KITTLETOWN FOUR
by Max Speer
Chapter Five
Four on the Floor
Part One
The Pretty, blond newswoman, Jessie Waterson, checked into her hotel room, hung her new dresses in the closet and showered up. It was good to get out of a big city. She liked the pace of Kittletown, and the people all seemed very friendly, going out of their way to greet her.
She was about to leave her room when she spied something on the bed and walked over to investigate. On the sides of her bed, at the base of the headboard was two leather shackles. She sat down and held onto it, then chuckled. No doubt the maid missed these, she thought. Must have been left here by some excited newlyweds. She got down on her knees and saw that there were similar shackles at the foot of the bed. Jessie laughed and was about to call the maid to have them removed when she noticed something rather odd. The shackles were not a temporary fixture, easily removed. They appeared to have been permanently fixed to the bed, as if they belonged there. The newswoman quickly opened her purse and pulled out a tiny camera and took a few pictures of these strange ornaments.
She picked up the phone and called the front desk.
"Hi this is room 101. Is there a good place to get a late lunch around here?"
"Yes there is," the voice said. "The Kittletown Diner is the best place in town."
In a flash, the tall woman stuffed the camera in her purse and checked the battery in her pocket-sized tape recorder. Then she dashed out the door and down the hall.
When she reached the street she saw the diner right across Main Street and walked in. Instantly, people turned to look at her and she felt a little embarrassed. More small town quirkiness, she thought. People in booths began to talk quietly and she wondered if they were talking about her.
Just then, a pretty young waitress dressed in a sleeveless, gingham dress walked up to her.
"One?" she said with a smile.
"Yes, one."
The girl sat her down at a booth and handed her a menu, smiled and walked off. Jessie felt that many eyes were on her and she took out a notepad and began to write. A large, heavy-set man walked up to her and asked her what she wanted.
"I’m Sid," he said, looking over the pretty blond newswoman. His eyes took in the softness of her bare shoulders and he looked down to see her red toenails revealed in her strappy sandals. "I’m the owner of this restaurant," he continued. "We’re kind of shorthanded because two of my best girls took off."
Jessie chuckled, then realized that he had a concerned look on his face. "Took off?" She said.
"Yes. Missing. No one knows where they are."
The newswoman reached into her purse and, secretly switched on the recorder. "Has anyone gone to the police?" She thought about the report she read concerning the twin girls, allegedly tickle tortured by the police.
"I guess. I don’t know," said Sid. "Ever since the contest. You know the Miss Ti…" he stopped. This was an Outsider. He didn’t know what to say in such a case. If he said ‘Miss Tickle’, then all kinds of questions would be asked.
"Miss, who?" she asked. Sid looked at the gorgeous woman and considered attacking her right then and there. His thoughts were suddenly interrupted with the sound of bells on the door. Someone was coming in. His heart sank. It was five of the Tickle Punks.
Barbara paced around nervously. Her sister was gone, Sandra was gone, Jamie was gone and her husband was in cahoots with Dr Gregory. Where was her support system when she needed it the most? The Formula was burning through her body. In a short period of time, she had significant doses of Formula injected into her. She was agitated. The high was not there anymore but she had an acute sensitivity. Her thoughts were not clear. I had assured her that these effects would wear off and she would feel herself again, only better. But she was beginning to panic.
The doorbell rang and her heart began to pound.
"Who is it?" she yelled through the door. No answer. "I said, "who is it? Answer please or I won’t open the door."
"Barb?" came a soft voice from the other side. "It’s Shelly. Open up."
Barbara was relieved that it was a friendly face that was staring at her from the other side of the screen. But it was not smiling.
"What’s the matter? What happened?" Barbara asked as she let Shelly into the house. Shelly looked as cute as ever in a little sleeveless sundress with spaghetti straps, and a pair of flip-flops.
"What do you mean?" Shelly asked walking into the living room. "You called me over here."
"What?"
Suddenly, there was a rustle of bodies on her front porch. She hadn’t shut the big door. She hadn’t had a chance to lock anyone out. The screen door opened and in walked Tom, Bobby, Laura and Caroline. They smiled as they entered. Barbara and Shelly stood frozen.
"Well, well, well," Tom said as the girls shut and locked the front door.
Jamie and Amy entered the office of Sam DeBlass and sat down. The leather couch was cold against the bare legs of the two girls. Their shorts were very short. They looked like they were all of twelve years old in the office of the grown-ups in a strange city. Two adorable teens in sleeveless tops that bared their flat, soft bellies, being assessed by the large, editor of the city’s largest newspaper.
"So girls," he said lighting a cigarette and sitting in his squeaky chair. "Talk."
"It’s like we said on the phone," started Amy. "We know what is causing this, um, mass hysteria."
"Yeah," he said looking the two girls over a little too intently. "Which hysteria is that?" He wanted to hear them say the word.
"The tickling hysteria," said Jamie feeling a little embarrassed at even saying that word out loud to an Outsider.
"The tickling hysteria," DeBlass said as if he needed to chew on those words a little bit, then suck them in with his smoke and blow them out again. "And what makes you think you know the cause of this, Tickle Hysteria? Two little girls from Florida on vacation here in San Diego."
Jamie and Amy looked at each other. Had they made the wrong move? Is everyone too far gone? Why would this man believe them? Jamie decided to speak up.
"Sir, I know it’s hard to believe. But our lives might be in danger." Then, as quickly as she could, she narrated the series of events that took place. She told them of Kittletown and Doctor Gregory, and how the two of them were captured and injected with this stuff. With Amy’s help, the girls talked about their dreams and about breaking into Gregory’s office and seeing the evidence that the water had been tainted. The man listened, staring at the two girls and thinking about tickling them more than anything else in the world. He was feeling compelled to walk over and grab hold of their ribs and tickle them within an inch of their lives. Then he fantasized about cumming as he heard them laughing their high-pitched girly laughter. His mind was lost in Tickle lust and would have remained there, simply dismissing them before he did anything stupid and that would be enough to satisfy his fantasies for the day.
There was only one thing that snapped him out of it. The name ‘Kittletown’.
"My God," he said leaning forward and glaring at the two girls. "You two are telling the truth aren’t you?"
The girls looked at each other, not knowing what to make of this off-the-wall statement. "Of course," they said. "What made you realize this?"
"My best reporter, Jessie Waterson, is in Kittletown right now.
The Tickle Punks sat in a booth right across the aisle from Jessie and stared at her.
"Hello," she said, a little more than slightly nervous. She wanted to go over her notes and try and make sense to all of this but the way these boys were staring at her, she decided to be on guard. She opened her pad and began to take notes.
"Pretty dress," one of the Punks said.
"Thank you." Jessie did not look up.
"Nice arms."
Jessie did not answer. She wrote quickly and nervously, foolishly thinking that if she ignored them, they would ignore her.
"Nice shoes." No answer. "Nice feet too."
Finally Jessie put down her pen and looked right into his face. "I’m happy that you find my arms and feet so nice. And, yes, they are nice clothes. I bought them down the street. You have any other comments because if you don’t I really don’t want to be bothered right now."
The Punks all made mocking noises and slapped the one Punk who made all those comments as if he was being disrespectful to the innocent woman. Jessie felt satisfied for asserting herself and was sure the confrontation was over. Boy, was she ever wrong.
The Punks got up and walked over to her booth and shoved themselves in. Jessie tried to get up. She raised her arms and tried to twist and grab at the back of the seat to give her some leverage but it was all over at this point. Two Punks grabbed her raised wrists and held them up with unbelievable strength. The woman tried to pull them back but was helpless. Then, another Punk reached up and started to tickle her ribs. Jessie began to scream and struggle. The tickling sensation was not something she wanted to feel at this time, especially by a group of delinquents.
"Hey, we got a screamer," the tickling Punk said. "Come on, Baby, let me hear you laugh. Let me hear you laugh!" he said as his fingers worked furiously up and down her delicate ribcage.
Jessie’s scream dissolved into a shrill trail of laughter. She was laughing out of control and was desperate to relieve herself of this horrible attack.
Just then, another Punk reached forward across the table and began to tickle right inside the exposed hollows of her armpits. Jessie was gone by then. She shrieked as the fingers touched her ticklish underarms, above and beyond the laughter she was already in the midst of. The added tickling made it unbearable for her and she was in a total state of panic.
The Tickle Punks chanted over and over again, "Tickle tickle tickle tickle…" as their fingers ran around and around the ticklish areas of her sides and under her arms. The blond newswoman threw her head back and squeezed her eyes shut as her mouth opened and the laughter came roaring out in spite of the efforts to hold it back.
Just then, one of the Punks told the others to stop. He was one of the Punks that had held her arms up. Reluctantly, they stopped and the relieved woman sat there, trying to catch her breath.
"Where you from, Darling?" he said.
"California," she said softly. "Can I please have my hands back?"
"Not yet." He stared at her smooth armpit, inches from his face and reached out a long, ugly tongue and gently licked up the center of it.
The effect was very ticklish and she started to laugh, but she was very grossed out by it. He pulled a bandana out from his back pocket and wiped it dry. The touch was also very ticklish and she whimpered as he dabbed the cloth on her stretched armpit. He tapped it repeatedly as she squirmed and giggled. Her face was a mix of laghter and pain.
"Now," he said quietly and patiently. "You will tell us why you are all the way out here from all the way out there." When he said "here" he poked a finger into her lower ribs and she shrieked in tickled agony. Then, when he said "there" he poked her other side and she shrieked again. She was beginning to panic once again.
"I’m here on vacation." She stared into their faces and tried to read what affect her response had. Her voice stammered.
"Vacation? Is that all? Okay. Well, then," he said letting her hand go. The other punk let the other hand go. "Oh, in that case…."
Jessie began to feel a little relieved. What now?
One of the Tickle Punks stuck his head under the table. Then he slipped down off his seat. The woman was puzzled.
"He dropped his fork. He always drops his fork." The blond was about to nod when she felt someone grab her ankles and the most excruciating tickling from her right foot. She began to scream again and laugh in a panic but the Punks held her tightly against her seat.
Suddenly the tickling stopped and she realized that her right shoe had been removed. A hand shot up from under the table holding up a fork and she heard the Punk say, "Found it". Then the fork disappeared under the table again and the same excruciating tickling shot through her bare sole. He was using the tines of the fork to tickle her extremely sensitive bare soul. The fork scraped up and down the length of her foot, tickling at the base of the toes and down through the arch, even tickling the heel. The woman was frantic and struggled like a wild animal as she screamed and laughed and coughed. It was too much to take and she only knew that she had to escape. Her feet were always so very sensitive and soft. The thoght of a friendly finger touching her soft soul was enough to make her giggle and cringe, but this was too unbearable to imagine.
In the fog of her consciousness she heard another Punk slip under the table and say, "I lost my fork too". Then she felt a double attack on both bare feet. Her feet were horribly and unbearably ticklish and the Punks were not being gentle at the least. They tickled relentlessly up and down with the purpose of making the woman scream in utter agony. There is nothing more frightening than being restrained by scary Punks like this. But when they held you and tickled you unendingly, there was nothing you could do but panic and let out the agony by laughing hysterically.
Suddenly, the tickling stopped.
"Why are you here?" the one Punk said, accentuating each word as if he were talking to a young child.
The woman was panting and near unconsciousness. She could hear him but through a fog.
"The twins," she uttered.
"What twins?"
"The twins the police arrested. Please, please don't tickle me again"
The Punks looked at each other. Yeah, so what? "Listen carefully," the Punk said in her ear as he let his fingers run up and down her bare arm causing her to whimper. Damn it, even that tickled. "This is none of your business. Understand?" The woman nodded. His finger slid up the crevice at the back of her arm and she started to giggle then stopped herself. "Some things are better left forgotten. You have no idea what you are getting involved in when you come here. I suggest you go home and worry about yourself. You’re a very ticklish girl and you will be very busy soon chasing off crazed ticklers like us who will want a piece of you. Understand?" She nodded.
He turned to his friends and said, "I think she understands." They all rose and squirmed out of the booth. The woman lifted her bare arm to put her hair in some kind of order when she felt a single finger touch her underarm. She quickly threw her arm down, shrieked and whimpered. "Tickle tickle," she heard one say as they exited the diner.
(end of Part one)
by Max Speer
Chapter Five
Four on the Floor
Part One
The Pretty, blond newswoman, Jessie Waterson, checked into her hotel room, hung her new dresses in the closet and showered up. It was good to get out of a big city. She liked the pace of Kittletown, and the people all seemed very friendly, going out of their way to greet her.
She was about to leave her room when she spied something on the bed and walked over to investigate. On the sides of her bed, at the base of the headboard was two leather shackles. She sat down and held onto it, then chuckled. No doubt the maid missed these, she thought. Must have been left here by some excited newlyweds. She got down on her knees and saw that there were similar shackles at the foot of the bed. Jessie laughed and was about to call the maid to have them removed when she noticed something rather odd. The shackles were not a temporary fixture, easily removed. They appeared to have been permanently fixed to the bed, as if they belonged there. The newswoman quickly opened her purse and pulled out a tiny camera and took a few pictures of these strange ornaments.
She picked up the phone and called the front desk.
"Hi this is room 101. Is there a good place to get a late lunch around here?"
"Yes there is," the voice said. "The Kittletown Diner is the best place in town."
In a flash, the tall woman stuffed the camera in her purse and checked the battery in her pocket-sized tape recorder. Then she dashed out the door and down the hall.
When she reached the street she saw the diner right across Main Street and walked in. Instantly, people turned to look at her and she felt a little embarrassed. More small town quirkiness, she thought. People in booths began to talk quietly and she wondered if they were talking about her.
Just then, a pretty young waitress dressed in a sleeveless, gingham dress walked up to her.
"One?" she said with a smile.
"Yes, one."
The girl sat her down at a booth and handed her a menu, smiled and walked off. Jessie felt that many eyes were on her and she took out a notepad and began to write. A large, heavy-set man walked up to her and asked her what she wanted.
"I’m Sid," he said, looking over the pretty blond newswoman. His eyes took in the softness of her bare shoulders and he looked down to see her red toenails revealed in her strappy sandals. "I’m the owner of this restaurant," he continued. "We’re kind of shorthanded because two of my best girls took off."
Jessie chuckled, then realized that he had a concerned look on his face. "Took off?" She said.
"Yes. Missing. No one knows where they are."
The newswoman reached into her purse and, secretly switched on the recorder. "Has anyone gone to the police?" She thought about the report she read concerning the twin girls, allegedly tickle tortured by the police.
"I guess. I don’t know," said Sid. "Ever since the contest. You know the Miss Ti…" he stopped. This was an Outsider. He didn’t know what to say in such a case. If he said ‘Miss Tickle’, then all kinds of questions would be asked.
"Miss, who?" she asked. Sid looked at the gorgeous woman and considered attacking her right then and there. His thoughts were suddenly interrupted with the sound of bells on the door. Someone was coming in. His heart sank. It was five of the Tickle Punks.
Barbara paced around nervously. Her sister was gone, Sandra was gone, Jamie was gone and her husband was in cahoots with Dr Gregory. Where was her support system when she needed it the most? The Formula was burning through her body. In a short period of time, she had significant doses of Formula injected into her. She was agitated. The high was not there anymore but she had an acute sensitivity. Her thoughts were not clear. I had assured her that these effects would wear off and she would feel herself again, only better. But she was beginning to panic.
The doorbell rang and her heart began to pound.
"Who is it?" she yelled through the door. No answer. "I said, "who is it? Answer please or I won’t open the door."
"Barb?" came a soft voice from the other side. "It’s Shelly. Open up."
Barbara was relieved that it was a friendly face that was staring at her from the other side of the screen. But it was not smiling.
"What’s the matter? What happened?" Barbara asked as she let Shelly into the house. Shelly looked as cute as ever in a little sleeveless sundress with spaghetti straps, and a pair of flip-flops.
"What do you mean?" Shelly asked walking into the living room. "You called me over here."
"What?"
Suddenly, there was a rustle of bodies on her front porch. She hadn’t shut the big door. She hadn’t had a chance to lock anyone out. The screen door opened and in walked Tom, Bobby, Laura and Caroline. They smiled as they entered. Barbara and Shelly stood frozen.
"Well, well, well," Tom said as the girls shut and locked the front door.
Jamie and Amy entered the office of Sam DeBlass and sat down. The leather couch was cold against the bare legs of the two girls. Their shorts were very short. They looked like they were all of twelve years old in the office of the grown-ups in a strange city. Two adorable teens in sleeveless tops that bared their flat, soft bellies, being assessed by the large, editor of the city’s largest newspaper.
"So girls," he said lighting a cigarette and sitting in his squeaky chair. "Talk."
"It’s like we said on the phone," started Amy. "We know what is causing this, um, mass hysteria."
"Yeah," he said looking the two girls over a little too intently. "Which hysteria is that?" He wanted to hear them say the word.
"The tickling hysteria," said Jamie feeling a little embarrassed at even saying that word out loud to an Outsider.
"The tickling hysteria," DeBlass said as if he needed to chew on those words a little bit, then suck them in with his smoke and blow them out again. "And what makes you think you know the cause of this, Tickle Hysteria? Two little girls from Florida on vacation here in San Diego."
Jamie and Amy looked at each other. Had they made the wrong move? Is everyone too far gone? Why would this man believe them? Jamie decided to speak up.
"Sir, I know it’s hard to believe. But our lives might be in danger." Then, as quickly as she could, she narrated the series of events that took place. She told them of Kittletown and Doctor Gregory, and how the two of them were captured and injected with this stuff. With Amy’s help, the girls talked about their dreams and about breaking into Gregory’s office and seeing the evidence that the water had been tainted. The man listened, staring at the two girls and thinking about tickling them more than anything else in the world. He was feeling compelled to walk over and grab hold of their ribs and tickle them within an inch of their lives. Then he fantasized about cumming as he heard them laughing their high-pitched girly laughter. His mind was lost in Tickle lust and would have remained there, simply dismissing them before he did anything stupid and that would be enough to satisfy his fantasies for the day.
There was only one thing that snapped him out of it. The name ‘Kittletown’.
"My God," he said leaning forward and glaring at the two girls. "You two are telling the truth aren’t you?"
The girls looked at each other, not knowing what to make of this off-the-wall statement. "Of course," they said. "What made you realize this?"
"My best reporter, Jessie Waterson, is in Kittletown right now.
The Tickle Punks sat in a booth right across the aisle from Jessie and stared at her.
"Hello," she said, a little more than slightly nervous. She wanted to go over her notes and try and make sense to all of this but the way these boys were staring at her, she decided to be on guard. She opened her pad and began to take notes.
"Pretty dress," one of the Punks said.
"Thank you." Jessie did not look up.
"Nice arms."
Jessie did not answer. She wrote quickly and nervously, foolishly thinking that if she ignored them, they would ignore her.
"Nice shoes." No answer. "Nice feet too."
Finally Jessie put down her pen and looked right into his face. "I’m happy that you find my arms and feet so nice. And, yes, they are nice clothes. I bought them down the street. You have any other comments because if you don’t I really don’t want to be bothered right now."
The Punks all made mocking noises and slapped the one Punk who made all those comments as if he was being disrespectful to the innocent woman. Jessie felt satisfied for asserting herself and was sure the confrontation was over. Boy, was she ever wrong.
The Punks got up and walked over to her booth and shoved themselves in. Jessie tried to get up. She raised her arms and tried to twist and grab at the back of the seat to give her some leverage but it was all over at this point. Two Punks grabbed her raised wrists and held them up with unbelievable strength. The woman tried to pull them back but was helpless. Then, another Punk reached up and started to tickle her ribs. Jessie began to scream and struggle. The tickling sensation was not something she wanted to feel at this time, especially by a group of delinquents.
"Hey, we got a screamer," the tickling Punk said. "Come on, Baby, let me hear you laugh. Let me hear you laugh!" he said as his fingers worked furiously up and down her delicate ribcage.
Jessie’s scream dissolved into a shrill trail of laughter. She was laughing out of control and was desperate to relieve herself of this horrible attack.
Just then, another Punk reached forward across the table and began to tickle right inside the exposed hollows of her armpits. Jessie was gone by then. She shrieked as the fingers touched her ticklish underarms, above and beyond the laughter she was already in the midst of. The added tickling made it unbearable for her and she was in a total state of panic.
The Tickle Punks chanted over and over again, "Tickle tickle tickle tickle…" as their fingers ran around and around the ticklish areas of her sides and under her arms. The blond newswoman threw her head back and squeezed her eyes shut as her mouth opened and the laughter came roaring out in spite of the efforts to hold it back.
Just then, one of the Punks told the others to stop. He was one of the Punks that had held her arms up. Reluctantly, they stopped and the relieved woman sat there, trying to catch her breath.
"Where you from, Darling?" he said.
"California," she said softly. "Can I please have my hands back?"
"Not yet." He stared at her smooth armpit, inches from his face and reached out a long, ugly tongue and gently licked up the center of it.
The effect was very ticklish and she started to laugh, but she was very grossed out by it. He pulled a bandana out from his back pocket and wiped it dry. The touch was also very ticklish and she whimpered as he dabbed the cloth on her stretched armpit. He tapped it repeatedly as she squirmed and giggled. Her face was a mix of laghter and pain.
"Now," he said quietly and patiently. "You will tell us why you are all the way out here from all the way out there." When he said "here" he poked a finger into her lower ribs and she shrieked in tickled agony. Then, when he said "there" he poked her other side and she shrieked again. She was beginning to panic once again.
"I’m here on vacation." She stared into their faces and tried to read what affect her response had. Her voice stammered.
"Vacation? Is that all? Okay. Well, then," he said letting her hand go. The other punk let the other hand go. "Oh, in that case…."
Jessie began to feel a little relieved. What now?
One of the Tickle Punks stuck his head under the table. Then he slipped down off his seat. The woman was puzzled.
"He dropped his fork. He always drops his fork." The blond was about to nod when she felt someone grab her ankles and the most excruciating tickling from her right foot. She began to scream again and laugh in a panic but the Punks held her tightly against her seat.
Suddenly the tickling stopped and she realized that her right shoe had been removed. A hand shot up from under the table holding up a fork and she heard the Punk say, "Found it". Then the fork disappeared under the table again and the same excruciating tickling shot through her bare sole. He was using the tines of the fork to tickle her extremely sensitive bare soul. The fork scraped up and down the length of her foot, tickling at the base of the toes and down through the arch, even tickling the heel. The woman was frantic and struggled like a wild animal as she screamed and laughed and coughed. It was too much to take and she only knew that she had to escape. Her feet were always so very sensitive and soft. The thoght of a friendly finger touching her soft soul was enough to make her giggle and cringe, but this was too unbearable to imagine.
In the fog of her consciousness she heard another Punk slip under the table and say, "I lost my fork too". Then she felt a double attack on both bare feet. Her feet were horribly and unbearably ticklish and the Punks were not being gentle at the least. They tickled relentlessly up and down with the purpose of making the woman scream in utter agony. There is nothing more frightening than being restrained by scary Punks like this. But when they held you and tickled you unendingly, there was nothing you could do but panic and let out the agony by laughing hysterically.
Suddenly, the tickling stopped.
"Why are you here?" the one Punk said, accentuating each word as if he were talking to a young child.
The woman was panting and near unconsciousness. She could hear him but through a fog.
"The twins," she uttered.
"What twins?"
"The twins the police arrested. Please, please don't tickle me again"
The Punks looked at each other. Yeah, so what? "Listen carefully," the Punk said in her ear as he let his fingers run up and down her bare arm causing her to whimper. Damn it, even that tickled. "This is none of your business. Understand?" The woman nodded. His finger slid up the crevice at the back of her arm and she started to giggle then stopped herself. "Some things are better left forgotten. You have no idea what you are getting involved in when you come here. I suggest you go home and worry about yourself. You’re a very ticklish girl and you will be very busy soon chasing off crazed ticklers like us who will want a piece of you. Understand?" She nodded.
He turned to his friends and said, "I think she understands." They all rose and squirmed out of the booth. The woman lifted her bare arm to put her hair in some kind of order when she felt a single finger touch her underarm. She quickly threw her arm down, shrieked and whimpered. "Tickle tickle," she heard one say as they exited the diner.
(end of Part one)
Last edited:
