Fran Drescher Gets Tickled
Fran Drescher arrived at her Los Angeles apartment at about 7:45 p.m. Exhausted from the long day, she had no wishes, except to eat and go to bed. When she got home, went to the door, unlocked it, and went in. Nothing seemed unusual, to her.
She walked down the long hall, to her bedroom.
As she entered her bedroom, she walked to the table, to put her things down. After she had set her things down, a hand grabbed around her mouth and nose. The hand held a cloth. Within a few seconds, Fran was in deep sleep.
Upon awakening, she tried to move, and realized that her hands at been bound, one to each of the upper corners of the four poster bed. Her ankles had been bound to the two lower corners. She was also blindfolded. A realization came to her that she was still fully clothed. She was wearing a black dress, with gold buttons down the front. The dress cut off about eight or nine inches above her knees. She was wearing solid black pantyhose, and black high-heeled pumps.
Then felt someone crawling onto her bed.
"Fran, I am the Tickle King. This will not last too long, and you will be harmed in no way."
"What?" Fran asked. "What's going on?" She whined.
"Just a test."
He was straddling her mid-section now.
He pulled her dress up enough, so that he could get his hands inside.
"Whoa, hold it right theea mista," Fran commanded. "Just who do you think you are."
"The Tickle King."
He then dug his fingers into her ribs.
Fran was extremely ticklish, and the very instant he started probing her ribs, she exploded.
"Ohhhhhhhhhhahahahahahahahahahah. Waihayhayhayhayhait ahahaha mihinute. Thahahahat Tihihihihickles. Stohohohohop."
He started at the bottom of her rib cage, and then worked his way upward, digging into every little dip along the way.
Fran was screaming, bucking, and shaking the bed for all she could.
He left her ribs, and began wiggling his fingers against the tender skin of her underarms. This sent ticklish spasms all the way down Fran's body.
"Eeeeeeeeeeheeheeheeheeheehee. Pleeheeheeheeheease, I'll dohoohoo anythihihihing."
He had never heard anybody manage to spit out so many words while they were being tickled. She was known for how much talking she could do, and she was showing it, here.
He went up and down her arms and into her armpits.
All of the time her laughter kept getting more and more violent.
She jerked at her restraints, but they were too strong.
He turned around, facing her legs, and began wiggling his fingers in and out from between her legs.
She jumped up off the bed with enough force to almost send the Tickle King rolling off the bed. She was screaming at the top of her lungs. Fortunately for the Tickle King, the apartment complex had built their walls to be almost completely sound proof.
She could scarcely breath.
He jumped off of the bed, and went around to the foot of the bed.
She felt her right shoe being taken off.
"No, no, no. Not the feet," she pleaded.
He stopped, for a second, as if to make her think he was listening to her. When she calmed down, he began stroking her helpless sole.
She began shrieking again. She tried to pull her foot away, but it was held tight by the restraints. She was laughing uncontrollably, again.
He took the shoe off of her left foot, and tickled it as well.
Fran wasn't sure how much more she could take.
Just when she thought it couldn't get any worse, he peeled the stockings away, leaving her bare feet, and began working in between her toes with a specially cured feather.
The feather had been put in varnish, and allowed to dry. And it dried hard.
He held her toes back, poking the feather in and out of every crack.
Fran was about to go into spasms, she was laughing so hard.
He drug the feather up and down her bare soles, as she shrieked with insane ticklish laughter.
He then decided that her feet were dirty.
He pulled out his toothbrush, wet it, and began working on her soles in slow even circles. She exploded into laughter, once again.
He cleaned between her toes, on top of her feet, all over them bottom, and when he finished with her feet, he stripped her of the rest of her pantyhose, and began cleaning her legs. He cleaned both legs, every square inch, all the way up. He brushed around her vagina, as well.
This caused her to jump so hard, he was afraid she might break the bedposts.
He took it too her ribs and underarms, and continued there until she passed out.
When she awakened, Fran was in her bed, in her pajamas, and her ribs were sore from all of the laughing she had done, the night before.