other just for the heck of it?"
Now Dr. Smith had some place to go. "You're almost there. Nietzsche insists that being cruel to the weak is the true, genuine reward of being powerful. What he insists on, even though we moderns deny it, because Christianity has taught us that such things are 'evil,' is that being cruel is actually a source of pleasure."
"But why would someone want to hurt other people?"
Smith acknowledged that voice from the other corner of the room. "Well, what do you remember from psychology? What did Freud say about the Id?"
That corner went silent, but the non-reader chimed in again. "He said that the Id wants things that polite people don't talk about."
Smith clapped his hands loudly, startling two students receiving text messages. "Right! And he learned that notion from Plato first and foremost, but this essay was also instrumental in that notion."
Another voice chimed in. "But don't people feel bad when they've hurt other people?"
"Good question. And that's where both Nietzsche and Freud develop the idea that cruelty adapts so that it can be pleasurable to the one inflicting the cruelty without triggering the remorse that society teaches us to feel--that's Freud's super-ego--when we can see the damage we've done."
"Is that why people tie up girls and tickle them?"
Smith's heart skipped a beat. That question came from Kim, a beautiful, athletic African-American student, a scholarship sprint swimmer. That had been three years ago now, he thought, but then realized that he needed to respond. "Well, Kim, I suppose that's one way it could manifest. Freud, though, seems more interested in things like gossip and jokes rather than... that." Smith saw some of the students leaning over to each other and whispering. Nikki and Rachel had left the small Christian college after their unforgettable encounter with Dr. Smith, and Smith himself had stayed away from his college's students ever since, never once attempting to recreate those nights with students enrolled in his courses. But once again, he realized that getting back in control of his classroom would have to take priority over that memory in that moment. "Now back to the story of punishment and the rise of ressentiment."
* * * * * * *
"Miss Holland:
The essay which you turned in for course credit in Introduction from Philosophy was not your own work. It came from the following website, which presents itself as an aid for academic fraud."
Smith copied and pasted the link into the email and prepared to write the last bit of the brief email. It was a pity, really: Kim Holland, in addition to being athletic and quite a young beauty, seemed, usually, to have a stronger grasp on the philosophy readings than most of Smith's students, and such a stupid move as copying the sample paper (not even from behind a paywall, so that Google wouldn't catch it) struck him as below her.
Ah, well.
He finished the email, some form of which he had written a dozen times before, noting that he would report the incident to the office of academic integrity in the morning, and sent it. Turning to the next essay, he began to read the opening paragraph, when his phone buzzed. A text message had come to him:
NEED TO TALK. EMERGENCY. CAN U BE AT COFFEE SHOP IN 30 MINUTES?
Smith saw that the message had come from Kim Holland. "Well, that was quick." He sent a message back agreeing to meet. Twenty minutes later he was at a table, waiting for the sight of Kim entering. The sight was not disappointing: in the early days of April Southern girls get down to their shorts and sandals. Kim was no exception: the shoes let him see everything from the bright red toenail polish to the delicious blending of dark skin to light. Her ankles were the slim exhibits that athletes develop, and her trim calves were a sight to see. As she walked towards him, well-trained thigh muscles rippled with each step, and as she sat down across from him, the shorts only denied him the smallest portion of the view.
"Dr. Smith, I know I messed up." He knew this talk, the vocabulary, the attempts to simulate repentance when self-preservation was really all they wanted. "I just didn't know what exactly you wanted, and--"
"Why didn't you stop by the office for help?" Smith's eyes locked hers, those dark brown orbs.
Her answer still didn't swerve from the standard script. "I just didn't want to bother you." Smith could recite this meeting without much thought, so he got a good chance to take in the glory that was Kim Holland: an angular face, one whose lines drew the eye, but with a mouth that made Smith think about tasting it. As she gestured and made excuses, he saw that her arms, like her legs, were nothing short of specimens of human perfection, and the loose t-shirt that shrouded her torso promised similar treasures beneath. But his reverie was interrupted when she went off-script.
"Look, I know you're not going to let me off here. So why not do this old school and punish me in a way that you'll enjoy?"
Smith blinked. "What?"
"You know what I mean."
"What?"
Kim leaned in, now whispering. "You know what. I've heard the stories."
Smith gritted his teeth. "What stories?"
Now the mouth, still exciting fantasies of tasting, curled into a smile. "All the girls on campus have heard the legend of the tickling professor. And you're not denying it, so I think it might be true."
Smith leaned back from the whispering lips and folded his arms. "Look, it's just an academic honesty violation. Since it's your first one, nothing will come of it but--"
"It's my third." Now the eyes stared at him. "If I get caught for this one, I'm out of school permanently."
"Why in the world would you do this three times? You know what you're talking about in class!"
"I'm trying to get into law school, Dr. Smith. I need the A."
"Well, I'm sorry, but this isn't going to stand."
"You're really going to change the subject like it's not on the table?" The smile again. "Like you said, I know the material. And you know what you really want here. Why don't we settle this like you really want to?"
Smith's frown deepened. When Nikki had left campus, Smith had never thought another opportunity like this would drop in his lap so soon, though he knew as well as he knew anything that he wanted another taste. But could he trust himself when the student was driving things like this? Could this be the trap that finally catches him? His thought process disintegrated as he felt a foot rub up the inside of his calf.
"Don't you want to touch what you've been seeing all semester?"
Smith hissed. "Stop that! We're in a public place here!"
Kim whispered and grinned wickedly. "I've seen you thinking about whether I'm ticklish or not. Well, now's your chance to find out!" Her foot once again rubbed his leg. He stood up and stepped back, conscious that, if people weren't looking at him before, they were now.
Smith lowered his voice, only projecting as far as Kim. "This is not happening. I'm leaving, and you'd better not follow me." He left a still-grinning Kim Holland sitting at the coffee shop table.
* * * * * * *
Smith did not go back to his house but to a storage facility he had started renting after the last episode with Nikki. The place was out in the middle of nowhere, and the only sign of life that he could discern was the pair of headlights following him down the back roads. He licked his lips in anticipation. But he had to be in character, so he took some deep breaths as he pulled into the storage facility's driveway and began to turn the key.
The place was a real dump--off the highways, no security cameras, not many streetlights for some distance in either direction. But all that meant that the rent was cheap, and more importantly in moments like this, there wouldn't be any trouble.
Kim's car rolled up behind his as he began to swing the gate open. He looked into the headlights behind his car and gestured to the street outside the facility.
"If you're coming in, leave the car out here." Kim complied, pulling the car alongside the road. Smith shut the gate behind her as she came inside. "You shouldn't have followed me." He locked the gate.
"I told you, Dr. Smith, I need to get into law school. If that means you tickle me, I can take it."
"Move your car."
He watched as the car pulled about a quarter mile down the road and pulled it off to the side. Smith left his own engine and headlights on so that she could find her way back. He closed and padlocked the gate behind her as she came in, and he started to make his way towards one of the garage-sized storage units.
After the door rolled up, Smith turned on an electric light, and Kim gasped as she saw what the light revealed. The stories had always been about a motel room and padded cuffs, and padded cuffs she could see, but nothing in those stories prepared her for the torture chamber in front of her: in one corner a steel frame reached eight feet into the air, offering padded cuffs no doubt intended to hold a victim's body upright. Next to it was something that looked like a maternity ward's delivery table, only with more padded leather cuffs to restrain wrists and, instead of stirrups, restraints for ankles. A queen-sized bed, with high posts for tying more restraints occupied the space across the room from those apparatus, and a metal toolchest sat next to a rolling office chair in the midst of all of it. Kim started as she heard Smith's whispering voice behind her.
"You're going to be trying out all of these before we're done with you." He began to lower the storage garage's door with one hand, and every instinct in Kim's body wanted to run out before it closed all the way. But law school was calling, and she couldn't back out now.
"Where do you want me first?"
"At the desk, of course." He took two long strides across the space to the tool chest, and opening a drawer, he produced a piece of paper with only a signature line at the bottom.
"What is that for?"
"I'm going to write your confession letter on it."
"But I'm not confessing anything! That's why we're here!"
"This is insurance. If you decide to be dumb after tonight is over, I'll be able to show the administration a signed confession that you... now that I think of it, that you did whatever I decide you did."
"I'm not signing it!"
"Then this is over." He began to raise the door.
"Wait! You won't use it if I don't try to turn you in, right?"
"I wouldn't think of it."
Kim didn't like the prospects, but she knew that he was in the driver's seat, so she reluctantly signed. Smith gestured to the tall steel frame, and Kim started to reach for one of the cuffs.
"Down to your underwear first."
"Do I have to?"
"More spots to explore."
"Why not naked?"
"Nudity is only for when you ask for it."
Kim's stance turned defiant. "Let's get something straight, Dr. Smith. I'm not here because I'm one of those white girls who gets hot for professors. I'm here for business."
Smith flashed a sly grin. "Keep telling yourself that, Kim, but for now, down to your underwear." She complied, taking off her flip-flops, then her tank top, then her shorts. What lay beneath was no disappointment: stretched out for him to touch, her body would be nothing short of a specimen. He gestured once more to the steel frame, and she tried to wrap one of the fur-lined cuffs around her left wrist. Smith leaned in behind her as he helped attach the cuff. "You can start out pretending that it's not getting to you, but now that I've got my paperwork, we've got all night together." With that the cuff's connector clicked into place, and Smith began, deliberately so that she would have time to think about it, to guide her other wrist up to the other cuff, leaving her entire torso uncovered save by her white cotton bra. Kim now stood at full height, her arms suspended above her head, many ticklish spots inviting the discerning hand. Such a treasure he hadn't had in front of him since the night with Nikki and Rachel, and he wasn't fool enough not to enjoy this one.
"You see, Kim, I didn't think I'd ever have a chance like this again, but after the last two happened so close to each other, I started collecting. So what you've fallen into is the mind of a man who's been dreaming of another catch for three years. And you practically begged to join me."
"This is all about getting me to law school!"
He stepped quickly around to the back of her and whispered in her ear: "It won't be for long." His two index fingers found their way to her panty line and quickly traced lines across the tops of her hips and finished just under her ribs, where they joined thumbs for a light pinch on each side. He heard her gasp at the feeling, and he began to trace lines with index and middle fingers around her upper ribcage, flirting with her underarms. "You can start laughing whenever you'd like. It's going to happen whether you want it to or not."
"You think nobody's ever tickled me before?"
Smith's fingers worked around her sides, still not entering her underarms. "I'm sure they have, Miss Holland. I'm sure you think you've been tickled for a while, too. But you see, when those boys tickled you, it was to loosen you up because they wanted to get you in bed. I don't have any intention to take my clothes off tonight."
Kim moaned as the laughter welled up from the middle of her body. "What do you want, then?"
"I want to hear you beg!" With that his fingers, three from each hand, began their attack on her underarms, and Kim screamed into a screech of laughter. Her arms strained to pull her body weight up but to no avail: just as she tried to tighten her torso to pull, Smith's right hand wriggled down her side and tickled her hip, taking her attempt off balance and merely twisting in the wind. The middle-aged man's fingers moved like lightning, hungry for the forbidden pleasure they'd been denied for so long, and Kim knew he was right: this was not the pawing of a sophomore basketball player but the intentional assault of a man out to inflict cruelty on the young woman in his trap.
Smith now spoke in a normal voice, though his tickling fingers did not slow. "When I work on your armpits and eventually your feet, you're going to beg me to stop." Just the thought of these merciless hands on her feet made her whole body light up in a ticklish thrill, and his hands, one having snaked around to her belly and the other working under her arm, suddenly tickled far worse than they had before. "Then, when I find out where you're most ticklish, I'm going to work on that spot until you beg me to finish." Kim just kept laughing; she feared that she knew exactly what he meant by "finish," and she feared even worse that he really was going to take her some place beyond what she could imagine.
The suspension bar was starting to reveal its power too: as Smith tickled and tickled, Kim's knees began to weaken, and her body weight was no longer on her feet but hanging from the cuffs. Such stretching meant that her ticklish nerves were pulled tight, and the more ticklish she got, the more tired she got, and vice versa. And with no solid fulcrum to brace herself, each time she writhed--and writhe she did--left her dangling and twirling in space, never escaping Smith's torturing fingers but wearing out her own ability to resist nonetheless. Before long Smith found her sweet spot: even as her body tired, a pinch of the hip, on either side, would spur another strong twist and another intoxicating squeal from the beautiful young woman. So Smith started going back to that well, moving one hand, then the other down from her underarm, her ribs, or her belly, never dwelling on the hip but enjoying each return's explosive result.
After several minutes of that torture, Smith slowed the pace down, and as Kim's wild laughter slowed, she began to moan in torment as Smith's fingers slowly traced meandering lines across her abdomen, not making her scream but slowly tickling her exposed skin. "Oh, so I see you like that!"
Kim did not speak and even tried to stifle her own moan. Smith's claw shot down and feasted on her hip. She squealed and jumped, then began to moan, despite herself, as he continued the slow torture of her belly. "If you don't talk to me, you're going to scream for me!"
"Please just stop!"
"That's what I like to hear! I knew you would beg! Let's hear some more of that!"
The proud young woman, enraged at her own defeat, just growled at him, which brought another pinch of the hip and another scream and once again the slow, unbearable caressing of her panty line. "Beg me!"
"Please stop!"
"More." She begged more. "Tell me how it feels!"
"It tickles!"
"Not good enough!" Now both hands went to work on her ticklish hips, and her feet began a frantic dance, twisting her hips this way and that but never escaping his hands. When his fingers once more began their slow exploration of her midsection, she didn't even wait for more prompts.
"It's like you're controlling my mind! I don't want to laugh any more, but you can make me!"
"Better. And that's the torture in tickle torture--you have to laugh when I want you to, whether you think it's funny or not. And we're not done yet, Miss Holland!"
"Please, just let me go!"
"No, but I can let you sit down for a while."
"Yes!"
"But you have to trade me something for the seat."
"Please! What do you want for the trade?"
"Your feet."
Kim's moan of forced pleasure mixed with a loud sigh of resignation. "Fine! Just let me sit down!" And like magic, the fingers left her midsection. Kim turned as much as her tired body would let her to see Smith rolling the chair her way. One by one he helped her lift her legs onto the chair, strapping each down with the fur-lined leather, and then he released one arm, then the other, lashing them to the raised arms of the chair. She couldn't deny the relief that she felt not hanging and standing, but she knew full well that her underarms remained vulnerable and that, with her ankles spread and tied, that Smith would now have access to her feet and legs.
Smith reached into his tool chest and brought out a squeeze bottle. Kim gasped at the sight, wondering herself how much was fear and how much anticipation. Rolling a short round stool towards Kim's feet, Smith took his position, and Kim gasped again as she felt a thick, cool liquid on the sole of her right foot. She couldn't help but moan at the unexpected pleasure of feeling his fingers rub the liquid in, and she tried to shake off the feeling as he turned to treat the other.
"It's alright to enjoy some of this, Miss Holland. Preparing for a truly cruel foot tickling can bring its own pleasures." Kim tried not to respond to the arrogant teacher's offer but once again found her back arching and her abdomen purring with pleasure as he rubbed the oil on her right foot. "The oil serves a purpose not unrelated to its job in a foot massage: It lets my hands work on your feet in a way that's much smoother. The nerves in your feet are getting less and less resistant to my touch by the second as that oil works on them." Kim felt herself starting to breathe more quickly in spite of herself. "Would you like me to demonstrate?"
Her silence dissolved. "No!" But the protest was in vain: one of Smith's hands began to bend the toes of her right foot backwards, and the other hand started to stroke her oiled sole. The sensations were instant and terrible, and the tickling, something unlike anything the boys at her college had ever inflicted on her, drove her hips skyward and her voice into a tormented and hilarious scream. For three large bounces of her hips she managed to keep screaming, but on the fourth her body betrayed her, and she started a laugh that she could not herself stop. Every move of Smith's fingers across her taut, oiled foot made her want to run, to fight, to do anything to make that delicious but unstoppable feeling leave, but nobody was leaving. Her hips' bouncing soon gave way to a frenzied twisting of her torso. But that could not last long either, and soon Kim was able only to close her eyes and laugh out of her own control, not so much yielding to the desire to giggle but living in a body that could do nothing else. She could feel his fingertips slide along the edge of her heel, from the ball of her foot up into the bases of her toes, and what he seemed to enjoy most, the skin of her arch, drawing lines again and again up and down the length of her foot. Kim lost all sense of time, of where she was, even of who she was: her ticklish body had become the whole world, and some evil demon was playing a merciless game on the farthest extreme of the same.
And the worst part was that the tickling wasn't only working on her foot. Dr. Smith's fingers had not left her ticklish extremity, but she could feel the nerves in her lower leg, then her inner thigh, tingle with an excitement that she couldn't contain, and when that heightened sense of being-touched spread past her leg, she felt a moan start to compete with the laughter. What the smug teacher had promised on the suspension bar was really coming to pass in the chair, and now Kim could only pray that she could keep laughing, that she wouldn't show her torturer what her body had conspired to do to her.
"Ohhhhhhnhhhhh!!"
Smith let up instantly. "Well, what have we here? I think you've got some more naughty to you than you let on!" With a precision that Kim knew would overwhelm her he once again picked up the oil and began to work it into her left foot. She felt herself moan out loud this time as his hands massaged her foot. "There's something you should know, Miss Holland. Research has shown that most women's left feet are far more ticklish than their right. What you just experienced with your right foot is going to start faster, get where it's going in a hurry, and bring you places that you only feared when I was working on your right."
"Please!"
"Please what, Miss Holland?"
"Just let me go!"
"Ah! Now this is the start of the begging that I like to hear! But I can hear it in your voice--you fear that the other begging might be around the corner. Let's get away from fearing it and get on to knowing it, why don't we?"
"No!"
But his fingers started nonetheless, and Kim Holland did scream. Once again her body tried to arch, but she was more tired now, and Smith's fingers were the hungriest sort with such a body to feast on. As he stroked and scratched and painted his masterpiece in the oil on her foot, he began to taunt her, and every word he spoke seemed to make her more ticklish and to add fuel to the fire that was lighting up her whole body.
"You never knew that this was how far tickling could go, did you? All a twenty-year-old boy knows how to do is to get a little giggle out of you and get your hips to wiggle, then he wants to do what any dumb mammal wants. But now you know what real desire for cruelty is like, Miss Holland. And the night is still young!" Kim laughed as each of his fingers traced paths down her sole, and she soon heard herself laughing the syllable "No" in between breaths. Smith used one hand to pull her big toe to the side and began to work the skin between the ball of her foot and her toes, and that new mode of assault drew a renewed fountain of giggles from her. When his fingers moved to the soft part of the sole just in front of the heel, once again she ignited with a squeal and even more rolling laughter. He could feel the very mammal urges he had mocked in the young, but he continued his assault, not letting his pants touch any surface lest the tension that was growing so delicious might cut short his enjoyment.
As suddenly as the tickling had started, he stopped, and he leaned in so that he could whisper in her ear. He relished the sound of her panting as her head, which she had thrown backwards in resignation, lifted to look at him.
"Pretty great, isn't it?"
She only stared at him, her eyes unable to decide whether to glare or to plead.
"The feet are pretty terrible, aren't they?"
She managed a feeble nod.
"Do you know what's worse?" Her eyes widened. "Do you know what will have you begging to trade your bra just for a little relief?"
"Please..."
"Oh, yes. I do like that. Beg some more!"
"Please, just make it stop!"
"When one thing stops another starts, Miss Holland. But you'll find that out soon enough. Right now, beg me to take your bra off and feather-tickle your breasts."
"No, please!"
"Beg me!"
"I can't!"
"We'll see about that!" His right hand plunged between her legs and iron-clawed the flesh of her inner thigh. As his thumbtip and fingertips squeezed in a staccato rhythm, Kim's hips found a new explosive source of energy and began to bounce violently in the seat. A ticklish, desperate scream filled the storage unit only for a moment, until a tortured laugh took over her body and became her only reality. His hand didn't move positions for what seemed forever, squeezing with the strength of his fingers and driving Kim Holland into ticklish waters she had never imagined. Her whole body was one ticklish nerve as his other hand shot up under her arm and poked at her ticklish skin.
Letting loose his claws, Smith commanded in a booming voice. "Beg me!"
Kim gasped a huge breath, then took large gulps of air in.
"Too slow!" Now his left hand tormented her other thigh. Once again she screamed, and once again his right hand worked first her ribs, then her armpit, then her side as he tortured her inner leg. After several seconds of that, he let his hands raise again.
"Now's your last chance! If you don't beg me to take that bra off, I'm going to work on those inner thighs, and I'm not stopping for a good, long time!"
"Please, don't make me..."
"That's not what will get me off of your legs!"
"Please..."
"Closer..."
"Please take..."
"Finish it!"
"Take my bra off!"
"No."
"What?"
"I'm going to work on those feet some more, and then you're going to have to beg me to take that bra off instead of coming back to your legs!"
And work on the feet he did: with all the attention he had paid to everything from her knees up, her body was working against her, and the residual oil on her right sole was still making the tips of his fingers slide along the skin, tormenting her skin. Kim, who thought she was exhausted before, found herself thrashing her head in response, her instincts to cover up, to fight back, to run away useless in the chair. In retrospect Kim realized that, when his fingers had hold of her thigh, she had experienced the same kind of thrill she did when a boyfriend was taking off her clothes, but this was nothing like that: whatever resembled butterflies in her stomach before had given way to ticklish torment, and she almost thought that the tickling was worse after the teasing. Whatever was the case, every time his fingertips found their way between her toes she squealed, and every pass of fingertips along her slick sole made her laugh so much that she couldn't remember whether she liked it or it was torture.
When Smith switched to her left sole the begging started immediately. Kim Holland had never needed anything as badly as she needed Dr. Smith to understand some version of "take it off." Yet no matter how she screamed through her own laughter, his fingers would not stop. He tickled and tickled until her abdomen ached from laughing, and whenever--
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
The sound of hope was a fist pounding on an aluminum door, and Kim's head came off the back of the dentist's chair in a hurry. She managed to get one scream of "Help!" out before she realized, through her own ticklish mental fog, that Dr. Smith registered no panic or even concern as he stopped tickling her foot and turned around to walk towards the door. As he raised it Kim thrilled: whoever came through would see that she needed help and stop Smith from making her laugh!
Through the door came two women, one more slender than the other but both young, though slightly older than Kim. "Miss Holland, I want you to meet Nikki Dyer and Rachel Williams, two former students of mine. Ladies, this is Kim Holland."
"Please, help me! He's torturing me!"
Nikki spoke first. "We know, Kim. Did you think that the rumors about Dr. Smith came from nowhere?"
Kim's blood ran cold. "Then you're here to..."
Rachel let that unfinished infinitive hang in the air for a moment. "That's right, Kim. He told Nikki while he was driving over here that we might have a fly caught in the web." She took another step closer as Smith lowered the metal door. "Have you worked on these beautiful feet yet?"
"I've enjoyed them, yes. She's as ticklish as I had hoped, and I'll bet she wishes she had just taken the failing grade on her paper at this point."
Nikki's face showed a playful disapproval. "You're not lowering grades to get girls into our hideout, are you?"
Kim now realized just how deep she was in. "Our hideout?"
Smith smiled. "Yes, Kim. Nikki and Rachel finished school over at the state university, but they went in with me on a storage unit so that they could continue to... explore possibilities. Everything you see here all three of us have bought, and all three of us have gotten quite good at tickling. Or did you think I was just this much of a natural?" His finger ran from her heel up her sole, and she squeaked. "Now they've been asking me to find someone else to bring in for them to try out what they know on someone other than the two here, but I've told them again and again that we'd have to get someone to come here voluntarily, that I'm not going to try to lure anyone." He turned to Nikki. "I'll have you know that the low grade was because Miss Holland here copied a paper from the Internet."
Now it was Rachel's turn to voice her outrage. "Kim! Why would you ever do that? Don't you know that there are punishments for cheaters?" She began to approach Kim's other foot.
"Not yet, Rachel. You know the rules--she has to volunteer!" He turned back to Kim. "I was never going to take off your bra--I just wanted you to feel what it's like to beg for what you never wanted before. But now the real trial begins. You're tired, aren't you?"
Kim nodded.
"You want me to stop tickling you, don't you?"
Another nod.
"Well, the only way out of that chair is onto that bed." He gestured to the bed that Kim had seen when she first entered, a queen-sized against the wall of the large storage area. "And when you do go to the bed, they'll be waiting for you." Smith gestured again, and Nikki and Rachel began to take off their own shoes and socks, then their other clothes.
"No, please. I'm not a lesbian!"
All three of her captors laughed. Smith spoke. "And I'm not all that attracted to younger women, at least not in normal circumstances. But normal isn't exactly the nature of this place, is it?" Smith positioned himself again where he could get to Kim's inner thighs easily and rested one hand on her nearest leg. "The more I tickle you, the hungrier they get for some of their own. But I'm not going to let you go to the bed until you're begging me to be their toy. I want to make sure they're good and ready to have their shot at you. So feel free to start begging whenever you want. I may or may not be in the mood to hear you."
The anticipation and the fear had stretched Kim's nerves tighter than they had ever been before, and when Smith's fingers clamped down around her inner thigh, Kim exploded. With his other hand he pinched Kim's side, just under her lowest rib. Kim thrashed and squealed, and as the other two women finished stripping down to their underwear and moved to the bed, they licked their lips watching the cruel professor tickle the young woman in the chair. Seeing that their professor was completely absorbed in tickling the slender swimmer and exchanging a glance, Nikki and Rachel began to steal to the side of her body where their professor wasn't. Nikki gravitated to her feet and quickly trapped one with one hand and got her fingernails ready to go to work on the other.
Rachel perched behind Kim, her own fingers poised under the vicim's armpits. Before she began to tickle, she taunted the giggling girl: "You'd better start begging him. Don't worry--we'll be really nice to you!"
Smith kept working the inner thighs and squeezing Kim's hips. As Nikki joined in, scratching across the oil-slippery sole with her fingernails, Kim couldn't even breathe enough to laugh out loud. And when Rachel's fingers began to torment her underarms, she began to beg as much as her lungs would allow: "Please... take me to the bed... please..."
Smith's head shook "No." The trio kept working on the begging beauty, and within a couple minutes, she fainted.
Smith held up his hand in a gesture to signal that they should stop, and they began to unstrap her from the chair. They carried her to the bed, the girl who was now all sweat and stained panties and exhaustion. Each girl took up a position on one side of Kim Holland, and Smith fetched a small vial of smelling salts. Kim snapped to attention and realized that she was between two other women, and all three were in their underwear. She also realized that her own skin, from the top of her head to the well-tickled soles of her feet, were one giant nerve, ready to explode at the slightest touch.
Rachel rolled in and hissed at her: "Kiss me, Kim."
"No... I can't..."
"I'm your last hope, Kim. If you don't do exactly what I say, we're all going to start tickling again."
Kim Holland had been boy-crazy since she was eight years old, but she knew when she had nothing left. Looking at her captor's red hair and green eyes, she leaned in and kissed Rachel Williams full on the lips. As she did, Nikki's hand shot forward and wrapped around her waist, her fingernails scratching across Kim's black belly. Kim uncoupled from Rachel and tried to cover up. Rachel, who wanted more of a kiss, reached out and grabbed the back of Kim's knee and squeezed. Within seconds Kim was wrapped up in a storm of arms and legs, long limbs wrapping around her and fingers and toes and tongues attacking spots that normally would have been sensitive but, in this state, drove her crazy, the feeling only faintly reminding her of anything she ever had experienced in her attempts at being some boy's girlfriend.
Kim Holland tried to reach between her own legs, hoping only for some kind of release, but before she could, two hands grabbed her wrists and wrenched her arms upward. Nikki's tongue licked her lips as she said, "Not so fast, Kim! You don't get to touch yourself down there! You have to ask one of us!"
"No! Let my hand go!"
Rachel began to tickle Kim's ribs, and Nikki would not release her arms. Really there was no chance for the younger woman: these two had the one thing in the world that her body wanted, and her skin had long since overwhelmed her will. Kim Holland heard herself begging to be touched, to be released from the ticklish torture, and Kim on Nikki took turns giving her the only thing in the universe that Kim Holland, on that night, in that place, could even think of wanting.
Across the storage space Dr. Smith ran a small camera, knowing that with a bit of editing, this might be the hottest (and, for Kim Holland, most dangerous) video he had ever recorded.
* * * * * * *
Kim Holland pulled into her dorm's parking lot only a couple hours before the sun rose. Behind her another car pulled up, and Kim got out of her vehicle and walked over to the window. As it rolled down, she could see the superior smirk of Rachel Williams, who was driving. Nikki leered from the passenger seat.
Rachel handed Kim's phone through the window. "Believe me when I say, Kim, that there's no point in trying to call the police or anything like that. He's got plans in place, and if you cross him, he's going to have you tickled naked."
"I only wanted to save my chances at law school."
Nikki now spoke. "No problem there, Kim. Just write your own papers, and get a tutor when you need to."
"And," Kim added, "if you ever want to join us for another session, just look us up online!" Both girls laughed as the window went back up.
Kim headed for the door of her dormitory, ready to sleep off the strangest Friday night she had ever experienced and scolding herself as she realized that she really might look up Nikki and Rachel.
I'm really having fun with this character now, and I while won't promise a sequel, I will say that a sequel is possible and even probable. Enjoy, and post feedback if you enjoy it--we writers live for the comments!
A Philosohpic Tickle
Tertia Pars
by Kid Indy
Prima Pars: http://www.ticklingforum.com/showthread.php?97720-A-Philosophic-Tickle-(m-f-teacher-student)
Secunda Pars: http://www.ticklingforum.com/showth...Ticke-Secunda-Pars-(m-f-f-f-student-teacher)&
"Nietzsche's basic move here is to change up the story. The way most people in his moment think about punishment is as rehabilitation: you do it for the criminal's own good. That idea's been around since Plato at least, and it's the most popular one among Christian thinkers. But what story does he suggest lies behind that?"
"That government is the enemy?"
"Mr. Stevens, did you read for today, or are you making things up?"
No reply. Making things up. Another hand went up.
"That people punish each other just for the heck of it?"
Now Dr. Smith had some place to go. "You're almost there. Nietzsche insists that being cruel to the weak is the true, genuine reward of being powerful. What he insists on, even though we moderns deny it, because Christianity has taught us that such things are 'evil,' is that being cruel is actually a source of pleasure."
"But why would someone want to hurt other people?"
Smith acknowledged that voice from the other corner of the room. "Well, what do you remember from psychology? What did Freud say about the Id?"
That corner went silent, but the non-reader chimed in again. "He said that the Id wants things that polite people don't talk about."
Smith clapped his hands loudly, startling two students receiving text messages. "Right! And he learned that notion from Plato first and foremost, but this essay was also instrumental in that notion."
Another voice chimed in. "But don't people feel bad when they've hurt other people?"
"Good question. And that's where both Nietzsche and Freud develop the idea that cruelty adapts so that it can be pleasurable to the one inflicting the cruelty without triggering the remorse that society teaches us to feel--that's Freud's super-ego--when we can see the damage we've done."
"Is that why people tie up girls and tickle them?"
Smith's heart skipped a beat. That question came from Kim, a beautiful, athletic African-American student, a scholarship sprint swimmer. That had been three years ago now, he thought, but then realized that he needed to respond. "Well, Kim, I suppose that's one way it could manifest. Freud, though, seems more interested in things like gossip and jokes rather than... that." Smith saw some of the students leaning over to each other and whispering. Nikki and Rachel had left the small Christian college after their unforgettable encounter with Dr. Smith, and Smith himself had stayed away from his college's students ever since, never once attempting to recreate those nights with students enrolled in his courses. But once again, he realized that getting back in control of his classroom would have to take priority over that memory in that moment. "Now back to the story of punishment and the rise of ressentiment."
* * * * * * *
"Miss Holland:
The essay which you turned in for course credit in Introduction from Philosophy was not your own work. It came from the following website, which presents itself as an aid for academic fraud."
Smith copied and pasted the link into the email and prepared to write the last bit of the brief email. It was a pity, really: Kim Holland, in addition to being athletic and quite a young beauty, seemed, usually, to have a stronger grasp on the philosophy readings than most of Smith's students, and such a stupid move as copying the sample paper (not even from behind a paywall, so that Google wouldn't catch it) struck him as below her.
Ah, well.
He finished the email, some form of which he had written a dozen times before, noting that he would report the incident to the office of academic integrity in the morning, and sent it. Turning to the next essay, he began to read the opening paragraph, when his phone buzzed. A text message had come to him:
NEED TO TALK. EMERGENCY. CAN U BE AT COFFEE SHOP IN 30 MINUTES?
Smith saw that the message had come from Kim Holland. "Well, that was quick." He sent a message back agreeing to meet. Twenty minutes later he was at a table, waiting for the sight of Kim entering. The sight was not disappointing: in the early days of April Southern girls get down to their shorts and sandals. Kim was no exception: the shoes let him see everything from the bright red toenail polish to the delicious blending of dark skin to light. Her ankles were the slim exhibits that athletes develop, and her trim calves were a sight to see. As she walked towards him, well-trained thigh muscles rippled with each step, and as she sat down across from him, the shorts only denied him the smallest portion of the view.
"Dr. Smith, I know I messed up." He knew this talk, the vocabulary, the attempts to simulate repentance when self-preservation was really all they wanted. "I just didn't know what exactly you wanted, and--"
"Why didn't you stop by the office for help?" Smith's eyes locked hers, those dark brown orbs.
Her answer still didn't swerve from the standard script. "I just didn't want to bother you." Smith could recite this meeting without much thought, so he got a good chance to take in the glory that was Kim Holland: an angular face, one whose lines drew the eye, but with a mouth that made Smith think about tasting it. As she gestured and made excuses, he saw that her arms, like her legs, were nothing short of specimens of human perfection, and the loose t-shirt that shrouded her torso promised similar treasures beneath. But his reverie was interrupted when she went off-script.
"Look, I know you're not going to let me off here. So why not do this old school and punish me in a way that you'll enjoy?"
Smith blinked. "What?"
"You know what I mean."
"What?"
Kim leaned in, now whispering. "You know what. I've heard the stories."
Smith gritted his teeth. "What stories?"
Now the mouth, still exciting fantasies of tasting, curled into a smile. "All the girls on campus have heard the legend of the tickling professor. And you're not denying it, so I think it might be true."
Smith leaned back from the whispering lips and folded his arms. "Look, it's just an academic honesty violation. Since it's your first one, nothing will come of it but--"
"It's my third." Now the eyes stared at him. "If I get caught for this one, I'm out of school permanently."
"Why in the world would you do this three times? You know what you're talking about in class!"
"I'm trying to get into law school, Dr. Smith. I need the A."
"Well, I'm sorry, but this isn't going to stand."
"You're really going to change the subject like it's not on the table?" The smile again. "Like you said, I know the material. And you know what you really want here. Why don't we settle this like you really want to?"
Smith's frown deepened. When Nikki had left campus, Smith had never thought another opportunity like this would drop in his lap so soon, though he knew as well as he knew anything that he wanted another taste. But could he trust himself when the student was driving things like this? Could this be the trap that finally catches him? His thought process disintegrated as he felt a foot rub up the inside of his calf.
"Don't you want to touch what you've been seeing all semester?"
Smith hissed. "Stop that! We're in a public place here!"
Kim whispered and grinned wickedly. "I've seen you thinking about whether I'm ticklish or not. Well, now's your chance to find out!" Her foot once again rubbed his leg. He stood up and stepped back, conscious that, if people weren't looking at him before, they were now.
Smith lowered his voice, only projecting as far as Kim. "This is not happening. I'm leaving, and you'd better not follow me." He left a still-grinning Kim Holland sitting at the coffee shop table.
* * * * * * *
Smith did not go back to his house but to a storage facility he had started renting after the last episode with Nikki. The place was out in the middle of nowhere, and the only sign of life that he could discern was the pair of headlights following him down the back roads. He licked his lips in anticipation. But he had to be in character, so he took some deep breaths as he pulled into the storage facility's driveway and began to turn the key.
The place was a real dump--off the highways, no security cameras, not many streetlights for some distance in either direction. But all that meant that the rent was cheap, and more importantly in moments like this, there wouldn't be any trouble.
Kim's car rolled up behind his as he began to swing the gate open. He looked into the headlights behind his car and gestured to the street outside the facility.
"If you're coming in, leave the car out here." Kim complied, pulling the car alongside the road. Smith shut the gate behind her as she came inside. "You shouldn't have followed me." He locked the gate.
"I told you, Dr. Smith, I need to get into law school. If that means you tickle me, I can take it."
"Move your car."
He watched as the car pulled about a quarter mile down the road and pulled it off to the side. Smith left his own engine and headlights on so that she could find her way back. He closed and padlocked the gate behind her as she came in, and he started to make his way towards one of the garage-sized storage units.
After the door rolled up, Smith turned on an electric light, and Kim gasped as she saw what the light revealed. The stories had always been about a motel room and padded cuffs, and padded cuffs she could see, but nothing in those stories prepared her for the torture chamber in front of her: in one corner a steel frame reached eight feet into the air, offering padded cuffs no doubt intended to hold a victim's body upright. Next to it was something that looked like a maternity ward's delivery table, only with more padded leather cuffs to restrain wrists and, instead of stirrups, restraints for ankles. A queen-sized bed, with high posts for tying more restraints occupied the space across the room from those apparatus, and a metal toolchest sat next to a rolling office chair in the midst of all of it. Kim started as she heard Smith's whispering voice behind her.
"You're going to be trying out all of these before we're done with you." He began to lower the storage garage's door with one hand, and every instinct in Kim's body wanted to run out before it closed all the way. But law school was calling, and she couldn't back out now.
"Where do you want me first?"
"At the desk, of course." He took two long strides across the space to the tool chest, and opening a drawer, he produced a piece of paper with only a signature line at the bottom.
"What is that for?"
"I'm going to write your confession letter on it."
"But I'm not confessing anything! That's why we're here!"
"This is insurance. If you decide to be dumb after tonight is over, I'll be able to show the administration a signed confession that you... now that I think of it, that you did whatever I decide you did."
"I'm not signing it!"
"Then this is over." He began to raise the door.
"Wait! You won't use it if I don't try to turn you in, right?"
"I wouldn't think of it."
Kim didn't like the prospects, but she knew that he was in the driver's seat, so she reluctantly signed. Smith gestured to the tall steel frame, and Kim started to reach for one of the cuffs.
"Down to your underwear first."
"Do I have to?"
"More spots to explore."
"Why not naked?"
"Nudity is only for when you ask for it."
Kim's stance turned defiant. "Let's get something straight, Dr. Smith. I'm not here because I'm one of those white girls who gets hot for professors. I'm here for business."
Smith flashed a sly grin. "Keep telling yourself that, Kim, but for now, down to your underwear." She complied, taking off her flip-flops, then her tank top, then her shorts. What lay beneath was no disappointment: stretched out for him to touch, her body would be nothing short of a specimen. He gestured once more to the steel frame, and she tried to wrap one of the fur-lined cuffs around her left wrist. Smith leaned in behind her as he helped attach the cuff. "You can start out pretending that it's not getting to you, but now that I've got my paperwork, we've got all night together." With that the cuff's connector clicked into place, and Smith began, deliberately so that she would have time to think about it, to guide her other wrist up to the other cuff, leaving her entire torso uncovered save by her white cotton bra. Kim now stood at full height, her arms suspended above her head, many ticklish spots inviting the discerning hand. Such a treasure he hadn't had in front of him since the night with Nikki and Rachel, and he wasn't fool enough not to enjoy this one.
"You see, Kim, I didn't think I'd ever have a chance like this again, but after the last two happened so close to each other, I started collecting. So what you've fallen into is the mind of a man who's been dreaming of another catch for three years. And you practically begged to join me."
"This is all about getting me to law school!"
He stepped quickly around to the back of her and whispered in her ear: "It won't be for long." His two index fingers found their way to her panty line and quickly traced lines across the tops of her hips and finished just under her ribs, where they joined thumbs for a light pinch on each side. He heard her gasp at the feeling, and he began to trace lines with index and middle fingers around her upper ribcage, flirting with her underarms. "You can start laughing whenever you'd like. It's going to happen whether you want it to or not."
"You think nobody's ever tickled me before?"
Smith's fingers worked around her sides, still not entering her underarms. "I'm sure they have, Miss Holland. I'm sure you think you've been tickled for a while, too. But you see, when those boys tickled you, it was to loosen you up because they wanted to get you in bed. I don't have any intention to take my clothes off tonight."
Kim moaned as the laughter welled up from the middle of her body. "What do you want, then?"
"I want to hear you beg!" With that his fingers, three from each hand, began their attack on her underarms, and Kim screamed into a screech of laughter. Her arms strained to pull her body weight up but to no avail: just as she tried to tighten her torso to pull, Smith's right hand wriggled down her side and tickled her hip, taking her attempt off balance and merely twisting in the wind. The middle-aged man's fingers moved like lightning, hungry for the forbidden pleasure they'd been denied for so long, and Kim knew he was right: this was not the pawing of a sophomore basketball player but the intentional assault of a man out to inflict cruelty on the young woman in his trap.
Smith now spoke in a normal voice, though his tickling fingers did not slow. "When I work on your armpits and eventually your feet, you're going to beg me to stop." Just the thought of these merciless hands on her feet made her whole body light up in a ticklish thrill, and his hands, one having snaked around to her belly and the other working under her arm, suddenly tickled far worse than they had before. "Then, when I find out where you're most ticklish, I'm going to work on that spot until you beg me to finish." Kim just kept laughing; she feared that she knew exactly what he meant by "finish," and she feared even worse that he really was going to take her some place beyond what she could imagine.
The suspension bar was starting to reveal its power too: as Smith tickled and tickled, Kim's knees began to weaken, and her body weight was no longer on her feet but hanging from the cuffs. Such stretching meant that her ticklish nerves were pulled tight, and the more ticklish she got, the more tired she got, and vice versa. And with no solid fulcrum to brace herself, each time she writhed--and writhe she did--left her dangling and twirling in space, never escaping Smith's torturing fingers but wearing out her own ability to resist nonetheless. Before long Smith found her sweet spot: even as her body tired, a pinch of the hip, on either side, would spur another strong twist and another intoxicating squeal from the beautiful young woman. So Smith started going back to that well, moving one hand, then the other down from her underarm, her ribs, or her belly, never dwelling on the hip but enjoying each return's explosive result.
After several minutes of that torture, Smith slowed the pace down, and as Kim's wild laughter slowed, she began to moan in torment as Smith's fingers slowly traced meandering lines across her abdomen, not making her scream but slowly tickling her exposed skin. "Oh, so I see you like that!"
Kim did not speak and even tried to stifle her own moan. Smith's claw shot down and feasted on her hip. She squealed and jumped, then began to moan, despite herself, as he continued the slow torture of her belly. "If you don't talk to me, you're going to scream for me!"
"Please just stop!"
"That's what I like to hear! I knew you would beg! Let's hear some more of that!"
The proud young woman, enraged at her own defeat, just growled at him, which brought another pinch of the hip and another scream and once again the slow, unbearable caressing of her panty line. "Beg me!"
"Please stop!"
"More." She begged more. "Tell me how it feels!"
"It tickles!"
"Not good enough!" Now both hands went to work on her ticklish hips, and her feet began a frantic dance, twisting her hips this way and that but never escaping his hands. When his fingers once more began their slow exploration of her midsection, she didn't even wait for more prompts.
"It's like you're controlling my mind! I don't want to laugh any more, but you can make me!"
"Better. And that's the torture in tickle torture--you have to laugh when I want you to, whether you think it's funny or not. And we're not done yet, Miss Holland!"
"Please, just let me go!"
"No, but I can let you sit down for a while."
"Yes!"
"But you have to trade me something for the seat."
"Please! What do you want for the trade?"
"Your feet."
Kim's moan of forced pleasure mixed with a loud sigh of resignation. "Fine! Just let me sit down!" And like magic, the fingers left her midsection. Kim turned as much as her tired body would let her to see Smith rolling the chair her way. One by one he helped her lift her legs onto the chair, strapping each down with the fur-lined leather, and then he released one arm, then the other, lashing them to the raised arms of the chair. She couldn't deny the relief that she felt not hanging and standing, but she knew full well that her underarms remained vulnerable and that, with her ankles spread and tied, that Smith would now have access to her feet and legs.
Smith reached into his tool chest and brought out a squeeze bottle. Kim gasped at the sight, wondering herself how much was fear and how much anticipation. Rolling a short round stool towards Kim's feet, Smith took his position, and Kim gasped again as she felt a thick, cool liquid on the sole of her right foot. She couldn't help but moan at the unexpected pleasure of feeling his fingers rub the liquid in, and she tried to shake off the feeling as he turned to treat the other.
"It's alright to enjoy some of this, Miss Holland. Preparing for a truly cruel foot tickling can bring its own pleasures." Kim tried not to respond to the arrogant teacher's offer but once again found her back arching and her abdomen purring with pleasure as he rubbed the oil on her right foot. "The oil serves a purpose not unrelated to its job in a foot massage: It lets my hands work on your feet in a way that's much smoother. The nerves in your feet are getting less and less resistant to my touch by the second as that oil works on them." Kim felt herself starting to breathe more quickly in spite of herself. "Would you like me to demonstrate?"
Her silence dissolved. "No!" But the protest was in vain: one of Smith's hands began to bend the toes of her right foot backwards, and the other hand started to stroke her oiled sole. The sensations were instant and terrible, and the tickling, something unlike anything the boys at her college had ever inflicted on her, drove her hips skyward and her voice into a tormented and hilarious scream. For three large bounces of her hips she managed to keep screaming, but on the fourth her body betrayed her, and she started a laugh that she could not herself stop. Every move of Smith's fingers across her taut, oiled foot made her want to run, to fight, to do anything to make that delicious but unstoppable feeling leave, but nobody was leaving. Her hips' bouncing soon gave way to a frenzied twisting of her torso. But that could not last long either, and soon Kim was able only to close her eyes and laugh out of her own control, not so much yielding to the desire to giggle but living in a body that could do nothing else. She could feel his fingertips slide along the edge of her heel, from the ball of her foot up into the bases of her toes, and what he seemed to enjoy most, the skin of her arch, drawing lines again and again up and down the length of her foot. Kim lost all sense of time, of where she was, even of who she was: her ticklish body had become the whole world, and some evil demon was playing a merciless game on the farthest extreme of the same.
And the worst part was that the tickling wasn't only working on her foot. Dr. Smith's fingers had not left her ticklish extremity, but she could feel the nerves in her lower leg, then her inner thigh, tingle with an excitement that she couldn't contain, and when that heightened sense of being-touched spread past her leg, she felt a moan start to compete with the laughter. What the smug teacher had promised on the suspension bar was really coming to pass in the chair, and now Kim could only pray that she could keep laughing, that she wouldn't show her torturer what her body had conspired to do to her.
"Ohhhhhhnhhhhh!!"
Smith let up instantly. "Well, what have we here? I think you've got some more naughty to you than you let on!" With a precision that Kim knew would overwhelm her he once again picked up the oil and began to work it into her left foot. She felt herself moan out loud this time as his hands massaged her foot. "There's something you should know, Miss Holland. Research has shown that most women's left feet are far more ticklish than their right. What you just experienced with your right foot is going to start faster, get where it's going in a hurry, and bring you places that you only feared when I was working on your right."
"Please!"
"Please what, Miss Holland?"
"Just let me go!"
"Ah! Now this is the start of the begging that I like to hear! But I can hear it in your voice--you fear that the other begging might be around the corner. Let's get away from fearing it and get on to knowing it, why don't we?"
"No!"
But his fingers started nonetheless, and Kim Holland did scream. Once again her body tried to arch, but she was more tired now, and Smith's fingers were the hungriest sort with such a body to feast on. As he stroked and scratched and painted his masterpiece in the oil on her foot, he began to taunt her, and every word he spoke seemed to make her more ticklish and to add fuel to the fire that was lighting up her whole body.
"You never knew that this was how far tickling could go, did you? All a twenty-year-old boy knows how to do is to get a little giggle out of you and get your hips to wiggle, then he wants to do what any dumb mammal wants. But now you know what real desire for cruelty is like, Miss Holland. And the night is still young!" Kim laughed as each of his fingers traced paths down her sole, and she soon heard herself laughing the syllable "No" in between breaths. Smith used one hand to pull her big toe to the side and began to work the skin between the ball of her foot and her toes, and that new mode of assault drew a renewed fountain of giggles from her. When his fingers moved to the soft part of the sole just in front of the heel, once again she ignited with a squeal and even more rolling laughter. He could feel the very mammal urges he had mocked in the young, but he continued his assault, not letting his pants touch any surface lest the tension that was growing so delicious might cut short his enjoyment.
As suddenly as the tickling had started, he stopped, and he leaned in so that he could whisper in her ear. He relished the sound of her panting as her head, which she had thrown backwards in resignation, lifted to look at him.
"Pretty great, isn't it?"
She only stared at him, her eyes unable to decide whether to glare or to plead.
"The feet are pretty terrible, aren't they?"
She managed a feeble nod.
"Do you know what's worse?" Her eyes widened. "Do you know what will have you begging to trade your bra just for a little relief?"
"Please..."
"Oh, yes. I do like that. Beg some more!"
"Please, just make it stop!"
"When one thing stops another starts, Miss Holland. But you'll find that out soon enough. Right now, beg me to take your bra off and feather-tickle your breasts."
"No, please!"
"Beg me!"
"I can't!"
"We'll see about that!" His right hand plunged between her legs and iron-clawed the flesh of her inner thigh. As his thumbtip and fingertips squeezed in a staccato rhythm, Kim's hips found a new explosive source of energy and began to bounce violently in the seat. A ticklish, desperate scream filled the storage unit only for a moment, until a tortured laugh took over her body and became her only reality. His hand didn't move positions for what seemed forever, squeezing with the strength of his fingers and driving Kim Holland into ticklish waters she had never imagined. Her whole body was one ticklish nerve as his other hand shot up under her arm and poked at her ticklish skin.
Letting loose his claws, Smith commanded in a booming voice. "Beg me!"
Kim gasped a huge breath, then took large gulps of air in.
"Too slow!" Now his left hand tormented her other thigh. Once again she screamed, and once again his right hand worked first her ribs, then her armpit, then her side as he tortured her inner leg. After several seconds of that, he let his hands raise again.
"Now's your last chance! If you don't beg me to take that bra off, I'm going to work on those inner thighs, and I'm not stopping for a good, long time!"
"Please, don't make me..."
"That's not what will get me off of your legs!"
"Please..."
"Closer..."
"Please take..."
"Finish it!"
"Take my bra off!"
"No."
"What?"
"I'm going to work on those feet some more, and then you're going to have to beg me to take that bra off instead of coming back to your legs!"
And work on the feet he did: with all the attention he had paid to everything from her knees up, her body was working against her, and the residual oil on her right sole was still making the tips of his fingers slide along the skin, tormenting her skin. Kim, who thought she was exhausted before, found herself thrashing her head in response, her instincts to cover up, to fight back, to run away useless in the chair. In retrospect Kim realized that, when his fingers had hold of her thigh, she had experienced the same kind of thrill she did when a boyfriend was taking off her clothes, but this was nothing like that: whatever resembled butterflies in her stomach before had given way to ticklish torment, and she almost thought that the tickling was worse after the teasing. Whatever was the case, every time his fingertips found their way between her toes she squealed, and every pass of fingertips along her slick sole made her laugh so much that she couldn't remember whether she liked it or it was torture.
When Smith switched to her left sole the begging started immediately. Kim Holland had never needed anything as badly as she needed Dr. Smith to understand some version of "take it off." Yet no matter how she screamed through her own laughter, his fingers would not stop. He tickled and tickled until her abdomen ached from laughing, and whenever--
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
The sound of hope was a fist pounding on an aluminum door, and Kim's head came off the back of the dentist's chair in a hurry. She managed to get one scream of "Help!" out before she realized, through her own ticklish mental fog, that Dr. Smith registered no panic or even concern as he stopped tickling her foot and turned around to walk towards the door. As he raised it Kim thrilled: whoever came through would see that she needed help and stop Smith from making her laugh!
Through the door came two women, one more slender than the other but both young, though slightly older than Kim. "Miss Holland, I want you to meet Nikki Dyer and Rachel Williams, two former students of mine. Ladies, this is Kim Holland."
"Please, help me! He's torturing me!"
Nikki spoke first. "We know, Kim. Did you think that the rumors about Dr. Smith came from nowhere?"
Kim's blood ran cold. "Then you're here to..."
Rachel let that unfinished infinitive hang in the air for a moment. "That's right, Kim. He told Nikki while he was driving over here that we might have a fly caught in the web." She took another step closer as Smith lowered the metal door. "Have you worked on these beautiful feet yet?"
"I've enjoyed them, yes. She's as ticklish as I had hoped, and I'll bet she wishes she had just taken the failing grade on her paper at this point."
Nikki's face showed a playful disapproval. "You're not lowering grades to get girls into our hideout, are you?"
Kim now realized just how deep she was in. "Our hideout?"
Smith smiled. "Yes, Kim. Nikki and Rachel finished school over at the state university, but they went in with me on a storage unit so that they could continue to... explore possibilities. Everything you see here all three of us have bought, and all three of us have gotten quite good at tickling. Or did you think I was just this much of a natural?" His finger ran from her heel up her sole, and she squeaked. "Now they've been asking me to find someone else to bring in for them to try out what they know on someone other than the two here, but I've told them again and again that we'd have to get someone to come here voluntarily, that I'm not going to try to lure anyone." He turned to Nikki. "I'll have you know that the low grade was because Miss Holland here copied a paper from the Internet."
Now it was Rachel's turn to voice her outrage. "Kim! Why would you ever do that? Don't you know that there are punishments for cheaters?" She began to approach Kim's other foot.
"Not yet, Rachel. You know the rules--she has to volunteer!" He turned back to Kim. "I was never going to take off your bra--I just wanted you to feel what it's like to beg for what you never wanted before. But now the real trial begins. You're tired, aren't you?"
Kim nodded.
"You want me to stop tickling you, don't you?"
Another nod.
"Well, the only way out of that chair is onto that bed." He gestured to the bed that Kim had seen when she first entered, a queen-sized against the wall of the large storage area. "And when you do go to the bed, they'll be waiting for you." Smith gestured again, and Nikki and Rachel began to take off their own shoes and socks, then their other clothes.
"No, please. I'm not a lesbian!"
All three of her captors laughed. Smith spoke. "And I'm not all that attracted to younger women, at least not in normal circumstances. But normal isn't exactly the nature of this place, is it?" Smith positioned himself again where he could get to Kim's inner thighs easily and rested one hand on her nearest leg. "The more I tickle you, the hungrier they get for some of their own. But I'm not going to let you go to the bed until you're begging me to be their toy. I want to make sure they're good and ready to have their shot at you. So feel free to start begging whenever you want. I may or may not be in the mood to hear you."
The anticipation and the fear had stretched Kim's nerves tighter than they had ever been before, and when Smith's fingers clamped down around her inner thigh, Kim exploded. With his other hand he pinched Kim's side, just under her lowest rib. Kim thrashed and squealed, and as the other two women finished stripping down to their underwear and moved to the bed, they licked their lips watching the cruel professor tickle the young woman in the chair. Seeing that their professor was completely absorbed in tickling the slender swimmer and exchanging a glance, Nikki and Rachel began to steal to the side of her body where their professor wasn't. Nikki gravitated to her feet and quickly trapped one with one hand and got her fingernails ready to go to work on the other.
Rachel perched behind Kim, her own fingers poised under the vicim's armpits. Before she began to tickle, she taunted the giggling girl: "You'd better start begging him. Don't worry--we'll be really nice to you!"
Smith kept working the inner thighs and squeezing Kim's hips. As Nikki joined in, scratching across the oil-slippery sole with her fingernails, Kim couldn't even breathe enough to laugh out loud. And when Rachel's fingers began to torment her underarms, she began to beg as much as her lungs would allow: "Please... take me to the bed... please..."
Smith's head shook "No." The trio kept working on the begging beauty, and within a couple minutes, she fainted.
Smith held up his hand in a gesture to signal that they should stop, and they began to unstrap her from the chair. They carried her to the bed, the girl who was now all sweat and stained panties and exhaustion. Each girl took up a position on one side of Kim Holland, and Smith fetched a small vial of smelling salts. Kim snapped to attention and realized that she was between two other women, and all three were in their underwear. She also realized that her own skin, from the top of her head to the well-tickled soles of her feet, were one giant nerve, ready to explode at the slightest touch.
Rachel rolled in and hissed at her: "Kiss me, Kim."
"No... I can't..."
"I'm your last hope, Kim. If you don't do exactly what I say, we're all going to start tickling again."
Kim Holland had been boy-crazy since she was eight years old, but she knew when she had nothing left. Looking at her captor's red hair and green eyes, she leaned in and kissed Rachel Williams full on the lips. As she did, Nikki's hand shot forward and wrapped around her waist, her fingernails scratching across Kim's black belly. Kim uncoupled from Rachel and tried to cover up. Rachel, who wanted more of a kiss, reached out and grabbed the back of Kim's knee and squeezed. Within seconds Kim was wrapped up in a storm of arms and legs, long limbs wrapping around her and fingers and toes and tongues attacking spots that normally would have been sensitive but, in this state, drove her crazy, the feeling only faintly reminding her of anything she ever had experienced in her attempts at being some boy's girlfriend.
Kim Holland tried to reach between her own legs, hoping only for some kind of release, but before she could, two hands grabbed her wrists and wrenched her arms upward. Nikki's tongue licked her lips as she said, "Not so fast, Kim! You don't get to touch yourself down there! You have to ask one of us!"
"No! Let my hand go!"
Rachel began to tickle Kim's ribs, and Nikki would not release her arms. Really there was no chance for the younger woman: these two had the one thing in the world that her body wanted, and her skin had long since overwhelmed her will. Kim Holland heard herself begging to be touched, to be released from the ticklish torture, and Kim on Nikki took turns giving her the only thing in the universe that Kim Holland, on that night, in that place, could even think of wanting.
Across the storage space Dr. Smith ran a small camera, knowing that with a bit of editing, this might be the hottest (and, for Kim Holland, most dangerous) video he had ever recorded.
* * * * * * *
Kim Holland pulled into her dorm's parking lot only a couple hours before the sun rose. Behind her another car pulled up, and Kim got out of her vehicle and walked over to the window. As it rolled down, she could see the superior smirk of Rachel Williams, who was driving. Nikki leered from the passenger seat.
Rachel handed Kim's phone through the window. "Believe me when I say, Kim, that there's no point in trying to call the police or anything like that. He's got plans in place, and if you cross him, he's going to have you tickled naked."
"I only wanted to save my chances at law school."
Nikki now spoke. "No problem there, Kim. Just write your own papers, and get a tutor when you need to."
"And," Kim added, "if you ever want to join us for another session, just look us up online!" Both girls laughed as the window went back up.
Kim headed for the door of her dormitory, ready to sleep off the strangest Friday night she had ever experienced and scolding herself as she realized that she really might look up Nikki and Rachel.
