Jaynin
4th Level Red Feather
- Joined
- Jul 12, 2003
- Messages
- 1,979
- Points
- 38
With an easy smile on her face, the blue-haired bombshell Syia strode through the front door of the restaurant where she worked, her demeanor showing neither the anxiety nor hurriedness that might have shown in other people when they were running ten minutes late. Though Syia didn't make a habit of being late, she wasn't going to twist herself halfway into a knot over being late or go to great lengths to avoid such like Felin, or completely flake out and show up half an hour late like Jelex might. One might even call it being fashionably late, except that generally such a concept doesn't apply when it concerns one's job. And besides, Syia was curious to see how the manager might react to it. She nodded to one of the other servers that she knew, a girl who was just now handling a large circular tray onto a stand to serve customers their meal, and proceeded into the back and the changing rooms.
Her manager, a handsome woman in her late thirties with auburn hair falling to her shoulders, looked like she might have been pretty if not forced into the bland white polo shirt and khaki pants that were her uniform, but Syia supposed that the manager's uniform wasn't supposed to make her look pretty. The servers, on the other hand... Syia opened her locker, checking to see that all was in order there, that the white tube top and red skirt were not mussed, and then lifted her shirt over her head. Just before it obscured her vision, she saw the manager heading towards her, clipboard tucked under her arm and a stern expression on her face. By the time Syia's shirt had cleared her head and been hung up in the locker, she was standing right before her.
"You're late," she said neutrally, eyes flicking to the inside of the locker as Syia removed her skirt and hung that up as well, then reached for her top, only to be stopped by the arm of the manager blocking her way. "It's just as well, though. I've got a new uniform just in that I wanted you to try out for me today." Syia blinked, withdrawing her arm, not at all self-conscious about standing before her manager in just her underwear. She was, after all, a woman as well, and not some claw-fingered old hag that might be inclined to be nasty just because Syia was young and pretty. On the contrary, Syia often got the impression that her manager knew precisely the value of a young girl with a pretty face in a skirt. The restaurant did pretty good business, after all.
"Why me?" Syia asked casually, folding her arms underneath of her breasts, the royal blue of her bra matching her hair quite well. Her manager didn't answer, but instead beckoned Syia to the office, giving her no choice but to follow along in her bra and panties. Syia shrugged it off. The woman was forward and had a no-nonsense air about her, but she also never wasted time playing silly power games with her employees. If you did something she didn't like, you heard about it pretty quick, in no uncertain terms. Once inside the thinly carpeted office, which had a cramped feel due to the low ceiling and the filing cabinets lining the left wall, the manager reached inside a box that was atop her drab gray desk and pulled out two dazzling blue articles of clothing; a tube top and a skirt, just like what had been in her locker, just a different color and no significant difference in cut that she could detect. Tossing the two items to Syia, she finally answered the question:
"Because I want to try it out and see how it looks, and you fill these out better than anyone else does. I want you to wear it for the night and see how it goes over." Syia nodded, pulling the skirt on as she did so, mouth open to ask a question that was cut off as she gasped with surprise as she felt something soft race up her legs. Quickly she secured the skirt around her waist and brushed at her thighs to ward off whatever it had been that rubbed against her, only to realize that the source of the soft feeling had been the inside of the skirt itself, and that soft, vaguely tickly sensation was hanging about her thighs and hips now... There seemed to be a brief grin of satisfaction on the manager's face as Syia hesitated, turning around and unhooking her bra, before pulling on the tube top. Suspicious of this outfit now, Syia slowly worked the tube top on over her arms...
"Hyeeeeek! Hey!" Syia squealed aloud, as the manager grasped the hem of the shirt and pulled it into place abruptly, adjusting it for Syia as the girl stood there, wide-eyed and fighting off the onset of giggles as she adjusted and wiggled the top around, before sighing in relief as the manager withdrew. "G-geez... that startled me. What the heck is on the inside of this outfit, anyway?" Just like the skirt, there had been something soft, or more correctly many soft things, that had teased her breasts as the top was pulled into place, and moreso than the tickly feeling on her legs, this nearly drove Syia to jump out of her skin.
"Something soft," the manager replied cryptically. "Now, get going. You're already late." Syia tried to take a step, but the 'something soft' brushed along her thighs, making her stand up straight again with a gasp, going woodenly stiff in an attempt not to rub against it again, taking small, straight-legged steps. "You can't serve tables that way, Syia. Get moving." The manager made no move to leave, so Syia had to take a deep breath and compose herself before walking at a normal pace with a normal stride, hardly able to contain the giggle that bubbled up.
Quickly walking, a huge grin on her face and a provocative twist to her hips as she tried somehow to avoid brushing against what she suspected were feathers lining the inside of her skirt, Syia made it to the front, a silly grin on her face as she reported to the hostess, who nodded cheerfully and assigned Syia a section for the night. Maybe she thought Syia was just being unusually cheerful - Syia did try to smile often - but there was a rather obvious difference between that kind of smile and this smile, which tugged the corners of lips up at the same time it tightened her eyes slightly, making it seem like she was on the verge of breaking into laughter "Okay, I want you to get one through sixteen tonight," she told Syia, tapping the place on the laminated sheet of paper, and Syia nodded thankfully. At least it was the section closest to the kitchen...
Syia immediately headed over to the table indicated by the hostess, where a group had come in and sat down just a minute ago, taking her notepad and pen from the skirt pocket, and burst into giggles. The action of moving her arms caused her breasts to slide against the feathers, the soft bristles brushing against Syia's sensitive orbs of flesh, but doing the worst damage where they found the firmer skin of her nipples; there, it seemed like the feather was managing to stroke its entire length along the tip, and Syia had to catch herself against the wall, nearly stumbling, to prevent from sinking to her knees in giggles and clutching her chest. Gingerly, Syia rose, and headed for the table slowly, until she caught the manager giving her a glare for the slow pace, and with a reluctant rush of breath, Syia quickly finished the few steps to the table.
As she raised her arms habitually to prepare her pen for writing, holding the pad and paper out in front of herself just below eye level, she nearly burst into giggles again. "Heehee-hello, my name is Syiaaaaaa and... I'll beeeeh... your server tonight!" she managed to finish with a cheerful smile, painfully aware of each giggle that slipped past her lips. She knew that if she didn't move much, the feathers on the inside of her costume didn't do much besides provide a persistent, though not unpleasant, tingle, but staying still was more easily said than done. Thinking to calm herself, Syia took a deep breath - and it took all of her willpower not to let that breath explode out of her in helpless laughter. When her chest rose with the intake of breath, her breasts brushed up against all the feathers at once, and she had to bite her lower lip to keep from bursting.
Fortunately for her, the two young men and one young woman seated at the table either didn't take notice of or didn't mind her display of giggling and strange behavior, and Syia found that by tucking the notepad against her upper arm and laying it against her bicep, she could manage to write without moving too much, although she was aware the pose must seem awkwardly wooden to an observer... writing as quickly as she could, she thanked them and turned smartly, instinctively taking a few quick steps towards the bar area, and promptly paying for her forgetfulness with a squealed giggle, which made the group she'd just served giggle with amusement at her behavior. Face reddening slightly, Syia took quick, short steps to the bar, ducking beside it, and raising a trembling arm to pass the order back to the kitchen. That done, she let out a sigh of relief and gingerly made her way out from behind the bar. The young man tending bar that night, a nice if somewhat shy young man, gave her a smile which she returned.
Best be careful back here, Syia thought to herself. There were lots of glasses and fragile bottles that an ill-timed ticklish convulsion could send flying... She thought to go and see the manager about changing back into her normal clothes, but the woman was nowhere to be seen, and the hostess seated an elderly couple at a booth that she was supposed to be seeing to, so Syia sighed, her white sneakers softly padding against the black floor as she managed to make her way over to the booth where they sat, wondering why an elderly couple would come here. For the most part it was a place popular with younger people; there were neon advertisements around the bar, several televisions usually tuned to a sporting event, and a large bar that took up one corner of the seating area, bordering the kitchen. The music was usually upbeat and while not so loud as to drown out conversation, definitely noticeable in the background. Right now there was only music playing over the house speakers, but frequently there would be a local band playing on the stage in the corner. The inside walls were brick and the lights slightly dim, giving it a sort of 'underground' feeling that, coupled with the pretty girls and boys the manager preferred to hire, made it a successful venture among the younger crowd.
With a minimum of giggling and awkwardness, Syia made it to the table in question, though as she raised her arms again that helpless giggle bubbled out of her lips, one which she tried to cover up with a cutesy smile and nod, while fighting off the urge to grab at her breasts and try to rub the ticklish feeling out of them which, besides looking rather strange, would probably not have helped at all. But it didn't go over so well this time. The elderly woman, with her white hair drawn into a severe bun, glowered over the tops of her glasses. "Don't giggle, it isn't professional," she snapped, looking Syia up and down. "Nor are clothes like that. You ought to cover up instead of showing yourself off to everyone like -- "
"It's the uniform, ma'am," Syia cut her off in a breathless rush, trying to stay ahead of her and not let this develop into an ugly situation while at the same time trying desperately not to giggle. Looking not at all satisfied with the answer, but lacking a subject to latch onto for now, the woman harrumphed and instead went back to her menu, reeling off her order in what seemed to be a deliberately rapid voice, which Syia managed to keep up with, but writing so hard caused her lips to turn up in a smile, and she just barely managed to bite back a giggle at the sight of the elderly woman's scowl. "And you?" she asked to the elderly man, hoping that he would be more cordial than the woman. To avoid her gaze, Syia turned slightly so that she was facing the old man more, with her side to the woman, and breathed a sigh of relief when he ordered much more like a normal customer, down to the 'uhh' and 'umm' pauses which made it easier for Syia to keep -- "Hyeeeek!"
All at once her tube top had shifted, slightly tugging down, causing those feathers to brush up against her breasts again and catching her off guard... Her whole body tensed, making her go up on her toes and arch her back, as she felt the top shift and sway, the feathers insistently rubbing against her breasts and around her thighs as the skirt started to move when the top went still, before finally the ordeal passed, yet it was a few moments more before Syia could bear to try speaking again without giggling herself silly. She finished the old man's order and repeated it in a hurried voice, seeing what seemed like a smile of malice on the woman's lips.
"I fixed it for you," she said as Syia turned away. "It wasn't quite straight." Trying not to express the withering scowl she wanted to direct upon the woman, Syia thanked her and made her way to the kitchen again, legs tingling under the constant brush of feathers around her legs.
Syia kept hoping that she'd get some downtime to rest and recuperate after each order, but it seemed like it was getting busier rather than slacking off, and despite her best efforts Syia never seemed to be able to catch up with everything. Forced to abandon the slight swaying walk she'd adopted to avoid the worst of the feathers around her legs, Syia found herself giggling almost constantly to herself as she walked quickly between tables, trying to remind herself to be careful with her arms, as while the feathering on her thighs made her giggle and bob in an appealing fashion, the feathering of her breasts threatened to send her to the ground in a fit of laughter. It took no effort whatsoever to maintain a smile that night, at least...
By far the worst time of it was when she had to carry an order out to a table. Not only did she have to raise her arms and keep them above her head the whole time, which caused the top to shift up against her breasts, but she had to keep them steady and walk without any of her tricks... the first time she'd done it, it had taken her almost two minutes to make it from kitchen to table, so gingerly did she walk, but the manager's sudden reappearance when the time came for her next tray that Syia didn't dare go so slowly. In her current state of mind, constantly on edge and giggling uncontrollably, it became easy to imagine that a customer, who gestured at something across the room, was actually trying to reach out and rustle her shirt... Syia tried to focus on something to take her mind off of the tickling, but whenever she did that, she inevitably did something without thinking that caused the feathers to slide against her breasts in a manner that she couldn't ignore.
The restaurant got busier and busier as time wore on. Syia was thankful for her notepad; on some nights she could remember everything of what was said and quick write a summary at the kitchen window, but now she was forgetting which table wanted what on the trip between kitchen window and tables, so hazy was her mind with giggling, and just after concluding an embarrassing incident where she'd taken a tray to the wrong table, Syia nearly leapt out of her skin at feeling a fingernail tap her on her bare shoulder. "Syia, relax. It's your break now," came the voice of the manager, and Syia never thought she'd hear more beautiful words than 'break time'. Hurriedly taking down one last order before someone covered for her break, Syia eased herself into an unused booth with a drink and sighed in relief. Sitting down, the feathers didn't shift so much, and it did seem like things were finally starting to get a little quieter...
"You've been giggly all night, Syia." She looked up to see a friend of hers, one of the other servers, take a seat across from her, a girl with jet-black hair and pleasant Oriental features coupled with an easy smile and a nice figure. Ayano was one of the servers Syia had gotten to know well during her time here. "It's been popular with your customers - people have been asking to sit in your section - but you look totally on edge. What's up?" Syia took a long sip of her soda before answering.
"I got volunteered to try out some kind of bizarre new uniform," she said. "All I know is it tickles like crazy and I can't wait to get it off, tell the manager I'm never gonna wear it again, and go home," she said, adopting a tone of long suffering. Her friend merely laughed and reassured her that she looked amazing in the outfit, and that it was bringing in tons of customers, to which Syia responded: "Maybe, but it's driving me nuts. I can hardly carry anything like this, so unless they want to get someone else to take my stuff out to the tables, it's only a matter of time before I drop something."
"Hehehe. That'd be a shame, I mean, for you not to wear it again," Ayano said. "Anyway, you look a little ragged. Want a foot massage or something to help you relax?"
Syia raised an eyebrow and managed a good-natured laugh as she felt her foot being raised into the girl's lap. "Honestly, I think if something touched my feet right now I would burst, just explode into little tiny bits right here on the floor. My feet are even more ticklish than my... hey, wait a minute, no, c'mon...!" Syia breathlessly rushed her sentence together, trying to forestall the wiggling fingers coming for her foot, realizing that her white sneaker had already been removed and was sitting on its side next to the booth. In a swift motion her friend had stripped the short ankle sock from Syia's foot and was running her short little fingernails against the sole, holding her big toe still in a firm grasp with her other hand. "Hehehehehe... c'mon, c'mon, sthahahahap," Syia said, flopping helplessly back against the booth and giggling, slumped backwards with a hand over her eyes. Ayano's fingers tapped out a gentle cadence against the sole of her foot, fingernails not so much scratching or dragging as simply tapping, playing Syia's foot like it was some kind of miniature piano.
Syia was so drained from constantly being on edge, jerking, and giggling that she couldn't fight back effectively, and Ayano's mischievous smile seemed to sap her will to protest. It wasn't even that she was tickling hard; her fingers would run from the ball of the foot, splayed widely and hardly applying any pressure at all as they dragged from heel up over the ball of her foot and tapped each one of her toes, which wiggled when they received attention. Then she'd extend a single finger and wiggle it into the slight hollow created where Syia's instep met the ball of her foot, making the other girl giggle helplessly... Worse, her twisting and turning was causing the feathers lining the inside of her outfit to brush over every inch of her sensitive skin that they covered, and before too long Syia was simply collapsed backwards limply in the booth, covering her eyes as she giggled like a schoolgirl, and flailing uselessly at her friend sitting far out of reach. "Ayahahahahahaha Ayanoooooo, stop, pleeehheeheheheheehze, I've been getting tickled all night and I think I'm gonna pop if you don't give me a break," she pleaded. "C'mon, please just give me a little... little time to finish my soda!" she rushed out, trying to speak before Ayano's teasing sent her back into fits of laughter.
Presently she stopped, and Syia, still caught in the throes of laughter, took a moment to recover before she could look up and see why. The manager was standing there before the both of them, fists on her hips. looking at the both of them. Virtually every patron in the restaurant was looking in their direction, and Syia's face flooded crimson, her mouth opening to protest - "Syia, how about I give you the second half of your shift off, and let you change out of that uniform? Ayano, you too. Full pay. What do you say?"
"What's the catch?" Syia blurted before she could stop to think, because whatever she wanted in exchange for her proposal, it couldn't possibly be worse than wearing this tickle suit for a few hours more. But the manager only grinned.
---
Syia tossed back her head in laughter, fingers clawing at the cords which had been tied around her wrists in a useless reflexive gesture, because she'd already tried to get out that way and it hadn't worked. All she could do was lean back in her chair and howl, and howl she did; it didn't matter how loudly she laughed, now. Well, not exactly... if she wasn't careful, her breasts were going to pop right out of the narrow strip of white cloth currently covering them.
Ahead of her, she could see her own feet propped up on a high stool, tied together with more of the same cord, but obscured from her view by a shimmering black object that was Ayano's figure, sheathed in a tight eye-catching black dress, wearing fingerless black gloves that came up to the middle of her biceps. Ayano looked back to give her friend a wink, but she looked... dangerous, now, but dangerous in an incredibly appealing way.
The customers certainly thought so. Syia's giggle fits had been such a hit that the manager had immediately arranged for the two of them to take to the stage, getting full pay plus a bonus, and Syia had been bound, wrists behind her back as she was seated in a chair, her feet up on display for the entire restaurant to see as Ayano's fingers worked them over. Syia wore little more than a strip of cloth over her breasts and a string-thin bikini bottom, something that she was not about to admit to the manager that she enjoyed wearing. And right now, she was on display, something that sent a private little thrill down her spine even as she guffawed heartily from the treatment Ayano was giving her feet.
The girl had taken to the exhibition flawlessly. It had started easily enough, with Ayano's fingers exploring her feet; the girl had nimble, lithe fingers, able to move quickly, and Syia found herself jumping in anticipation and anxiety when she stopped, because she never knew where her tickler would choose to strike next. Sometimes, she amused herself by tickling the ball and the heel of the same foot with each hand, and slowly having them converge to the center - slowly meaning over a period of several minutes, letting Syia fully savor the sensation of spidering fingers on the less-ticklish ball and heel of her foot, but feeling the ticklish torment grow with each passing minute as they made their way onto softer parts of her feet, arriving only after several torturous minutes in the very center where Ayano's fingers would then explode into an orgy of tickling. Other times, she would place her hands on both feet, and though the movements were slow, would precisely mirror on one foot what she was doing to the other. It started out as only something simple, like a circle slowly drawn in the center of the arch, but it became much more than that. Seemingly random patterns were devised from thin air, the fiendish fingers tickling into each little fold and sensitive nook of Syia's feet, somehow finding both at once and tormenting them in the exact same way.
Once Syia had tried to cross her feet so as to cover the sole of one with the other. Ayano had retaliated to that by asking for, and receiving, two backscratchers. The slightly rougher feel of the tools drove Syia's laughter into howls that seemed as if they would lift the roof of the building. All the while Syia herself was leaned back in her chair, helpless to resist, doing little more than trying to collect her breath and keep herself from coming out of the top, as she had come so close to doing so many times already. Sometimes she would lean forward, her hands uselessly tied behind her back, and beg for Ayano to stop and show her mercy. She got the feeling that the crowd enjoyed hearing her desperate pleas of laughter, because sometimes they would chuckle along, figuring that Syia was simply putting on an act. That was only partially true; having volunteered for this, Syia had figured that being able to finally let out her pent-up ticklish reactions would be easier than to try and hold it in and serve tables for three hours more, but now she wasn't so sure. Ayano tickled the breath from her by the lungful, sometimes slowing down so she could catch her breath, but using that time to tease her by playing games with her toes, which always amused the crowd.
When the backscratchers were discarded, there was a brief pause, and Syia hoped she might be released - but then there was the feeling of an insistent brush, and then another, of two different consistencies, but both working at the gaps between her toes. Syia had thought that she would surely become too desensitized to laugh: her fresh toes brought that laughter roaring back to full volume, as well as making her slump lower and lower in the chair as the strength to sit upright slowly left her. The unbridled ticklish torment that danced upon her toes as the brushes swept across the pads and wormed in between to the ticklish crevasses expressed itself in bubbling giggles that couldn't be repressed. Syia didn't try anymore to stop what was happening, just letting her body react as it wanted to, twist and thrash to its content, to laugh as hard as the tickling made her want to. She didn't have the willpower to resist anymore, and some small part of her taunted that Ayano wasn't really giving her the worst she could get - this was only a demonstration for a restaurant, after all, and she was going to be allowed to go home after this. It could be so much worse, and yet... there was an allure to that.
When the tickling finally stopped, it was as if a part of her suddenly went missing,so accustomed had she grown to being tickled in such a short length of time. Syia was untied, the stool and the chair slid to the side and out of the way, and wearing a tired, ticklish grin, Syia smiled out at the waves of people applauding her, even Ayano standing back and to the side, giving Syia the spotlight. As Syia raised one hand to wave, thankful that the ordeal was over, an arm encircled her from behind, and the crowd gasped as one. Syia, too tired to fight back, couldn't break free of the arm, but she could very well see the long black feather that now danced in front of her, its tip pointed directly at her cleavage...
"Oh, no... Ayano, no, not there, not more, not like that," Syia said, her words a tired jumble, eyes wide open in disbelief at the approaching feather, wondering if she was dreaming... but mere thoughts didn't deter the feather, which plunged into her cleavage with a sudden thrust, making its tip peek out the other side. For all the suddenness of the feather's insertion, Ayano was in no hurry to remove it, grasping the exposed tip between her fingers and slowly, oh so very slowly, pulling it out the other side. Syia's eyes filled with ticklish mirth as the bristles of the feather tormented her sensitive breasts so perfectly. "Ayano, please, nohohohoooo..." Syia begged weakly, but Ayano wasn't about to stop. She had the crowd transfixed now, watching every motion of her hand, the slow progress of the feather as it finally popped out the other end. Syia sagged, letting out some of the tension that had crept back into her body, but before she could protest the feather was sliding back under the narrow band of white cloth, this time angled so that its side would brush her nipple going by...
Syia's world seemed to slide and go out of focus as ticklish tears formed in her eyes, the grazing of each soft bristle of the feather against her nipple almost more than she could stand. Agonizing minutes seemed to pass as Ayano slipped the feather underneath her makeshift bra in the most excruciating way possible, and then when the feather had come to rest snugged up against her nipple, she left it there, and to Syia's horror produced another feather and began to repeat the process against the other... Syia sank to her knees laughing, her body limply leaning back against Ayano for support. She was too weak to do anything but giggle, her arms splayed limply behind her, body only held upright by her tormentor, her head canted back at an angle so that she was staring at the ceiling, but not actually seeing anything. Her entire world was a whirl of ticklishness. The second feather marched relentlessly onward, brushing against her breast on its quest to her nipple, and some indeterminate amount of time later it was peeking out the other side, the same as its twin. Syia could have sworn it was ten years.
When Ayano abruptly whisked both feathers from their resting places at once, Syia screamed with more laughter, her throat slightly hoarse from too much laughing and not enough water. "No... please, no more, Ayano, I can't take it," Syia said with a weak little giggle that sounded painfully like teasing.
"Just one more," Ayano whispered to her. Syia nodded, but her eyes widened in horror to see where that feather was going.
"Not that..."
The feather slipped beneath that tiny little excuse for a bikini bottom, heading in from the side and proceeding horizontally to the other. Syia couldn't remember feeling a sensation like that in recent memory, like the nerve endings of her body had all gathered there for the grand finale. Ayano pushed the feather in until half was showing on either side, and then stopped. Syia wondered which way she'd pull it out, then saw both hands coming down for it, one at either end, and when she had each end of the feather grasped between her fingers, she began to slide it back and forth.
Energy Syia didn't know she had burst forth, a loud cry of ticklishness mixed with a little something else as her body jerked, arms coming to life, flailing weakly against Ayano, who simply worked her arms in under Syia's and used her elbows to keep the other girl's hands away from the place of action. Syia's eyes, shut tight before, were now wide open, looking at everything and anything, trying to find solace in some miniscule feature of her surroundings, but she saw nothing but an entire crowd, a group of people who, despite their diversity, had gathered here tonight and now had but one purpose, a purpose she could not escape. The feather slid back and forth relentlessly, and Syia quivered under its touch, no longer able to restrain her body's movements, ungovernable energy that expressed itself in a flurry of useless movement all building up to a single point that seemed to be gathering between her eyes when she closed them.
Then Fate dealt her a savage, cruel irony.
"We're done," Ayano whispered in her ear, and then stood upright abruptly, bowing to the stunned crowd with a raptor's grin on her face, striding off the stage without looking back at Syia, who had the feather still stuck sideways through her panties. Syia didn't move for a full minute, her eyes wide open and staring at nothing, the crowd not daring to breathe. Finally, Syia gathered the courage to grasp one end of the feather between her fingers, took a deep breath, and pulled.
Her final cry echoed in her ears as her world swam in darkness.
---
In the dead of night, a lone taxi pulled up to the curb, stopping as what seemed to be two women supporting a third friend between them flagged the driver down. They gave him directions and money, and sent him on his way. Figuring that the girl had drunk herself stuporous and her friends were sending her home, the taxi driver glanced back at the figure crumpled in his back seat, and was stunned at what he saw.
Upon the face of that woman was the purest expression of bliss he had ever seen.
Her manager, a handsome woman in her late thirties with auburn hair falling to her shoulders, looked like she might have been pretty if not forced into the bland white polo shirt and khaki pants that were her uniform, but Syia supposed that the manager's uniform wasn't supposed to make her look pretty. The servers, on the other hand... Syia opened her locker, checking to see that all was in order there, that the white tube top and red skirt were not mussed, and then lifted her shirt over her head. Just before it obscured her vision, she saw the manager heading towards her, clipboard tucked under her arm and a stern expression on her face. By the time Syia's shirt had cleared her head and been hung up in the locker, she was standing right before her.
"You're late," she said neutrally, eyes flicking to the inside of the locker as Syia removed her skirt and hung that up as well, then reached for her top, only to be stopped by the arm of the manager blocking her way. "It's just as well, though. I've got a new uniform just in that I wanted you to try out for me today." Syia blinked, withdrawing her arm, not at all self-conscious about standing before her manager in just her underwear. She was, after all, a woman as well, and not some claw-fingered old hag that might be inclined to be nasty just because Syia was young and pretty. On the contrary, Syia often got the impression that her manager knew precisely the value of a young girl with a pretty face in a skirt. The restaurant did pretty good business, after all.
"Why me?" Syia asked casually, folding her arms underneath of her breasts, the royal blue of her bra matching her hair quite well. Her manager didn't answer, but instead beckoned Syia to the office, giving her no choice but to follow along in her bra and panties. Syia shrugged it off. The woman was forward and had a no-nonsense air about her, but she also never wasted time playing silly power games with her employees. If you did something she didn't like, you heard about it pretty quick, in no uncertain terms. Once inside the thinly carpeted office, which had a cramped feel due to the low ceiling and the filing cabinets lining the left wall, the manager reached inside a box that was atop her drab gray desk and pulled out two dazzling blue articles of clothing; a tube top and a skirt, just like what had been in her locker, just a different color and no significant difference in cut that she could detect. Tossing the two items to Syia, she finally answered the question:
"Because I want to try it out and see how it looks, and you fill these out better than anyone else does. I want you to wear it for the night and see how it goes over." Syia nodded, pulling the skirt on as she did so, mouth open to ask a question that was cut off as she gasped with surprise as she felt something soft race up her legs. Quickly she secured the skirt around her waist and brushed at her thighs to ward off whatever it had been that rubbed against her, only to realize that the source of the soft feeling had been the inside of the skirt itself, and that soft, vaguely tickly sensation was hanging about her thighs and hips now... There seemed to be a brief grin of satisfaction on the manager's face as Syia hesitated, turning around and unhooking her bra, before pulling on the tube top. Suspicious of this outfit now, Syia slowly worked the tube top on over her arms...
"Hyeeeeek! Hey!" Syia squealed aloud, as the manager grasped the hem of the shirt and pulled it into place abruptly, adjusting it for Syia as the girl stood there, wide-eyed and fighting off the onset of giggles as she adjusted and wiggled the top around, before sighing in relief as the manager withdrew. "G-geez... that startled me. What the heck is on the inside of this outfit, anyway?" Just like the skirt, there had been something soft, or more correctly many soft things, that had teased her breasts as the top was pulled into place, and moreso than the tickly feeling on her legs, this nearly drove Syia to jump out of her skin.
"Something soft," the manager replied cryptically. "Now, get going. You're already late." Syia tried to take a step, but the 'something soft' brushed along her thighs, making her stand up straight again with a gasp, going woodenly stiff in an attempt not to rub against it again, taking small, straight-legged steps. "You can't serve tables that way, Syia. Get moving." The manager made no move to leave, so Syia had to take a deep breath and compose herself before walking at a normal pace with a normal stride, hardly able to contain the giggle that bubbled up.
Quickly walking, a huge grin on her face and a provocative twist to her hips as she tried somehow to avoid brushing against what she suspected were feathers lining the inside of her skirt, Syia made it to the front, a silly grin on her face as she reported to the hostess, who nodded cheerfully and assigned Syia a section for the night. Maybe she thought Syia was just being unusually cheerful - Syia did try to smile often - but there was a rather obvious difference between that kind of smile and this smile, which tugged the corners of lips up at the same time it tightened her eyes slightly, making it seem like she was on the verge of breaking into laughter "Okay, I want you to get one through sixteen tonight," she told Syia, tapping the place on the laminated sheet of paper, and Syia nodded thankfully. At least it was the section closest to the kitchen...
Syia immediately headed over to the table indicated by the hostess, where a group had come in and sat down just a minute ago, taking her notepad and pen from the skirt pocket, and burst into giggles. The action of moving her arms caused her breasts to slide against the feathers, the soft bristles brushing against Syia's sensitive orbs of flesh, but doing the worst damage where they found the firmer skin of her nipples; there, it seemed like the feather was managing to stroke its entire length along the tip, and Syia had to catch herself against the wall, nearly stumbling, to prevent from sinking to her knees in giggles and clutching her chest. Gingerly, Syia rose, and headed for the table slowly, until she caught the manager giving her a glare for the slow pace, and with a reluctant rush of breath, Syia quickly finished the few steps to the table.
As she raised her arms habitually to prepare her pen for writing, holding the pad and paper out in front of herself just below eye level, she nearly burst into giggles again. "Heehee-hello, my name is Syiaaaaaa and... I'll beeeeh... your server tonight!" she managed to finish with a cheerful smile, painfully aware of each giggle that slipped past her lips. She knew that if she didn't move much, the feathers on the inside of her costume didn't do much besides provide a persistent, though not unpleasant, tingle, but staying still was more easily said than done. Thinking to calm herself, Syia took a deep breath - and it took all of her willpower not to let that breath explode out of her in helpless laughter. When her chest rose with the intake of breath, her breasts brushed up against all the feathers at once, and she had to bite her lower lip to keep from bursting.
Fortunately for her, the two young men and one young woman seated at the table either didn't take notice of or didn't mind her display of giggling and strange behavior, and Syia found that by tucking the notepad against her upper arm and laying it against her bicep, she could manage to write without moving too much, although she was aware the pose must seem awkwardly wooden to an observer... writing as quickly as she could, she thanked them and turned smartly, instinctively taking a few quick steps towards the bar area, and promptly paying for her forgetfulness with a squealed giggle, which made the group she'd just served giggle with amusement at her behavior. Face reddening slightly, Syia took quick, short steps to the bar, ducking beside it, and raising a trembling arm to pass the order back to the kitchen. That done, she let out a sigh of relief and gingerly made her way out from behind the bar. The young man tending bar that night, a nice if somewhat shy young man, gave her a smile which she returned.
Best be careful back here, Syia thought to herself. There were lots of glasses and fragile bottles that an ill-timed ticklish convulsion could send flying... She thought to go and see the manager about changing back into her normal clothes, but the woman was nowhere to be seen, and the hostess seated an elderly couple at a booth that she was supposed to be seeing to, so Syia sighed, her white sneakers softly padding against the black floor as she managed to make her way over to the booth where they sat, wondering why an elderly couple would come here. For the most part it was a place popular with younger people; there were neon advertisements around the bar, several televisions usually tuned to a sporting event, and a large bar that took up one corner of the seating area, bordering the kitchen. The music was usually upbeat and while not so loud as to drown out conversation, definitely noticeable in the background. Right now there was only music playing over the house speakers, but frequently there would be a local band playing on the stage in the corner. The inside walls were brick and the lights slightly dim, giving it a sort of 'underground' feeling that, coupled with the pretty girls and boys the manager preferred to hire, made it a successful venture among the younger crowd.
With a minimum of giggling and awkwardness, Syia made it to the table in question, though as she raised her arms again that helpless giggle bubbled out of her lips, one which she tried to cover up with a cutesy smile and nod, while fighting off the urge to grab at her breasts and try to rub the ticklish feeling out of them which, besides looking rather strange, would probably not have helped at all. But it didn't go over so well this time. The elderly woman, with her white hair drawn into a severe bun, glowered over the tops of her glasses. "Don't giggle, it isn't professional," she snapped, looking Syia up and down. "Nor are clothes like that. You ought to cover up instead of showing yourself off to everyone like -- "
"It's the uniform, ma'am," Syia cut her off in a breathless rush, trying to stay ahead of her and not let this develop into an ugly situation while at the same time trying desperately not to giggle. Looking not at all satisfied with the answer, but lacking a subject to latch onto for now, the woman harrumphed and instead went back to her menu, reeling off her order in what seemed to be a deliberately rapid voice, which Syia managed to keep up with, but writing so hard caused her lips to turn up in a smile, and she just barely managed to bite back a giggle at the sight of the elderly woman's scowl. "And you?" she asked to the elderly man, hoping that he would be more cordial than the woman. To avoid her gaze, Syia turned slightly so that she was facing the old man more, with her side to the woman, and breathed a sigh of relief when he ordered much more like a normal customer, down to the 'uhh' and 'umm' pauses which made it easier for Syia to keep -- "Hyeeeek!"
All at once her tube top had shifted, slightly tugging down, causing those feathers to brush up against her breasts again and catching her off guard... Her whole body tensed, making her go up on her toes and arch her back, as she felt the top shift and sway, the feathers insistently rubbing against her breasts and around her thighs as the skirt started to move when the top went still, before finally the ordeal passed, yet it was a few moments more before Syia could bear to try speaking again without giggling herself silly. She finished the old man's order and repeated it in a hurried voice, seeing what seemed like a smile of malice on the woman's lips.
"I fixed it for you," she said as Syia turned away. "It wasn't quite straight." Trying not to express the withering scowl she wanted to direct upon the woman, Syia thanked her and made her way to the kitchen again, legs tingling under the constant brush of feathers around her legs.
Syia kept hoping that she'd get some downtime to rest and recuperate after each order, but it seemed like it was getting busier rather than slacking off, and despite her best efforts Syia never seemed to be able to catch up with everything. Forced to abandon the slight swaying walk she'd adopted to avoid the worst of the feathers around her legs, Syia found herself giggling almost constantly to herself as she walked quickly between tables, trying to remind herself to be careful with her arms, as while the feathering on her thighs made her giggle and bob in an appealing fashion, the feathering of her breasts threatened to send her to the ground in a fit of laughter. It took no effort whatsoever to maintain a smile that night, at least...
By far the worst time of it was when she had to carry an order out to a table. Not only did she have to raise her arms and keep them above her head the whole time, which caused the top to shift up against her breasts, but she had to keep them steady and walk without any of her tricks... the first time she'd done it, it had taken her almost two minutes to make it from kitchen to table, so gingerly did she walk, but the manager's sudden reappearance when the time came for her next tray that Syia didn't dare go so slowly. In her current state of mind, constantly on edge and giggling uncontrollably, it became easy to imagine that a customer, who gestured at something across the room, was actually trying to reach out and rustle her shirt... Syia tried to focus on something to take her mind off of the tickling, but whenever she did that, she inevitably did something without thinking that caused the feathers to slide against her breasts in a manner that she couldn't ignore.
The restaurant got busier and busier as time wore on. Syia was thankful for her notepad; on some nights she could remember everything of what was said and quick write a summary at the kitchen window, but now she was forgetting which table wanted what on the trip between kitchen window and tables, so hazy was her mind with giggling, and just after concluding an embarrassing incident where she'd taken a tray to the wrong table, Syia nearly leapt out of her skin at feeling a fingernail tap her on her bare shoulder. "Syia, relax. It's your break now," came the voice of the manager, and Syia never thought she'd hear more beautiful words than 'break time'. Hurriedly taking down one last order before someone covered for her break, Syia eased herself into an unused booth with a drink and sighed in relief. Sitting down, the feathers didn't shift so much, and it did seem like things were finally starting to get a little quieter...
"You've been giggly all night, Syia." She looked up to see a friend of hers, one of the other servers, take a seat across from her, a girl with jet-black hair and pleasant Oriental features coupled with an easy smile and a nice figure. Ayano was one of the servers Syia had gotten to know well during her time here. "It's been popular with your customers - people have been asking to sit in your section - but you look totally on edge. What's up?" Syia took a long sip of her soda before answering.
"I got volunteered to try out some kind of bizarre new uniform," she said. "All I know is it tickles like crazy and I can't wait to get it off, tell the manager I'm never gonna wear it again, and go home," she said, adopting a tone of long suffering. Her friend merely laughed and reassured her that she looked amazing in the outfit, and that it was bringing in tons of customers, to which Syia responded: "Maybe, but it's driving me nuts. I can hardly carry anything like this, so unless they want to get someone else to take my stuff out to the tables, it's only a matter of time before I drop something."
"Hehehe. That'd be a shame, I mean, for you not to wear it again," Ayano said. "Anyway, you look a little ragged. Want a foot massage or something to help you relax?"
Syia raised an eyebrow and managed a good-natured laugh as she felt her foot being raised into the girl's lap. "Honestly, I think if something touched my feet right now I would burst, just explode into little tiny bits right here on the floor. My feet are even more ticklish than my... hey, wait a minute, no, c'mon...!" Syia breathlessly rushed her sentence together, trying to forestall the wiggling fingers coming for her foot, realizing that her white sneaker had already been removed and was sitting on its side next to the booth. In a swift motion her friend had stripped the short ankle sock from Syia's foot and was running her short little fingernails against the sole, holding her big toe still in a firm grasp with her other hand. "Hehehehehe... c'mon, c'mon, sthahahahap," Syia said, flopping helplessly back against the booth and giggling, slumped backwards with a hand over her eyes. Ayano's fingers tapped out a gentle cadence against the sole of her foot, fingernails not so much scratching or dragging as simply tapping, playing Syia's foot like it was some kind of miniature piano.
Syia was so drained from constantly being on edge, jerking, and giggling that she couldn't fight back effectively, and Ayano's mischievous smile seemed to sap her will to protest. It wasn't even that she was tickling hard; her fingers would run from the ball of the foot, splayed widely and hardly applying any pressure at all as they dragged from heel up over the ball of her foot and tapped each one of her toes, which wiggled when they received attention. Then she'd extend a single finger and wiggle it into the slight hollow created where Syia's instep met the ball of her foot, making the other girl giggle helplessly... Worse, her twisting and turning was causing the feathers lining the inside of her outfit to brush over every inch of her sensitive skin that they covered, and before too long Syia was simply collapsed backwards limply in the booth, covering her eyes as she giggled like a schoolgirl, and flailing uselessly at her friend sitting far out of reach. "Ayahahahahahaha Ayanoooooo, stop, pleeehheeheheheheehze, I've been getting tickled all night and I think I'm gonna pop if you don't give me a break," she pleaded. "C'mon, please just give me a little... little time to finish my soda!" she rushed out, trying to speak before Ayano's teasing sent her back into fits of laughter.
Presently she stopped, and Syia, still caught in the throes of laughter, took a moment to recover before she could look up and see why. The manager was standing there before the both of them, fists on her hips. looking at the both of them. Virtually every patron in the restaurant was looking in their direction, and Syia's face flooded crimson, her mouth opening to protest - "Syia, how about I give you the second half of your shift off, and let you change out of that uniform? Ayano, you too. Full pay. What do you say?"
"What's the catch?" Syia blurted before she could stop to think, because whatever she wanted in exchange for her proposal, it couldn't possibly be worse than wearing this tickle suit for a few hours more. But the manager only grinned.
---
Syia tossed back her head in laughter, fingers clawing at the cords which had been tied around her wrists in a useless reflexive gesture, because she'd already tried to get out that way and it hadn't worked. All she could do was lean back in her chair and howl, and howl she did; it didn't matter how loudly she laughed, now. Well, not exactly... if she wasn't careful, her breasts were going to pop right out of the narrow strip of white cloth currently covering them.
Ahead of her, she could see her own feet propped up on a high stool, tied together with more of the same cord, but obscured from her view by a shimmering black object that was Ayano's figure, sheathed in a tight eye-catching black dress, wearing fingerless black gloves that came up to the middle of her biceps. Ayano looked back to give her friend a wink, but she looked... dangerous, now, but dangerous in an incredibly appealing way.
The customers certainly thought so. Syia's giggle fits had been such a hit that the manager had immediately arranged for the two of them to take to the stage, getting full pay plus a bonus, and Syia had been bound, wrists behind her back as she was seated in a chair, her feet up on display for the entire restaurant to see as Ayano's fingers worked them over. Syia wore little more than a strip of cloth over her breasts and a string-thin bikini bottom, something that she was not about to admit to the manager that she enjoyed wearing. And right now, she was on display, something that sent a private little thrill down her spine even as she guffawed heartily from the treatment Ayano was giving her feet.
The girl had taken to the exhibition flawlessly. It had started easily enough, with Ayano's fingers exploring her feet; the girl had nimble, lithe fingers, able to move quickly, and Syia found herself jumping in anticipation and anxiety when she stopped, because she never knew where her tickler would choose to strike next. Sometimes, she amused herself by tickling the ball and the heel of the same foot with each hand, and slowly having them converge to the center - slowly meaning over a period of several minutes, letting Syia fully savor the sensation of spidering fingers on the less-ticklish ball and heel of her foot, but feeling the ticklish torment grow with each passing minute as they made their way onto softer parts of her feet, arriving only after several torturous minutes in the very center where Ayano's fingers would then explode into an orgy of tickling. Other times, she would place her hands on both feet, and though the movements were slow, would precisely mirror on one foot what she was doing to the other. It started out as only something simple, like a circle slowly drawn in the center of the arch, but it became much more than that. Seemingly random patterns were devised from thin air, the fiendish fingers tickling into each little fold and sensitive nook of Syia's feet, somehow finding both at once and tormenting them in the exact same way.
Once Syia had tried to cross her feet so as to cover the sole of one with the other. Ayano had retaliated to that by asking for, and receiving, two backscratchers. The slightly rougher feel of the tools drove Syia's laughter into howls that seemed as if they would lift the roof of the building. All the while Syia herself was leaned back in her chair, helpless to resist, doing little more than trying to collect her breath and keep herself from coming out of the top, as she had come so close to doing so many times already. Sometimes she would lean forward, her hands uselessly tied behind her back, and beg for Ayano to stop and show her mercy. She got the feeling that the crowd enjoyed hearing her desperate pleas of laughter, because sometimes they would chuckle along, figuring that Syia was simply putting on an act. That was only partially true; having volunteered for this, Syia had figured that being able to finally let out her pent-up ticklish reactions would be easier than to try and hold it in and serve tables for three hours more, but now she wasn't so sure. Ayano tickled the breath from her by the lungful, sometimes slowing down so she could catch her breath, but using that time to tease her by playing games with her toes, which always amused the crowd.
When the backscratchers were discarded, there was a brief pause, and Syia hoped she might be released - but then there was the feeling of an insistent brush, and then another, of two different consistencies, but both working at the gaps between her toes. Syia had thought that she would surely become too desensitized to laugh: her fresh toes brought that laughter roaring back to full volume, as well as making her slump lower and lower in the chair as the strength to sit upright slowly left her. The unbridled ticklish torment that danced upon her toes as the brushes swept across the pads and wormed in between to the ticklish crevasses expressed itself in bubbling giggles that couldn't be repressed. Syia didn't try anymore to stop what was happening, just letting her body react as it wanted to, twist and thrash to its content, to laugh as hard as the tickling made her want to. She didn't have the willpower to resist anymore, and some small part of her taunted that Ayano wasn't really giving her the worst she could get - this was only a demonstration for a restaurant, after all, and she was going to be allowed to go home after this. It could be so much worse, and yet... there was an allure to that.
When the tickling finally stopped, it was as if a part of her suddenly went missing,so accustomed had she grown to being tickled in such a short length of time. Syia was untied, the stool and the chair slid to the side and out of the way, and wearing a tired, ticklish grin, Syia smiled out at the waves of people applauding her, even Ayano standing back and to the side, giving Syia the spotlight. As Syia raised one hand to wave, thankful that the ordeal was over, an arm encircled her from behind, and the crowd gasped as one. Syia, too tired to fight back, couldn't break free of the arm, but she could very well see the long black feather that now danced in front of her, its tip pointed directly at her cleavage...
"Oh, no... Ayano, no, not there, not more, not like that," Syia said, her words a tired jumble, eyes wide open in disbelief at the approaching feather, wondering if she was dreaming... but mere thoughts didn't deter the feather, which plunged into her cleavage with a sudden thrust, making its tip peek out the other side. For all the suddenness of the feather's insertion, Ayano was in no hurry to remove it, grasping the exposed tip between her fingers and slowly, oh so very slowly, pulling it out the other side. Syia's eyes filled with ticklish mirth as the bristles of the feather tormented her sensitive breasts so perfectly. "Ayano, please, nohohohoooo..." Syia begged weakly, but Ayano wasn't about to stop. She had the crowd transfixed now, watching every motion of her hand, the slow progress of the feather as it finally popped out the other end. Syia sagged, letting out some of the tension that had crept back into her body, but before she could protest the feather was sliding back under the narrow band of white cloth, this time angled so that its side would brush her nipple going by...
Syia's world seemed to slide and go out of focus as ticklish tears formed in her eyes, the grazing of each soft bristle of the feather against her nipple almost more than she could stand. Agonizing minutes seemed to pass as Ayano slipped the feather underneath her makeshift bra in the most excruciating way possible, and then when the feather had come to rest snugged up against her nipple, she left it there, and to Syia's horror produced another feather and began to repeat the process against the other... Syia sank to her knees laughing, her body limply leaning back against Ayano for support. She was too weak to do anything but giggle, her arms splayed limply behind her, body only held upright by her tormentor, her head canted back at an angle so that she was staring at the ceiling, but not actually seeing anything. Her entire world was a whirl of ticklishness. The second feather marched relentlessly onward, brushing against her breast on its quest to her nipple, and some indeterminate amount of time later it was peeking out the other side, the same as its twin. Syia could have sworn it was ten years.
When Ayano abruptly whisked both feathers from their resting places at once, Syia screamed with more laughter, her throat slightly hoarse from too much laughing and not enough water. "No... please, no more, Ayano, I can't take it," Syia said with a weak little giggle that sounded painfully like teasing.
"Just one more," Ayano whispered to her. Syia nodded, but her eyes widened in horror to see where that feather was going.
"Not that..."
The feather slipped beneath that tiny little excuse for a bikini bottom, heading in from the side and proceeding horizontally to the other. Syia couldn't remember feeling a sensation like that in recent memory, like the nerve endings of her body had all gathered there for the grand finale. Ayano pushed the feather in until half was showing on either side, and then stopped. Syia wondered which way she'd pull it out, then saw both hands coming down for it, one at either end, and when she had each end of the feather grasped between her fingers, she began to slide it back and forth.
Energy Syia didn't know she had burst forth, a loud cry of ticklishness mixed with a little something else as her body jerked, arms coming to life, flailing weakly against Ayano, who simply worked her arms in under Syia's and used her elbows to keep the other girl's hands away from the place of action. Syia's eyes, shut tight before, were now wide open, looking at everything and anything, trying to find solace in some miniscule feature of her surroundings, but she saw nothing but an entire crowd, a group of people who, despite their diversity, had gathered here tonight and now had but one purpose, a purpose she could not escape. The feather slid back and forth relentlessly, and Syia quivered under its touch, no longer able to restrain her body's movements, ungovernable energy that expressed itself in a flurry of useless movement all building up to a single point that seemed to be gathering between her eyes when she closed them.
Then Fate dealt her a savage, cruel irony.
"We're done," Ayano whispered in her ear, and then stood upright abruptly, bowing to the stunned crowd with a raptor's grin on her face, striding off the stage without looking back at Syia, who had the feather still stuck sideways through her panties. Syia didn't move for a full minute, her eyes wide open and staring at nothing, the crowd not daring to breathe. Finally, Syia gathered the courage to grasp one end of the feather between her fingers, took a deep breath, and pulled.
Her final cry echoed in her ears as her world swam in darkness.
---
In the dead of night, a lone taxi pulled up to the curb, stopping as what seemed to be two women supporting a third friend between them flagged the driver down. They gave him directions and money, and sent him on his way. Figuring that the girl had drunk herself stuporous and her friends were sending her home, the taxi driver glanced back at the figure crumpled in his back seat, and was stunned at what he saw.
Upon the face of that woman was the purest expression of bliss he had ever seen.
