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Payback by Proxy -
The Inexplicable Urge
Part 2
 
by
D_J
 

Monday morning.
How long ago did it start? Three days - no, four. Unbelievable.

Mike had been busy the whole time. And he proved to be very attentive at nursing, too. He'd massaged Randy's wrists and ankles, inspecting the skin critically. No pressure sores were allowed, no friction burns... And he'd been just as diligent as he cleaned Randy's skin. Chuckling as his soapy hands came back down -
Randy didn't want to think about it. The tarp was still covering the floor, and the wet-dry vacuum sat there, ready to suck up the next deluge.
Randy tested his bindings for about the trillionth time... Yep, still holding. This was insane, but it was still going on. He could use any adjectives he wanted. It was real.
Mike breezed into the room. One happy guy. He'd showered, shaved, and gotten ready to go to class. Randy's attire was clean, too, but it differed from Mike's... because Randy wasn't going outside. All he wore was a pair of boxer shorts. He didn't have any body hair left to protect him - courtesy of Mike. All that remained were his eyebrows and the mop of hair on his head. Hell, even his nose and ear hairs had been trimmed. Mike didn't put up with any obstacles while mapping out his very best friend's ticklish zones, and highlighting the "sweet spots."

"Seeya, roomie!" was all Randy heard as the door slammed shut... and the double deadbolt clicking into place.
Eight hours. That was the most he could hope for. His reprieve - and then Mike would be back, rarin' to go, with fresh supplies. Oils - Randy shivered. Continuing the exploration. Oil, and fingers -
"I am so fucking screwed," he said quietly.
Yeah. If you're still trapped in that chair when Mikey gets home...
Randy flinched. Who was that? He swiveled his head. No one there.
"Hey. Uh... Help me." After a quiet pause he added, "Show yourself!"
Randy listened intently for a response, or a noise - for anything that might clue him in... Did that fucker Mike leave him with a "babysitter," someone to keep him laughing until "Daddy" got home?!
Babysitter? Interesting idea. But no. Try another question. I've got all day.
He shivered, because he didn't actually say the bit about the babysitter, out loud. He only thought it...
How did it know? Randy was so confused. Weirder yet, he couldn't isolate where the voice was coming from. It seemed to be right next to him, but he looked all around. Nobody there!
Mmmmmmmmmmmmm.
"You are freakin' me out. On top of ev- Look. No more. Please, PLEASE, PLEEEEEZE! No more!"
No more... what? And the voice giggled.
"You know," he gasped, pulling at the wrist-ropes. "You must know. Don't you? You're just... messin' with my head now." Randy looked at the ceiling. "Anything you want. Whatever I have, just take it. All of it. It's yours. Just spring me before Mikey gets home."
Oh, I don't know.
"Pleeeeeeeeze - I'm begging you, man!"
So I get to keep, as my personal property, anything I want... just for helping you escape? The voice was sly. Randy couldn't get a handle on what it was up to, and it was definitely taunting him, somehow.
But he was desperate. "Absofuckinlutely!" he answered hopefully.

Do you have any idea... who or what you're talking to?
"No. Uh... Come out where I can see you!" Randy demanded. "Quit fuckin' around!"
Pardon us for observing... But you don't seem to be in any position to be demanding anything! With an attitude like that, we find it very tempting to go out and get some recruits. Nice, strong hands - picking up where buddy-boy Mike left off.
"No," he whimpered. This just kept getting worse and worse -
Easy laughter. Sure. And what was the last thing he was doing, in the wee hours of this morning, before he had to go catch some Z's. Huh?
Randy jerked harder at his bonds.
Didn't think Mike would go there, did you?
He felt himself blushing. "I don't know what you're talkin' about."
Your best bud's tongue... sliding up your arches. Using his whiskers to abrade your ultra-sensitive... soles. His teeth nibbling at your toes? That tongue darting-
"Aw, SHUT THE FUCK UP ALREADY!! I was THERE!!" he cried out. Stunned, totally horrified, because this mysterious "we" knew everything. Everything! Watching it all - Maybe helping him. Giving Mikey pointers.

Randy, Randy, Randy. Is it prudent for you to talk that way? I'm going out now. Get some dudes in here to teach you better manners -
Oh-my-gawd! he thought, panicking. "I'm sorry. Look, I'm sorry, I'm... Are you still here? I'M SORRY! Please..."
The disembodied voice sounded further away. Hell, was it over by the front door? Oh. Contrite, now, are we?
"Yeah, man, yes, yes, I'm really sorry... It's just that I can't take any more - please, you gotta show yourself, untie me, I can't go through it again. Help me..."
And his voice faded away, as the ludicrousness of the situation became painfully clear. He was alone, in the house - yet he was not alone.
He could hear a voice, a male voice - which kept saying "we" and "us" - that had watched Mike work him over. Enjoyed it! And threatened to get people in here, now, to start it up again. He couldn't see who was speaking...
It almost seemed to be in his mind. I've gone insane, he thought - but that didn't hold up either. The voice was clearly separate from his thoughts. A visitor, in his skull. And the voice was vaguely familiar, too. He'd heard it before -
Very astute. Good job, Randy. I am inside your head! Whispered words, followed by chuckles. Mocking him. Teasing... Do you really think you've heard me before? I sound familiar, but you can't quite place it - have I got that right?
"Yeah. Am I going nuts?" he asked, getting curious despite all the fear and apprehension. "Have I already gone bonkers?"
Would you like to? Go nuts? I can do that. For the moment, though, you are boringly sane.
It had switched from "we" to "I", and he wondered what that meant. "Oh. Well - who are you? What are you, where are you...," and Randy's voice started to rise. "What the hell are you going to do to me?"
Smug, easy laughter. Wouldn't you like to know. I love a good mystery. Don't you?
He looked at the rope trapping his right wrist. "No!"
Aaaaaaaw. Too bad. I think it's best if we stay... enigmatic. Me and my kind. Suffice it to say that we've evolved right alongside you homo sapiens.
He thought that over. "Bullshit."
Laughter, again. More excited! Really? Bad boy. As for that last question - what I'm going to do to you... Hmmmmmm.
Something touched his left foot. Randy's head flew up -
Nothing.
Air? Aw, no.

Again! A light puff of air, across his arch.
He tensed up, fighting back a desperate whine. His foot was pulling desperately - either the memory of what Mikey had been doing, or the air which had just tickled it. Deliberately. His arches tightened up, even as tiny deep spasms telegraphed the fear. More tickling. His toes stretched away, desperately. Oh yeah, his feet remembered.
"Not - real," he stammered. "I am imagining this -"
It happened again. The most ethereal of ticklings he had received thus far.
Really?
Giggles erupted from him. Just like a little school boy.
The air puffed across his right sole.
"Noooooo whaaah hah haaaaaah!" He was gone, he lost it, there was nothing but air and it fuckin' tickled so much, he was still tied down and... something could really make him howl, here.
In his head, the voice cackled.
Air hit both his feet -
He responded immediately. Helpless gales of laughter, finally dwindling...
Randy, Randy - isn't this dandy!, the voice taunted. You are just... so... TICKLISH!!!
Miserably, he shook his head. Don't, he thought, no more -
Oh yes, you are.
The air tickled him again. He squealed, arching... and braying like a donkey.
See?
He gasped for air, trying to brace himself for the next onslaught.
I know you are. There's no hiding it from me -
"P-please, please... I'll do anything. Anything. You can have everything I got. Just don't... Just stop. Stop. I can't take any more of this! It's driving me out of my fuckin' mind. I'm serious. You've got to see that," he begged. "Aw, you've got to let me go... before Mikey gets back. Quick. Please? pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeze..."

After a few seconds, the voice snickered.
"Shit. You're lovin' this. I get to go crazy, really crazy - and you're enjoying it?"
Duhhhhhhhh!
"Oh, no. No. Haaaaaallllp -"
I don't think I'll let you go crazy, Randy. It would be a shame if you... missed out on a single minute of tickling. Don't you agree?
"No! Why me? Mikey is just as ticklish!" He was whimpering, and he hated that, but he just couldn't help it. Talking to an invisible tickle freak, and it seemed to be totally in charge...
He is not! Gentle laughter. Sorry. You're the more ticklish one, Randy. Oh, yeah. And he's much more receptive to my helpful suggestions. No, I like things just the way they are.
"Well, I don't!" he said stupidly.
Besides... Well, let's just say that some of his past experiences have left him with a certain appreciation for dudes of your sensitivity.
"I can be receptive!!" Randy yelled. "Really! I can... Just give me a chance. I can't deal with this. It's his turn. Okay? Let me switch places with Mike."
Air tortured his right arch. Randy seized up, giggling like a lunatic.
Switch? And there was a long pause. Why bother?
"Whaddya mean - why bother? Dammit. I've done my time. First him, and now you. He's been goin' at me for days. Unbelievable." He kicked hard. "Why bother? I'll tell you. It's Mikey's turn now! I'm tickled out. Really -"
No. You're wrong there. The voice was louder than ever. You are NOWHERE NEAR BEING TICKLED OUT... PAL!
"WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME?" he shrieked.
"Dude."
Randy's head snapped around.
Mike was standing in the doorway, looking at him quizzically.
"Who are you talking to?"

Time to forget, the voice laughed. Until we meet again...

There was something Randy was about to say. Really important. But he couldn't remember what it was.
"Mikey, please..." Randy was so relieved to see him. And yet - oh, no. Mike was the one who had tied him up.
And there was a inhuman gleam in his best friend's eyes. So amused.
"You've got to let me go. Please."
Mike shrugged his backpack off and unzipped it. Walking over, he grinned at Randy... and pulled out his latest acquisitions.
An economy-size bottle of baby oil. A battery-operated toothbrush. A couple of those funny brushes he had seen on that TV crime show... the kind they twirled over some surface, applying fingerprint powder. Randy was mesmerized by each new horror being shown to him. His eyes darted to the clock radio on the kitchen counter -
11:30 in the morning. Mike had only been gone three hours...
And now he was whistling as he arranged his new "tools."
"Did ya miss me?" Mike asked cheerfully.
"You can't keep me here... forever," Randy whispered.
"True." And he didn't say anything more.
Uncapping the bottle, Mike squirted baby oil over his bud's bare soles.
Randy flailed uselessly, but it seemed so pointless to beg any more. He watched his roommate take the motorized toothbrush out of its package... and turn it on. And Mike smiled!
"Dude, could you fan your toes apart for me, so I can really try this sucker out?"
"And if I don't?" Randy snapped.
Mike shrugged.
They both watched his hand...

Oscillating bristles started on the centre of Randy's lubricated right arch.
"Eeeeeeeee neeeeeee heeee-eeee-eeee," Randy screeched.
The toothbrush was lifted off.
"Whee," Mike said calmly. "The word you're looking for is 'Wheeeeee!'"
And the unbearable spinning moved straight up to Randy's clenched toes. No matter how much he thrashed and howled, or maybe just because it was driving him absolutely to distraction -
The bristles eased between his biggest toes.
Randy wailed laughter. Louder, even louder than before...
Roaming down - and back up, again, between his toes. Down, and up. Down, and up, Down, and up.
"Neeeeeeff aaaaah nuh-haaaaah nyahhhhhhh muh hah hah hah haaaaa-eeeee meeeeee aaaaw hah hah hah hah hah hah haaaaaah-aaaah," Randy responded lustily.
Mike was so delighted. Charged up. He used the fingers of his other hand to grasp Randy's toes, and hold them back, continuously polishing below them, further down, and back up, across the base of each toe, down again to the wonderfully sensitve arch, side to side.
Randy was in hysterics. Again. His "best bud" had become the world's expert on his feet, over the past few days. Mike had isolated all of his sweet spots, and anything like mercy had completely left him as he exploited each location. The effect was so devastating...
Nowhere near being tickled out, a voice said carefully. Laughing at him. So very happy -
Randy moved his head. Did Mike say that? How could he possibly hear Mike say anything, when he was being made to roar like this?
Nowhere near...
He couldn't think straight. Mike was nowhere near letting him go. That was obvious.
Past any hope of distraction, Randy bucked as the bristles crawled up between two of his trapped, frantic toes.

Thirty minutes later, Mike clicked off the toothbrush and changed its batteries.
Randy panted, unable to do anything else... "This really kicks ass!" Mike mused, holding the now rejuvenated toothbrush aloft for Randy to see.
Randy was concentrating on his breathing. No point in talking to Mike... nothing could dissuade him from what he was doing. Over the last three days, Randy had threatened, cajoled, pleaded, bargained - all to no avail.
"Want to get started again, man?" Mike asked.
"Why, Mike?" Randy hissed.
"Why, what?"
"We're best... we were best f-uckin' friends. Why are you doing this to me?" Randy finally said. "You gotta know how much I h-hate this, you gotta know you're making me bugshit."
Mike thought it over. "You know, I'm not sure. I'm not at all sure that I know why - I mean, it's such a rush, man, to see how nuts I can make you. It's like... an addiction or something." Mike chuckled - and then his expression changed. "Hey! What do you mean, we 'were' best friends?"
"Do you honestly think I'm going forgive and forget this?" Randy stormed, as his stamina rallied.
"Are you saying that even if I let you go, right now, we wouldn't be friends anymore?"
"What do you think, Einstein?"
"So... I've got nothing to lose if I were to, say," and Mike clicked the toothbrush on, holding it just above Randy's left foot, poised for carnage, "let Mr. Toothbrush do the talking for me?"
There was no way Randy wanted more of this. He started to sob.
Mike nodded in empathy, and applied the humming toothbrush to the pads of Randy's toes.
ShiziCor trilled with the satisfied happiness that results from a full stomach.

Another half-hour slid by.
Mike put the toothbrush down and sat back, patiently waiting for Randy's chest to stop heaving. It took several minutes for Randy's laboured breathing to slow down.
"Who's your best bud in the world?" Mike asked, resting his fingernails on Randy's arches.
"Y-you are," whispered a desperate Randy.
"I want to keep tickling you, man. I know I've got to let you go - sometime. But I'm determined to do this to ya again. So maybe we can come to... ahhhh, an arrangement," Mike said amiably.
Since the only alternative to bargaining was the resumption of fiendish tickling, Randy decided to engage Mike. "What do you want from me, Mikey?"
"I want us to stay friends. And, every once and a while, to hogtie ya..." Mike didn't need to add what would come after Randy was hogtied.
"And if I say no?" queried Randy.
"Well. I am... like, totally obsessed with tickling you, Rand. And if this is the very last time I get to do it - I don't see how I can just untie you yet. I mean, there's a bunch of other things I want to try out..." Mike's voice drifted off.
Randy's stomach lurched - a bunch of other things? Before he even noticed the fear, he was immediately angry again. "Why don't you just trade places with me - and see how you like it?" he snapped.
"Oh, now... Wait a minute," Mike chortled. "You're willing to negotiate?"
Randy considered his options... and ventured to say, "No more tickling, until we got a deal?"
Mike grinned, as confident as he could be. "Fair enough. But, dude, if I suspect you're bargaining in bad faith, maybe just trying to stall for time, I'm afraid I'll have to suspend 'talks' for, oh, at least an hour - so you can... uhhh... reconsider your approach. And I don't have to spell out what I'll doing, during that hour, to help you re-think your bargaining posture. Are we clear?"
"Crystal," sighed Randy. "Now will you untie me?"
Mike laughed at that. "Ya, right. And give up my only bargaining chip? Nice try, but I think not!!"
Reflexively, Randy tried to stretch, testing his bonds yet again. Still caught - and his eyes wandered over to the countertop, where Mike had laid out the newest tickle toys. They hadn't even been tried out yet. So close at hand, and all Mike had to do was reach over -
He shuddered, unable to help it, as he imagined the 'CSI' fingerprint dusting brush being put to use. Was there any chance he could escape that?
"I'm waiting," Mike said brightly, reclaiming Randy's attention. "Make me an offer," he continued menacingly, cracking his knuckles. "And MAKE IT A GOOD ONE!"

Randy had almost four days' worth of pleading, useless bargaining, threats, and begging to draw on, for ideas. Now, Mike was finally receptive...
"OK. First, at the conclusion of bargaining, I get sprung.. No more tickling today - or the rest of the month. I gotta recover, y'know -"
"Can't go a month without ticklin' ya, bud! Make it... a week," countered Mike.
"Two weeks," Randy tried.
"One week!" Mike said firmly.
"Ten days!" Randy shot back, just as firmly.
There was an long pause. Mike was studying Randy's face. If only he didn't look down at the feet he'd captured, maybe -
"Done," Mike sighed, nodding. He got up and rummaged in his backpack, pulling out a laptop, and fired it up. "Gimme a sec, here. I better get this down in print. when we're done, I'll print up two copies and we'll sign 'em both. One for you, and one for me!"

Randy nodded, and made his next move. "Two. Equal time... That's only fair, Mikey. You tickle me, I deserve at least the chance to get the same amount of time to tickle you."
"Ooooooo," Mike said, grimacing. He was in control, of course. But something had to be done to keep Randy from running off. Mike couldn't imagine going too long without thoroughly tormenting his bud's feet again. And he did enjoy a phenomenal weekend. "I guess that's... only fair," Mike finally mumbled.
"Thank you," Randy said carefully. He hadn't been sure that condition would fly. "And I hope you'll agree that there's got to be some kind of... time limit. Can you imagine being in my position? Tied down for days on end?"
"Oh, come on," Mike barked. "I'm getting at least one marathon tickle session - every month."
"Mike. Think about it. The long term. We've got to be able to agree on how long 'marathon' really is. And there's no way I can go through this every month!"
"Sure ya can."
Randy sighed.
"Alright," Mike chuckled. "I get it."

"Good. We gotta decide on... frequency. If you try to put me through this too often - I mean, too close together - you know about the law of diminishing returns?"
Mike thought that over. "I'm not sure you're ever gonna diminish. Heh. Let's say a marathon is a weekend."
Randy closed his eyes. "Saturday and S-"
"Oh, no you don't. Friday night... to Sunday night. At least one marathon every two months." Mike was excited, but he tried not to let it show. Two entire days, or even three! Randy might go for it -
"These terms are gonna apply to you, as well as me. You don't want to be going through this for more than a full day. Trust me. I'm really gonna go nuts if I'm dreading a session that's any longer than that. Seriously."
Mike nodded slowly. "One full day."
"Maybe... once or twice a year."
Oh, absolutely not, Mike thought. Twice a year. What a joke. But he was excited, too - the last few days, and maybe the rope still in place, had made Randy agree to 24 hours of feverish tickling! "Whoa. I'll give you this. A marathon is no more than 24 hours of tickling - over Saturday and Sunday. Okay? Two 12-hour sessions." He cackled at the thought, savoring Randy's reaction. "But there is no possible way I'll settle for less than four marathons a year. Sort of a... celebration to welcome each new season."

Eight days a year, Randy thought -
"And. Heh heh. One session every week, bud. We'll alternate the tickling. Every... week. And the ticklee is the tickler's property for the day!"
"Oh, this is sick," Randy muttered. "But if... uh, one of us really wants to take that week off, then the other guy gets to tickle him twice as much, later."
"Cool -"
"Uh, wait. Not two sessions in a row. Not back-to-back. That's a marathon. Right? If, say, you get two sessions in a row on me, you gotta give me the next week off."
"Interesting."
Randy took a deep breath. "I need that... Uh, look if I really don't want to be tickled on a particular day, and it's my turn, you get the premium. I get a postponement - and you can't force me."
"Wrong!" Mike yelled gleefully. "You'll never let me tickle you, if you have a choice. Listen to me, Randy. Listen very closely. I want to tickle you as much as I can possibly get away with. Understand? I'm going to get you good. You don't have any other option."
"I know that."
Mike snorted. "Do you? I wonder. You are not getting total veto power over me, Randy. Period. That's non-negotiable. And you've got sixty seconds to see it my way. Then - y'know, my fingers are getting itchy. Restless. I can hardly keep 'em from talking a walk on your oh-so-ticklish skin as it is. Where do you think I'll resume the tickling? Huh?" And then, menacingly, Mike rested his fingers on Randy's soles.

"No, no. Hold the phone... This isn't negotiating! Please. Mike - I shouldn't have to get tickled every time you've got the urge."
"Oh, yeah?"
"Listen - how about I get to turn you down a maximum of... three times. You get extra tickle time for each time I say no. Or - get this - you could deduct the amount of payback I can wreak on you..."
Randy's eyes stayed focused on Mike's fingers, dismally hoping the ploy would work. He breathed harder as he fought down the giddiness, anticipating the resumption of mind-wracking torment.
And Mike found the moment quite enjoyable. All he had to do was move his fingers. It would be so easy. Digging in, making Randy wild again, and then reaching over for the fingerprint brush... But he remembered that his friend had already committed to a couple hundred hours of fun, just during the next year! It would be so wonderful to know the exact day and time he'd get Randy immobilized like this again. And again, and again.
"I don't know," Mike taunted.
"Mikey!" Randy whined. "Think about it! You can get out of some of your tickling, if you want. Less exposure... I mean, you could have twice as much time tickling me than I get on you."
"Oh, hey," Mike said. "That's better." But he didn't take his fingers away.
"Good -"
"Let's talk about these premiums. If you turn me down."
Randy sighed hard. "What do you want?"
"Heh. I want... a half-day every time you decline. And the third consecutive time you say no... two more days! Full days."
"No w-"
Mike let his fingernails drag lightly down each of Randy's feet, from heel to toe. I'm in charge, here, he thought. I will tickle you, and tie you down again, and tickle you for hours and hours. He felt triumphant.

Randy squealed, lunging around. His feet didn't move enough to inconvenience Mike at all.
Mike chuckled happily, trailing his fingers back up, and down, up, down...
Randy giggled like the maniac he'd become. Helpless. Just as trapped as the day before. As Mike continued, his friend became increasingly... unglued.
Before the first minute was over, Randy was completely hysterical again.

The howling and gibbering continued. The speed of Mike's fingers increased, and he increased the pressure, tickling solidly, slipping between Randy's toes again and again...
Mike's eyes were glassy. An unshakable sense of bliss filled him. Especially his hands - it almost seemed as if they had a life of their own, and now they were back doing exactly what they loved to do. Really, they seemed driven - on auto-pilot! And Randy was so deranged. For all Mike knew, his fingers could've been obliging some master tickler... Borrowed hands, used by a thoroughly happy mind that would do this to Randy for a year and still not be satisfied, never wanting Randy's delirium to end.
Five minutes went by.
Ten minutes...

Mike whooped - fairly loud, and it seemed to... get his attention.
He was tickling Randy again. How excellent. Breaking him down, nice and slow. Much better than talking on and on -
Oh, that's right. They'd been dicussing something. It took him a minute or two to remember. A truce. But that was just... ridiculous. But, also, a guarantee that Randy would be at his disposal. Regularly.
It was surprisingly difficult to take his fingers away from Randy's arches.

Another five minutes passed before Randy could talk at all - and he immediately agreed to each and every one of Mike's conditions.

There were several lesser points of contention... but by afternoon's end, an agreement had been reached and signed by both Mike and Randy.
Randy had a vague idea that Mike wasn't himself - that is, the change had been so remarkable, and Mike looked so inhuman at times, that something had to be... controlling him. Or egging him on, at least. It had to be powerful, whatever it was.
But Randy was kept from realizing that the ShiziCor was smoothly manipulating him as well.

It was a start. That's what Mike thought, checking the agreement one more time. He was in for a four-day supermarathon before he could touch Randy again - and he wasn't looking forward to that, but he'd been strangely unable to come up with a rebuttal when Randy insisted on it. Fair's fair. But when Mike's turn came again, Randy would be rushed directly to Apeshit City and kept there. He looked forward to that.
His "muse" knew, and Randy had only started to realize, what effect the turnabout - starting with that exquisite four-day reversal - would have on the unsuspecting Mike...
 
 
 

During the week after Mike "sprung" him, Randy did some research. He "Googled" tickling, ticklish... and was surprised at the number of hits he got, reading and rereading personal accounts from tickler and ticklee alike.
Through it all, the Shizicor made imperceptible suggestions to guide Randy in his research. Randy also surveyed Mike's tickling toolbox, and wrote down his own experience with each item within. He created a scoring system to assign levels of effectiveness on the various techniques and tools Mike had used on him. Knowing that this scoring system was subjective, he made the reasonable assumption that both he and Mike were pretty much equally ticklish... especially where their feet were concerned.

Meanwhile, Mike was awhirl with differing thoughts and emotions.
For one, he was in a sort of tickle withdrawal state. He longed to have Randy bound and helpless again. Randy's ticklishness and ticklish responses were an intoxicating power rush.
At the same time, Mike was filled with apprehension of what lay ahead for him - yeah, he loved tickling; but with the caveat that it was always someone else getting tickled.
Since he had untied Randy, neither of them had spoken much... a kind of uneasy truce and silence existed between them. Despite his incomprehensible (to Mike, that is) tickle lust, and the rush it gave him, Mike felt some level of remorse and guilt for what he put Randy through.
He had weirded both himself and Randy out... two straight guys just didn't do this. His "treaty" with Randy was to some degree inspired by guilt, and a true desire to appease Randy - not just so he could tickle him again, but to maintain their friendship.

Unbeknownst to Mike, the Shizicor had played a big role in this treaty. It realized that Randy's captivity could not go on indefinitely, but it certainly not want to lose this invaluable source of food. If Randy and Mike "split up," the Shizicor wondered if they'd soon duplicate the astounding four-day feast they'd enjoyed at Randy's expense.
 

Late Thursday, Mike got home to an empty pad. He was ravenous - when he opened the fridge, he sighed happily. There, on the middle shelf, were a couple of two-inch thick loin cuts marinating in one of Randy's concoctions.
Mike began salivating immediately. "All RIGHT, Randy!" he whispered to himself.
Taking the bigger of the two, he broiled it to a medium rare - and tore into it, forsaking any thought of balancing his meal with any vegetables, because he'd get those later when Randy got home and "finished" preparing dinner.
Satiated, Mike pushed himself back from the dining room table and kicked out a long, mouth-wide-open yawn... feeling incredibly warm and sleepy.
He stood up, intending to go to his bedroom. His feet felt like they were made of lead... and each step was an exhausting effort.
Mike only made it far as the couch, where he flopped down into a deep and dreamless sleep.
 

Friday morning.
Mike was groggy when he woke up, with the light of the morning sun beating down on his face. He rolled over - or at least he tried to roll over...
"What the fuck?" he grunted. He opened his eyes and tried sitting up -
No dice.
He was in his recliner chair. His bare arms were stretched above his head, and he could just make out bands of terrycloth around his wrists, the same color as a beach towel he had. He tried flexing his arms, pulling down forcefully... but his wrists remained firmly in place, not moving even a fraction of an inch.
A pang of fear struck him, and he looked around wildly. No one else was in the room - and he sure as hell wasn't going to call out, and maybe let Randy known that he was awake and 'good to go!'
Looking down, he saw that he was, of course, barefoot. His ankles had the same terrycloth bands around them, anchoring them to the recliner's footrest. He tried rocking forward, to sit upright and get his exposed soles down on the floor... but it was no use. As he twisted and craned his neck and head, he was just able to make out the ottoman shoved under the footrest, just as he had used it to keep Randy laid out.
"I AM ROYALLY FUCKED!!," Mike aid to no one in particular.
You sure are!!, a disembodied voice shot back at him.

Mike's eyes scanned the room...
No, still nobody else around. He did not recognize the voice. It wasn't Randy.
"Who's there?," Mike ventured.
Oh, just your partner in crime, came the answer.
Confused, naturally enough, Mike finally asked, "Partner?"
You know..., the voice sang back. All that the fun we had with Randy... in this very chair!!
"No..." Mike whispered.
Yes, came the triumphant voice.
"Who are you?"
Well, like I was telling Randy... after you left him alone that morning... it's kinda hard to explain, responded the Shizicor. Randy views me as your 'muse,' and I guess that's as good an explanation as any.
Something in the tone of voice made Mike reply, "But?"
But - now I'm Randy's 'muse'!
"Oh, shit."
The voice just laughed and laughed.
Mike realized his situation had somehow gone from bad to worse. He had to stall for time - though he couldn't help wondering how that was going to help him now. Time to do... what?
"Hey. I'm a light sleeper. How'd he get me tied down like this?"
Maybe it was something you ate, the voice chortled, flooding Mike's taste buds with the memory of yesterday's steak.
Immediately, Mike started salivating... and he had to swallow a couple of times before he could speak. "Randy's marinade."
Exactly! chirped the voice.
"Fuck!" replied Mike.
He heard louder chortling. Ex-actly!!

Mike didn't like the sound of that. Straining at his bonds, he noticed something odd. All he was wearing was a black mesh g-string.
You like it? Just a little something I suggested to Randy.
Now that was unnerving - the damn taunting voice could hear his thoughts?
Every single one, the voice stated. No hiding anything from me.
Hesitantly, Mike thought, "Why the G-string?"
You know. The voice teased -
In his mind, he saw his right leg. As if a camera was moving along... up his thigh, to the pouch. And then the outer surface, a tight shot on the curve of his ass.
"Okay," he said out loud. Sighing, he thought, "Okay. I get the deal. You - I mean, uh, Randy - oh fuck, the two of you want more skin exposed."
For tickling.
"Yeah. For as little as it covers, though, why even bother? I might as well be naked!"
"True... the voice replied, but like most humans, especially straight dudes, you both have certain sensibilities, or qualms, about being naked and tied down by another dude.
"Oh," Mike thought. And then, to himself, he figured it didn't want him distracted while the tickling was going on -
After all... we don't want Randy getting squeamish, and holding back on you, now do we?
"I am so fucked!," Mike thought again, with a hollow feeling in his gut.
Exactly!, the voice chortled merrily, for the third time. Oh, and speaking of Randy, and it took on a menacing tone, he's baaaaaaack!

The front door opened -
Mike blinked. He looked around. If no one was there and Randy was just coming in, who the hell had he been talking to? It was important, too, but he couldn't remember...
At the moment he had bigger concerns. Randy - and there was no escape! Mike started quaking as the door closed, and the deadbolt was thrown.
Randy appeared, smiling broadly at his best friend.
At that very moment, Mike knew how Randy must have felt - regained consciousness, still bound to his recliner, with his best bud beaming down at him with that shit-eating grin... Terrified.
"Look. Randy, I... Uh, please, I - I really don't think... I'm having second thoughts about our... arrangement," Mike babbled, hating the panic in his voice.
Randy took a step or two closer to Mike's bare feet, and looked down at them.
Then his smile got bigger, and he stared Mike right in the eye. "Worried, Mikey? You should be."

There was something wrong with Randy's eyes - glossy, and not quite human. The smile was genuine enough. Damn, Mike thought, is that what I looked like, to him? No sign of mercy whatsoever?
Mike fought to keep his tone light. "There's got to be something... else we can agree on. Right?" It was hard to sound like his old self - the leader, or so he liked to tell himself, the one who instigated stuff... the one in control. "Randy, bud, what if I promised to never ever tickle you again?"
Slowly, Randy stepped away from Mike's feet. Whew... He sat on the armrest of the recliner, his eyes boring into Mike's. "Really? You absolutely swear that you will never ever never tickle me again?" His voice sounded hopeful. Almost pleading. His smirk was gone.
Mike dared to hope. He nodded vigorously. Sounding as sincere as he could - so earnest that he almost believed it himself - he said "Absolutely! Never again!"
His roommate slowly leaned over and gripped the bonds holding Mike's wrist. One hand, and then the other. He could start loosening the restraints, and call it off. Mike didn't dare look away from Randy's hard stare, which seemed as if it was searching for even a hint of deception.
"Please, Randy... Please," Mike said quietly, urgently. It's working, he thought. Randy was falling for it. The unimaginable torment had been avoided. Freedom! I'm going to get out of this, he thought with a huge sense of relief... and then I know just how to pay him back. Oh, yeah.
"I promise," he said, "I mean, I swear that I'll never touch you again!"
"Works for me," Randy said happily.
He picked up his hands - and went straight for Mikey's armpits. His fingers dug in sadistically, merrily, tickling, tickling, tickling...

For the first couple seconds Mike was stunned - even as he started to shriek like a little girl. The nightmare in that Pioneer Village had occurred a few years ago, but the memories were back as if it had only been last night, blowing away every other concern with a vengeance. Randy's vengeance.
The fingers slowed down. Lightly strumming the length and breadth of his armpits, able to double-time it again whenever they wanted. The gentle strokes were even worse, somehow.
Already, this was so much worse than he remembered...
Mike laughed uproariously, shaking his head from side to side as hard as he could. Then he tried to reach Randy's tickling fingers with his teeth...
And his best friend laughed. Calm, satisfied laughter! Nothing like the frantic roars Mike was producing.
Why was it so intense? Unbelievable -
Randy's fingers traced down, so firmly. Easily.
Oh, no. Mike didn't dare look...
Hairless. That had to be it. Not only had Randy drugged him, stripped him and tied him down; he had also shaved Mike's armpits.
Blinking away tears, he looked at his own stomach. His chest.
Shaved.
He shook his head, wailing laughter. No, no, Randy. You wouldn't.
But it was true. There was not even any body hair to impede Randy's sliding, stroking, fingerwork on Mikey's smooth, unblemished, hairless... hypersensitive skin.

Mike tried to think. There had to be some way to deal with it all. He couldn't manage to hold his breath, so he attempted to concentrate on anything else. Girlfriends, his homework, the new water pump he'd put into his car a few days back.
All that he managed to do was punctuate his laughter with short pauses of silence, until the tickly sensations reverberating from the outer borders of his lats beckoned him to give voice to what he was feeling.
There would be no intelligible discourse from Mikey...
His laughter, varying from shrieks to deep roars, spoke volumes, though. Randy listened carefully to the deafening din to pick up every nuance of what Mikey was telling him. It really tickles here - but over here it tickles more... Yes, when you change the amount of pressure you're applying there, it's much more effective... and now the speed of your fingers - oh, wow, that does it, magnifies the tickling, yes indeed.

Randy devoted his attention to his technique, and the resulting impact his adjustments wrought on his best friend. Working outwards from the deepest hollows of Mikey's pits, Randy trailed his fingers along the borders, caressing the underside of his upper arms to the north, and the distinctive outline of Mikey's lats to the south.
His efforts were rewarded with continuous, increasingly hysterical laughter.
Through and through, Randy was beyond elated. He felt a rush... A rush so intense, that it was intoxicating. He wanted more! So he continued to pummel Mike's upper body, broadening his assault to include Mike's unbelievably sensitive nipples, and then straight down the centre of his belly to the belly button, skimming lightly over Mike's supra-pubic area - also denuded of hair - forcing new shrieks of protest from Mikey.
Randy grabbed Mike's sides just above the crests of his pelvis, and dug in aggressively. New paroxysms of laughter resulted. Mike stopped fidgeting around, as if he needed all of his energy to laugh...
Mike would never have believed he could laugh this hard, for this long, without the blessed relief of passing out.
And then the fingers would slow down for awhile, while he gasped for air. His body was doing its best to keep up, and there was no way to stop it from preparing for more of the same.
Minutes dragged by like hours...

Forty minutes later, Randy's fingers lifted off - completely off - for the first time.
Mike continued laughing, slowly subsiding to giggles and finally, ragged gasps, as he recovered from his most recent acquaintance with hysteria.
Randy maintained his perch on the armrest, smiling appreciatively at Mike.

It took a good ten minutes for Mike's heart rate and breathing to return to normal. He tried to stare Randy down, but he just couldn't. Too risky, maybe. Mike was furious and scared at the same time. Finally, he cleared his throat, opening his mouth to plead -
Randy immediately brought up a fine-bristled artist's paint brush and began stroking Mike's upper lip.
"NO...," Mike snapped turning his head away. "STOP IT!!"
Randy continued his brush strokes, easily following Mike's shaking, bobbing head...

"Please," Mike whimpered.
Randy responded by placing the brush tip just inside Mike's left nostril and twirling it back and forth, back and forth... then switching to his right nostril, twirling, twirling. and again back to his left nostril.
Mike giggled again, completely unable to stop.
Randy produced a second paint brush - a twin to the first - and inserted it into Mike's right ear, stroking lightly and quickly... short little strokes, as he maintained his attention on Mikey's nostrils.
Mike was cackling now, high-pitched and raspy. Twisting his head every which way but loose... ALL TO NO AVAIL!!!
Randy brought Mike's left ear "online," and played both ears at once. While they didn't provoke the shrieking peals of laughter his earlier work had on Mike's upper body, his feather-light touches and caresses were no less maddening.
Humming happily, Randy canvassed his friend's face, the underside of his chin and the sides of his neck.
Mike became more and more and more unglued. The sensations were inescapable, and totally maddening. Shouting, cursing, threatening, cajoling, spitting didn't have any effect on his tormentor's dedication to his ticklishness. Sometimes Mike's eyes could follow the moving tips of the brushes as they caressed his skin. He willed them to lift off, go away, break contact.
Randy's eyes studied him intently. So very intently... a small smile playing on his lips, his tongue slightly protruding as if deep in concentration on some task.
Some task!
Mike's eyes were brimming in tears, which coursed down his face to mingle with snot from his runny nose. Their combined salty taste was on his lips, which he licked frequently as the brushes dragged over him, over and over, so lightly tickling, and tickling...
"Please..." Mike whispered.
And as suddenly as he started, Randy lifted the brushes from Mike's twitching face.

Randy appeared to be shifting his weight from his place on the armrest...
No, he actually stood, and stepped away a little. With his legs crossed at the ankles, Randy lowered himself to the floor... right in front of Mike's bare soles.
It seemed like only a fraction of a second elapsed from the moment the brushes broke contact with his lips and then touched down again on the balls of his feet...
"Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeyaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!," Mike shrieked in protest.
"Thought you'd like that." Randy commented.
Mike couldn't believe it was possible to feel such intense tickles - even with all the experience he could draw on for comparison. The brush bristles trailed down the outer aspect of his bare soles, coming around his heels again and again, then from the centre of each heel up across the middle of each arch to his toes - and back down again. Short brush strokes were applied to the arches, toe to heel, working from the groove-like depression in the middle of the sole, to the inner aspect of each arch.
Deep inside Mike's brain, a cascade of neurotransmitters washed over his conscious self again and again. His mind processed the incoming signals with lightning-like speed... and still, it could come up with no solution other than to laugh. So he did. Laughing like a hyena.
So consumed with laughter was Mike, he could not form any conscious thought about Randy actually stopping, never mind voicing such a thought.

Just when Mike felt some kind of... peak in the hysteria, Randy added a whole new dimension by dropping the brushes and applying his fingernails. Raking Mike's already tortured soles, scrabbling fast and hard... then soft and slow, and every variation in between. Randy tested for Mike's sweet spots, locating them diligenly - and worse, learning the sequence to which hit each one in order to produce maximum psychic devastation.

It was another hour before Randy took his fingers away from his best bud's bare soles.
Mike was too preoccupied with catching his breath to plead for mercy.
Randy flipped open a storage bin parked next to the recliner, reached in... and pulled out a huge bottle of baby oil. With barely controlled excitement he fliped the cap open and squirted oil it all over Mike's feet.
The stream of oil tickled as it landed. Mike was giggling uncontrollably even bfore he opened his eyes...
Randy soaked every square millimetre of Mike's bare soles.
"Remember this?" Randy asked, holding aloft the same brush that Mike had introduced to his own soles the previous week. Without waiting for any answer, he briskly began brushing the slippery soles in front of him.
Within ten seconds, Mike was gibbering.

What Mike couldn't believe was that he was still wide awake... his fucking body would not cave in and let him escape into blessed unconsciousness. Randy was not really giving him any time to catch his breath, and yet the sensations, they just kept coming, growing ridiculously more intense with each passing minute. All he had left to wish for was Randy's fatigue. He had to rest at some point, didn't he?
No, there was no break necessary for Randy. Mike's screaming, barking laughter seemed to refresh and invigorate him... as it did the silently cheering non-corporeal - the Shizicor.

Another hour, and a whole mess of eternities drifted by.
Randy stood up, groaning quietly - a satisfied sound. "Break time, partner!!"
Mike couldn't remember how to talk yet, so he just panted for air. A familiar sound, off in the distance, eventually was recognized as someone pissing in the toilet. Randy...
Rocking a little, Mike realized he had pissed too. That was humiliating. Of course, he'd put Randy through the same embarrassment. He had little right to complain about anything, here.
Striding into the kitchen, Randy was whistling softly. The fridge door opened and closed...
He came back with two bottled waters. Just seeing them, Mike realized how incredibly thirsty he was. His throat -
"Drink?" Randy asked. Without waiting for an answer, he opened a bottle and placed it at Mike's mouth, tipping it up...
Mike sucked the contents down in three giant swallows.
"Drink more slowly. Don't gulp!" Randy chided him, replacing the first bottle with the second.
Mike complied without hesitation - his thirst wasn't driving him as hard now, and anyway the penalty for disobeying Randy was still too awful to contemplate. The water tasted funny, though... a slight chemical tang. Mike grimaced, and kept swallowing.
Noting his reaction, Randy held the empty bottle up for Mike to read the label...
BUZZ WATER, 250 milligrams CAFFEINE per 500 millilitres.
"Got a long night ahead of us," Randy murmured, with a smile, "and I don't want you to drift off, and miss out on the fun!"

Next, Randy fired up a 'California' joint... big, fat, and primo shit - from Vancouver, Canada, no less.
"After the Buzz water, a different kind of buzz," Randy laughed. "Get you all mellowed out and uninhibited-like!" He held the reefer to Mike's lips. After a few seconds, Mike could come up with no useful alternative. Defeated, he inhaled long and deep.
"Hold it in there, man," instructed Randy, "let it get deep down in those lungs... do ya some good!"
Randy took a toke himself once and awhile, but made sure Mike did almost all of the smoke. The Buzz water started kicking in, and Mike was feeling very alert, very awake, very cognisant of everything around him. The toke kicked in about the same time, producing a different kind of high... one that was "amped up" by the buzz water.
As Randy dropped the roach into the ashtray, Mike was filled with a weird mix of elation and... foreboding.
"Ladies' choice," intoned Randy. "You get to pick where I tickle next. You got ten seconds to tell me, and then I'll choose for ya. Ten, nine, eight, seven, six..."
Ohmygawd, Mike thought desperately. He knew he could possibly take any more on his feet... but he couldn't take it in his armpits either. Or his belly, or his sides - OH-MY-GAWD!!!
"... five, four, three, two..."
Randy was going to nuke his feet again. That was absolutely impossible. The thought of Randy's fingers back on his soles -
As Randy came to the end of his count down, shouting 'ONE', his fingers were about to attack Mike's arches again.

"Stomach!" Mike yelled wildly. "My stomach." He started to giggle, and forced himself to stop it - while he was able. "Not my feet, dude! My belly, look, you you can have my belly."
Randy's fingers moved away from his friend's feet, just an inch or two but that was such a relief to see. "What about your belly, man?" he asked coyly.
Mike shuddered. The bastard was going to make him ask to have his belly tickled... "Errr, you said I could choose."
"And?" Randy prompted.
"Oh - shit. You know," Mike growled.
"Is that attitude you're giving me, Mike?" Randy growled back - taking hold of Mike's feet, and planting his thumbs in the centre of each arch.
"NO! No no no I'm sorry, Dude, I'm sorry, please... pleeeeeeeze, not the feet... you can tickle my belly, OK, there, I said it, you can tickle my belly!," babbled a contrite, fidgeting Mike.
Randy pressed his thumbs down, twisting them side to side, and opined, "Gee, I don't know, man. You're not really getting into the spirit of this, are you? Not, um, trying to convince me how badly your belly needs tickling - as opposed to..." Randy rubbed his thumb pads up and down a sensitive piece of real estate on Mike's bare soles. "You know!!!"
Mike was giggling uncontrollably now. "Not...heh heh heh.. fair... you...hehehehehheh.. said.. hahahahahha.. I... coocoocoocoo.. could.. ch ch ch ch... choose..."
Randy brought all of his fingernails into contact, lightly caressing the bottoms of Mike's feet. "Mikey, Mikey, Mikey... who said anything about 'fairness'? Certainly not you - when I was tied to that chair!"
Mike's giggling gave way to laughter. He struggled to say something intelligible... but only managed a syllable here and there. This was fucking ridiculous. It was an outrage. He tried to roar his anger at Randy, but what came out was high pitched girlish screaming, truncated by hysterical laughter and giggling -

Suddenly, he was a kid again, his Uncle astride his legs, fingers kneading his hypersensitive soles. His worst nightmare. He could hear his Uncle's taunting voice.
"Now, Mikey, what tickles more - this... or this?" And his uncle would vary the 'speed' and the 'hardness' or 'softness' of his touch. Varying also the tickling 'surfaces' - that is, the pads of his fingers, his fingertips, his fingernails. And Mike was forced to critique his own ticklishness and the effectiveness of the tickling... thus honing his Uncle's effect, and his own misery.

Mike's attention snapped back to present time as Randy took hold of the toes of his right foot, and bent them back to expose the fleshy sensitive undersides where each toe stalk connected to the top of his foot. Then, toothbrush in hand, Randy gently scrubbed away, unhinging Mike from lucid thought.
Mike's whole world shrank to that delicious patch of skin along the upper border of the ball of his right foot, and the undersides of his captive toes. The sensations were totally, mind-blowingly intense... and allowed nothing, no other thought to intrude on his consciousness. It went on forever.

Mike was suddenly aware of a straw between his lips... the tickling, the tickling, the tickling had stopped!
His throat ached, his mouth was parched, and he sucked greedily on the straw, flooding icy cold water down his gullet, slaking his thirst.
The straw was taken away, and instantly, he began to quake.
Having fun... Mikey?
That voice. Not Randy - some other voice, amused and smug. Entertained.
"You... h-hear that?" Mike gasped out to Randy, "that voice. S-somebody else is here... it made me tickle you, and it's m-making you tickle me!!"
"Shall we continue?" Randy murmured, taking up position again in front of Mike's feet - this time seizing hold of the left foot's toes, and folding them back. At the same time, his right hand held up that dreaded toothbrush... set it down, and picked up a rubber-tipped gum stimulator - then disappeared from view again, returning with - ohmygawd! - a wolf hair paint brush.
"Please tickle my belly!" Mike blurted out, unable to imagine how intense that brush would feel on his feet.
Randy eyed him appraisingly.

It seemed like a bad time to actually use the word "feet" again, but Mike was desperate to get Randy away from them. "Uh, Randy, that paint brush in my belly button will make me bugshit!!"
"I dunno," Randy said dreamily.
Mike was frustrated beyond belief, and he didn't dare show it. Randy wasn't done with his feet - oh, not by a long shot - but if there was any chance of buying them some time off, even at the expense of some other location on his insanely ticklish body...
It was a terrible choice to make, but Mike was positive the tickling would start again somewhere. "Look. You know how ticklish I am up here," and he glanced down at his belly... and at each armpit. He looked anxioulsy at Randy, to make sure he was watching. Oh, this had to work. "I must have other, uh, sweet spots that haven't gotten worked to fullest... potential."
Don't say 'feet,' he thought frantically. Don't even look at your feet, don't talk about them or what he's done so far, down there, don't, don't! "Man, you won't be disappointed... I'll freakin' go apeshit with you ticklin' my belly.... please, Dude, please, tickle my belly, I'm begging you," Mike grovelled, holding his breath, praying that Randy would just let go of his toes.
Randy smiled - a smile of total victory. "Well, since you asked so nicely..." He released his rock solid grip on Mike's toes.
Mike gasped a sigh of relief. More tickling, sure - but at least his feet would get a break.
Randy stood, and moved to Mike's side, resting his fingers lightly on Mike's abs.
Mike sucked in a breath, probably his last good one, he thought, for the fifteen or twenty minutes...
But Randy was hesitating. Mike looked at him quizzically, as their eyes met.
"Still..." Randy mumbled, "I'm sort of cheating your left foot of some well-earned fun!"
And before Mike could react, Randy plopped back down at his feet, grabbing up and forcing back the toes of that hapless left foot - bringing that fine-haired paintbrush to bear on the taut skin beneath his buddy's toes... sweeping gently but rapidly across the breadth of the sole.
Mike was in hysterics before the brush actually touched down.
Gotcha!, crooned the ShiziCor.

Randy flicked the brush bristles up and down the underside of each toe, discovering that the great toe was particularly susceptible to this application. Shifting his grip to that great toe and its neighbour, Randy spread them apart and worried the brush away at the webbing - provoking new howls and shrieks of laughter. He thoroughly checked between each of the toes, and was rewarded to find that the sheltered skin between them was ticklish beyond understanding.
He worked his way through a variety of tickle 'tools,' and ranked each according to its efficacy.
Meanwhile, Mike threw his head from side to side, and pounded it backwards into the upholstered recliner. He hoped against hope that he would knock himself out, give himself a headache, make himself dizzy... anything, anything at all that would compete with the sensations from his most southern surfaces. To no avail. Every stroke, every tingle, every tickle exploded in his conscious mind... which betrayed him by not giving up and lapsing into unconsciousness... and though his chest ached, his feet ruthlessly overwhelmed that sensation with their own demand to be front and centre in his awareness.
Mike's abdominals suddenly were aflame in tickles - when only a moment before, his whole universe throbbed from the ball of his left foot. What the fuck was happening?
Randy had finally switched to Mike's belly. After how long? That didn't matter. As intolerable as it was to have his feet tickled, being worked over somewhere else seemed... at the moment, to be no easier to take.

A couple of minutes into this new territory, Randy slowed his pace of tickling to allow Mike to draw some slightly better breaths. "Hey, Mikey - want me to go back to your feet?"
"Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooo....." quailed Mike.
"Tell you what," Randy offered, "I'll keep tickling you everywhere but your feet until you beg me to go back to them." With that, Randy blew a raspberry on Mike's belly, while simultaneously digging his fingers into Mike's sides, squeezing and rubbing the exquisitely sensitive ridges that formed the crests of his hips.
Mike squealed like a pig, rocking from side to side, vainly trying to dislodge his roommate.
"Let's count your ribs..." Randy chirped, and set about wiggling his fingers on and between each hyper-ticklish rib... Restarting again and again, each time declaring: "Oops, I lost count. Gotta start again..."

The bastard's hands were everywhere. Mike's legs were tied just far enough apart to give plenty of access to his innermost thighs. Randy's hands would roam from Mike's groin creases, to his inner thighs, all the way down to behind his knees... jumping suddenly into his pits, and back again.
With no pauses, only periodic slowly and slightly easing off, Mike's tickling was approaching the two-hour mark since his feet were last tickled. His body showed no signs of flagging or desensitizing. During those all too brief interludes when the tickling seemed - seemed - not quite as insane, Randy would ask The Question.
"Are your feet pining for some action?"
Randy would 'permit' enough breath to answer, albeit monosyllabically.
Mike would hoarsely whisper, "No."
The Next Question always followed... "So - you're still good to go everywhere else, right?"
If Mike answered 'No', then Randy would return to The first Question, prompting another "NO". Mike had 'learned' to say "YES" to more tickling, everywhere else... since the only alternative was even more frightening.

Mike had, of course, lost all sense of time. It certainly proved how much more devastating it was to have his feet tickled, more than pretty much anywhere else, when he continued to hold out... hoping that Randy would cave, and give him a real break, before resuming.
Who knew that Randy would take to tickling like he did? Who knew that he could be so... proficient at it? So... cruel?
The answer, of course - that neither of them were allowed to remember - was a certain non-corporeal species, barely known by humanity. That's who knew!

After the umpteenth time of being asked, Mike caved... answering "y-y-yes" to The Question.
Randy actually lifted his fingers off of him - and Mike sobbed, once, at the momentary abatement.
"Ask me!" Randy commanded. "Ask me to tickle your feet... Ask me nicely... Ask me to be ruthless."
Mike whimpered.
Randy responded by placing his fingers into Mike's armpits -
"Dude...." Mike began haltingly, "please tickle my feet... my bare feet, my bare soles... t-tickle them and don't stop until I pass out... And... and don't let me pass out," Mike finished, with another sob.
"Sure, Mikey!" Randy crowed. "Gosh, all you had to do was ask!!"
 
 

to be continued...
 

Back to Part 1

10may04