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| Never will I be quite sure why. Or even how I managed to do it. But I did. I hated the cold weather and I hated to come here. The icy weather in Canada brought nothing but bad memories. I grew up in Pennsylvania. My mother mismanaged our money. So much so, that during the winter, she was forced to keep it so cold in the house that your breath could be seen in front of you, when first waking up in the morning. In no aspect, was there ever any warmth in our home. So, I left for Florida the first chance I had. As warm as warm can be. And there, I made my own home. |
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| While driving to Billy's, my car went barreling into one of the Canadian drivers. My heart was pounding like never before. Such disbelief. I made my way from the car. Slowly. Reminding myself not to apologize, because that would be incriminating myself. I was yet to truly determine whether it was my fault or the other driver's, anyway. As I closed the door to my vehicle, I looked over to the driver of the other car. It was him! The man from the diner. The one who... |
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| We spoke. He was angry. Not as angry as I'd expected. An agreement was reached. Looking back. I don't know what I was even thinking, entering into such a deal. Though, at the time this seemed like a good idea. I simply didn't know what I was getting into. And in less than two hours, it wouldn't matter what I knew. |
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| I had met this man just an hour before. Maybe less. I was at a diner. Ridden with hunger. |
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| There was still many more miles that needed to be traveled before I met my online friend, for the first time. I was excited. Nervous. There wasn't necessarily anything romantic between Billy and I. Not yet. I was hoping to change all of that. My suitcase was chock full of skimpy lingerie and tight, sexy clothing. I had really wanted to make an impression. |
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| As I made my stop into the little establishment, I was downright naughty. A very attractive man with dark features sat in the booth in front of me. The big, teddy bear type. Cute. My favorite. Later, I learned his name was Patrick. A man in his late thirties. The age difference made me feel like I was doing something dirty. I liked it. |
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| On foreign soil. Far from home. A lot more daring than I would have been back in Florida. Eye contact was made between Patrick and I, several times over. The beginning of some heavy flirting that would eventually lead to us sharing a booth together. At age nineteen, I hadn't behaved like this since I was a junior high school student. A bit freeing to be so bold. The conversation we shared seemed meaningless. |
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| We started playing this silly "ask me anything" game. He and I began asking each other all sorts of questions that would have been deemed as rude, or inappropriate otherwise. I hadn't given it much thought, when he asked me to list all of my most ticklish places for him. Nor did I mind. Such a question, I found intriguing. It was impossible to resist the urge to go about the answer seductively. I went on and on, listing all of my most vulnerably private spots. Patrick had this wild look in his eyes. As if I was revealing to him the secrets of all the world. Perhaps I was. |
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| I cringed now. Realizing what trouble doing so was about to get me into. |
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| My car was parked down the street, from the diner. Playfully. Patrick followed me. Wiggling his fingers, in a taunting manner. |
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| "I'm going to get you, Clara". |
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| I giggled and teased back, "Oh, no. Oh, no you're not"! |
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| I knew what he was threatening to do. Squealing just as the thought of the sensation crept into my mind. I kept turning around abruptly to face him, repeatedly. Making sure he didn't sneak up on me. Daring him to, at the same time. Maybe there was even a small part of me that wanted him to. |
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| As we neared the location of my parked car, my anticipation of his fingers making contact with one of the many ticklish places I had told him about, began to rise. Making my way toward the door to open it. I paused. Turning to face him, again. But, I couldn't. He was gone. I looked around. In every possible direction. Nowhere, was Patrick to be seen. |
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| The chill in Canada was hard to take. Before getting into my car, I popped open the trunk and changed into a heavier coat. While doing so, I wondered why would he just disappear? If not tickle me, wouldn't he have wanted to at least say 'good-bye'? |
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| Now, standing on the highway with him. In this new found role of ours, it seemed even stranger, still. But there wasn't time to give the matter a great deal of attention. Patrick's car was towed. |
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| Other than a few scrathches, it had been as if mine had never seen a collision at all. My car was the one we took to his house. I let him drive. |
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| We arrived at his home, in what seemed like the middle of nowhere. It was eerie to be so far away from civilization. With a stranger, no less. A stranger planning to... |
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| "Can I offer you something to drink," he asked? |
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| Wanting to decline, but did not want to seem rude. I was in enough trouble already. And in the position that I was minutes away from allowing myself to be put into to, adding fuel to the fire was the last thing I wanted to do. He sat a glass of soda on his kitchen table for me. Then made his way down to the basement, to prepare whatever was needed for the two of us to fulfill this sorted arrangement of ours. |
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| Cold. Very cold. And as a Floridian, it felt that much colder to me. Without even thinking to remove my coat, I stared at the clock on the living room wall. Thinking of my Canadian friend. The one I had intended to meet. My arrival time at Billy's home was nearing. I would never meet him. Thought of calling him. But for what? There was nothing he could do to save me from this. Billy would have to be left to think I stood him up. |
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| Finding myself very nervous, I did finally remove my coat and sat down in a chair in the living room. Feeling more at ease. Leaning back in the chair and dozed off for a bit. It was an uncommonly peaceful sleep. How long, I don't know. |
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| Awakening in the ice covered air, with a warm hand stroking my face. For a moment, I'd forgotten why I was here. Focusing only on the welcoming eyes that gazed upon me. Remembering finally, how I had ended up here. I was grateful to see that he didn't seem angry with me anymore. In fact, he seemed quite glad. Then I came to recall what he had planned for me. My tranquil state of being. Shattered. |
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| "Ready," he asked, taking me by the hand? |
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| Patrick guided me downstairs. It was dark. Not too dark. |
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| There was enough light to see what this basement contained. It was insane. Who on earth would keep such items stored beneath their house? |
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| "This won't be for a very long time, will it" I inquired, anxiously? |
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| "Not for as long as it would take you to pay off the damages to my car," Patrick sternly reminded me. |
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| "I'm scared," I admitted. |
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| "That's not a big surprise," he replied calmly and quietly,"I'll give you a choice with regard to your c******. Take it all off, and I'll take some time off your 'sentence'. You can keep some, but I insist that you must be barefoot, and also have no more than a b** on the upper body". |
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| "I will take it off. All of it," I answered without hesitation. |
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| Being that I am very ticklish. Not wanting to be tickled any longer than I had to be. Appearing as though it would be the smartest thing to do. |
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| "I'm glad for your choice". |
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| "I'll bet," I muttered under my breathe, resentfully. |
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| "I heard that," Patrick said sharply, then continued, "But don't worry. I'm good at handling such remarks". |
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| Much too afraid to ask him what he ment. Feeling a bit odd about the act of undressing in front of him. Even though he would be seeing me that way for quite some time. I entered the little bathroom, there in the basement. |
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| Removing my c******, ever so slowly. Silently praying for a sign that he would be merciful, and let me go home untouched. I knew better. The only alternative to this present circumstance was contacting my insurance company. They didn't cover that extent of damage. No matter how twisted or bizarre it seemed, this was the choice I needed to make. |
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| Patrick closed and locked the door to the basement. Then I watched him as he opened some cupboards. Pulling out feathers, brushes. A variety of implements. |
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| Now, I was VERY afraid! |
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| "You're not going to use ALL of those, are you," I asked with my voice trembling? |
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| "Only the ones that cause you the most discomfort, Clara". |
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| I gasped. Could Patrick be serious? |
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| "I suppose you should be u******ing soon. Before more time is added on to your already long sentence" |
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| I removed the rest of my c****** in a hurry. |
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| Pointing to the bed, he told me to lie down on my stomach. |
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| "Stomach," I repeated it, as a fearful question? |
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| "Yes". |
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| After doing so, he went to a corner of the room and returned with a long wooden bar. It had semi-circles cut out of it that matched similar cut-outs on the thick wooden footboard. Which doubles as a set of stocks. |
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| I quivered with fright. |
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| Taking my ankles, and placing them in the stocks, close together. The thick padding held my ankles tight. |
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| Patrick locked them shut, and moved toward my upper body. |
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| "This is it," I thought to myself, "This is really going to happen". |
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| Trying to remember how many times I had actually been tickled. It had been years since such an occurence. There was no way for me to predict whether it would be all that bad, or not. Maybe it wouldn't tickle me at all. |
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| He took several pillows, and placed them beneath my hips and belly. Lifting me slightly off the bed. Leather cuffs were attached to both wrists, which were then attached to ropes that dangled from the ceiling overhead. By pulling on the ropes, my arms were drawn up, pulling my upper body up from the bed so that there was a gap. |
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| Anticipation was heightening. Very, very scared. The fact that my ribs and underarms were exposed was troubling to me. Knowing just how ticklish they were. Hoping that he wasn't thinking of spending too much time there. |
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| Decidedly, he started off at my feet. Moving a stool to face them. |
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| Relieved by this, I thought silently, "Ticklish. But not nearly as ticklish as my ribs and underarms. Feet won't be so bad". |
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| That was what I was hoping for, anyway. |
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| Holding a soft strip of leather, he bound my big toes together. Then, with another strip, he pulled my toes downward. Attaching the end off to something beneath the bed. My feet were held tightly now. The skin stretched just enough to make tickling them even more torturous. I could barely wiggle my unbound toes. |
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| "I think I may be having second thoughts," I shouted, starting to panick! |
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| "Too late for second thoughts, Clara! You should have thought of that before you hit my car"! |
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| "LET ME GO!!! I CHANGED MY MIND! I DON'T WANT TO BE TICKLED"! |
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| Ignoring my pleas, he picked up two medium size feathers. Stiff ones. And began stroking gently down the length of my soles. |
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| "HAHAHAHAHAHA! STOOOOOP!!! LET ME GO! I DON'T WANT TO DO THIS ANYMORE! HEEHEEHEEHEEHEE!!! LEAVE MY FEET ALONE!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA"! |
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| Despite my cries and struggles, my feet remained nearly motionless. Only the trembling of a few toes was aloud. Patrick spent several minutes leisurely running the feathers over my feet. Tickling from heel to toe. Listening to my laughter. |
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| "HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! STOP THE FEATHERS! PLEEEEEEEEAAAASSSE! IT TICKLES TOO MUCH! HEE HEE HEE HEE HEE HEE"! |
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| "You have such lovely feet, Clara. I love tickling them. I bet no one has ever tickled you like this before". |
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| Turning the feathers around, he scraped the quills on the taut canvas of my soles. |
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| "OF COOOOOUUUUURRRRSSE NOOOOOOOTT!!! PLEEEEEEAAAASE!! NOOOO MOOOOORRREEEEE! I CAAAAN'T STAND IT! HAHAHAHAHA"! |
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| Patrick tortured my feet with the quills for several more minutes. |
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| He paused after what seemed like at the very least, an hour. |
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| I then asked him, "Aren't you going to let me go now? Please"? |
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| "My poor Clara. You haven't even begun to pay me back for the damage. Let alone what you would have paid had I called the police. I wouldn't worry about the time if I were you. It will only make it harder for you to stand," he warned. |
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| "Oh no! But, I'm much too ticklish for this! Please let me go"! |
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| "Not a chance, I'm afraid. Now should I continue with your feet, or would you prefer I tickle your underarms for a while"? |
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| "NEITHER!!! LET ME GO! I CAN'T STAND TO BE TICKLED UNDER MY ARMS"! |
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| "Okay. As I'm having fun with your feet, let's continue there". |
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| This time, he had a toothbrush. A small bowl of soapy water. |
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| "I think I need to clean these dirty feet of yours, Clara. Otherwise, I won't be able to lick your soles and suck on your pretty toes, later". |
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| "No! You won't really, will you"? |
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| Droplets of water trickled over my toes, as the toothbrush made it's descent toward my bare feet. |
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| "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! NOO MOOOOOORRE"!!! |
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| Suddenly, I felt the coolness of the wet bristles as they touched me on the ball of my foot. The tip began scrubbing in a circular motion. Pausing every minute or two to dip into the soap solution. From the balls, he worked down to my arch. A very ticklish area for me. |
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| "NO! PLEEEEEAASE! NOT THE TOOTHBRUSH! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! I CAN'T TAKE IT! IT TICKLES TOO MUCH! HEE HEE HEE HEE HEE"! |
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| Patrick tickled my arch for a while. Then scrubbing my heel wickedly. Delighted that I was ticklish, even there. Then it was time for the toes. |
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| "Are your toes ticklish, Clara? Are they too sensitive for the brush"? |
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| "YEEEEEEEESSSSS!!! PLEASE DON'T DO IT ON MY TOES! I'LL GO CRAZY"! |
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| Patrick already knew the answers to these questions he asked me. This was just his way of tormenting me further. |
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| "Very well then," he said, switching to Q-tips. |
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| Grabbing the toe next to the big one, holding it apart so he could swab the space between them. |
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| "OH NO!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! I CAN'T TAKE ANYMORE! I WANNA GO HOME! PLEEEEEEASSE JUST LET ME GO! I'LL DO ANYTHING"! |
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| "I know you will. But what I want is this," he said. |
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| He continued swabbing between my delicate toes. Chuckling each time I squealed and begged. Then, Patrick repeated this same treatment to the other foot. Scrubbing and swabbing until he was satisfied that my feet were clean. |
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| I took in a deep breath, as he paused. |
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| "Only an hour and a bit has passed so far. I think I will see if your underarms are as ticklish as you suggested". |
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| "NOOOOOOO!!! STAY AWAY FROM THERE! HEEEEEELLLLPPP! SOMEBODY HELP ME"! |
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| "Scream all you want, my dear. I've completely soundproofed this room". |
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| Kneeling along side my buttocks, Patrick reached forward to slide his fingers up my sides and into my underarms. |
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| "You have such soft skin, Clara," he said, teasing me with little finger strokes. |
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| As I began to squirm and beg, he started scrabbling his fingers inside my ticklish hollows. Going for full out torture! |
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| "NO! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! PLEEEEEEEASSSSE! NOT UNDER MY ARMS!! ANYWHERE BUT THERE! IT'S TOO MUCH! HEE HEE HEE! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA"! |
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| "Your pleas are music to my ears," he sadistically responded to my ticklish agony. |
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| Patrick only having more fun tickling my soft underarms. Squeezing my sides and waist. I was twisting and shaking like crazy. Trying to buck him off, but I couldn't. He tickled deep into my helpless underarms. Until I was nearly breathless from laughing and screaming. |
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| "OH MY GOD! HAHAHAHAHAHA! PLEASE STOP! PLEEEEAASE! YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU'RE DOING TO ME"! |
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| "Tell me you love being tickled," he said, reaching down to tickle my belly. |
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| "NO! I HATE IT"! |
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| "Okay then," he replied with a threatening tone. |
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| Sliding off me and wedging himself underneath me so that he was looking up at me. He easily reached up and tickled one underarm, while he pushed his face toward the other and began licking it. Switching between licking and nibbling. While still tickling the other. |
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| "OH NO! DON'T DO THAT! OOOOOHHHH MYYYYYY GGOOOOOOOOODDDD!!! NOT YOUR TONGUE! PLLLLLLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAASSSEE!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! I CAN'T TAKE IT! I CAN'T TAKE IT! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! STOOPPP IT! HAHAHA! HEHEHEHEH"! |
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| As he continued torturing my ticklish skin, he said to me, "I want to see how long you can take this before passing out. Or before I get a kink in my neck". |
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| "HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! I CAN'T PASS OUT! HAHAHAHA! IT TICKLES TOO MUCH"! |
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| Fortunately, it didn't take too long before he did get a kink in his neck. Patrick stopped to give me a short rest. |
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| "You look like you could use one, Clara. I know I can". |
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| Laying there. Almost ready to cry. But, now able to concentrate on something other than being tickled, finally. Swallowing deep, deep breathes. It was now, that I had first noticed that the bed sheets were soaked with u****. I was deeply embarrassed, but was too uncomfortable to stay in it to not say something. |
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| "Patrick, I had an accident". |
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| "Really," he said rather joyously, "Are you sure"? |
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| "Of course I'm sure! See for yourself"! |
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| Straddling my backside. He sat himself on top of me and slid his hand between my l***, causing me to giggle like crazy. It tickled horribly, as he gently stoked my c***. Undeniably, his soft touch was also quite pleasureable, as I began involuntarily pushing my p**** against his f*****s. |
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| "It's not wet because you p****d, my dear. Are you sure you don't like to be tickled"? |
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| I didn't answer. I kept telling myself I didn't know the answer. Did I know? |
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| Between shrieks of laughter, I moaned and begged him not to stop. |
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| "Tell me you love to be tickled". |
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| "No," I insisted. |
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| "I'll stop". |
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| I felt his fingers abandoning my swollen c***. |
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| "DON'T," I cried, "I LOVE TO BE TICKLED! I DO! I REALLY REALLY DO! MORE THAN ANYTHING"! |
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| Patrick picked up the pace and had me c****ng in seconds. |
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| After removing my bonds, he asked me,"Tired"? |
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| "Yes," I groaned. |
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| "I'll go out to the car and get your suitcase. You can use the bathroom you u*******d in to shower". |
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| Almost too exhausted to do that much. I made myself, though. My body was covered in sweat, amongst other things. As the water poured down over me, I just remembered again, that I'd brought nothing but sexy lingerie. Lingerie that I was supposed to be wearing for Billy. I'd be wearing it for Patrick now. |
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| Coming out of the shower, I was happy to see that only the suitcase rested on the bed. Glad was I, that he had changed the sheets and blanket while I was scrubbing myself down. I chose a blue pajama set. The most conservative one of the bunch, yet still incredibly skimpy. It would have to do. Thankfully, Patrick had turned the heat up for me. |
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| The temperature down in the basement was so warm and toasty, I hadn't bothered to cover myself with the blankets at all. Not long after my head hit the pillow, I was sleeping. |
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| Waking up the next morning. More fearful than I had been in years. I could see my own breath in front of my face. A sight I promised myself I'd never see again. The chill in the basement. I was certain it would kill me. |
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| "PATRICK," I screamed! |
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| Immediately, he came running down the steps. |
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| "What's wrong? What is it," he seemed to panick? |
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| "It's cold"! |
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| "You're screaming because it's cold. Spoiled little American. You can't put up with a few minutes in the cold". |
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| I was able to see how it looked to him. Patrick didn't know my history. I was hurt by his response, but I let it go. There was to be more tickle torture today. This time, I was excited about it. Not wanting him to remain cross with me. Standing up from the bed, I put my arms around his waist, in an attempt to appeal to him. |
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| "Nice jammies," he said, playing with the flimsy, nylon material, "Perhaps it would be better if you left them on, today". |
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| It was back to being strapped down to the bed. Same as last time. Only now on my back. I was surprised that he had actually wanted me to remain clothed. Not that I was wearing much. But still... |
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| Straddling my legs. Patrick finally rested himself on my hips. The moment his fingers began to lightly tickle my ribs, all at once, I nearly passed out. He tickled me from the outside of my night clothes. It was worse. Devestatingly worse. The smooth, gliding contact of the silky material wasn't what I had been expecting this morning. |
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| "STOOOOOOOOOPP! LET ME GO! HAHAHAHAHA! JUST FOR- HEE HEE HEE HEE HEE! JUST FOR A MINUTE! PLEEEEEEEEAAAASSE! I DON'T WANT TO WEAR ANYTHING"! |
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| In the short amount of time I had known Patrick, I'd never seen him laugh as hard as he did now. The speed of his fingers picked up, as he just started tickling me all over. Everywhere. I thrashed and screamed and begged him to go easier on me. He wouldn't hear of it. |
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| Up and down, he raked all ten fingers along my abdomen. Giving me the complete tickle torturing treatment. I couldn't stand it, but couldn't stop it either. It was hopeless. Still, there was no way to ignore the fact that I was becoming aroused again. A strange twist of emotions, indeed. |
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| Finally, he did lift up the top half of my pajamas. With that, he began licking my tummy. Randomly for only a minute. Then, Patrick began licking my side, right above my hips. His tongue made it's way up and down. Slowly. All the way until he made contact with the opposite side. Not leaving a single inch untouched. Never having my tummy tickled in this manner before, I found it absolutely excruciating. It was apparent that when he found the ticklish places that were the most sensitive, he spent extra time teasing in that area. This new form of torment had me bucking and squealing with outrageous fits of laughter. To the point where I had almost begun hyperventilating. I couldn't believe how much it was tickling me. |
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| Neither could Patrick. Awe struck. He rose up from my belly, after reaching his final destination. Staring at me. He was thinking. It was in his eyes. He strolled into the bathroom. Whistling to himself. It couldn't be good. I waited anxiously. Water was running from the sink, but the door wasn't cracked far enough for me to tell what evil torment he was preparing for me. |
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| As he did the night previous, he emerged from the bathroom with a bowl of soapy water. A brush. A very different brush. This was the large, stiff one. Ment for cleaning fingernails. He was coming back to my belly. |
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| "NO! OOOHH GGOOOOOOD! NOOOOOOOOOOO!!! YOU CAN'T. OOOH NOOOOO"! |
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| "You enjoyed the toothbrush on your ticklish little tootsies last night, so very much. How on earth could I deprive your tummy of the same treatment," Patrick grinned at me, "And besides, I've gotten saliva all over you. How rude would it be to soil you, without scrubbing you clean again"? |
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| That was exactly what he would do. Watching as he soaked the brush in the soapy fluid. Cringing as he brought the stiff bristles down on my smooth, helpless tummy. With no hesitation, he scrubbed my belly lightly, but at a furious pace that sent me into a state of ticklish hysteria. Like nothing I could ever convey to someone who hadn't been through it. The toothbrush on my feet, was merely a drop in the bucket, comparatively. I gave up on begging and let myself slide down into this newfound world of tickle torture. Giggling. Laughing. Screaming. Squirming and thrashing violently. |
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| Dizzy. It was some hours later, when I finally came to. Cold again. Freezing. The fear I had of the cold that surrounded me was overwhelming. Remembering his unsympathetic reaction from last time. I hadn't bothered to call out for Patrick. Simply reaching into my suitcase, pulling out my robe. |
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| It wasn't much to warm me. But I was so taken back by the chill, I couldn't think straight enough to search for something better to wear. Slipping into the fuzzy terri cloth. I laid down on the bed once again, and cried myself back to sleep. |
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| Later, I woke up startled. |
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| "Hungry," he asked? |
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| "Absolutely"! |
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| Food was a comforting thought. I can't remember if it was still cold when I awoke, since I immediately made my way into the shower and dressed myself in a sweater. In fact, I had almost completely forgotten the perceived deadly temperature of the basement. |
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| I sat across from him. Staring off, dreamily. In love with the memory of what we had done together. I swore to myself that if not for the fierce weather, I would claim citizenship in Canada and never go back to Florida again. |
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| My imagination fixated on the list of ticklish places I had proudly recited to Patrick in the diner. Thinking of the thousand many more things he could do to each and every one of those ticklish spots. |
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| "Clara. There's something I want to tell you". |
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| "Yes. Tell me. Tell me all about it," I replied devilishly. |
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| "It's about the car crash". |
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| "I'm not done paying for it yet, am I," I joked? |
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| "You didn't cause the accident". |
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| "What? You mean you're the one who wasn't watching the road"? |
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| I laughed at the thought of it. |
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| "I'm not angry. Although that was a pretty lousy thing to do. Maybe I should tickle torture you now," I taunted him. |
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| "That's not what I mean," he replied. |
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| "I'm confused". |
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| "The car crash wasn't an accident, Clara. I did it. I did it intentionally". |
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| I stood up from the table and stared at him. Shaking my head in disbelief. |
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| "Why"? |
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| "So we could have these two days together. I'm sorry if this upsets you, but I had the best of intentions". |
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| "Intentions? You could have killed me". |
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| "I knew what I was doing," Patrick defended. |
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| "How could you be so sure? How can you even say something like that," I demanded? |
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| My heart was filled with anger. Fear. Disappointment. My car keys. Resting on the counter where he had left them upon our arrival. Before Patrick had time to react, I snatched them up and went flying out the door, down the gravel driveway. He came running out after me, but his reactionary time was far too slow. Pedal to the metal, I drove like a bat out of hell. That was it. It was over now. Still taking in all of what had happened. It just didn't seem real to me. I shook my head to clear my mind, as I raced down the highway, to leave the chill in Canada behind |
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