HOME | DD

Description
Someone was shaking him by the shoulders. Hard.

"Wake up," commanded a voice.

Pat grunted and came awake with a startled gasp. Instinctively, he tried to leap to his feet, but failed abruptly and nearly toppled over. He looked down and saw he was pinned by rings of thick rope, wrapped about his chest, tying him to a hard backed chair.

"W-what the?!"

He looked about and saw he was in a large, dark and spacious hall. No windows, not even a skylight. A warehouse, maybe? His mind raced. The air was cool dry and tasted like old brick. Definitely a warehouse. A single light was switched on to his left - a pleasant warmth on Pat's head and neck.

"Good, you're awake," said a woman, who stood before him, masked by the bright light.

Definitely an interrogation. "Where am I?" Pat asked, trying to make sense of it all.

"In deep trouble," replied the woman. "Up to your neck, in fact. And if you don't want to sink out of sight, Pat, you best be honest with me."

Pat frowned, trying to make out the face. "Who are you?"

"You may address me as Ma'am, or Madame Celia." The voice was that of a woman; educated but menacing. She spoke with a soft, unyielding authority. "If you waste my time, I'll show you my full name...and then you'll wish I hadn't."

Pat looked about and saw there were others figures, little more than shadows in the gloom, stood about him. Guards? "What do you want of me?"

"Answers."

"To what?"

"Don't play games with me, Pat. We both know about what. About the money. Where is it?"

"W-what money?" A little panic set in now.

"My money, Pat. Mine."

"But...I don't know anything about your money. Honestly."

Celia sighed. "Oh well," she said. "If you're going to play tough, then I get to play rough."

In a matter of moments, Pat found his right leg yanked out in front of him and propped on a wooden box. Rope was wrapped about his ankle, tying his leg to the box. Pat's heart missed a beat as he watched a pair of brutes in suits quickly take his shoe and sock off. A thought popped into his head, It couldn't be, could it? Not that. Not again.

"All right, Pat," said Celia and then dragged a chair up to sit in front of his foot. "Last chance." Pat saw Celia wore metal gloves with feathers and stiff prongs on her finger. "Talk, or suffer the consequence." She wiggled her fingers at him.

Pat saw her face now - slender, plain smooth features, hard green eyes with a thin smile. European - maybe Italian by the accent. A large curl of black hair tipped with red hung down the side of her face. Yet it was her fingers that had him spell bound. Tickling, Pat thought. Why was it always tickling?! The thought kept him silent.

"So be it," Celia said and ran the cold tip of a metal finger slowly down the middle of his foot. "Feet tickling torture, it is."

At the first touch, Pat jumped; a cold shock on the soft flat of his foot. His toes curled and the skin of his sole crinkled. Then the finger slid onto his heel and circled slowly, sending a fine and prickishly sharp tip roving out over his heel.

"Mmhmneee eeeaa aaahaaa!" he spluttered. "Eeehee hehehehe."

"Quick response," Celia mused. "Good indication of an excellently ticklish specimen."

"Hehehehehehe glad I'm noohoot disappointing youohoo haa hahahah!"

"The night is early," she said with a half sigh of a person settling down. "There are many hours of tickling ahead. So, let's not get ahead of ourselves. Yes?" She added a second finger tip and stroked both up and down his foot now, a little lighter and little fast. "Tickle tickle, Pat."

The unexpected tease added a little shiver the growing ticklish trembles in Pat. "Hours?" he asked. "Hah ahah ahah ahahahahahaaa!"

"Oh, yes," said Celia and winked. "Hours and hours of helpless...unhurried...tickling of your little toes. Tickle tickle."

"Eeehahaha hahahahahahahahah!" Pat felt the first tug of real hysterics in his gut - a sudden and muscular wrench in his sides. Somehow he held the bout back, for now. But he knew his limits and those light, sharp tickles of Celia's metal tips were excruciating. And then there was the teasing... "Haha ahahah ahahah ahahahaheheh ahahahahaaahaaaa."

"Looks like lil Pat is a very ticklish boy," Celia said. Her fingers whizzed like flies between his toes. "With super ticklish toes."

Pat's leg tried to yank backwards, but the rope and the box it was secured around was too heavy. There was a dull thunk, but no movement. "Oh goohohods haha hahahaha hahahaha! Ahaha ahahaha ahahahahahahahahaaa!"

"Don't pray, Pat," she sighed. "Just giggle for me....giggle for Celia. Tickle, tickle, tickle."

"But ahaha ahahahahahahahaha! I...I don't know ahahah ahahahah ahahahhahah! I don't know anything."

"Then I guess I should keep tickling your little pinkies, huh?"

"AHahah ahahahaha ahahahahahahahahahahaaaa! Hahah ahahahahaha hahahahaa!"

Celia added the fingers of both hands to the single sole, sweeping them lightly up and down his foot. With an elegant flourish, she slipped the little feather-tipped ones between his toes, fluffing and turning. Her touch was as measured as her voice, which somehow made it feel all the more menacing as she tickled him with an assassin's delicacy.

"Bwaha ahhaha ahahahahahahahahaha! Eeeee heheheheheee hahahahaa!" Pat felt an ache start in his ribs from the laughter. "Y-you're insahahah ahahahahane hahah hahahaha ahahahaa!"

"And you're really ticklish...tickle tickle tickle! Giggle for me, Pat." She tittered. "Giggle for Madame Celia, 'The Great Italian Foot-tickler' Halathquez!"

That name sent a jolt of something through Pat - sharp and thrilling, but also a little scary. He'd heard that name before. In the years of his business as a P.I and, there was no denying it, while indulging his tickling fascination; her name was infamous. Legend, almost.

"Y-you're the Great Italian Foot tickler?!" he gasped. "Eeeheee ahahaha hehehehahah ahah ahahahahahahhaha!"

"Oh, you've heard of me?" Celia asked and flashed him a smile.

"Oh, yes, ahah ahahahahaha hahahahahah ahahahahahahahaha!"

"Perhaps, you have secretly wanted to meet me, mm?" She quickened the tickling her fingers were doing. "Kitchy kitchy koo, Pat."

Memories linked to her name flashed before him eyes and he snatched for breath. There was a heist where the security claimed to have been tickle tortured while the shop was cleared out. And the almost mythical tale of a brief stint in jail, where she brought a ticklish end to any who got in her way. At the time he initially read it, he wouldn't have believed it. But now...

"Let me hear it all, Pat," she teased with cool content. "Tickle, tickle, tickle, you tight lipped soul. Sing out for me, sing for the Madame Celia Foot-tickler!"

The words brought a rush of warm tingling sensations to Pat, who could only buck and twist in the chair, which scraped on the stone floor. The quicker tickles were making his senses flash with fire and all he could do was howl at it.

"SHieeheehahah ahahaha!AHaha ahaha ahahahahahahaaaa!" The laughter was becoming helplessly intense. "Bwahaha ahahahahahaaaa! I don't know ahah ahahahaha hahahaha ahahahaha I anything! Hahah ahahahahahahaaaaa!"

"Then relax and surrender to my tickling, for only sweet and tender madness awaits you."

The seconds stretched on with loud, rasping breaths, into minutes. Celia's cold metal fingers danced with devastating skill up and down his foot, stroking his soul, teasing his toes and circling around the bone of his ankle. It was a dizzying assault and as the minutes elapsed, Pat found it harder and harder to keep track of what he was supposed to be feeling.

"Tickle tickle," Celia teased, her voice never more than a polite pass of breath. "Such a ticklish foot. See those toes little wiggle when I touch them?" Which she did - light and fast. "Oh, yes, such a deliciously ticklish set of toes."

Her words were so cold, yet they burned him. "Bwaha haha hahaha hahaha haha!" His face was starting to feel hot. "Hahah ahahahaha! Eehehe ahahah ahahahahahahahaaaaa! God, that tickles so bad, please haha hah ahahahahaha! AHahahahahahahaha!"

"Poor Pat," she cooed without hint of regret. "Sitting there, all helpless, while I tickle your foot like this. Kitchy...kitchy...koo." Her fingers scrabbled madly up and down his arch. "Tickle tickle. I can only imagine how this much feel. Tickle tickle!"

"Madness!" Pat gasped. "It feels like I'm going mahahahaaad mad! Hahah ahahah hahahaha hahhahahah ahaha hahahahaha hahahahahah! Eeheheheheheheheheheheee eeeehahahah ahahahahahaaaahahaa!"

"Don't waste your breath on words, Pat," she said and chuckled. "Just laugh for me. Laugh like the naughty little ticklish boy you are! Let the tickling carry you away where thoughts of a normal life will reach you."

"I'm noahahaha nat naughty haha ahahahahaha!"

"Yes, you are," she replied. "A very ticklish one. And Celia is very good at breaking naughty, ticklish fools who can't tell the truth." She wiggled the fingers of one hand. "I tickle their feet for hours until they break and then...all they want is more. More tickling...more giggles. So sweet."

Pat blushed fiercely thinking about it.

"Eventually the truth comes out...eventually." Celia blew him a pouting, mocking kiss. "My tickling fingers always work their magic. Everyone breaks."

Pat believed her. "Baaaahahaha ahahahahahaha ahahahahaha hahahahahahahaaaaahaa!" He could feel the strain on his thoughts. She was going to tickle him out of his mind! "Hahahahaha!"

More minutes passed, a time that might have been hours for Pat and Celia's tickling continued. Unhurried. Unabated. And always layered with cool teases and knowing looks. She was a woman well within her element and her stamina for tickling knew no bounds.

And then suddenly, for a sweet moment, she paused in her tickling. Pat was able to compose himself long enough to bring his heavy gasping breaths under control. Through teary eyes, Pat watched in horror as Celia lifted his left foot up and placed it alongside the other. His shoe and sock were slowly stripped away then Celia sat back down before his feet.

"No...no, you can't, please! I can't take it."

"Tell me what I want to know."

"I told you, I don't know anything!"

Celia sighed and shrugged. "Then, you know what comes next," she said and now in one hand, she swished a feather in the air. "A ticklish end to a promising career. Koochi, koochi koo..."

Suddenly, the sound of police sirens blared all around the room. Celia shot to her feet, feather unused but ready in her hand. The other figures stirred quickly. A hustled panic grew and Pat heard cursed words and saw shadows dashing about.

"Seems you have all the luck, Pat," Celia said, pocketing the feather. "Or bad luck, if your know what I mean." She snickered. "I have to go. Cops are gonna be here soon. So, this is goodbye for now. Guess I will have to come tickle your feet again, mm? Finish what I started? Maybe next time in the snug comfort of your home?"

The thought of that, Pat realised, wasn't a bad one. Quite the opposite in fact.

But before he had the breath say something to that effect, the room emptied and silence fell. He looked about and found himself alone. And perhaps just a little disappointed. He was still tied to the chair, barefoot and his hands bound behind his back.

"Oh, great, now what am I supposed to do?"

At that moment, at the other end of the room, Pat saw the beam of a hand held torch fan across the floor, followed cautiously by a silhouetted figure appear.

"Hello? Anyone here? This is Sergeant O'Neil of the local PD. Anyone here?"

Pat sighed in relief and called out. "Yes, yes, I'm here!" he yelled. "Over here!"

The torch beam fell on Pat. He heard the sound of booted feet on the stone.

"Are you all right, sir?" Sergeant O'Neil asked. It was a woman's voice. She drew closer and at last he saw she was a young cop in smart dark blue uniform. Her face was round with curls of dark brown hair appearing below the rim of her cap. "I heard there was a commotion."

"There was," Pat said, flushing again. "Celia Halathquez--"

"The Great Italinan Foot tickler?" Sergeant O'Neil's voice peaked. "She was here?" A soft chuckle. "Guess that explains the no shoes and socks." She stopped in front of Pat's feet, torch in one hand and the other on her hip. "Guess it's a good thing I came along - she'd been here all night...tickling your toes until you snapped."

Again, Pat flushed.

"Still, seems I got here in time. Why did she grab you?"

"No idea," Pat replied, feeling a little vulnerable suddenly. "Wait, wait just a sec, you know about her?!"

"Oh, yes," said O'Nell. She made a sheepish cough. "I was one of her first victims, in fact."

The blood in Pat's body warmed. "Y-you were?"

"Mm hmm." O'Neil sat down, right where Celia had sat. "She came to me in my flat and spent the night tickling my feet with a long, soft feather." Warmth entered her voice, a soft joy and reminiscence. She shuddered. "What a night. At the end of it, I didn't know if I hated her or loved her." She put the torch on the floor. "Loved that feather, though. It was perfect for tickling."

Pat gulped, excitement and fear now running rampant. "Was it?"

"Oh, yes." O'Neil took her hat off. She was young and pretty. Black hair at the roots and a piercing above one eyebrow. Her eyes were wide and her smile was telling. She reached into her shirt and pulled out a large, thick looking feather. "Here it is."

Its bristles seem to sag around the edges. A well used tickling feather, Pat guessed. "Cute," he said.

"My feet are my worst spot," she said, switching her radio off. "I mean, really bad. Done properly, on the right spot, I'd tell you anything and everything you wanted." She bit her lip and then delicately brushed her feather over Pat's toes. "Like here."

"Gneee hehehee."

"Oops," O'Neil said, soft with excitement. She swished her feather softly onto his arches and tickled them. "That would get me right in the heart - all warm and tingly. Wow, is it warm in here? Did you tell what she wanted to know?"

"N-noohohoh ahah ahahaha. I hahah I didn't know aha ahahahaha! Stahap, stapp it! Why are you tickling me? Hah ahaha hahah ahhahahahaha!"

"Can't help it," she said and quickened the swishes of her feather. "Since that night with her...I love to tickle feet...just as much as I love to have mine tickled." The feather flickered sweetly on the ever so sort instep. "As I said, her first real victim. Tickle...tickle, baby."

"Aaha ahah ahahahahaa hahahahaha hahahahaa!" Pat felt warm waves shooting through him. This cop was tickle torturing him now. But O'Neil's was softer, sweeter. "Hah ahaha haaha hahah ahah ahahahaha hahaaaa!"

"Don't worry, baby, I'm a soft and sensual tickler. Get you nice and hard with this lil thing. Won't that be nice, mm? Have some fun before the end."

It was, he concluded, bloody fantastic! "Wait...ahaha hahaahhahahahah...the end?!"

"Mm. Shush, don't worry," she soothed, tickling a little faster on his arches with the soft feather and stroking it between his toes. "I love this - all that tickling...and no way to stop it." She licked her lips. "Did she tease you? She teased me mercilessly. Right out my clothes. Heheh. Tickle...tickle...tickle, baby."

"Yes! ahahahahaaa!" Once again the warm laughter started to flow out of him. "Hah ahahah ahahahaha. It was! haha hahahaa!"

"You enjoy it...tickle tickle, sir...enjoyed her tickling your feet....like I am? I can tell."

The heat under his skin turned to fire.

"Did you enjoy it?" she asked, as if it were an intimate thing - which, of course, it was.

Helpless, physically and emotionally, Pat nodded. "Yes..." he gasped. "Haha ahahahaha I did! Ha hahahah ahahahahahahahaaa!"

O'Neil chuckled triumphantly and picked up her radio. "This is O'Neil responding to noise complaint and potential disturbance..." She paused her tickling and looked at Pat. "False alarm, repeat, false alarm. All quiet here. O'Neil out."

"W-why did you do that?"

"Couple of reasons," she said and switched her radio off. "Firstly, I'm not done feathering these feet of yours. promised you a happy ending, which I'll deliver, so just enjoy, baby."

Pat grinned, unable to hide his pleasure at her words.

"And secondly," she said. "Celia is more than likely scanning our radios. So she knows now the police will have gone. She'll come back to finish what she started. Tickling you into madness." She sighed. "It's the best thing, really."

Panic set in again. "But...she'll find you."

"Oh, I am counting on it," said O'Neil. "You all tickle-jerked to a happy state. And me, ready and willing. Hungry for more of her tickles."

"But she'll never let us go, she won't be able to. That means...."

O'Neil nodded. "Endless feet tickling torture. Yes, fuck, yes!"

"Until we're out of minds!"

"I all ready am, baby. Best to just enjoy the ride." She swished the feather. "So, let's get started," she said and leaned forward. "Mm?"

"So you're going to tickle my feet until Celia reappears to tickle me more? Until I snap?"

"And give you a nice, unhurried hand job while my feather works its magic" She giggled. "No fighting it, baby. So might as well just enjoy it. Ready?"

Face ablaze, Pat gulped. "Y-yes."

"All right, Pat," she said and started swishing the feather up and down his arches. "Tickle tickle tickle..."

The End...of Pat??