“He has two weeks at best,” the Masked Nurse confirmed.
Miller stood at the window, his eyes closed, the morning sun soft against his face as if were a mask itself, a mask of peace and control.
Slumped in an armchair opposite with a half-empty glass of vodka trembling in his grip sat John - his skin pale, white and dry, his breath hollow and ragged …
Each man was suspended in his own unapologetic moment: Miller - glowing, handsome, composed, exuding power …
John - broken, too frail to lift his head, too proud to drop the glass …
Behind them, The Masked Nurse packed her instruments with brisk efficiency, a sharp exhale puffing beneath her plastic covering.
“Hypnosis, bodily fluids, alcohol still on the table …” she muttered, zipping up her bag, “Maybe it soothes him mentally, but physically?… ” she turned to face Miller, “… You’re killing him.”
Miller didn’t answer.
He watched Timothée and Tom in the gardens below, their footsteps measured, their actions rehearsed—obedience choreographed in sunlight.
“Poison never tasted so sweet,” he murmured, a smirk curling at the edge of his lips.
He turned from the window and slid his hands into the pockets of his tailored chinos.
“You got anything that'll keep him going?” Miller asked, voice low, almost amused. “I need him to last at least five more days …”
The only sound was the dry, stuttering wheeze of John’s breath, —wheeeze, wheeeeze, wheeeze—, a metronome counting down a life already three quarters spent …
The Masked Nurse froze, Miller’s words locking her limbs like a spell - beneath the surface of her mask, moral equations played out silently, and then, with clinical calm, she spoke:
“There are cocktails,” she said. “Aphrodisiacs. Not poisons. They’ll buy you time…” She reached into her blouse pocket and pulled out a notepad and pen. “… But I want something too.”
Miller raised an eyebrow, “You’re own house in Italy not cutting it anymore?”
She ignored the jab, holding out the notepad.
“Benson Boone. Ball gagged. Strapped to a bench, face down. Fully clothed, except—”
—Miller took the pen, “Let me guess, you want his feet bare … ”
A single, satisfied nod.
He scribbled quickly, then signed with a flourish, “He’s got a DUI he’s keen to keep a secret. We’ll use that against he and his agent,” he handed back the pen, “Consider it done.”
Behind the blank sheen of her mask, the Nurse smiled.
“Then the medication will be delivered tomorrow.” She tucked the notepad away, picked up her bag, and turned to leave.
At the door, she paused - glancing once at John, the oxygen tank beside him, and the thread of blood-tinged saliva trailing from the corner of his mouth.
He looked at her with a desperate glow in the yellow of his eyes, something that said - ‘I too used to be young’.
“If I were him,” she said softly, almost kindly, “I’d never want to know what you’ve done.”
Then she left, the door clicking shut behind her, as Miller turned back to the light, bathed once more in the morning sun.
It had always been part of the plan: give the contestants a full week to “settle” into their Living Quarters before assigning them roles between The Games - a gesture that felt merciful, until it wasn’t.
Sebastian and Kit had been tasked with scrubbing the endless marble floors of the east wing; Logan and Joshua were handed feather dusters and sent to polish the cavernous dining rooms, Ross and Justin, red-faced and bitter, had been dubbed laundry boys - a title as humiliating as the mundane tasks that came with it, especially when you’re told to do it naked.
“I think I’d rather piss my pants in that damn box again instead of doing crap like this,” Justin had been heard to grumble.
And then there were the gardeners.
Out in the dirt, dressed in denim dungarees, plain white t-shirts and plimsolls, stood Tom and Timothée.
For now, they were not ticklees, they were laborers: tools in hand, faces hidden from cameras - just shoulders, sweat, and silence …
Timothée stood watering a bush of purple flowers he couldn’t name, tipping a heavy metal can with quiet resignation.
Nearby, Tom knelt by a gravel path, clawing weeds from between stones with gloved fingers.
Both of them glistened under the eighth day’s sun, both of them had things they wanted to say - but only out here, where the walls weren’t wired, and The Masked Henchmen were too far off to hear …
Tom tugged another handful of weeds from the soil, whispering under his breath, “… Twenty, nine, three, eleven, twelve, five …” the same sequence, again and again and again and—
—After six minutes of repetition, Tim broke the silence, whispering without looking up.
“Why do you keep doing that?”
He scratched his nose, casting a quick glance around - no cameras, just towering spotlights buried in the woods, and two Masked Henchmen seated on idle motorbikes near The Mansion’s gates.
Tom tossed the weeds onto a pile behind him and wiped the sweat from his brow, “He said he wouldn’t repeat it. Told me to remember …” a pause, then the name, low and almost shameful, “… Hypno …”
Tim shifted closer, lowering the spout of the watering can toward a row of red blossoms, “Harrison’s … On our side?”
Tom stood, grabbing a spade from the ground, “It’s a word,” he muttered, stabbing the spade into the earth, slicing through another patch of overgrowth, “The twentieth letter of the alphabet is T. Ninth is I. Third is C. Eleventh is K …”
Tim blinked, unmoving, his back now turned.
“…The numbers spell tickle …”
Tom pressed his heel against the shovel, digging deeper, “He also took a sample of my sweat,” he added, like an afterthought, like it mattered as much as it didn’t.
Tim let out a breathy laugh, “Who the fuck writes this shit …”
“You want more, mate?” Tom dropped the shovel and knelt again, his voice dropping as his hands moved, plucking at the roots like he was unraveling a puzzle buried in the soil, “Harry said something on the hill … Right before I did a runner. Told me, ‘They plan on tickling you till you don’t know your own name …’ ”
Tim’s watering can tilted uselessly, its contents dribbling into the dust - his fingers gripped the handle tighter.
“Be careful, Tom…” he warned, his voice barely audible over the crunch of footsteps rounding the garden wall, “… Feels like they’re playing with you.”
Tom stood sharply, brushing the dirt from his knees as the footsteps drew closer - he lowered his voice to a whisper, urgent and bitter, “… Or maybe I just look like someone they can trust …”
He moved to stand beside Tim just as two Masked Henchmen appeared on the gravel path; tall, silent, their dart guns ready …
“Follow us,” The Masked Henchmen on the left said, voice flat beneath the mask, “It is time for Game Eight.”
The others had already assembled - Joshua, Logan, Sebastian, Ross, Kit, and Justin - lined up in silence with their arms at their sides, every inch of clothing stripped from their bodies.
Joshua wore his nakedness like a badge of honour - a faint, knowing smirk curled at his lips - his skin, golden and sun-kissed, seemed to glow under The Living Quarters light and the soft curls atop his forehead danced gently in the breeze drifting through the open cell door.
Logan, by contrast, looked as though he were bracing for impact; his pale, downy skin betrayed every flicker of discomfort, his lips pressed tight, his eyes averted, his lashes quivering, caught somewhere between shame and humiliation.
“Undress,” came the command as The Masked Henchmen nudged the cold barrels of their dart guns into Tom and Tim’s spines.
Kit didn’t flinch at the sight of more bare skin - he barely seemed to notice - out of everyone, his physique was the most powerful, second only perhaps to Sebastian - his confidence stemmed from that strength, though it clung to him like a fragile veneer, one breath away from cracking …
Still, he had to force his eyes to the ceiling as Tim peeled off the black leather dungarees and pulled his white t-shirt over his head, exposing his slight, statuesque frame to the line of gazes.
Sebastian tried - and failed - to ignore the sudden tightness in his chest and the way his nipples hardened against the chill.
Ross finally dropped the military stillness - he folded his arms, yawned dramatically, and cast a bored look toward Tom as he removed his clothes.
However, the indifference didn’t reach Justin, who watched the sight with a cocked head and an arched brow, “You’re a pretty boy, Holland,” Justin teased, flashing a crooked grin, “If I liked ass, you and I would make a hot couple …”
Tom scoffed, tossing his sweat stained t-shirt into Justin’s face with precision, “In your dreams, mate.”
He and Tim then joined the line—naked, alert, and waiting …
The lead Masked Henchman turned to face the open cell door, “Follow,” he ordered in a muffle behind his mask.
The second Masked Henchmen fell in behind them, closing the group like a pair of steel jaws.
“Try to run,” The Masked Henchmen warned coldly, “And tranquiliser meets buttock.”
Kit gulped.
The procession began; eight bare feet walked over plush carpet, then cool marble, then the echoing hardness of stairs - no one spoke, not even Justin.
Eventually, they reached it.
The Door.
Its steel handle, shaped like a hand caught mid-gesture, extended out into the darkness of the surrounding corridor - rigid, expectant, frozen in invitation …
Kit looked from face to face.
“Well?” He asked, voice low, “Who’s doing the honours?”
Without waiting, Logan nudged Tim with his elbow.
“It’s gotta be you, Chalamet.”
Tim swallowed hard, his adam’s apple bobbed like a warning …
He didn’t glance around, he didn’t hesitate, his eyes locked on the handle …
And with a deliberate breath, he stepped forward, gripped the cold steel fingers - and pulled.
Once inside The Room, the contestants might as well have stepped straight into the definition of candy.
“Holy shhhhhit—” Logan hissed, drifting toward Sebastian, “Have you seen this, man?”
Sebastian blinked slowly, “You do realise I’m literally standing right next to you?”
At the center of the room stood a towering gumball machine, crammed with glossy spheres in either bubblegum pink or cool teal - perfectly curated to echo the saccharine, surreal aesthetic of their surroundings.
“What in the Squid Game hell is this?” Ross gawped, craning his neck back to take in the seemingly infinite ceiling overhead.
Justin, scratching lazily beneath his waist, eyed the machine with disdain, “I’d take Squid Game over this freak show any day,” he muttered, “Just shoot me in the fucking face and be done with it …”
Kit padded up behind him and jabbed a finger into his hip, “Wouldn’t you just piss yourself?”
Justin spun around, seizing Kit’s wrist in an angry grab, “Is that how you talk to legends, you baby-faced fu—”
“—Hello, boys!” A sudden voice came from above, calm, robotic, british … “It’s T.K here! Consider my upgrades finely tuned! How are we all?”
Silence fell like a guillotine.
“Is…” Tom blinked, horror washing across his face, “… Is there a way out?”
“Oh! Don’t be silly, Tom! Whilst I have spent every waking moment thinking about you and hairless underarms, I have also been re-wired to understand the importance of others!”
Tom backed away and shielded himself behind the only person he could think that would protect him if he had to: Tim.
“This isn’t just about you this time, tasty toes! …
… Ticklee’s, please take a gumball from the machine …”
Justin dropped Kit’s hand and stepped toward the machine, “Screw it. I’m kicking this shit off.”
Before he could reach it, Sebastian slid in and shoved him aside with both palms.
“—Yo! Dickhead!” Justin barked, stumbling backward and landing on his ass.
Sebastian gave a casual wink over his shoulder, “It’s my turn to play, shit head.”
He gripped the metal handle and twisted.
CRANK!
The gumballs inside rattled with ominous cheer as one dropped into the steel chute below - Sebastian reached in and plucked out a green sphere, pinching it between his thumb and forefinger like a decision made.
Tim approached next and repeated the action - crank! - his gumball colour … Pink.
“Ticklee’s,” T.K resumed, cheerful as ever, “If you collect a green gumball, please stand to the left! If you collect pink, please stand to the right!”
Sebastian and Tim split, drifting toward their assigned sides.
One by one, the rest took their turns: Logan, Justin, and Tom joined Tim with pink gumballs clutched in hand …
Kit, Ross, and Joshua aligned with Sebastian, their gumballs a matching shade of green.
Suddenly, two opposing doors blew open.
From each side, four Masked Henchmen marched in lockstep - four in pink, four in green - each carrying two sleek, ribbon-sealed briefcases.
Without a word, they delivered the cases to the contestant whose gumball matched their uniform, then stepped away as soundlessly as they’d entered.
“Ticklee’s,” T.K announced, “You may now open your cases …”
They obeyed - ribbons fell away, lids cracked open …
Inside Tim’s case: a pristine pair of running trainers in his size, white socks bundled into a perfect ball, and a pink plastic hairbrush …
Justin’s case contained a bespoke game controller - clearly crafted by The House of White Feathers itself - sleek, ominous, with two analog sticks, up/down toggles, and a feather-shaped button at its center …
Logan peeled back the lid of his case to reveal a pair of textured grooming gloves bristling with tiny plastic spikes - he bit his lower lip and threw a wicked glance across the room at Sebastian.
Sebastian clocked it instantly - he didn’t like it one bit …
Tom opened his case to find… nothing.
“Er…” he looked around, “I think they forgot to—”
“—You should never of run away,” Justin said, brandishing his controller like a trophy, “Naughty boys don’t get treats …”
Sebastian, meanwhile, held a small metal key just inches from his eyes - his expression soured …
“…The fuck am I meant to do with this?” He snarled.
Ross chuckled as he lifted a roll of pink duct tape and a satin blindfold embroidered with the word ‘pussy’ away from the inside of his case - his brows furrowed, but the amused smirk forming beneath them said he didn’t mind.
Joshua opened his case next - he’d hoped for a note from Peter, a whisper of reassurance - instead: a matching metal key and a pair of white sports socks …
Kit followed last - his case held nothing more than that same unassuming metal key.
Tim scanned the items on both sides, his eyes narrowing, “We’re key-less,” he murmured.
T.K’s voice returned - louder now, corralling their attention like a whip crack …
“Those of you who ended up with a pink gumball, you are the ticklers …”
“… Those of you who ended up with a green gumball, you are the ticklees …”
Justin punched the air, “Fuck yes!—”
Tom visibly sagged with relief as Tim dropped to one knee, pulling on his socks and trainers.
Logan flexed his gloved fingers with barely restrained anticipation, aiming a devilish glare toward the others.
The gumball machine began to sink into the floor, vanishing into a hidden compartment - behind it, two new a doorways yawned open …
“Two ticklee’s, partner up and then, with your partner, choose a door: Left, or right …”
Kit, Ross, Joshua and Sebastian all looked at each other; their decision making only lasted a few seconds for some - Sebastian grabbed Kit and pulled him close, which ultimately left Ross and Joshua to step side by side into their own coupling.
Smooth and naked save for his new footwear, Tim rose to his feet, his own pink hairbrush in his hand like a sword - Justin, Logan, and Tom formed a loose gang around him as they watched the others shuffle reluctantly toward the threshold of uncertainty where the doors closed shut behind them …
“Ticklers,” T.K sounded as if he were teetering on the edge of orgasm, “Prepare yourselves. Your time to inflict torment has come…”
The lights in The Room snapped off, plunging everything into darkness.
Tom jolted upright.
Justin grinned wide enough to glow.
A sharp click echoed as Tim’s hold clenched tighter around the pink-handled hairbrush - beside him, Logan curled his gloved fists into tight, nervous balls.
Beeeeep.
A soft blue light pulsed to life, bathing the chamber in an eerie hue - overhead, a digital screen flickered on, revealing a grid of reactions only viewable to the ticklers - each reaction had been assigned its own point value:
With a hiss of pressure, the two doors Kit, Sebastian, Ross and Joshua had entered through slid open again …
“Ticklers,” T.K announced, “Your turn to partner up and choose a door …”
Tim turned instinctively toward Tom, but Justin was faster, clamping a firm grip around Tom’s bicep.
“He’s mine, Timotay…” Justin hissed through a smile.
Tom rolled his eyes but didn’t pull away, not yet.
A tap on Tim’s shoulder turned his attention.
Logan.
His voice was awkward but earnest:
“Pals?”
Tim gave a single nod, then looked at the far-left door.
“Sebastian’s behind that one,” Tim said casually, watching Logan’s face, “Feel like making up for lost time?”
Logan’s eyes gleamed as he slowly rubbed his gloved palms together.
“Ohhh, don’t I just…”
Across the room, Tom yanked his arm out of Justin’s hold.
“That leaves us Ross and Joshua,” he muttered, biting his lower lip, “I’ve… Never done this to anyone before.”
Justin didn’t flinch - he brushed off the memory of Mendes like lint on silk.
He strutted toward the second door with a cackle, the game console controller held snug in his hands, ready to play …
“Believe me, Spider-Man…” he said without turning around, voice dark and low, “… It’ll be an experience you’ll never forget.”
Door one of two sealed shut behind Tim and Logan.
Click.
Just a few paces ahead, surrounded by nothing but industrial darkness, stood two tall, looming steel slabs …
Locked within each slab were Kit and Sebastian …
A large bolted oval framed each ticklee’s upper body, their torsos stretched taut into a perfect, open splay - there was no glass, no protection, just exposed skin and unfiltered vulnerability …
Logan felt his fingers twitch instinctively, the urge to test Sebastian already igniting in his hand, though he kept it at his side …
Inside the slabs, their arms had been fixed high above their heads, forcing their upper bodies into unyielding tension - Sebastian’s thick, furry underarms, and Kit’s soft, deep hollows, were fully revealed - taut, helpless, and inviting, their startled faces, broad chests, fleshy nipples, defined ribcages, and panting stomachs all equally exposed, gleaming slightly under the low ambient light.
At either side of the frame, their bare feet protruded from the steel - Sebastian’s curled, twitching and surprisingly anxious …
Kit’s, however, had been pinned in place by sleek steel bars that locked beneath his toes, pulling his soles back in a flexed display of utter helplessness - his size eleven-and-a-halves were oiled to a thick glisten—prepared, it seemed, for torment.
Around each of their necks hung metal collars, a white feather etched into the center - beneath the oval frame on each slab sat a locked compartment, embossed with an aubergine emoji - its implication unmistakable …
Logan's mouth moved before he could think, "Cock," he muttered. "Are their cocks inside that?"
Sebastian gave a sharp, breathless nod, "Yes, you fuck," he hissed, "My dick's fucking pinned down with wire …”, saliva pooled at the corners of his mouth, his eyes fluttered, unable to fully process the extent of his predicament, nor the robotic claws poised above his head.
Each claw cradled a bottle labelled: tickle oil.
Tim, meanwhile, had noticed Kit’s expression: nervous, trying to figure it all out, eyes never fixed in one place as he mentally dealt with how tightly his manhood had been locked within metal …
“You alright, Connor?” Tim asked, his trainers giving a soft squeak as he stepped forward.
“Of course I am,” Kit whispered to himself, tone polite, polite to the point of madness, “I can do this, I can do this,” a chuckle, then a crack in his voice, “I can do this …”
Tim offered a crooked smile, then lowered his gaze to the tray of tools placed between the slabs; a paddle made for spanking, an electric toothbrush made for hysteria, and a ball of string with many uses lay in wait …
Above, T.K’s voice boomed into the black:
“Ticklers, you have fifteen minutes to break your ticklees. You must use the tools on the tray as well as the tools you were given in your cases …”
Tim glanced down at the hairbrush in his hand, while Logan flexed his fingers inside the heat of the grooming gloves he'd been issued.
“… Points are earned by reactions. Succeed in creating those reactions, and chips will fall. Chips will be collected once the countdown is complete …”
From the shadows above, a small hatch opened with a hiss.
Tim looked up into the void, then took another step forward.
Squeak.
Kit’s entire body gave a single jolt inside the slab - clank! -, he didn’t look at Tim, but he felt him - he felt every ounce of attention inching toward his naked, bound body …
Graffiti smeared across the steel beside him, in streaks of green paint, read:
‘He can clench his teeth all he wants. His face will betray him.’
Tim raised a hand, slowly, deliberately, only his index finger extended, hovering now beside Kit’s arched left heel.
A pause …
Had everything he had ever endured with Armie led him to this moment?
Inflicting torment, without question, just to be with him again?
Tim actioned the softest scratch, barely more than a whisper, the type you give your left cheek when trying to remove the faintest of itches …
Kit’s reaction was instant; a flared nostril, a sharp inhale, a stifled giggle - his eyes widened, his left sole shimmered …
“Go slow, Tim—”, Kit urged, “Go easy—”
Across the room, Logan and Sebastian watched, each in their own stunned disbelief as they heard a shriek of laughter erupt from the room on the other side of the wall.
“That sounded like Joshua …” Logan gulped, the volume of the shrill loud enough to excite him and startle him at the same time.
Tim pressed a little firmer.
The giggle slipped from Kit’s lips, angry and shrill, “—Tim, okay—”, his hips jolted, his breath caught, “—Mnn!—”, the wires wound around his cock buzzed inside the sealed compartment …
From the ceiling: CHINK-CHINK!
A gentle handful of yellow chips fell in a scatter around Tim’s feet.
“Simple giggle issued. One thousand points to Tim and Logan …” T.K purred.
Tim pulled his finger back, then turned, slowly, toward Logan …
Logan expected concern, maybe guilt, maybe even hesitation - after all, Tim had basically been the emotionless, controlled leader of the group … Up till now.
Now?
Tim smirked.
“Your time starts now …”
T.K’s voice vanished - in its place, a digital clock descended from the dark in his replacement …
14:59 …
14:58 ….
14:57…
Logan faced Sebastian.
Sebastian, who had mocked him, belittled him, betrayed him, over and over since they arrived in Sweden …
Logan tilted his head, fists flexing.
“I’m gonna enjoy this, fucker …”
With the spiked fingertips of his grooming gloves, Logan dove straight into the open depth of Sebastian’s underarms, — thuck! —, no hesitation, no mercy, his hands struck with ferocious intent, digging into the dense fur with chaotic, scribbling precision …
Sebastian erupted within the steel frame as if prodded with an electric stick- his body lunged forward, his thick heels flexing outward in instinctive recoil, “—Damn you, bitch!—”, his torso bucked, writhing under the relentless barrage of Logan’s clawing fingers, which ravaged the sensitive hollows beneath his arms like they were made for this exact cruelty.
Logan could see it: Sebastian’s will crumbling beneath the surface - he fought for control, lips tight, teeth clenched, rage boiling beneath a thin sheen of sweat, but every new flick, every sharp rake of Logan’s fingers sent his resistance spiraling …
Sebastian’s head tossed left, then right, then spun in a wild circle, neck straining against the steel collar, —clank, clank, clank!—, his gritted silence fractured, split apart by a deep, guttural laugh that burst free in surrender, “—Alright, you bastard! Enough, enough!—”, the words tore from him, breathless and cracked, but Logan only leaned in closer, grinning, eyes electric with amusement, his expression saying it all:
This is where we become friends again.
From the ceiling, plastic chips clattered to the floor in a burst of reward, “Begging or pleading issued,” T.K announced, “Five thousand points awarded to Tim and Logan…”
Tim glanced up from the opposite slab, momentarily distracted by the thunder of Sebastian’s laughter echoing through the room - across from him, Kit wore a scowl, but one laced with flirtation - a challenge, perhaps?
Kit’s voice came soft, steady, but undeniably anxious, “Start with my bellybutton, Tim … I, I can tell you want to win, alright? You’re not going to hold back …”
Tim’s gaze fell to the hairbrush in his hand - his lips curled, matching Kit’s teasing edge.
“I’ve got too much to lose, Connor …” he angled the brush forward, its plastic bristles glinting, “…So I’ll throw you in the deep end …” a sniff, a pause, “… It’ll be easier this way.”
The brush struck Kit’s left heel - a clean, full impact.
Kit’s foot jerked violently, the spasm involuntary, intense - the look in his eye towards Tim? Venomous …
Tim’s tone dropped, calm but dangerous, “You wanted me to go easy, right?”
Kit’s entire left foot jolted again as the hairbrush dragged hard across his heel a second time, “No, Tim, stop?—” He whinged, almost pathetically, as drag turned slow, then fast, then slow again, each motion methodical, “—Oh, oh ssssstop! Sttttoop? Stop!—”, he tried to brace himself, but with his feet pinned and stretched back by the bars, all he could do was gasp inward with such strength that his eyes filled with emotion, his glistening left sole unable to move, only able to endure …
“I’ve felt what you’ve felt, Connor,” Tim murmured, brushing upward along the arch with more pressure, “He always taught me to let it go … Let it out …”
The laughter came from Kit in uneven bursts, ragged, huffing, breaking through clenched teeth, as if he had now been given permission, “—Okay, okay!—”, his toes tried curling, but the steel beneath them held firm, forcing his soft, oiled soles into full exposure, “—Okay? Tim! BE CAREFUL!—”, Kit squealed, “—That’s a lot!—”, each pass of the brush left a trail of red, not from damage, but from friction and flush and embarrassment, “—Please, be nice? Be nice!—”, he was losing control already …
Tim leaned in and whispered as he remembered his own game, tied face down, John’s elderly touch against the betweens of his thighs …
“I’m sick and fucking tired of being nice …”
He turned, calmly, and scanned the tray on wheels between each slab as Kit gawped at him in alarm.
The electric toothbrush caught his eye …
He picked it up, clicked it on, — bzzzzzzzzt —, the buzz filled the space between them with a sudden, mechanical menace …
Kit’s eyes widened, his pupils dilated, “Wait—Tim, please—”
Tim pressed the bristles to Kit’s right foot this time, directly at the ball, causing Kit to scream - there was no other word for it, a shriek of high pitched laughter ripped out of him as the vibrating bristles burrowed into his slick, helpless sole, producing a second scream that was far louder, far more deafening, so much so that the other boys in the room beside would surely of heard him, “—Oh! Oh! Oh my god—Tim! F—uck—Tim, NO!—”, his hips bucked forward, the vibrating wires tightening around his cock as it sat snug and firm in the box, his beefy body rattling inside the slab, but there was no escape, no give, no shield from the stimulation …
Tim kept going - he worked the hairbrush in small, devastating circles along the arch, then flicked up to the heel, then under the toes, just like John had done to him, under hypnosis, in a locked hotel room in some imaginary world - the toothbrush buzzed and danced across the other foot, devouring Kit’s other heel - Kit flailed, sweat now clinging to his brow, his composure dissolving with every second as both of his feet were tickled by a hairbrush and an electric toothbrush at the same time.
“—Oh, Tim! Tim! Plehehahase! Th, this isn’t easy!—” the wires tightened around his cock, they thickened it within the metal slab, “—Oh! Mnn, no, ha, hang on!—”
“—You really can’t take much, can you?” Tim toyed, almost clinically curious, “You’re not even five minutes in …”
From the ceiling, chink, chink, chink!, more yellow chips fell around his feet.
Across the room, even Logan paused to glance over, momentarily stunned by how completely Tim had dropped the mask of restraint - there was no hesitation within him, only focus, method, and results.
Kit let out a barking laugh, then a snarl of frustration, “—I—fuck—can’t—you—give me—fuck!—a second!—”
Tim tilted his head, as if considering.
Then shook it once, slowly.
“I told you. Deep end.”
And with that, he switched the toothbrush to the left foot and switched the hairbrush to the right, pressing up beneath the ball of each foot in either a relentless scrub or a toying whizz - this area seemed to be Kit’s most sensitive spot so far, because the noise that followed didn’t even sound human …
“—TIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIYAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHMMMMM!—”
Sebastian’s laughter still echoed in his own ears, dizzying and raw, as Logan’s gloved hands continued their relentless torment across his underarms, “—Bitch, you bitch! Grahahah! Graaahahahaha, bi, bitch! Grrrr, mnn, gahah, uh, uh!—”, the textured fingertips scratched and scraped through the damp tufts of hair, zeroing in on every crevice of stretched skin, making him jerk and convulse like an exposed live wire, “—Fuhuhuhuhuhuhahahahuhuhck you behehahahahahaha-itch! Fuhuhuhahahack YOU!—”, he barked, his voice hoarse, his chest heaving as he tried to wriggle from the torment, “You bitch, you fucking BITCH!—”
Logan glanced over his shoulder, eyes narrowing at the sight of Tim using the vibrating toothbrush and pink plastic hairbrush on the exposed balls of Kit’s feet - Kit was shaking apart, wailing as more yellow chips fell from the compartment above and bounced around Tim, showering him with greatness …
Logan saw the next item he wanted to use resting neatly on the metal tray between he and Tim.
He turned back to Sebastian with a newfound calm, “You know what,” Logan muttered, voice low but deliberate as he stepped away from Sebastian’s upper body, “It’s not just your armpits that deserve this …”
12:34 …
12:33 …
12:32 …
Sebastian blinked, gasping, confused - until he saw Logan reach for the paddle …
“No!—” he snarled, eyes bulging out of his head, “No, don’t even—”, there was no ‘bitch’ this time, “—Logan!—”
“I’ve been thinking about this,” Logan spoke loudly, he had to, after all Kit’s screams were getting louder by the minute as Logan positioned himself near Sebastian’s protruding, now flexing feet, “How this is all your fault. How you couldn’t just not get yourself involved … How you could’ve just kept your big nose out of this shit …”
Logan ran a single gloved fingertip slowly down the length of Sebastian’s left sole - he watched it flinch and shift, all five of Sebastian’s long, manly toes scrunching up so hard that Sebastian grunted …
“I begged you not to get involved,” Logan added, matter-of-fact, “Oh, but did you listen? No, no! No one listens to me …”
He then raised the paddle and brought it down in a soft, firm smack to Sebastian’s right heel.
Sebastian jolted with a yelp - not of pain, but of humiliation, of sensory overload, of disbelief …
“—What the fuck are you doing!—” Sebastian spat, his face boiling pink.
Smack!
Another firm paddle to the same heel.
“I’m balancing the scales,” Logan replied smoothly, “This one’s for what Michael did to me …”
He dragged his gloved hand across Sebastian’s left heel while simultaneously spanking the right with the paddle, “—And that one’s for what Brad did to me …”, he alternated rhythm, switching sides, combining the deep, nerve-teasing tickle with the sharp percussion of the paddle’s slap.
“—Logan—! Logan, come on—!—”, Sebastian’s voice was breaking, buckling between wild laughter and frustrated groans. “You—nnnnff—sadistic—nggh!—piece of—!—”
Logan just smiled, “Sebastian, baby … You haven’t even seen sadistic yet …”
Smack.
“… And that one is for giving me into that clown …”
Tickle.
“… And that’s for calling me a bitch non stop …”
Smack.
“… And that’s for only thinking about your damn self! …”
Scratch.
Sebastian thrashed wildly, the tight steel frame holding him completely in place - he could only roar at the top of his lungs, laugh uncontrollably, flex his muscles, and endure the scrub of spiky gloved fingers as well as the constant smack of the paddle …
Above Logan, yellow chips began to rain down in flurries …
“Continuous laughter: Three thousand points awarded to Tim and Logan …” and then a second later, “… Begging or pleading: Five thousand points awarded to Tim and Logan …”
And still, Logan didn’t stop.
“Let’s see if we can double it,” Logan grinned.
From the other slab, Kit let out another high pitched squeal as Tim began a rhythm - three strokes of the brush, one deep buzz from the toothbrush, then repeat - Kit’s voice cracked, breathless laughter bubbling through clenched teeth, his broad, pale chest heaving forwards in a vibrating tremble as he took in the sight of dozens of plastic, yellow chips on the floor …
“—Ssss, ss, SEB!—” Kit yelped, “—Don’t give them anything!—”
Immediately, Logan could see what Kit was up to - he turned back to Sebastian and dropped the paddle, using both gloved hands over his underarms once again in an attempt to distract his ticklee, “—Tim, stop him from talking!—” Logan barked.
Tim joined Logan in focusing on the underarms - he dropped the hairbrush and the electric toothbrush over the tray and sent his fingertips towards Kit’s armpits …
“—NO! NO! NO!—” Kit automatically reacted in a way he could not control, “—NO, TIM, you … you …!—” he was absurdly ticklish in his underarms, a simple poke could send him catapulting through the ceiling, was he about to call The Timothée Chalamet a, “—WANKER!—”, there, he said it, all as he was, trapped, fixed, stuck, juicy, smooth underarms open, desperate to not react so as not to give his tickler any points, but Tim’s fingertips were nearing in, closer, closer, closer by the second …
Sebastian watched more yellow chips fall from the compartment above as Kit begged and pleaded with Tim …
… Such a sight caused Sebastian to twist his lips shut and focus down at the vibrating tightness curling around his cock, wedged in a semi erect squash within the metal box at his waist …
Another terrified squeal climbed up Kit’s throat as soon Tim’s fingertips landed within the soft, cavernous delves of each underarm, but Kit bit it back and turned his need to shriek into a rampant twist and buck, the spine of his back arching inward, his stomach and chest throbbing outward in a vulnerable glisten, all ten of his pale, long toes pressing firmly against the metal with such vigour it creaked - had his face begun to shudder into a wet, almost purple glow?
“Man,” Tim whistled, “You’re determined …”
Sebastian closed his eyes, “—Shut it down!—”, he growled, his own underarms under the relentlessly scratchy infliction of Logan’s gloved, spiky fingers, “—Scream inside your head if you have to!—” Sebastian could practically feel Kit’s muscular writhing from beside him, his beefy shaped rattling within the steel slab …
Tim and Logan pushed harder - stronger strokes, deeper circles, erratic patterns - but the resistance had changed, the desperation was still there, but the reactions that Kit and Sebastian so wanted to expel from within their existence were now being buried deep, swallowed hard, hidden because, damn, they just fucking had to …
Seconds passed, then a full half a minute!
Just thrashing, grunting, huffing, the occasional ‘I can do this, I can do this’ leaving Kit’s wide, open mouth as Sebastian panted and gasped, all whilst kit moaned and whined - and still, no chips fell …
Kit clenched his jaw as he wheezed into the metal of his collar, Tim’s fingernails now scribbling into the wet depths of each pit, beads of sweat trickling down his temples.
“Fucking BREAK, Connor!—” Tim hissed.
Sebastian’s arms trembled from strain, his face a tomato red but focused - both he and Kit’s attempt to fight back was far from perfect - it was absurd, ticklish agony in fact - but for now, it was enough - they were holding on …
“Sebastian, don’t do this to me!—” Logan tore off the gloves and used his own hands, he had to make this happen himself, “—I need those points, man! I need to get outta here!—” Logan whined …
And with each passing second of silence…
Tim and Logan began to feel it.
We’re losing control …
08:59 …
08:58 …
08:57 …
The second room was a different shade of black; thicker somehow, the air heavier, muggy with sweat and breath - a subtle heat clung to everything …
Overhead, the dim lights beamed down like interrogation lamps, casting harsh shadows across Ross and Joshua, both locked vertically into the steel slabs identical to Sebastian and Kit in the other room …
Their bare torsos were stretched taut, arms locked high above them, frames holding them in perfect, helpless exposure - their feet jutted outward, soles fully presented, Ross’s toes still trembling, his big toes bound back with steel, unused, unspared, unlike his underarms …
Ross’s chest rose and fell in sharp, panicked bursts, his hairy, borderline iconic underarms twitching from relentless overuse - blonde strands clung to his slick forehead whilst beads of sweat rolled in a gleaming line down his toned abs …
… Huff … Huff … Huff …
“That all you got, man? …” Ross croaked, barely audible - his voice was raw, broken, his glassy eyes dropping to the generous mountain of yellow chips at Justin’s feet, “Seriously - who the hell even are you? …” the steel collar around his neck held firm as he gulped hot, thick air, his overwhelmed vibe switching to a whine-like shrill, “—Remind me to never piss you off, like, ever!—”
Justin didn’t respond.
He simply turned to the console controller, a device he himself had already slotted beneath Ross’s slab when he first arrived; before he’d even thought about where to start his fun, he’d gone straight for Ross’s armpits and he’d stayed there for almost eight straight minutes with just the sadistic claw of his own fingernails …
“Stuck in another stupid wall again, Lynch …”
His thumbs pressed two analogue buttons.
Boop!
“… Is that all your good for?” Justin teased.
Beside Ross’s head, two metal compartments snapped open — clink! clink! —, from inside, metal coils extended, each attached to a tiny, white-gloved hand, its fingers already wiggling with mechanical urgency …
“Oh,” Ross licked his lips, all eight of his unbound toes splaying, “You’ve got all your toys lined up, huh?”
Justin grinned wide, “Now this is a motherfucking game …”
He guided the twitching hands forward, slowly, gradually, then journeyed them towards Ross’s chest where they began to wiggle above the stretch of skin between his upper rib cage and the start of his underarms, wet tufts of armpit hair sprouting from each tanned, shimmering depth …
“—You little freaks!—”, Ross’s head twinged from left to right as he took in the visual of two little white gloved hands that looked like they had been plucked straight out of something Disney could have created, “—You’re kinda cute, actually! Oh, aha, wait, that’s uh, not so cute!—”
Ross's body rattled within the slab, the robotic hands poking, swirling, dancing through the soft curls of his dark blonde armpit hair, teasing every nerve-ending with perverse desire controlled only by Justin and the X-Box looking accessory in his hands …
“—Jesus! Again with the pits!—” Ross spat, uncaring to the length of drool now dripping from his chin, “—You’ve had your eye on them since we arrived! Huh? Huh!—”
Justin sat back, working the controller like a pro gamer, thumbs flicking over buttons while Ross’s laughter became strained with growls and leaps of frustration, his exposed, muscular underarms totally exposed for the Mickey Mouse styled gloves and their playful stroke …
“—GRAH! AHAHA! AHAAH! JUH, JUSTIN!—” Justin would earn points thanks to Ross’s on going laughter, but more points were added as soon as Ross spat the word, “—PLEASE!—” non stop, as the gloves nestled in deeper within the furry confines of each underarm, “—Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease!—” he babbled, “—What is wrong with you!—”
The fury within Ross was desperate, boiling and wild - it shook the frame and caused more yellow chips to fall from the ceiling, just as droplets of sweat fell from the tip of Ross’s eyelashes and that line of dribble seeped away from his chin and landed on the floor …
Across the room, Tom still hovered in a hesitant pause beside Joshua, who, despite a thin sheen of sweat, looked composed and ready, his feet now covered by the socks he had been given in his case - a comforting form of protection, it would seem.
Only once, thirteen minutes earlier, had he shown a crack - a full scream when Tom had dared to rake ten fingernails beneath his arms, a scream so loud the room next door had heard - since then, Tom had pulled back …
“You’re too fucking British,” Justin muttered over the sound of Ross’s unhinged cackling, “Stop being so damn nice, Tom. You gonna torment the little fuck, or just stand there and ask for permission every time you want a chip?”
Tom flinched, his eyes dropped to the floor - plastic, yellow chips everywhere, all of them earned by Justin, thankfully all of them split between them both thanks to their partnership …
“I… I wasn’t given any tools, mate …” he tried weakly, glancing at the empty briefcase from earlier, an excuse he couldn’t use forever, not with a steel tray beside him now holding string, a toothbrush, and a wooden paddle …
“You’re pacing!” Justin barked, his tongue poking from the corner of his mouth as the controller guided the gloved hands to Ross’s ribs, “It’s been fifteen minutes and Bassett’s barely flinched! Is this a date, or is it torture, Spider-Man?”
Joshua, still bound and ready, cut in, surprisingly supportive of Justin’s point, “You are uh, being kinda gentle, Tom …” that grin of Joshua’s was charming, but also challenging …
Justin raised a brow, set the controller down, and snatched the paddle from the metal tray.
Ross, breathless, blinked up at the ceiling, finally, a pause …
“Yo, can I get a glass of w—”
—SMACK!
The paddle slapped against his right sole.
Ross jolted violently, toes curling tight, “—ASSHOLE!—”, except the restrained big toe, still locked back, his body expanding in a sweaty burst behind the frame, “—FUCK! Bieber, I swear to god if you do that again I am gonna rip your—”
“—See that?” Justin called out, paddle in hand, grinning lazily, “That’s what you should be doing. Be less England. Be more… animal …”
Tom’s jaw tensed, his gaze dropping to the tools and then to Joshua’s socked feet: the sweat-damp fabric clung to them perfectly, still covered, still untouched …
Slowly, Tom reached for the right sock, fingers pinching the top seam …
Joshua’s grin widened as Tom lifted the sock upard - until a monitor beside him lit up …
SOCK REMOVAL: HEART RATE INCREASE BY 80%
Tom paused - with the sock already half way up Joshua’s foot, the sensitive landscape of heel and arch had already appeared as tempting …
Suddenly, a second screen flashed by Tom’s waist:
ARMPIT SENSORY LEVELS: 99%
Tom swallowed, he could feel himself hesitating again.
Justin slammed the paddle into Ross’s left sole, —SMACK!—, then over his right, —SMACK!—, causing Ross to whine and sniff, “—JUSTIN, I’m warning you, man!—” as yellow chips tumbled from the darkness above, bouncing around Justin’s bare feet.
Justin looked to the green graffiti scrawled across Joshua’s slab and then shouted it out loud, “—WANT HIM HYSTERICAL?—” he yelled to Tom, “—TRY A TONGUE IN THE PITS!—” he raised his brows at Tom, “—Well?—” he gestured to the tools on the tray, the half pulled up sock, the open exposure of Joshua’s underarms, “—You gonna tickle, or flirt?”
Tom stared at Joshua’s exposed torso, the gentle lift of his chest with each breath, the flat-ness of his stomach and the total exposure of each underarm, underarms that were decorated in sprouts of thick, brown, unapologetic curls …
Joshua stared back at Tom, his voice silent, his enthusiastic scowl saying, ‘are you about to use your tongue?’
Tom didn’t know much about Joshua; he had never listened to his music, never seen High School Musical, he hadn’t even really spoken to him since The Games began …
He had no idea that Joshua’s armpits had been explored regularly by the man Tom only knew as ‘Peter’, who Tom had experienced in one of his sessions during his tests many months ago …
Peter was a ruthless tickler - intimate and passionate, mixed with the perfect blend of deadly desire - the simply memory of how hard Peter and Jake had gone on Tom’s feet all that time ago caused Tom’s toes to curl where he stood …
Could Tom, right now, overshadow Peter with his own unique technique?
Your case was empty, mate, Tom reassured himself internally, they haven’t given you much choice …
He could hear his own heartbeat within the depths of each ear as he took a hesitant step closer towards the slab of steel …
He looked into Joshua’s exposed right underarm, the skin damp, slightly flexing, the kind of flex that was all too aware of what might happen next …
06:26 …
“Tom?” Joshua’s voice was light, almost suspicious, “You’re … Not serious?”
06:25 …
Tom refused to answer - he was already leaning in, jaw tight, breathing shallow …
06:24 …
Joshua threw his head back uncontrollably as the very tip of Tom’s wet tongue pressed against the surface of his thick bunch of right armpit hair.
Almost mercilessly, and with Joshua’s instant reaction as fuel, Tom increased the pressure of his tongue and dragged it in a flat stroke, slow and deep, right into the centre of Joshua’s armpit …
Immediately, Joshua let out a noise that The House of White Feathers would study forever - a flustered huff mixed with a high pitched yelp, as if something otherworldly had reached into his throat and snatched it from his soul - another lick - followed by a detonation of pure laughter - Joshua’s entire torso bent with joyous stress, his brown eyes unblinking and taking in the sight of Tom’s head, face and mouth deep within his right underarm - why was it there, would it ever leave, please could it stay forever - Joshua was now giggling so hard he could barely speak …
Tom pulled back, stunned, slightly giddy, drool decorating his chin as Joshua’s breathless giggling provided yellow plastic chips in their dozens to tumble to the floor …
Joshua, red-faced, eyes ready to roll to the back of his head, was still laughing, “That was … Fuck—” Joshua managed through his laughter, a solid enquiry from someone who rarely decides to curse, “—Tom Holland just licked me …”
Tom wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, half-shocked at himself as he took in the sight of the yellow chips surrounding him, the fact that his points had increased only giving him more of an urge to lick again, “Yeah, mate,” he muttered, “I er, guess I did.”
Tom leaned in once more, the flicker of his tongue faster, playful, erratic …
Joshua’s automatic and physical response was to close up his arms by moving his elbows so they touched each other, but his bondage did not allow such protection: his armpits were totally taut, entirely open, he could barely move his torso - and now, Tom’s fierce licks were turning into tiny nibbles that were biting through the thick curls of hair sprouting out of Joshua’s right armpit …
“—T, Tom!—” the teeth grazing across his underarm caused Joshua’s eyes to glisten, “—Jesus, Tom!—” it tickled in a way Joshua had never experienced before, something he did not feel would be possible after spending so much time with Peter prior to all of this, “'—You’re a … A damn pro, man!—” no yellow chips for now, they weren’t scored on compliments …
Tom pushed away hesitation, he screwed modesty, he needed the points and, if he were honest?
This feels bloody good …
As Tom’s tongue increased it’s wiggle and his teeth persisted with their graze, Tom’s free hand lifted towards Joshua’s left underarm and began to dig, stroke, press and poke into the hairy centre - for Joshua, this was like pushing a simple button - within less than half a second, he began to buck wildly, his laughter now completely out of his control - giggling, bellowing, breathless sob-laughs tumbled out of him in waves, all sounds that Tom did not expect to feel like music to his ears …
“—You, you’ve got—” Joshua wheezed, tight, manic grin on full display, “— no idea!—” his eyes were squeezed shut, his cheeks shimmering, “—What this is like, man!—” the giggles were against him, they sat on him like an elephant, their weight crushing and endless and totally undefeatable …
Tom was grinning too as plastic yellow chips tumbled down in a chaotic rush, T.K’s voice chiming in with an amused and impressed tone, “Oooh, verbal breakdown: ten thousand points to Tom Holland and Justin Bieber!” T.K robotically cleared his throat, “… Not that I’m uh, jealous of Joshua, or anything …”
Joshua was a shambles, a controlled heap, laughing and giggling in a way he had never done so before - his face was beet red, unfiltered emotion formed at the corners of his blood shot eyes, his jaw stretched into something between a open mouthed expel of ecstatic anguish and a genuine cry, “—UCK!—”, between his anguish, thin wires curled and tightened around his manhood within the metal box, slithering, sharp, toying, but he never begged, not once …
Tom backed away, slowly, breathless, blinking like he’d just stepped out of a daze.
Joshua wheezed and sniffed in slowly, pursing his lips to then exhale a soft blow of air, “—You … You …” he lifted his head and looked Tom playfully in the eye, “—You kiss Zendaya with that mouth?—”
Tom went in again.
“—Wait, h, hold up!—” Joshua tried to flap his arms, his head watching the Tom’s tongue and fingers now dig in, “—HOLD UP!—”, Joshua began to shriek within the metal slab, “—AAAGHH! AAAAGHAHAHA! AAAAGHAHA! AAAAGHAHA!—”, his soaked sneer wide and animated, the wires tugging at a manhood developing in arousal, his big brown eyes gleaming with a lunacy he craved and regretted at the same time, as two people never meant to meet, but only like this, became a connected and unexpected force, yellow plastic chips falling once again around Tom …
“Continuous laughter, three thousand points!” More chips fell, “Begging or pleading, five thousand points!”
On the other side of the room, Justin had tossed the paddle aside with a clatter and grabbed the game controller - his thumbs danced over the buttons with ease - the twin gloved hands springing back into action, only this time, they wiggled past Ross’s sweat riddled underarms, patted each of his cheeks playfully which caused him to grunt in exhaustion, and then lowered down towards his toes …
“Oh, come on!—” Ross dribbled, eye lashes wet, already shaking his head, “—Not the danger zone!—” his big toes were locked in steel hoops, the rest of his long tanned toes, milky soles, chunky heels and slim ankles able to twitch but hardly move, the softness of their shape and landscape ready for the taking, “—I’ll give you like, fifty thousand of my points if you just—” Ross gulped as he felt the tightness of wires cling around his flaccid cock, contained within the metal box beneath the frame, “—Guh!—”
—Justin just smirked and pressed the trigger.
The little white gloved hands descended on both soles at once, their tiny podgy fingers scrabbling across the ends of Ross’s toes, teasing the spaces between each toes, dancing along the lengthy, long chunks with terrifying speed …
Ross’s scream wasn’t even verbal, “—NOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAH!—”, just raw, cracking, full-body hysteria as the gloves alternated speeds, mimicking what no human hand could ever maintain …
Justin giggled with an evil twist to his sneer, using the game controller to send the white gloved hands down Ross’s soles and over his arches, across both heels and back up again to the base of each little toe where they pinched, scribbled, stroked and picked at the delicacy of each toe, sending more pleas, begging and laughter into the darkness of the room as more yellow chips fell around Justin …
“—Okay, OKAY!—” Ross yapped, thrashing once in the slab, hard and tough, “—Fuck—FINE! You’ve made your point, alright!—” his big toes were so stuck within the hoops, his soles unable to move an inch even if they did automatically try to twist and flex, “—Get those goddamn freak hands off my feet, man!—” Ross whimpered, he tried to look at Justin with a sincere look of concern, “—JUSTIN, PLEASE!—”
“One thous, two thousa, three thousa—” T.K’s announcement of how many points Justin and Tom earned at the same time was hard for him to keep up with, “… Five thousand, ten thou—one thousand for total loss of—three thousand for—”
Suddenly …— DING!
The room’s lights flickered, the slabs shook faintly, T.K called from the ceiling:
“BONUS ROUND INITIATED
Double Chip Mode Activated
All Reactions Now Worth Double!”
Tom’s head jerked upward, saliva and some tiny curls of Joshua’s armpit hair caught to his lower lip, “—What?—”
Justin angled the white gloves so that one hit Ross’s left foot and the other hit his right underarm in unison.
“This is where we win …” Justin growled.
The digital clock above the slabs continued to countdown …
04:01 …
04:00 …
03:59 …
Kit and Sebastian had been given a break - not because Tim or Logan were keen to show any mercy, but because Tim and Logan needed a natural moment to physically catch their own breath, their arms aching from reaching up, their fingers throbbing, the determination in their muscles pulsating thanks to Kit and Sebastian refusing to fully let go and shower their ticklers with additional points …
“Double points …” Tim hunched over his knees, “… Did you hear that?”
Logan stepped back for the first time in minutes, his fingertips dripping with heat and effort - he studied Sebastian’s ruined expression; flushed, glazed over, lips wet with exhaustion - but something behind his eyes still burned with resistance, there was still a furious smirk lifting that mouth …
“We’re getting out of here, Chalamet …” Logan sounded sure, “… I can’t believe I’m fucking getting out of here …”
Logan’s blue eyes dropped to his next move: a small, circular plastic button, embedded near the base of Sebastian’s slab, just besides the metal compartment currently locking up Sebastian’s wire tied cock.
The button read: TAP TO POUR
Logan glanced up at the items he had so far ignored, thanks to how much he had thrown himself into this role of someone in charge of being ruthless - he had spent so long on the other side of the chase that simply being dominant had rendered him ignorant …
There they hung, within two robotic claws - two bottles of lotion hanging upside down labelled ‘TICKLE OIL’ …
Logan smiled to himself, “Double the points, double the screams …”
He pressed the button once, then twice, then clickclicklclick! as if he were trying to call an elevator …
Sebastian grunted, “You’re embarrassing yourself …”
With a hiss, each claw tilted and so did both bottles - a thick, glossy stream of cool oil drizzled downward, directly over Sebastian’s bare feet - as soon as the cold of the liquid made impact with the tops of Sebastian’s toes, Sebastian’s size eleven feet automatically shook once in alarm as he lifted his head with a startled huff, his fierce glare aimed directly at Logan as the oil seeped and gathered in the creases of his arches, soaking into the skin between his toes, glistening along the base of each smooth heel …
“You useless fuckhead …” Sebastian croaked, voice low, as he felt the oil coat his feet, their twist and flex keen to escape the drips as he felt the liquid soak him from the ankle down, “… Forget about us, Logan, we’re done! You hear me!—” his feet flexed so hard the drips shook from the tips of his toes, “—You fucking hear me!—”
Logan didn’t respond, he was past ‘being’ the Logan of before - he had changed, he had allowed a submersive wave to wash over him whilst playing this role, he knew he would never be the same again …
This became official when Logan reached out to the hairbrush in Tim’s hold.
Tim acknowledged Logan’s need to explore, to erase his memories as someone who couldn’t survive within this world - suddenly, the person who had survived the longest in this world was the person handing Logan the power …
With Sebastian’s soles now sparkling in a thick layer of ‘tickle oil’, Logan took a step forwards, pink hairbrush in grasp.
“Thanks for nothing, Sebastian.”
With a sudden swipe, Logan dragged the brush firmly across Sebastian’s left sole, slick with oil, the scrub effortless, gliding and strong …
Within the steel frame, Sebastian’s entire torso shook behind the metal, a deep pant bursting from his nostrils as the bristles slid with terrifying ease across his heel, “—Careful, Logan!—”, his voice was filled with warning, “—You’re starting to sound like someone who needs this!—”
Logan carved zig zags with the hairbrush across Sebastian’s left heel whilst using his fingers to scribble over Sebastian’s left arch causing Sebastian to buck and huff, pant and wheeze, twist his oil soaked feet as much as the slab and its restrictions would allow …
“—Fffu—UCK—Logan—you, you—bitch!—Damnit, stop it, st, come, you’re running out of, t, TIME!—””
From the ceiling, yellow chips rained down in a frenzy.
03:01 …
03:00 …
02:59 …
“Begging issued. TEN thousand points to Logan and Tim ...”
Across the room, Tim had been watching, listening, calculating …
Kit, for all his tremors and rapid breathing, had yet to truly break - he had screamed, he had begged, but he hadn’t showcased the true meaning of ‘crumbling before another human’, not like Tim himself had experienced before …
Tim knew that meant one thing:
I haven’t gone far enough …
He closed his eyes and thought about the tightness of rope around his wrists, the arch of his back, the way the stocks slammed shut around his ankles - in a whirlwind of New York memories and Tickle Fest experiences on fast forward, the past flickered behind his eyes in an instant, leading him to know exactly what to do …
He needed to be more than Armie …
He needed to be Miller.
Tim reached for the ball of string and held the end of the string between his fingers - he then slowly began to unravel it, much to Kit’s dismay …
“What’s that even for?—” Kit gawped, almost too naively.
Tim began to thread the string between the toes of Kit’s right foot.
Kit felt nothing at first - he only burrowed his eyebrows and winced, but as the string was dragged between his toes in a sharp yet sensitive slide, Kit’s eyes widened as those eyebrows shot upward, an unapologetic, “—Heh, HELLO!—” leaving his mouth as the string continued with its weave, first between the big and second toe, then the next gap, and the next, “—This, this is sick! YUP! This is totally normal!—” Tim repeated the process, pulling gently, making sure the length of string rested snugly in every crevice, forcing the toes apart just enough …
Kit made a noise in the back of his throat, a catching sound that suggested Kit was on the edge of a cliff …
Tim paused as more yellow chips fell around him in a harmless tumble.
“I want you to know,” he murmured into the floor, “That I’m sorry.”
Tim then began to ‘see-saw’ the string between Kit’s toes, delicately, expertly, the thin-ness of the string dragging between each ticklish digit with ease and soft intrusion …
Kit’s head rattled from behind the steel collar, “I’m alright!—” he whined, his head tilting, his sorry expression angled at Tim desperately, “—I’m alright, I’m fine, that’s fine! …” he coughed and spluttered, his cheeks rosy and red, “—I’M ALRIGHT!—” with his toes unable to move behind the steel bar, they had no choice but to experience the drag of the string, his taut sole and big heel twitching under the shimmer of oil as saliva bubbled at the corner of Kit’s mouth and tears filled his eyes, “—TIM! TIM! SSS, STOP IT! I CAN’T DO THAT! I WON’T DO THAT!—” see saw, see saw, see saw, drag, drag, drag …
Kit’s babbled hysterics came unfiltered, unhinged, wild - his beefy body shook as if on fire, his head twisting so hard his throat rubbed against the collar, his face flushing from the inside out …
“—I—I—CAN’T—HAHA—STOP—IT’S NOT ALRIGHT!—” a single tear rolled down Kit’s left cheek as yellow chips poured like confetti …
“Tears. Fifty thousand points to Timothée and Logan …” T.K announced, “With double chip mode activated, ONE HUNDRED POINTS to Timothée and Logan! …”
The timer continued to countdown above …
01:50 …
Tim didn’t stop,
01:49 …
Neither did Logan,
01:48 … 01:47 … 01:46 …
Sebastian’s feet glistened with oil, flexing and stretching, toes either pointing inward at his torso or outward in a rageful twist, “—You fucking coward!—” Sebastian barked, “—Enjoy this whilst it lasts!—”, his raspy rattles of laughter had transformed into shattered growls of stern tellings off, all directed at the young man scrubbing the pink hairbrush across his sole whilst now choosing to lift his hands away from his other foot and scribble his fingernails into Sebastian’s side, causing Sebastian to leap and thrash within his slab, “—OH! OH HEY! HEY! GRAHAHA! NNAH! GRAHAHAHA! NNYAHH! GRAHAHAHA! LOGAN, DAMNIT!—” Logan grinned as the manic laughter returned in an instant …
As Sebastian hurtled into a violent and alarming rampage of lunacy, Logan saw something within his fierce gaze …
A message, a whisper, that caused Logan’s throat to stiffen.
You’ll pay for this.
01:00 …
00:59 …
00:58 …
The string slithered wet and wild through Kit’s toes as Tim’s eyes narrowed in determined focus …
The white thread was utterly innocent, harmless in a haberdashery store, useful for only one thing … At first glance, anyway …
But in Tim’s hands, it had become a weapon, threaded precisely between Kit’s toes, slick with oil and sweat, the soft, raw skin beneath them scraped again and again with cruel dedication; he had felt this himself before, many times, he knew just how to loop, just where to pull, and now he was entranced in a see-saw motion as if the string were an instrument …
Kit now vibrated in angst, his entire torso rumbling and shaking as he watched the string with unblinking, soaked eyes, his teeth clenched tight as dribble bubbled at the top of his glistening gums - for a second, only his faint tears were providing Tim and Logan points, his strained silence and flared nostrils managed to keep everything in, until Tim slid the string around Kit’s littlest toe …
Laughter exploded out of Kit in short yet savage barks, “—AH! AHAHA! AHAHA! N, ST, STO - Tim! FUCK! Tim, TIM! Please, PLEASE!—”
“Begging or pleading: TEN thousand points to Timothée and Logan …”
Tim said nothing as more yellow plastic chips tumbled around him - he just stared, thick, bushy dark eyebrows furrowed in focus, gently tugging the string back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, the fixation on his littlest toe causing Kit to practically convulse within the metal as a choked, desperate sob-like spew of giggled shouts ripped from his throat, “—TIM I AHA! I CAN’TT-TIM—I—hah!—I CAN’T—I CAN’T—I SWEAR—”, tears started to trickle, thick, hot, involuntary tears, Kit’s face crumpled, and yet he was still laughing—shrieking—like something inside of him had finally split, “—Just stop—PLEASE!—Tim, it’s too much—IT’S TOO MUCH!—I can’t laugh like this anymore!—”
“Begging or pleading: TEN thousand points to Timothée and Logan …”
Above them, the yellow overhead lighting shifted slightly, bathing Kit’s face in a warm, too-intimate glow as if T.K knew what would make Kit not only feel the physical horror of this tickle torment, but the shame of it too …
Tim paused for just a second to look at Kit as more yellow plastic chips fell at his feet.
“Tears. ONE HUNDRED THOUSAND points to Timothée and Logan …” T.K repeated.
“You’re crying …” Tim said coolly.
He leaned in slightly, watching Kit’s soaked face as it trembled with every jagged breath …
“… You’re hor, horrible …” Kit whimpered, “… That was, that was horrible …”
00:40 …
00:39 …
00:38 …
Tim held the string tight, its tension unwavering as it threaded between all five of Kit’s splayed, oil slicked toes; in that moment, he wasn’t Tim anymore, he was Miller, consumed by something other, something feral - he became a creature that didn’t understand restraint, that wielded power without fully comprehending its depth, only its thrill - it was the only way he could justify doing this to someone like Kit, someone so kind, so warm, so undeserving of cruelty …
… But Miller didn’t care, Miller never stopped when he should …
… And now, neither did Tim.
“Come on, kid …” Tim twisted the string around his index finger as he acted like Miller, even adding grain to his own voice “… What’s the matter, you handsome fuck! …”
Kit’s head dropped forward as the strings length tightened into a line between each toe, “—I give!—” he coughed out as he tried to shake his head, “—I give! Tim, please! No more between! I, I give!—” he sniffed, his giggles broken, his mouth wide, eyes fluttering, bloodshot from tears.
Tim began to pull and tug the string once again, a slow, steady see-saw, dragging the string back and forth like it was tuned for sensory violation, not music …
Kit’s jump was only contained thanks to the metal locked around him, otherwise he would’ve pounced on Tim and tore him to shreds, “—TIM!—”, he threw his head forwards instantly, a scream of laughter bursting from his throat so fast it sounded like something from an animal in distress, “—OHHHAAAAAHHAHAAAAA TIM OHAAAHAHAHAHAAAA SSSTOAAAAAHHHP!—-”
“—Come on, kid!” Tim cheered, “You can take it!—”, beneath that alternate personality, something darker stirred, “—It’s just string!—”, just as Logan had stepped into the role of defiance, Tim had assumed the part of a man he didn’t fully understand, only to perform an act he knew all too well …
Another drag of the string, this time faster - the quicker he pulled the louder Kit howled, his foot jerking against the restraints with everything it had left.
00:20 …
00:19 …
00:18 …
Tim’s eyes didn’t move from Kit’s toes, “It’s twisted, right! We can use this or we can use shoe laces or we can use ribbon - the list is endless!—” the string sawed again, nudging Kit closer to oblivion, he was already gone, his laughter frantic, his body wracked, breath gasping, red-faced and dripping, unable to look away from his toes as Tim leaned in closer, his Miller impression sadistic and sincere …
“… This isn’t torment …” he dropped the string and placed both palms on Kit’s soles, his lips pressing against Kit’s chest as he breathed into his wet skin, “… This is a lesson …”
Kit had laughed so hard he could no longer see, his eyes shimmering with pure exhaustion, “… A, a lesson?”
Tim’s fingers spread, pressing into the arch, the heel, the balls of Kit’s feet - for a breath, it almost felt tender …
Until Tim’s fingernails scratched down with purpose.
00:10 …
00:09 …
00:08 …
Kit detonated - his body slammed into the slab like it had been shocked with voltage, a bellowing, high-pitched scream burst from his lungs, raw and involuntary - every single nerve in his body lit up as Tim’s nails went to town on his soles.
“—TIMAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAA TIHAHAHAHAHAHAHAMAAAAHAHAHAHA SSTOOAAAHAHAHAHAHAHA NOAAAAAHAHAHHAA STOAAAAHAHAHAHAHA TIMAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!—”
Tim didn’t hold back, he didn’t pace himself, he scribbled, clawed, scratched with both hands like he was painting chaos as the wires within Kit’s metal box curled tighter around his manhood, “There’s no such thing as ‘too much' …!—”, his nails raked through every crevice of Kit’s arches, down to the heels, over and over and over, “—You’d know, right, Hammer?—”
00:04 …
00:03 …
00:02 … 00:01 …
Kit shrieked, “—JOE!—”, the scream ripped out of him like a thunderclap, “JOE! JOE!—” a deafening beep cut the air as the yellow lights flickered and the overhead ceiling panel dropped a shower of plastic chips.
“Safe word confirmed,” T.K.’s voice rang out, “Ticklee 004 - broken …”
Tim tore his hands away as Kit slumped in the metal slab, heaving, wheezing, broken open by laughter and hysteria, his face a mess of sweat and tears, his body aching with every breath like he'd just run a marathon on shattered legs …
He didn’t say a word.
“The time is up …” T.K confirmed, “… Tickler’s, step to the edge of the room as your points are counted …”
While Kit and Sebastian struggled to catch their breath, Tim and Logan slowly stepped backward, stopping only when their shoulder blades pressed against the cold outer wall of The Room.
Tim hadn’t realised he’d shed his Armie persona until he caught himself looking at Kit with something close to brotherly concern - but Kit, still gasping, met his gaze with nothing but disdain …
Sebastian refused to meet Logan’s eyes - his feet were still slick with oil, his skin shimmering with sweat - the tall, muscular presence he once commanded had been reduced, here and now, to something bound and spent - abody built for nothing but the production of plastic chips …
And then—
The chips began to rattle …
RuuummmbbBBBbbbbbbbBbbbbbllleeee…
In the adjacent room, Tom and Justin, who had been instructed to wait at the edge of their own chamber, glanced downward as a large circular hatch in the floor spiralled open …
RuuummmbbBBBbbbbbbbBbbbbbllleeee…
A blinding white light beamed up with such intensity that Joshua and Ross, still trapped in their slabs, had to squint against it.
RuuummmbbBBBbbbbbbbBbbbbbllleeee…
Their plastic yellow chips, dozens upon dozens, tumbled downward into the hole, swallowed by the blinding light below where they disappeared into a bottomless shaft filled with steam and pulsing, flickering lights …
The same thing happened in Tim and Logan’s room - their chips, hard-earned and many, skittered across the floor before vanishing one by one into the glow …
… Until none remained.
The hole sealed shut. The floor became solid again. As if nothing had happened at all …
Huff… huff… huff…
Logan turned to Tim as the silence thickened around them.
“Did we win?” He asked quietly, “Not just this… Everything? Do we go home?”
Tim tried to swallow, but his throat was too dry, his Adam’s apple bobbing in silence.
“Contestants …” T.K informed, “… Please use these keys to open your ticklee’s intimacy contrapment …”
Two keys fell from the same compartment in the ceiling that the dozens of plastic chips had fallen from earlier …
They landed in the middle of the room as Tim, Logan, Kit and Sebastian’s eyes became fixed to them.
Carefully, Logan and Tim picked up their keys from the floor.
“Whoever has ejaculated leaves Game Eight completely, only to enjoy a five star meal and endless alcohol in luxury living quarters ‘The Relaxation Hub’, located on the fifth floor of The Mansion …”
Logan clicked his key into Sebastian’s box whilst Tim did the same to Kits.
In the other room, Tom and Justin had also been given keys for Joshua and Ross’s boxes.
Justin was the first to slide his key into Ross’s metal box - he pressed his lips together as he twisted it to the right, the emoji covered lid flapping forwards in a casual open, revealing Ross’s manhood entwined by vibrating wires …
Justin covered his mouth with his fist and contained an excited chuckle.
Ross looked away, up to the darkness of the ceiling as his toes curled in shame, “Don’t …”
Ross’s cock was semi erect; it sat there, thick and squashed within the thin-ness of the wires, not fully erect but by no means limp.
Tom peered down at Joshua’s cock as the lid to his box fell open.
“Oh, mate …”
Joshua was fully erect; the wires struggled to contain his length and shape, his girth twitching with such strength that a droplet of pre cum had developed at the tip of his arousal.
“It was the tongue!—” Joshua cried, “In the armpits!—”
Meanwhile, Kit and Sebastian’s flaps fell open in the other room.
Logan raised his eyebrows, “I’m uh, not surprised … Mr. Basic …”
Sebastian was not hard at all, his flaccid chunk of a dick sat tangled up by wires and completely unresponsive to the touch he had endured, “—You think this shit turns me on?—”
Tim clenched his teeth at the sight of Kit’s manhood.
Kit blinked quickly, his face now red not because of the string between the toes, but because his erection had formed into a semi-hard throb.
“I’m uh, a big fan of yours,” Kit admitted, “Or at least …” he looked away, frustrated, “… I was …”
Both rooms fell silent as those who could stand stood, and those who were trapped remained within their slabs.
T.K.’s voice returned, deep and omnipresent from above …
“Now, contestants…” he announced, a long pause causing all ticklers and ticklees to glace upward in waiting, “… It is time for Round Two … ”
…
“… Please swap places … ”
BEEEEEEEEP!
