Pam Tillis And The Tickle King
Pam Tillis woke up that morning, with a hangover, as she often did. She didn't know why, but she just could seem to shake the alcohol problem. She'd been drinking for years, and she wasn't sure if she could ever quit. Anyway, that was not to be thought about at that moment. She had things to do. She was to be at a local Nashville CD store, to sign copies of her CD, "Thunder Roses." She got out of bed, and went into the kitchen. She decided she wasn't very hungry, and went back to her bedroom, and proceeded to draw a bath.
After her bath, Pam went into her massive closet, and began picking out an outfit to wear. For Pam, this was no easy thing. She had so many clothes, that her closet looked like a small department store. She finally decided on a pair of purple, cut-off jean, short shorts. With those she would wear a white, loose-fitting blouse, and a purple silk vest. She also were jet-black pantyhose, and a pair of purple suede scrunch boots. She looked in the mirror, please with what she saw.
She got her things together, and headed out the door, on her way. She got into her car, cranked it up, and pushed the "open garage door" button on her sun-visor. The garage door did not open.
"That's funny," she said to herself.
She got out of the car, and walked over next to the door, and pushed another open garage door button.
She went back into the house, she noticed something strange. The door was open. She hadn't left the door open, or had she. She went in, and headed for the phone, to call the people who had installed the door. As she bent over to pull the phone book out of the lower cabinet, she heard something behind her. She turned in time to look face to face with a masked man, and feel a surge of electricity go through her body.
She was out like a light.
When she came to, she was sitting in a chair in the back of a van. Her wrists were bound behind her head, and her feet were strapped across the extending foot rest of the chair. She struggled trying to free herself, but she could not. She tried to scream, but there was something in her mouth, and tape across it as well.
She passed back out.
When she awakened, the had unloaded her from the van, and she was sitting in the middle of a white room. She couldn't see this, however, because she was blindfolded. She also noticed that her boots had been removed, and her feet had been pulled apart about a foot, and were strapped in place. Her knees were also strapped in place.
She heard footsteps around her.
Then she heard a voice.
"Welcome to the Tickle King's dungeon."
Her gag was removed.
"What the hell's going on. Wait til' I get out of here. I'll have you arrested."
"You don't know who I am, or where you're at," the man's voice was warm, but sly. "How are you going to manage that."
She was silent.
"You know," the voice went on, "I've been watching your music for years, and every time I watched it, I've always wondered one thing."
"Are those sexy feet of your ticklish?"
"You heard me."
They were ticklish, but she wasn't going to tell him that.
She didn't have to, he found out for himself.
He began caressing her soles ever so lightly with the tips of his fingers.
"Hey, don't do that," she said.
He didn't stop. He continued, with the same intensity. His sadistic manner was incredible. He was so calm, cool and patient. He covered every part of the soles of her feet, and it was a few seconds before she finally gave in.
"Nohohohohoho. Please dohohohon't dohoohoohoohoo that."
She was pleading and he was enjoying it.
He began to tickle them more violently.
She burst into ticklish laughter.
"Aaahahahahahahah. Nohohohohohoho. Pleeeaaheeheeheeheese. Nohohohoho."
He was laughing at her.
"I thought you said that your feet weren't ticklish."
She shriek as he began rubbing a toothbrush along the sole of her right foot. He slowly steadily eased it around her feet, covering every little spot. He then grabbed her pantyhose and tore a hole in them with his finger. He pulled the pantyhose away from around the right foot, and then did the same with the left foot. He continued with two brushes, one on each foot.
Pam was laughing violently. She couldn't control her laughter. She couldn't do anything. Her hands were held back by the straps behind her head. She couldn't even move sway her legs, because of the straps around her knees.
He continued with the brushes for about five minutes.
He stopped for a minute, then, letting her catch her breath.
"Why are you doing this to me?" She asked.
"Because," he said, "I felt like you needed to be tickled."
He pulled the next weapon out of his little box. A feather, that had been dipped in varnish, so that the it had dried up very hard.
He began teasing her toes with the feather. Holding them back with his fingers, while he wrote little stories in between them.
Pam had started laughing violently again. She was laughing so hard, that she was rocking the well grounded chair. The Tickle King was not worried. That chair had withstood much more violent rocking than she was making.
The blindfold was wet with tears, because Pam had laughing so hard that tears were flowing like water down a mountain.
After he had teased her feet with the feather for about ten minutes, he stopped again.
He left the room.
Pam struggled to regain her breath.
Then she struggled trying to free herself.
It was to no avail.
A short while later, the Tickle King returned with a cup of juice from the stew he had eaten for lunch. He had his cat, Lickle Tickle, with him.
Tickle King took a paint brush, and began basting Pam's feet with the juice from the stew. This enough to make Pam start laughing again.
"Heeheeheehee. Please stop. That tickles."
After he had basted her feet, he set a stool next to her feet and put the cat on it.
The cat smelled the stew juice, and began licking her feet.
This sent Pam into convulsion style laughter. She rocked more violently than ever before, but there was no escaping that cat's insane tickling tongue.
That was the most intense ticklish feeling Pam had ever felt. Nothing had ever tickled like that.
The cat continued licking her feet, until every last trace of it was gone.
Pam sat there, breathless.
She passed out again.
When she woke up. she was in her own bed, in her pajamas.
She had missed the autograph session.