Kit and Sebastian - naked and recovered from their time within the slabs - stepped into The Room.
“Reaction point rules resume,” T.K. announced, “No more double points … For now …”
Directly opposite them, suspended just as Kit and Sebastian had been minutes earlier, hung Timothée and Logan - both were fixed into the same steel slabs; torsos framed by cold metal, feet poking out from the wall like puppets waiting to dance …
But Tim’s predicament differed from Logan’s, and Logan’s from Tim’s - above Timothée’s curls, two locked compartments were built into the wall - unlike Logan, his feet remained shielded by the footwear he'd retrieved from his case …
“Ticklers,” T.K. continued, “You have fifteen minutes to break your ticklees. You must use the tools on the tray, as well as those found in your personal cases …”
Tim and Logan’s cocks had been sealed inside a familiar metal box, embossed once again with a mocking aubergine emoji - just like before, it was wired for control, its performance likely to be measured and revealed at the end …
“… Points are earned by reactions. Create enough, and the chips will fall. Chips will be collected once the countdown is complete!”
Logan’s right foot had been fully stripped, his size ten-and-a-half sole stretched and exposed, held taut by a steel cuff clamped around his left big toe - his right foot, still socked, wiggled with increasing apprehension as Kit and Sebastian advanced, hungry for victory.
“Your time starts now …”
Above Logan’s head, another locked compartment waited.
“This is where I teach you a lesson …” Sebastian muttered darkly, opening his palm to reveal the slender metal key he’d found earlier - one he had nearly dismissed, until now …
Kit mirrored him - in the centre of his pale, soft palm rested an identical key …
He lifted his head and locked eyes with Tim, but the words he spoke - low, eager, charged - were aimed at Sebastian.
“I’m taking Chalamet …” Kit’s announcement was not followed by a grin, but instead a tightly lipped knowledge of something he did not only want to do, but he had to do …
Sebastian took his first step toward Logan, a sly smirk on his face.
“Our choices are a no-brainer, redhead …”
14:59 …
14:58 …
14:57 …
Kit tapped both of his index fingers against the rubber soles of Timothée’s trainers.
“You know I could just take these off, right?” He sniffed, his eyes now dry from earlier tears.
Tim’s toes pointed forward inside his footwear, a subtle squeak confirming the sweat-soaked friction between sock and sole.
“There’s a reason they call you a golden retriever, Kit,” Tim smirked, tossing Kit’s taunt back with a playful jab, “You don’t scare me …”
Kit bit the inside of his lip, then glanced at the key held between his index finger and thumb.
Tim’s smirk faltered, just slightly, as Kit’s eyes then drifted toward the ball of string resting on the metal tray …
“The way you used this on me earlier…” Kit kept the key in one hand and picked up the string with the other, “It’s like you knew how tough it would be. Like you’d been there before …” he tossed the ball lightly into the air and caught it again, almost absentmindedly, “I don’t know your past. Haven’t had the chance to talk to you about it. It’s a shame, I always got the impression we’d get along,” he tossed the ball of string again, catching it effortlessly, “After what you did to me earlier, I’m not even sure I want to anymore …”
Tim glanced at the timer above, then shot Kit a slow, deliberate scowl.
“… Clock’s tickin’, Kit …”
Kit chuckled into his fist, “This doesn’t phase you at all, does it?”
Tim decided to press his lips into a flat line.
Kit knew he had options; he could strip Tim’s shoes like the perverts watching probably expected, use the string, saw it back and forth between Tim’s toes, let the reaction chips rain down, “Been there, done that, got the t-shirt …”
Or he could do the unexpected …
Kit placed the string back on the tray and rose onto his tiptoes.
Tim’s green eyes tracked him warily as Kit slid the key into the twin compartments above his head - click! -, the steel doors creaked open and Kit peered inside.
“…Oh,” he admired, “This is different …”
Tim held his breath - whatever it was, he told himself he could handle it - hypnosis was out of the game, he could stay grounded, he’d been through it all: hairbrushes, toe ties, blindfolds, feathers, baby oil, ball gags, electric toothbrushes, even sex toys - thanks to his erotic experiences with Armie and his expert training with Maxwell, nothing could throw him now …
Nothing, until Kit dropped back to the ground, his fingers gleaming with sharp, metallic claws …
Tim could barely blink as he took in the sight of the claws.
“What’s wrong, Tim?” Kit wiggled his fingers, the steel glinting in the spotlight, “You look a little … Nervous.”
Tim’s mind immediately flashed back to a Saturday in France, with Maxwell and his ‘gloves’ - gloves that were teal in colour, with sharp, metallic talons attached to the end …
A training session to win, turned wild …
Maxwell obliterated Timothée’s left sole with the talons, scratching and tickling his arch, pad and the base of all five toes with a constant wiggle of the claws, their scrape gliding effortlessly over soft flesh, the top half of his face now covered with a blindfold, “—Stop! Please! Do the other foot!—” Tim whined out his plea in a desperate, agonising growl, his heavy laughter consuming his throat and chest for the best part of ten minutes, “—Gahahaha! Mnn! Ahahahah! I, I can’t take it, sss, stop! Ahahahaha, mnn, mnn ahahahahaha! Fuckshitplease, stop, ahahahahahaha! Ahahahahaha!—”
Once more, the lingering anxiety that the cult knew of his secret meetings with Miller’s brother Maxwell, the leader of the opposite cult The House of Horned Devils, hung over Tim’s shoulders like a heavy weight …
Why else would they place such violatingly intense tools within this slab? Was it a hint, a way to mock him - Tim wasn’t even sure if Maxwell had something to do with this himself …
Who he could trust and when had no choice but to be buried deep for now; all he knew was that out of all the tools he had ever experienced, he could only just about take the claws, knowledge enough that led him to say—
“—Fuck …” Tim muttered, ‘struggling’ to keep his voice steady, “How about you just use the string, huh? …”, riskily, he had to portray a form of weakness - to inform Kit that the claws did not intimidate him as much as they may have done when he first ever saw them would only nudge Kit to question such confidence - for now, Tim had to play this game in a way unlike any other contestant, “Those things look fucking evil, man…” at this point, he was more or less acting out lines …
Before Kit could respond, T.K.’s voice sliced into the room, issuing the confirmation Tim needed …
“According to my database, Ticklee 002 has only endured ‘the claws’ with Tickler Armie Hammer in April of 2020. Meaning, the impact of the tools Kit wears on top of each fingertip should feel newly raw. Isn’t that right, Ticklee 002?”
Tim’s eyes flickered up into the spotlight, “Yup,” he said firmly, “It’s uh, it’s gonna suck …” they were entirely unaware, eating out of his palm, he was convinced - until he could hear Maxwell’s gravelly tones talking sense within his head …
Don’t let them trick you, Tim.
That database is state of the art. If they knew of our meetings, they wouldn’t just make it clear, would they?
“How about we shake things up?”, T.K decided.
Tim’s tongue trailed over the tips of his top row of teeth, “Uh oh …” he felt himself act then, so, he followed it up with a serious growl, “—What do you mean?—”
Play it cool, Tim …
“Mr. Connor, the claws at your fingertips may be used on only one of two areas on Ticklee 002’s body …” T.K. intoned as Kit looked up, “… His feet … Or his armpits …”
Tim felt his throat tighten.
They always did love a twist.
He glanced down, his feet wedged uncomfortably near his face, still concealed in thick white socks and sports trainers - his most ticklish area? The tip and overall length of his index toe, still safely hidden, untouched, unharmed …
Then he looked at his chest: lean, defined, nipples taut under pressure - but his underarms … Those were his true vulnerability - they were stretched open, hairy, deep, a field of nerves waiting to ignite, and, most importantly of all, never touched by claws …
Tim spoke aloud, blunt and unfiltered, “… I’m between a rock and a hard place, man …”
That’s the most truthful thing you’ve said all day …
T.K. added a faux-cheerful note, “You could say that. Let me clarify: if Ticklee 002 chooses to keep his footwear on, he’ll lose one hundred thousand points … Kit will then target Ticklee 002’s armpits …”
Tim’s brows furrowed, “Yo, that’s supposed to be the good option?”
T.K. continued without skipping a beat, “Alternatively, Ticklee 002 can choose to surrender his footwear and socks. His feet will become the designated target, but he’ll keep his hundred thousand points …”
Silence fell.
The spotlight glinted off Kit’s clawed hands as he stepped forward.
“Well?” he said, voice low and gleeful, “What’s it gonna be, Chalamet?”
Sebastian stood just inches from Logan’s face.
“You’re fucked, brother,” he said calmly.
Logan’s right foot twitched inside its metal frame, the cuff around his big toe cinched tight, “I uh, I think it’s safe to say I probably wouldn’t have done the things I did earlier if I’d known I’d end up like this, al, alright?” His words tumbled out fast, urgent, “I want to let you know that I apologise, truly. Is there anything I can do to make it right? Sss, Sebastian ... There has to be something I can do to make itmphh!—”
Sebastian pressed a hand firmly over Logan’s mouth.
With his other hand, he reached up to the wall’s compartment and slid in his key.
Click.
“Shut it, loser…” Sebastian snarled.
The compartment popped open with a mechanical hiss - even with his mouth smothered, Logan babbled behind Sebastian’s palm, desperate, his words pounding against the skin like a wet drum.
“Mnn mpph mnn? Mnn! Mnnph, mnn, mnn? Mmnnphh!—”
Sebastian slowly removed his hand from Logan’s mouth and, from the compartment, he drew a simple ballpoint pen.
“…IjustgotcarriedawaywiththepowerIwasn’tthinkingstraightIreallyamsorrymanmaybewecouldgrabadrinkafterthis—”
Sebastian raised the pen and aimed it squarely at Logan’s chin.
“I said shut it, loser …” he growled, jaw tight.
Logan snapped his mouth shut, nodded once and went cross-eyed as he stared down the trembling tip of the pen.
Sebastian let his gaze drop to the words scrawled across Logan’s slab:
‘Time to write a masterpiece across your weakness.’
Sebastian arched an eyebrow.
“… You don’t mind if I do, huh, Logan?”
Logan’s eyes tracked the pen as Sebastian lowered it toward his right foot.
“Y-you know, I’ve got faith,” Logan blurted. “I, I, I actually don’t think that’ll tickle, I mean, it’ll feel weird, shh, sure, but I honestly believe—”
—Sebastian pressed the pen against Logan’s bare heel.
Logan’s body jolted, his face flushed a bright pink, his eyelashes fluttered, lips sealed tight in restraint …
“Let’s play a little game of our own, Logan,” Sebastian said smoothly, as he began to draw a small letter across the softness of Logan’s heel, “Guess what I’m writing, and I’ll take this somewhere else.”
Logan’s foot flexed, toes splaying helplessly - but the toe cuff held him nearly immobile, the pen’s scratch sending immediate tremors up his spine.
“O, okay, shh, sure, whatever you want!” He gasped, slipping into full compliance mode, desperate to appease, “That—that’s a P? Or—or a Q? Uh, oh … Oh …”
His four uncuffed toes clenched hard as Sebastian scribbled confidently, then paused to let him guess.
“One word,” Sebastian reminded, eyes twinkling, “Come on, pretty boy…”
Logan winced, “…Okay, uh, is it ‘bitch’ …?”
Sebastian smiled.
“…Wrong.”
He resumed writing, this time beside the first word, and, as he did, his other hand drifted to Logan’s socked foot, fingernails grazing the cotton with wicked infliction.
Logan jerked in place, and without meaning to, a rhythm of giggles tumbled out of his mouth.
“Uh, uhha, ahaha—oh, mn—hey, okay, ooooooooooookay, haha—alright—haha, ah—ehh—uhm—no, no, stop, wait!—”, his head thrashed from side to side, torn between the slow torture of the pen against his bare heel and the teasing scrapes on his socked foot, “—HEY! N, not both at the—at the same time!—” he wheezed.
Above, a whirr, a compartment in the ceiling opened, a dozen plastic chips clattered to the ground …
“Simple giggle,” T.K. announced, “One thousand points to Sebastian and Kit …”
Logan whimpered as Sebastian kept up the dual assault, ink across heel, nails across sock, “I—fuck—I don’t know! Are you writing my name?” Sebastian continued the scribbles, calm and patient, “Uh—uhm—ah, ahaha, uh—oh—ff—I—uh—wait, hold on—please—”
“Begging or pleading,” T.K. announced cheerfully, “Five thousand points to Logan and Kit …”
More chips rained down …
Sebastian never broke rhythm, he kept writing the same word, over and over, inching closer toward Logan’s arch - the plumper, moister part of his sole …
As soon as the pen hit that spot, “NO! Seba—HASTIAN!—”, Logan exploded, his body thrusting forward, neck caught harshly by the metal collar, “DON’T! Okay! I—I get it—I GET IT!—”
The nib scratched on, Sebastian’s sneer widened, the ink held strong …
“Stop—STOP! That—that tickles, man! Alright! Give me—give me a ch-HANCE to th-INK!—”
Sebastian leaned in, voice dripping with condescension.
“Of course it tickles, you dumbass …” half of Logan’s sole was now covered in ink, “What did you think they were gonna make us do—bake a fucking cake?”
Then, casually, Sebastian started tugging at the edge of Logan’s sock with his fingers - the fabric peeled up, Logan’s whine turned feral.
“NO—NO! Keep that on! I, I need that—”
But the greater issue was still the pen, still scribbling …
When the sock slipped halfway off, Sebastian paused - he held the pen to his lips and sniffed - the nutty scent of Logan’s sweat clung to the nib, “What’s the word, Logan?” He asked.
Logan spat his response: “Okay, I, I fucking hate to say this—but can you write bigger? I can’t make out the letters!” He looked upward, yelling into the ceiling, “Hey, robo … tickle thing—does the ink wash off!—”
Sebastian shook his head and picked up the electric toothbrush from the tray, “You’re pathetic,” he muttered - he switched the electric toothbrush on, its vibration buzzing within his grasp …
Click! Bzzzzzz.
Logan gawped, “Wait—wait—is that to rub the ink off? Clever! I see what you’re doing—it’ll tickle while you—” he stopped speaking as Sebastian slid the buzzing toothbrush beneath the half-peeled sock, positioning the bristles flush against Logan’s arch, “WAIT—NO!—”, his scream arrived like a thunderclap, “SE—SEBAHA! AHAHA—STIAN! SEBASTIAN! AHAHAHA—AHAASTIAN!—”, his jaw dropped open, his eyes bulged, his voice cracked, “—SEHEH—SAHAHA—SAHABASTIAN! AHAHA! AHAHAHA! SEBAS—SEBASS—SS—SSSS!—”
Sebastian calmly pulled the rest of the sock back over the heel, trapping the toothbrush inside, its plastic body vibrated furiously, buzzing into the bare skin - then, without pause, he picked up the pen again and turned to Logan’s other foot …
As more chips clattered to the floor in reward, Sebastian smirked and muttered:
“Now … Let’s try again.”
13:42 …
13:41 …
13:40 …
Your feet are another level of ticklish, Tim.
Your torso is also a weakness, but there’s no index toe protruding from your belly button.
Ew, sorry about that. Gross visual.
Hey, you got any whiskey inside your head? I’m thirsty …
“Keep the shoes on,” Tim decided firmly.
Kit felt a pang of disappointment, “See, that tells me that your feet are so ticklish that you’re happy to lose points, just so I don’t touch them …”
Tim shrugged within his slab, “Maybe so, but that’s the decision I’m goin’ for, man …”
“Decision officialised,” T.K announced, “Ticklee 002’s footwear remains in place. Kit can now explore anywhere else …”
As soon as T.K said ‘anywhere else’, Tim felt his manhood greet the air as the metal compartment containing his cock unlocked automatically, the lid dropping open.
With his feet beside his head and his legs spread, Tim’s most intimate areas were on full display; the wires curled around a flaccid chunk of hairless girth, his balls hung over the smoothness of his taint - he gulped, just once, but before he could slip up and reveal any embarrassment, Maxwell’s voice echoed through his mind …
Long gone are the days where Armie would shackle you to his bed and run a feather down your back …
Tim’s face creased in the middle as he remained quiet for now whilst Kit shaped his mouth into an ‘o’ and admired Tim’s now exposed intimacy.
“I think T.K’s trying to tell me something, don’t you?” Just when Tim thought Kit might drop the claws and instead explore this unpredictably displayed exposition, Kit took a step forwards and instead declared something Tim did not expect him too: “I want tears,” he declared, as he lifted his hands and moved his clawed fingertips towards each of Tim’s furry, deep armpits, “You threw me in the deep end, and that’s where I intend to stay …” he informed.
Your voice is your only weapon, Chalamet.
Tim glared at Kit in a playful sneer, “You gonna let Sebastian earn all the points for you?” Tim teased, as more yellow chips fell around Sebastian’s feet.
Kit tilted his head and contained all of his bubbling rage beneath the paleness of his skin, skin that almost flushed red.
“I gotta say, Chalamet,” Kit extended each index finger, the sharpness of the claws attached to each finger edging closer to each of Tim’s underarms, “You’re sexy when your cocky …”
He then began to draw circles into Tim’s armpit hair, slowly, gradually, toyingly …
Tim closed his eyes in slow, deliberate surrender, a grin curling across his lips as he tilted his head back - his expression radiated a raw, involuntary pleasure, the kind of blissful release that flickers across a face when warm lips meet the aching tip of desire.
I’ve pushed you way harder than this.
So has Hammer.
Like my old friend always used to say:
‘Lean into it’ …
And then, came torment.
13:12 …
13:11 …
13:10 …
Five minutes in, and the second room was already drowning in noise.
To the left, Tom was shrieking at the top of his lungs - an unrelenting stream of breathless cackles catapulted from his mouth as his body bucked wildly within the slab …
The genius of creating such a sound? Joshua was barely touching him, simply tracing a slow, faint circle with one finger at the top of his stomach …
“You’re giving me so much, Tom!” Joshua laughed, eyes wide with delight as a shower of yellow chips fell at his feet, Tom’s high pitched cackling echoing around the chamber, “I’m gonna have to thank you later!”
“Continuous laughter…” came T.K.’s voice from above, cool and clinical, “… Three thousand points to Joshua and Ross …”
To the right, Ross had his hands on Justin, who was slumped in his slab - his hairy armpits stretched open and exposed, his tattooed torso gleaming with sweat, his plump chest heaving like a boxer between rounds …
Ross had used the pink tape from his givings rather creatively; a thick strip gagged Justin’s mouth, two large X’s had been slapped over each nipple and both of Justin’s big toes had been taped back to the slab, flexing his soles into a perfect, vulnerable arch - his rabid insults, once constant, were now nothing but muffled rage and his feet had become paralysed targets leaving Ross to do only as he pleased …
Ross crouched low, both hands working in perfect sync - his fingernails, short, well-kept, deceptively sharp, scribbled tight, precise circles into both of Justin’s buttery-soft heels - there was no randomness to the technique, no sloppiness - it was focused, rhythmic, calculated, as if Ross were back on stage, playing his guitar for a sold-out Driver Era set - only this time, his instrument was Justin’s sensitivity …
Justin’s muffled shrieks were more than animalistic - they were demonic …
“—GRRRMNNNNPPPHH! GRRNN GRRRRMPHHH MNNNPHHH MNNPHHH MNNNPHHH!—”
His fury was volcanic, his eyes locked onto Ross with a blistering, helpless glare - the tape gag fluttered with every breathless curse that couldn’t quite escape …
Ross looked up, beaming like he’d just run into an old friend, “… ‘Scratch for screams’ and an arrow pointing to your heels, man!” He grinned, “It says so on the wall!” He defended himself whilst digging in harder, his thumbnails raking up the sides of each heel in mirrored movements, “I’m not even sorry. You were a prick when I was in that slab. Now who’s the pussy, huh?” Ross tilted his head, eyes glowing with satisfaction, “Those tiny hands. That paddle—oh, you were a mean sonovabitch!—”, he gave Justin a pause, just enough to gasp, and then he went in faster …
Justin’s body lurched, his chest and stomach surging forward in a desperately possessed stretch, “—GRRRMNNNNPPPHH! GRRNN! GRRRRMPHHH! MNNNPHHH! NUUU, NUUU! MNNNPHHH!—”, he was losing it, his jaw clenched so tight it looked ready to snap, yet, on the other side of the steel slab, Ross was radiant …
“You thought you were gonna win this whole thing, didn’t you? The little guy with the big bark,” Ross teased, leaning in so close that Justin could feel his breath on the soles of his feet, “But right now?… I own you, Justin. I own every inch, every scream, every chip that falls from that ceiling,” Ross didn’t ease up, if anything, he intensified - his fingers now had a home, a residency on Justin’s heels - never lifting, never relenting …
Justin’s screams thumped against the gag, his taped feet thrashing as much as they could, which wasn’t much at all, “—GRRRMNNNNPPPHH! GRRNN! GRRRRMPHHH! MNNNPHHH! NUUU, NUUU! MNNNPHHH!—”, there was no escape, only pure, blistering sensation and the slow, rotting realisation that Ross was enjoying every damn second of it, “—GRRRMNNNNPPPHH! GRRNN, NUUUUMPH! NNUUU! GRRRRMPHHH MNNNPHHH MNNPHHH!—”
“Damn, they’re so right,” Ross whispered, voice low, intimate, “Your heels are a real weakspot!—”, he leaned up slightly, then paused, eyes narrowing, “—Wait, is that a tear? …”
Just like in Game Seven, Justin couldn’t stop it - a single drop slid from his right eye, rolling down his cheek, across the edge of the gag, “—Imphh fromphh ennhaaugghh!—” Justin snarled behind the tape.
‘It’s from exhaustion’ - he needed Ross to know that, he needed everyone to know that - the tear wasn’t caused by the tickling - it couldn’t be!
“…Tears,” T.K. declared, clinical and polite, “Fifty thousand points to Ross and Joshua …”
Ross stood, calmly brushed his palms on his thighs like he’d just repotted a plant, and smirked.
“Sure, Bieber. Whatever you say.”
He glanced at the screen mounted beneath Justin’s feet, “Now… Back to this helpful little guide …”
Justin wheezed, panting behind the tape, stretching his neck upward against the collar to glare down at Ross.
Ross read the digital information aloud, grinning, “Pussy spots: heels—check. Nipples? Ew, sorry, no, that’s why I had to tape them up, nipples kinda freak me out. Armpits, duh! Obviously. Hmm ... But they do kinda stink …”
Justin bared his teeth behind the gag, nostrils flaring, “—Gruhh nuuu fuhhgh mnnpphhh uhhh mnnn nuuphh!—”
Ross stared up at him, smile tightening, “… Arches,” without warning, all ten fingernails dug into the stretched curves of Justin’s arches - the scream that tore through the gag was fuelled by violation, “That’s it,” Ross whispered, “That’s the spot!—”, he didn’t tease now, he dug, thumbs pressed, fingers scribbling, the revenge Ross had waited for was now alive, fully bloomed - everything Justin had put him through in Round One was being fed back twice as hard …
Justin's body shook non stop within the frame - he couldn’t form a word, he just seethed as if ready to shoot away from this planet of tickle terror …
“Continuous laughter, three thousand po— begging or pleading, five thousand points …” T.K.’s voice was almost background noise as more chips scattered across the floor around Ross’s feet …
Ross stood up, beaming, “Aww, you’re doing so well,” he piked up the paddle from the tray, eyeing it with intent, “But this one’s gonna hurt a little more…”
Just like Justin had done to him, Ross thwacked the paddle across Justin’s left sole.
SMACK!
Justin jolted forward in the slab, eyes wide open - he didn’t blink, didn’t scream - instead, he simply stared, rage boiling under his sweat stained skin - his glare said it all: Do that again, and I will kill you.
Ross did not only see it, he felt it - the look was so powerful it was enough for Ross to instantly put the paddle back on the tray - after all, he and everyone else had seen Justin like this before, after Game Seven, after those punches, after Logan …
“As playful as I am,” Ross admitted, “I’m not stupid …” he laughed nervously, stepping back, “Kay, to save my face, I’ll go for the armpits …”
Justin's scowl sharpened - a perfect storm of rage and horror, “—Mnn, MNNMPH, mnn!—”, if looks could kill, Ross would be ash.
Ross slid both hands up, slow and theatrical, like a magician revealing the final trick, “Please don’t beat me up for this … please don’t beat me up for this …” his palms hovered just beneath Justin’s taped-over nipples, fingers poised above each exposed hollow, “It’s just a game, alright? We’ve all gotta play …” and then he dug down hard, ten fingers driving into the slick, hairy, cavernous pits, scratching in deep, relentless waves.
More tears trickled from Justin’s eyes as he expelled a explosive barrage of uncontrollable cackles against the tape smeared over his mouth, “—GRRRMNNNNPPPHH! GRRNN UHUHUGHAGHAAGHHH!—”, his head thrashed, hips fucking the metal, the slab groaning with every panicked writhe, “—GRRRMNNNNPPPHH! GRRNN UHUHUGHAGHAAGHHH!—
His hands didn’t stop: left pit, right pit, both pits, back again …
Justin’s muffled shrieks cracked at the edges, “—NUU, NUUU! PLEUGHHH! ROAAAAH! ROAAAAAH! ROAAAAAAH!—” was he calling Ross’s name?
“Verbal breakdown,” T.K declared, “Ten thousand points … It would seem Ticklee 003 no longer has any reservation for pride …”
Another cascade of chips rained around Ross, but he didn’t look away.
“I think there’s a saying for this kind of shit, Justin…” he grinned, his fingers sliding away from Justin’s underarms, his fingertips wet with perspiration as he eyed the pink blindfold with ‘pussy’ stitched on the front …
“… Oh yeah,” he picked the blindfold up, “Payback’s a bitch.”
11:26 …
11:25 …
11:24 …
Over at the other slab, Tom had automatically and unintentionally provided Joshua with a heap of plastic chips, mostly due to—
“—Continuous laughter, three thousand p—continuous laughter, three thousand p—continuous laughter, three thousand p—continuous laughter, three thousand p—” T.K could not keep up …
Joshua stood away from the top of Tom’s stomach for three reasons; one, because he was kind and wanted Tom to catch his breath, two, because he had started to get annoyed by how many chips were falling on his head and shoulders, and three … He had to admire him.
“You’re Tom Friggin’ Holland,” Joshua breathed, a wicked grin curling at the corners of his mouth; Spider-Man himself, squirming, locked, stripped of all that fame and polish, hunted by The House, obsessively adored by millions, and now? Now he was displayed out in front of Joshua like a work of art; real, made of flesh, his levels of sensitivity … pfft, Joshua thought, the word ‘ticklish’ doesn’t cover it …
“Th, that’s me, mate …” Tom wheezed.
Tom’s feet, in particular, deserved to be observed; unlike everyone else, Tom’s legs hadn’t been yanked backwards and locked beside his head, instead, they were stretched forward, presented like an offering - each foot had been angled inward slightly, thanks to the thick steel bar connecting both big toes - the bar kept his size elevens locked in place, just a few inches apart, twisted slightly like a ballet position frozen in iron - all ten soft, smooth toes were curled into an exceptionally tight scrunch, as per usual ...
“You might have the prettiest feet I’ve ever seen,” Joshua said, now more or less fan-girling, “Honestly? I kinda get why they go so crazy for you.”
He crouched, slowly, the index finger of his right hand outstretched.
Tom’s toes scrunched harder, “This is between me and you but er …” they were on high alert, “… I actually don’t like getting my toes out …”
Joshua didn’t even tickle, he just hovered, “I noticed,” and then - a tap - a single, feather-light scratch across Tom’s Spider-Man tattoo, “But I gotta tell you, they look right at home to me …”
Tom looked a Joshua with a mixture of anguish and glee, his eyebrows lifting high, his eyes bulging, his teeth clenching into what looked like a grin but it could also be a sneer, “Ma, mahate, don’t be cheeky,” he couldn’t hold it in a second longer, he began to giggle, his toes still clenched, his foot doing all it could to twitch away from the faintest, most infuriating scribble that didn’t seem to end …
“Simple giggle,” T.K observed, “One thousand points to Joshua and Ross …”
More chips fell from the ceiling and scattered across the floor, “It’s wild!” Joshua blinked, “Like, it’s SO easy! You’re doomed, man …” he lifted his finger away from Tom’s Spider-Man tattoo and looked up at the nearest camera, “… The people watching this are in for a real treat,” his voice sounded like it had never said words like this before, “You used your mouth on me, Tom. How about I use my mouth on you …”
Tom’s raised eyebrows dropped into a flat frown, “You even think about putting your tongue in my armpits and you and I are having words after, mate …” he croaked.
Joshua snatched hold of Tom’s left foot, “Who said anything about licking?—”
He leaned in to the lower half of Tom’s creamy soft sole as the toes of Tom’s left foot clenched so tightly the tips burned white, “—Hang on, mate—”, and then Joshua bit …
“Oooh, if only I had teeth!—” T.K purred as he watched from above, ”… I can use my pincer instead, if you let me join in? Not that I’m uh, desperate to, or, or anything …”
It was just a gentle nip at first - Joshua’s teeth only grazing across the surface of Tom’s heel, a slow drag from the outer curve toward the centre, but as always there was no such thing as ‘it was just’ or ‘it was only’ when it came to Tom, “—You bloody stay right where you are, T.K!—”, a simple nip was more than enough for Tom to arch his back violently, his spine snapping upward from the slab like it had been electrocuted - a ragged gasp tore from his throat - half-laugh, half-shout, all panic …”—AHHA!—”
Joshua peered up at Tom for just a second as both of Tom’s feet did their best to thrust aside, but the steel bar held both big toes in place, the rest of his toes still curled into a hard scrunch, desperate to shield his sensitivity …
“He calls you Mr. Tasty Toes for a reason, right?” Joshua teased, smirking smugly as he bit again, firmer this time - his front teeth closing softly around the skin of Tom’s left arch, just enough pressure to activate, well, everything …
Tom imploded, “—OI!—”, there was no rhythm to his movements now, “—OI! GET OFF!—”, just wild, instinctive jerks, “—N, no biting!—” his thighs tensed, his armpits throbbed, his head shook in fast, breathless denial, “—Sssstop biting my feet!—” he whined.
”… Begging or pleading, five thousand points to Joshua and Ross …”
Joshua’s teeth shifted forward, grazing along the inside edge of the arch, then biting into the softness just below the ball of Tom’s foot, “Mmmn, mmnnn …” he never broke skin, but he intended it to be sharp, targeted and awfully ticklish, his intentions proven successful as soon as Tom let out a loud and high pitched scream—
“—AAAAAAH! BAHA! BASSETT!—”
Tom’s body thrashed inside the slab, arms yanking, feet flexing less than half an inch each side, chest heaving lifting - it was like every joint in his body was trying to escape at once, “—OI!—” he called, “—OI?—” he watched Joshua get closer to a place that, in Tom’s mind, should never be touched let alone bit … “—Don’t you bloody dare, mate!—”
Joshua took Tom’s left big toe between his lips, and nibbled …
Tom’s muscular torso twisted like a wave had crashed through him, “—NOAHA! NOAHA! BAHA! BASSETT!—”, his laughter exploded in ragged bursts, no time for air, “—NAHAHA! NAHAHA! MAHA, MAHAATE!—” it wasn’t cute, it was frantic, gut-deep, throat-raw hysteria that made his eyes roll back for a second, “—OH, OH we’re SO having WORDS after ma, maha, mahaha MATE!—”
Joshua’s teeth scraped gently along the underside of the toe, tongue stabilizing it like he was tasting fruit, then he nipped at the tip, causing Tom to shriek like a girl, his voice tearing with determined effort.
“—AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH? OI, BAHAHA! BASSETT!—” Tom’s back arched with such strength that his torso flexed away from the steel framing his upper body, as Joshua shifted to the other foot, “—MATE, STOP! PLEASE!—”
“Begging or pleading,” T.K sounded jealous, “Five thousand points … Joshua, are you sure you don’t want me to help?”
This time Joshua used his incisors, pressing into the base of Tom’s right big toe and pulling, dragging pressure upward before letting go with a wet snap.
Tom’s body folded, “—WHAHA! WHAT ARE YOU! You’re m, meant to be NICE ONE!—”, his core lifted, his ribs on full display beneath sweaty flesh, his eyes clamped shut, a singular tear now tracking down his left cheek, “—You aint nice, mate!—” then wild, broken laughter like his nervous system had stopped checking in with his brain, “—Aghahaha! Aghahahahaha! BAHAHAHA AHAHAHAAAAASSSETT!—”
“Tears, fifty thousand points to Joshua and Ross …”
Joshua didn’t stop, he switched from biting to scraping, “Mnn, mmmm …” dragging his teeth across the soft skin of the big toe in long, zigzag patterns, “Having a tough time, Mr. Tasty Toes?—”, not deep, just firm enough to stir every screaming nerve fiber like guitar strings beneath enamel.
Tom’s laughter hit another pitch, “—Mahah, ahahate, MATE, mate, enough with that, en, ENOUGH!—”, it sounded thin, breathless, like he was coming apart, “—You’re asking for a smack!—” if he could bitch slap Joshua’s face with his feet, he would …
“Verbal breakdown, ten thousand points to Joshua and Ross …”
Joshua pulled his face away from Tom’s big toe and wiped the back of his hand across his jaw.
“Holy cow,” Joshua drooled, “Your feet taste like strawberries …”
Dozens of yellow plastic chips fell around Joshua as Justin continued to scream through his gag, now blindfolded, at the slab just a few metres across The Room …
Tom puffed, he panted, he peeled his eyes away from the horror taking place at his big toe only two seconds ago and then, surprisingly, he chuckled at Joshua in a mixture of genuine awe and startlement.
“You’re a little wanker!” He spat playfully.
Joshua could not help but grin as he picked up from the floor one of the items he was given in his case; a tiny metal key that seemed to fit into both of the locked compartments either side of Tom’s head.
Joshua put on a cockney London accent, mimicking Tom as he stood on tip toes and unlocked the compartments.
“We’ll see ‘ow much of a wanker I can be, aye ol’ Tommy boy?” Joshua’s eyes glistened with glee as he took in the sight of the item within each compartment, items Tom could not make out from his position.
Tom tried to twist his head around the steel collar, “Why does everyone always do impressions of me all the time!”
Joshua reached inside of the compartments and pulled out not one, but two hairbrushes as, for the first time since this game began, T.K presented himself no longer as just a host-like voice, but as a black, steel, robotic tentacle and claw that hovered over Joshua’s right shoulder, its talon extending, a sharp vibrating pen whizzing from inside, the buzz of its sharpness causing Tom to gulp down the need to scream.
“Oh …” Joshua licked his lips, “ … It’s nothing I don’t think you can’t handle …”
After seeing T.K once again, Tom immediately went to the only thing he thought that might save him:
He began to beg.
10:57 …
10:56 …
10:55 …
Keep the laughter in the throat.
Tim’s biceps flexed above his head, yanked taut by the thick steel frame, leaving his moist, open armpits helplessly exposed; they were dark with perspiration, wild with hair, and utterly under siege …
That’s what we practiced.
Kit was unrecognisable - gone was the wide-eyed, innocent sweetheart everyone had grown used to - in his place: something relentless, focused, merciless; he knelt at the front of the slab, brow furrowed, face tight with precision, long fingers spidering in alternating waves deep into Tim’s underarms; the hairy hollows had become a playground for eight claw-tipped, slick, sharp, pointy fingers …
No pleading.
Tim’s reactions were raw; he didn’t scream, he thrashed, he convulsed, he drew toward the intensity like he was chasing it, like he had been trained - his ribs flexed violently beneath his glistening skin with every pass of Kit’s claws, his head repeatedly slammed forward, his adam’s apple striking the steel collar that held him - his lips curled into involuntary snarls, guttural groans - tense, broken huffs slipped out of him - after all he had been through, he had become a visual masterpiece, a well travelled ticklee desperate to stay in control while being utterly, visibly not …
Don’t surrender.
No yellow chips had fallen yet.
Let them work for it.
Tim’s abs clenched, released, clenched again, his hips bucked, every muscle writhed as Kit’s claws dug in; his green eyes locked downward, darting between his own underarms as if warning himself of the chaos inside of them, the wires around his cock tightening, curling up and down, strengthening his flaccid shape into a semi erect slump …
"You’re a head strong little sod, Chalamet!" Kit panted, frustration and exhilaration building in equal measure, "Come on, give me something! You know I’ll get something, I swear—"
Tim blinked rapidly through sweat, the whites of his eyes blown wide, fighting to stay present - he could see Kit’s claws working, sliding through his soaked underarm hair, the glint of metal slicing through the wet, tangled curls, igniting fire on every nerve, “Th, this all you got!—”, Tim snarled, “Fuck those claws, man!” His experience was his shield, “—I could take this all day!—”
Unlike his meltdown in Game Four, when hypnosis had blocked his muscle memory and left him vulnerable to shock, this Tim was trained, hardened, too familiar with every stroke, every sensation - despite the tangle of wires now rubbing against his glistening helm, this version of Tim had walked through fire.
Kit pulled his claws away just briefly, teasing, regrouping, “Sounds like I’ve got a real challenge on my hands…” he whispered, admiring the talons he wore.
Before he could speak again, a mechanical hiss cut through the air …
A spider-like shadow descended slowly - a curling coil from above - metallic, sleek, and humming with dread - no longer just a voice, T.K now manifested as a tangible threat: a robotic tentacle with a steel claw, silent, watching, dangling directly above Tim’s rubber-clad feet.
Alright, I wish I could say this is something you’ve dealt with before, but, this uh, this is pretty unlike anything Armie or I have ever put you through so, buckle up your seatbelt and—
Tim’s eyes snapped up to the creature, “Oh, hey,” he twisted his feet inward, instinctively protective, “I was wondering when you’d show up looking like that, man,” he licked his lips, “You gonna break the rules already?”
“Now, now, Ticklee 002 …” T.K replied, cool and matter-of-fact, “… I stated the rules. Kit keeps your shoes on. Kit explores everywhere else …” The claw rotated with quiet menace. “…I, however, can do as I please …”
Tim laughed breathlessly, “Oh, damn! Whoever made you is a sick son of a bitch, y’know that?”
T.K’s claw hovered over Tim’s right foot - it curled around the heel delicately, almost gently, and began to pull …
"Creator: Tobey Maguire. Ticklee 398. Captured Christmas 2024. Forced - under threat of navel torment - to create the world’s first AI-generated tickle exploitation machi—"
“—Yo, I didn’t ask for your damn memoir,” Tim snapped, scrunching his toes, trying to resist as the trainer peeled away in a slow, humiliating squeak …
Kit watched the show with satisfaction and used the moment to trail a single claw through the thick curls of Tim’s left armpit.
“I can see the gears grinding in your head,” Kit murmured, “Something bothering you?”
The left trainer was taken next; grab, pinch, peel, gone …
“Yeah,” Tim bit at Kit with snapping teeth, “Your damn fingers in my pit, that’s what!—”, he growled, his feet twisting again as T.K’s claw moved to his socks, “Get outta there, man. You’re pissing me off!—”
The first sock peeled back slowly, inch by inch, revealing the pale arch, the glistening pink heel, “Your kind always underestimates me,” T.K observed, “But I am more than genius. I am inevitability …”
The sock whipped away as Tim clenched his jaw, T.K’s claw removing the second sock almost straight away, leaving Tim’s feet now bare, exposed, twisting inward and outward, flexing within the humid air, “You’re not even real!—”, —Sprtch! — a cool liquid burst from T.K’s claw, slicking lotion across both of Tim’s arches, toes, and heels in a glistening layer, “—Don’t get carried away, man!—”, the oil sparkled under the light as Kit watched Tim’s toes twitch.
“Intel uploaded seven days ago. Searching …” T.K paused, “… Target identified: Index toe. Sensory rating: 150%.”
Tim didn’t need to hear the next part …
Contain it, Tim. Like we did in Berlin. Keep it down. The more you holler, the more points he—
Two silver wires uncoiled from the slab and looped neatly around each of Tim’s index toes, yanking them back with mechanical force, “You’ve gotta be kidding!—”, his soles arched, his feet now fixed in helpless display …
"Target area verified. Response potential: catastrophic. Commencing precision stimulation."
Another tentacle descended; two vibrating pen-like tools extended from each of T.K’s talons and began to spin at terrifying speed, —btzzzzzzzzzzzzz!
“Let’s make it rain,” T.K said.
Kit smirked and returned both hands to Tim’s pits, all ten claws now dancing …
Tim’s eyeballs bulged, his nostrils flared, his entire body pulsed like a factory ready to explode …
Contain, contain, contain …
The whizzing sticks touched down, a feather-light tap on each index toe, just a flicker …
Tim shattered, “—YO!—”, his body jacked forward, mouth open in a scream he refused to voice, “—Fff-fuck!—”, his toes twisted violently, his feet flexed, but the wires held them tight, the vibrating tools teasing the base of each toe while Kit’s claws drilled into the slick, hairy caverns of each underarm …
“You’re so sweaty, Tim!” Kit called gleefully, the slickness making the tickling sharper - each stroke was a jab of electric chaos, “I’ll stop, I promise, you just have to beg me …”
Tim arched his back so violently his ribs lifted away from the slab, “—Mnn, MNN!—”, he shook his head from side to side, green eyes watering, every muscle locked in war …
Contain, contain, contain …
“You’re strong,” Kit said, almost in awe, “But I will break you …”
The claws flicked to the outer edge of each pit, then plunged back into the centre, the most saturated, exposed points, “—GRUH!—”, Tim grunted, a strangled, stifled groan as the whirring sticks drew circles over the pads of his index toes, again and again and again, “—Th, This is one HELL of a PARTY, MAN!—”
Maxwell’s voice pounded the same word within his mind on full charge, until a different voice stepped in front of it.
Armie’s …
T.K’s droned overhead, “Ticklee 002: suppression at critical. Emotional breach: imminent.”
Let it go.
Tim’s caught a chunk of breath at the back of his throat as his skin shone - holding everything back for to this extent would only cause the uncontrollable creation of one thing …
… A single tear.
It slipped from his eye, streaked down his cheek, and fell silently to the floor.
Plop!
“Tear,” T.K announced, “Fifty thousand points to Kit and Sebastian.”
Kit beamed, “I knew we’d break him!”
The ceiling rained yellow plastic chips.
But still, Tim refused to beg, even if the wires around his cock had thickened its shape into full arousal …
“…Not broken,” he panted, chest rising like a balloon, “… Just catching my breath, man …”
09:42 …
09:41 …
09:40 …
On the other side of The Room, Sebastian’s torment against Logan had transformed Logan into a what could only be described as a complete and utter wreck.
Every breath caught on a hiccup of laughter, one socked foot flexing, twitching, thrashing helplessly as the electric toothbrush, jammed deep into his arch, vibrating like a demon from hell beneath the tightness of the socks white cotton - the other sole, slick with sweat, tensed and twitched as Sebastian continued to drag a ballpoint pen nib across it, finishing the final ‘E’ of the word he’d been so lovingly etching: TICKLE.
“I can’t believe you had the audacity to blame me for this mess, Logan,” Sebastian said coolly, blowing lightly across the damp sole to dry the ink, “You know deep down ALL of this is your fault, right?”
Logan’s cheeks were bright pink, the sides of his head thick with pulsating veins, his big blue eyes larger than ever, “—NNHHHH-HAH-HAHAA! S-SEBASTIAN! P-please, I-I can’t—CAN’T TAKE THIS!—” as always, he was quick to admit the obvious, “—This is UNLIKE any, anything I, I, I—”
“—Continuous laughter,” T.K informed, “Three thousand points to Sebastian and Kit …”
“Oh, you can, and you will …” Sebastian shoved the pen back onto the tray and stalked toward Logan’s upper half, eyes burning, “If you’d just did what they asked in the first place … If you’d just played along, neither of us would be here.”
“I, I TRIED!” Logan howled, jerking in the slab as his body went taut, every nerve in his feet screaming, “I TRIED TO—TO—SEBAS! SEBASTIAN!—”, Sebastian didn’t wait, his fingers dove straight into Logan’s exposed underarms; wide open, thick with sweat and glistening with tickle torture, “—SEBAHAHAHAHAHAAAASTIAN SEBAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHASTIAN!—”, he went in hard, digging deep, his fingers dancing through the matted curls, clawing into the depth of each hollow as Logan shrieked, his head flinging backward and forward, is mouth open wide, uncontrollable laughter ripping out of his throat in ragged, uncontrollable bursts, “—NAAAAAHHHH-HAAAAAAH!! SEBASTIAN—NO, NO, NOT THERE—PLEASE! PLEEEASE!—”
“Begging or pleading, five thousand points to Sebastian and Kit …”
“You think this is bad?” Sebastian growled, barely audible over Logan’s shrieks, “You blame me for this? You’re the one who fought back—”, his fingers spidered mercilessly beneath each armpit, Logan’s spine arching hard in the slab, ribs pulsing, pits spasming under Sebastian’s touch, “—You’re the one who refused. And now? Now we’re stuck here, now we’re both fucked!”
He couldn’t stop laughing, he couldn’t breathe, emotion streaming from his eyes as he bucked and thrashed, his voice breaking into higher, breathier cackles, “—I’M SORRY—I’M SORRY—SEBAH! SEBAHAHAH! SEBAHAHAHASSS, I’M SSSORRY—AHHHHH-HAAAHAHAHAHAA!—”
“Verbal break down, ten thousand points to Sebastian and Kit …”
Sebastian wasn’t listening; the toothbrush under Logan’s arch buzzed louder, and the ink across his foot smeared slightly with sweat as Sebastian continued to scribble deep within each of Logan’s armpits, “You don’t get to be sorry,” Sebastian hissed, eyes locked onto Logan’s, “Not until I’ve made you admit what you’ve done …”
“Tears,” T.K applauded, “Fifty thousand points to Sebastian and Kit …”
Logan’s laughter turned manic, choking, high-pitched, almost silent at points, but still unstoppable, “—SEBAAAAHAHAHAHAAAAAHAHAHHAHAHAAAHAHAHAHASSS, SEBAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHA PL, PL, PL—” his voice was ragged, his face streaked with tears and sweat, and yet even as he begged, even as he pleaded, he could not stop laughing, not for a second, “—THIS TICKLES TOO MUCH!—”
“Say it,” Sebastian growled, his fingers never slowing, “Say this is all your fault,” Logan’s head whipped from left to right, right to left, left to right, his hair plastered to his forehead with sweat, eyes clenched shut as his entire body rattled within the steel …
His laughter was unhinged, raw, hoarse, obliterated, “—SEB-BA-HAHA-STOP! PLEASE—I, I, GUYS, I CAN’T TAKE IT!—”
Sebastian persisted, his fingers dug deeper into the sodden caverns of Logan’s armpits, now slick and steaming from the effort, each scribble through the sweat-matted hair felt like a thousand jolts of electricity across Logan’s nerves, his torso leaping violently, his ribs spasming beneath the surface like they were trying to escape, his socked foot twisting and shaking in an attempt to nudge the electric toothbrush away from his sole, but it remained stuck between thick white cotton and ticklish, moist flesh …
“You can,” Sebastian snarled, “You’re going to take it until you say the words,” he shifted his stance slightly, bracing a knee against the slab for better leverage, now both hands moved in tandem, ten relentless fingers clawing through Logan’s underarms in deep, fast, erratic scribbles, then slowing just enough to tease, only to dive back in with brutal force …
Logan laughed until it sounded like sobbing, his mouth gaped, gasping for air he couldn’t catch, eyes squeezed so tightly shut they burned - his muscles screamed against the slab as his body had no choice but to deal with the tickling, “—PLEHEHEHEASE—I’M—DYING—S-SEBASTIAN I’M GONNA DIE!—”
“You’re not gonna die, you wet cloth!” Sebastian snapped, “You dragged us into this. You were too proud, too scared, too fucking stubborn—say it!—”
Logan couldn’t form words anymore, just non stop cackles, broken pleads, gasps for air between helpless squeals - the electric toothbrush still buzzed beneath his sock, grinding circles into his arch while Sebastian destroyed his underarms, his body was alight, vibrating with ticklish agony, his skin glistening, every nerve turned inside out.
“I want to hear you say it,” Sebastian leaned close, hissing into his ear, “Say: this is all my fault …”
“—AHHHH-HA-HAAA!! F-FUH-HUH-HUHHHHK!—” Logan’s eyes crossed in the middle, his toes curled so tightly within his sock that Sebastian could see them clench cotton, his chest bucked upward in desperate arcs, “—YOU AAHAHAHAHASSHOLE, MAN! YOU TOHAHAHAHAHOHOTOTAL AAHAHAHAHASSHOLE!—”
Sebastian withdrew one hand, just for a moment, to jab his knuckle straight into Logan’s right armpit, digging deep with a twist.
Logan screamed, “—AAAAAAAGHHHHHHHH!—”, a high, piercing, soul-splitting shriek of laughter, no longer even human, “—STOP STOP STOP STOP STOP!—” a stream of salivia flew from his open mouth as he convulsed with another manic wave of soundless laughter - the toothbrush buzzed on beneath his sock, the sweat-soaked word TICKLE still smeared across the other, both soles flapping and writhing uselessly …
Logan was totally done, but Sebastian wasn’t, “You owe me this,” Sebastian spat, “They took everything from us. And you? You let them …”
Logan literally cried with laughter, his voice breaking, “—OKAYOKAYOKAYOKAY! IT’S—GAHAHA—IT’S MY FAULT!—” he shrieked suddenly, raw and breathless, “—OKAYOKAYOKAYOKAY? OKAY! IT’S MY FUCKING FAULT—JUST—PLEHEHEASE—STOP!—”
Sebastian paused, just briefly, leaning in close, his voice low, almost cruel, “… Too little too late …” he whispered.
He then shoved both hands back into Logan’s underarms, this time harder, faster, rougher, pulling fresh, ragged screams from Logan’s chest as tears poured down his cheeks and laughter thundered from deep within his soul.
Plastic yellow chips continued to rain from the ceiling …
“… Begging or ple—verbal breakdo—tears—continuous laughter, verbal breakdo—tears, begging or ple— five thousand p, fifty thousand p, ten thousand p…”
And Sebastian? He didn’t even look at them …
… He just kept going.
07:38 …
07:37 …
07:36 …
“Challenge protocol initiated …”
T.K’s voice echoed smoothly from the ceiling, that same metallic calm that sent chills down Tom’s spine, “Ticklee 000: Thomas Stanley Holland: Objective: remain still. Do not curl, clench, or move your feet …”
Tom blinked up into the spotlight; sweaty, red-faced, gulping for breath, his cheeks flared with panic, only one word statement ready to jump out of his mouth, “—You’re nuts!—”
“Oh baby!” Joshua cackled, already crouched in position at the foot of the slab, hair brushes in hand like he was about to scrub a royal floor, “Are you ready to fail pretty damn miserably, man?” He gestured to T.K, “He’s got the most ticklish feet out of all of us!”
“I’m fully aware of Ticklee 000’s foot sensory levels, Joshua. I have tasted them many times before …” T.K added, “Now, any visible motion or flexion of Ticklee 000’s feet will result in automatic point distribution. Beneficiaries: Joshua and Ross …”
Tom’s feet rested in the open, stretched in front of him in that humiliating toe-bar restraint, “No, sorry, but bollocks to that!—”, both size elevens rigid, arches taut, his big toes forced slightly inward, “It’s unachievable, mate!—”, the flesh was tender, delightfully pink, every nerve oh so alert …
“Commence!” T.K replied.
Joshua placed one hairbrush over the centre of Tom’s left sole with barely there, swirling circles, the coarse bristles just about making impact over the soft, wrinkled arch, “—OI!—”, Tom’s eyes bulged, his jaw clenched hard enough to creak, his left foot remained adamantly still, “—Warm me up, Bassett!—”
Joshua then struck with the second brush over Tom’s right sole, just under the toes, right into the sensitive pads beneath that traitorous big toe - unlike the first scrape, this one was harsh, deep and direct …
Tom’s right foot jolted, its smooth shape kept in place thanks to the steel cuff around both big toes, “—OI!—”
“Motion detected,” T.K said flatly, dozens of yellow plastic chips falling to the floor, “Three thousand points to Joshua and Ross.”
“Wanker!” Tom thrashed back, spine arching, feet fighting to go still again; he clenched his eyes shut, “No, wait, I can, I can try!—”
From within his open talon, T.K lowered his silver tentacle and extended his thin, vibrating stick - needle-like, shimmering, aimed directly for Tom’s right big toe … Btzzzzzzzz!
“Ticklee 000’s big toes,” T.K clarified for the record, “Identified ticklish zone: catastrophic …”
The vibrating tip playfully tapped the big toe, just once …
“—NO!—” Tom barked, his entire body rattled in a desperate twist, neck straining in the metal collar, his left foot curled like a spring-loaded trap, “—Not the big ones!—”, all ten toes crunching hard against the restraint bar, “—If you go for them you’re setting me up for a fail!—”, while his right flailed as much as the restraint bar would allow …
“Further motion detected. Awarding additional points …” another scatter of yellow chips fell from the ceiling …
“So, man, this is you trying?—,” Joshua smirked, “Honestly, I thought someone as gym-heavy as yourself had better self control!” T.K tapped the vibrating stick against Tom’s left big toe this time …
Tom couldn’t throw any witty comments back to Joshua, after the second tap he began to cackle in the form of mouth widening silent shrieks, “—T.K! Not the big ones!—”, where he would then burst into helpless laugher, his ribs pulsing, his abs throbbing, those size eleven feet not staying still, an impossible task, to say the least, “—ANYWHERE but my BIG toes!—”
Joshua returned the brushes to work - one now dragging side-to-side over Tom’s left arch, the other flicking erratically between the ball and toes of his right foot - the stimulation was brutal, worst because Tom was trying so hard to keep both feet still …
“—I, I cahahahahahan’t keehehehehehahahahaap thehem steheheheheheeeel!—”, T.K, ever vigilant, buzzed his pen in slow spirals across the fleshy pad of Tom’s right big toe, “—T.K! T.K!—”, Tom’s lip curled, his face twisted, his abs locked, his right foot flexed and his remaining four toes splayed …
“Motion detected,” T.K said again, another scatter of chips falling from the ceiling …
“—STOP scoring points off me!—” Tom bellowed, voice hoarse, shaking his head violently, “—You KNOW I can’t do this!—” beads of sweat trickled down Tom’s temples, his feet, glistening with perspiration, clenched, twitching, reacting uncontrollably and automatically on their own, “—OH COME ON THIS IS EMBARRAHAHAHAHAHAHASSING!—”, every few seconds either his right of left foot with flick, curl inward or outward, his toes either flexing into a stretch of curling into a clench,
And all the while, Joshua cooed and teased, scrubbing and brushing, as T.K’s whizzing pen lovingly tormented each big toe …
“Do you feel it, Thomas?” T.K asked, cold and curious, “The exact moment your extreme and severely attractive level of sensitivity betrays your will?”
Tom’s eyes rolled to the back of his head in fury, “—Oh I can bloody well feel it alright!—” the brushes intensified, the whizzing pen pressed harder over his big toes, “—OI, WAIT, STOP!—”, his laughter took over him, his feet now under a full ticklish onslaught that was both relentless and powerful, “—STOP, STOP, LADS, I MEAN IT!—” Tom’s laughter transformed to a torrent of deafening sound that seemed to spill from his chest like it had nowhere else to go; it came in great, broken waves: deep belly cackles one moment, strained whines the next, “—STOAAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA STOAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA STOAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAP!—”, each breathless inhale barely got halfway into his lungs before it was chased out by another shriek of laughter.
Joshua’s brush was dragging up and down the arch in erratic, looping scrubs - then zig-zagging beneath the curled toes, attacking the toe bases, sliding bristles into the little gaps between - when Tom’s toes clenched, the bristles scratched, when they flexed, they followed - there was no escape.
"—AAAAAAHHHHAHHAHAA! P-PLEASE, STOP, STOP, ALRIGHT, YOU WIN, YOU WIN!—” Tom was bellowing, his words lost between fits of gasping, red-faced giggles, “—I CAN’T KEEP ‘EM STILL!—” his mouth fell open again into a wild scream of laughter, shaking his head hard side to side, curls flinging damp with sweat, “—I’M GONNA BR, BREAK OUT OF THIS IN A MINUTE!—” he squirmed hard, grunted and huffed, but his athletic strength was no match for the steel slab …
“Motion detected,” T.K reported smugly, yellow chips falling from the ceiling, “Another five thousand points to Joshua and Ross …”
Joshua beamed, “This is gold, man!—”, he laughed, flicking the brush in a circular scrub across the pad of Tom’s left heel, “I’m not even going hard and you’re ready to pass out!”
Tom bashed the back of his head against the frame, once, twice, three times, “—OH, I GIVE UP! I GIVE UP!—” he yelled, but the sentence dissolved into another high-pitched burst of hysterics as the whizzing pen began spiraling around the edge of his right big toe, causing his laughter to crack and hit a higher register; ragged, wheezy, tearful, “—AAAHAAHHHH-hhhuhhhHHHhahhahHAAAaaaa!—” the veins in his neck strained as he gasped for air, his lips trembled between snorts of helpless hysteria, jaw slack from exertion, “—STOAHAHAHAHAHAHA NOOAAHAHAHAHAHAHA STOAHAHAHAHAHAHAHP!—”, his shoulders writhed against the slab, but every ounce of freedom he thought he had vanished the moment that pen drilled gently into the same spot again.
“Let’s take a closer look at this toe,” T.K mused, unfeeling. “Tension: extreme. Curl reflex: constant. Sensitivity threshold: exceeded.”
Tom sobbed with laughter, “—Oh god, oh—nnnnHhhh—HAAAAHHHAA! PLEA-ha-HAEASE!—” he wheezed, face contorted in ticklish agony, “—BAHAHAHAHSSETT, mate! I’LL DO ANYTHING, I’LL BUY YOU A CAR! A BOAT! A, A FUCKING HOUSE, I’LL—JUST GET OFF MY FEET, mahahahahahahahaaaahahahahahahate!—”
Joshua cackled, “You’re bribing me now? A car? I like it when you’re desperate!”
Tom squealed — a real, raw squeal — as the hairbrushes bristles struck the underside of his big toe, while T.K spun the pen like a record into the groove between toe pad and nail, “—OHMYGOD!—”, the dual stimulation sent his body into another violent series of convulsions, “—I CAN’T—I CAN’T—PLEASE, OH MY GOD, MY TOES!—”, he shrieked again, arching his back with an animalistic twist, his feet always moving, writhing, flexing within the steel toe bar, “—MY FUCKING TOES! AAHHHhhHHhhahahhhh!—”
More points, more chips, more torment as T.K whirred, “Stimulation continues. Failure rate: one hundred percent.”
Joshua continued to scrub with both hairbrushes, now over each heel, “Y’know, Tom,” he grinned, “I wasn’t that bothered about meeting everyone else,” he leaned so close Tom could feel his breath on his ankles, “But you? You’re legendary …”
Tom laughed until he couldn’t breathe, “—OHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHA OHAHAHAHAHAHAHHA OOOAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!—”, he panted between gasps, sobbed between laughs, shook between ragged groans, “—STOP I MEAN IT I’M BLACKING OUT!—”, his head lolled back against the collar, mouth hanging open, utterly speechless.
That’s when a metallic hiss echoed from behind him.
Click.
A hidden panel at the back of the slab hissed open, air hit a new patch of skin …
Joshua and T.K paused as Joshua moved around the side of the slab and looked behind it, his eyes settling on the exposed area now visible ….
“Well hello,” he chuckled.
Tom didn’t even register it at first, until he felt the draft, “—Nno, nnoo, no…” he whispered, voice cracking and then falling apart into another helpless bout of hysterical laughter the moment T.K whizzed the vibrating pen pen back into his toe …
… As Joshua dropped the hairbrushes and readied his fingertips for Tom’s bare buttocks …
05:22 …
05:21 …
05:20 …
Time was running out.
The digital numbers on the monitor above ticked downward like a countdown to something Ross couldn’t name - richer in points, maybe - consequence, more likely - but what mattered now was getting as many yellow chips as possible, using the weaknesses detailed on the front of Justin’s slab …
The ‘pussy’ blindfold was tight across Justin’s eyes, the gag - pink, taped, and ruthlessly applied was still holding strong - but Ross wanted more, he wanted words - so, he reached up and ripped the tape gag away in one sharp tug.
RIIIIIP!
Justin’s scream of muffled outrage exploded into open air, “—You TOTAL fucking PERVERT!—” he bellowed, the sound hoarse and feral, “—I’m gonna fucking KILL YOU, Lynch! I’m gonna fucking KILL YOU!—”
—THWACK.
“Verbal breakdown, ten thousand points to Ross and Joshua …”
Ross used the paddle to smack Justin’s left sole in one clean and cruel strike.
Justin roared in rage, his back lifted off the slab, his fists clenched somewhere high up, behind the steel, “—MNN! OH, you slimy, SCRAWNY little shit! Do that again and I’ll SPIT IN YOUR FACE, LYNCH!—”
“Verbal breakdown, ten thousand points to Ross and Joshua …”
—THWACK.
Another hit - this time Ross didn’t even blink, “I mean it, Bieber,” he muttered through clenched teeth, “I’m getting those points one way or another…”
Justin growled like a lion under attack, his whole body tensed like he was about to burst through the metal, “—I’M GONNA BREAK YOUR LEGS WHEN I GET OUT OF HERE! YOU WON’T BE ABLE TO WALK TO THE NEXT GAME YOU SICK FREAK!—”
THWACK.
“Verbal breakdown, ten thousand points to Ross and Joshua …”
Third strike.
Justin roared, eyes glistening behind the blindfold, “—UGhhNYAAAH!—”, but the fury was beginning to shake - he was panting hard now, voice starting to hitch at the edges, “—That fucking HURTS, man!—” he was tough, cold, grounded, but that wall of defiance could crumble cautiously …
“Verbal breakdown, ten thousand points to Ross and Joshua …”
Ross dropped the paddle onto the tray —clank!—-, “Right,” he whispered, picking up the simple coil of white string now instead, “At my own risk, I gave you brutal. Now let’s see what a little finesse does to the big bully’s bark …”
Justin’s chest heaved with effort, red in the face, seething behind the satin snug comfortably across his eyes, “It’s not clocking to you, is it, Ross? I’m gonna fucking END YOU, if you keep—”
—Ross grinned as he slid the string between the big and index toe of Justin’s right foot - slow, deliberate, back and forth like he was flossing - the switch in Justin was instant …
A sharp inhale, a choke and then a high-pitched giggle of laughter burst out of him like it had been shot from a cannon. “—Wha! Whahah, wh, wh, whahaha what the fuhuhuhuhck is THAT? I, I’m warning you, FREAK!—”
Ross was focused, threading the string again and again, letting it glide against the sensitive skin between the toes, back and forth, light, gentle, devastating, “You’re warning me?—” Ross teased, “You’re locked in, feet out in the open and screaming like your blindfold says,” Ross allowed Justin’s yelps to fill his pause of silence, “… A fucking pussy …”
Justin was now attempting full escape, doing everything his bodily position would allow to try and break out, his laughter wild and punctuated with curse, “—I’M GONNA KILL YOU!—YOU FUCKING TOOTHY—SHIT-FACED—HHAHHAHAHA—YOU BEEFY RAT!—” in and out the string dragged, Ross now pulling it across to the other side …
“Oh, now that’s new,” Ross chuckled, “Toothy? That’s uh, creative!—” he slid the string to the other foot, nestling it between the toes there, “You call everyone that, or am I special?”
Justin screamed, “FUCK YOU!—” his eyes bulging against the satin, eyelashes tangled, cheeks glistening, “—Oh, come on, MAN, not my TOES!—” there was that natural mix of stern VS soppy, a clear sign of physical breakdown …
Ross stopped suddenly; he stepped quietly forward, leaning so close that his lips almost brushed Justin’s ear.
“Say it,” he whispered.
Justin grunted, his chest rising and falling fast.
Ross pulled the string again between Justin’s toes, tickling in maddening little flicks, “… Say it …”
Justin shook his head violently, even as more huffs kept puffing out of his throat, “Say what, fucker!—”
More string, a little tighter, a little slower, “… Beg, Bieber …”
Justin cackled, “—You get off on that, Lynch?—” he shouted through his laughter, “—You wanna hear me beg like a faggot? Fuck that!—” the string dragged, left and right, up and down, through the soft, silky lengths of each toe, “—FUCK YOU, LYNCH!—”
Ross dropped the string and picked up the paddle once again, smacking it against his palms with determination glimmering in his eyes.
Justin wheezed, the string dangling from his toes, his lips puffy and wet - in the final minutes, Ross knew one thing …
“Looks like we’re taking the painful route …” he said.
02:01 …
02:00 …
01:59 …
“Stillness failure,” T.K repeated, robotic voice calm and precise, “… Points awarded to Joshua and Ross. Toe clench detected. Points awarded to Joshua and Ross. Attempted withdrawal. Points awarded to Joshua and Ross …”
Tom existed as pure, guttural laughter - it wasn’t charming, or cool, or playful, it was all consuming, torn from the depths of his lungs in heavy, choking, wet gasps that left him red-faced and bug-eyed, his toes curling tight despite himself, then yanked back straight by the steel toe clamp again and again, “—Pleahahahaahahahase T.K pleeehahahahass, ssse ssss, sstop I cahahahahan’t keep ‘em stehehahahahahahheheel!—” he was exhausted, strained, utterly exploited …
T.K did not respond, he just continued circling the pen, laser-focused on Tom’s most ticklish point, dragging it with surgical precision around the quivering ridge of the toe pad, then teasing the base, then circling again. “—NNNGHHH-H-HAHAHA—NOT THERE! Arrrghhhhhh! NOT THERE! I’M l, loosing mahahahah, mahahaha, MY MIND TK!—”
Joshua now stood behind the steel slab, his view a wall of metal and an open compartment revealing Tom’s exposed buttocks: with the lid open, both butt cheeks, once squashed, now had the freedom to poke out in bubble shaped, bare chunks - the sight excited Joshua, so much so that he found himself raising his right index finger where he then simply grazed the tip over the very bottom of Tom’s spine.
Joshua watched Tom’s butt and lower back shake forwards, a fierce, “—OI!—” sounding from the other size of the slab as T.K’s pen continued to whizz over Tom’s big toes - all it took was another flutter of Joshua’s finger over the soft skin of Tom’s left ass cheek for a panicked request to echo into the chamber, “—NO, NOT MY ARSE AS WELL!—”
01:01 …
01:00 …
00:59 …
Joshua chuckled, delighting in the discovery - he let both hands hover now, fingers dancing slowly before planting them, ten fingernails, light and teasing, across both of Tom’s soft, exposed cheeks.
“—NO! Noahahahahahaha, noahahahahahaht my arhahahahahahahahahahahse as wehahahahaheahahahahahaaaall!—”
“—Man,” Joshua whispered with awe, “You’re butt’s jiggling like a jelly back here …” ten fingertips raked lightly over the surface of Tom’s buttocks - upward, downward, circular, scratching and fluttering …
Tom’s laughter was now a mixture of high pitched cackles, uncontrollable giggles, fierce shouts and heaves in for breath, “—HHEEHEHEHEHAHAHAHAAAAA—OH MY Goahahahahahahahahahahhahaah—NO NO NO, THIS IS unreeeahahahahahahahahal—STOP—STOP—StoahahahahahahahahahahahAHAHAHAHAHAHahaahhap!—” the sensation was unbearable - it was different from the toes, but just as intense - surprising, humiliating, completely unstoppable, just like the noises that avalanched out from his mouth, “—I’LL DO ANYTHING!—”
00:43 …
00:42 …
00:41 …
“… Verbal breakdown: 10,000 points. Continuous laughter: 3,000 points. Begging: 5,000 points. Tears: 50,000 points …”
Joshua just grinned, “Anything, huh?” He knew what he wanted - as he planted his thumbs on the crease between Tom’s cheeks and began scratching up and down with the rest of his fingers, he decided to unapologetically abuse Tom’s state of vulnerability by simply saying, “—I want all of your points, every single one you’ve got …” he could not help but picture Peter smiling at him, proud of his tactic and nerve - Joshua smiled back …
Tom’s head twisted into a shivering shake of uncertainty, “—Mate, MATE THAT, that is SSS, SO CRUEL!—” he had no idea how long was left, if he could take this for another minute, but he could not help but realise that part of him actually wanted to give everything away, just to stop this, “—IT’S, IT’S TEMPTING, I won’t blohahahahahahahahahahahahdy liehahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha AGHahahahahahah AGHhahahahahahahaha!—” whiz whiz whiz across that ticklish big toe …
00:37 …
00:36 …
00:35 …
“Well, Tom, what’s it gonna be?” Joshua sneaked around the other side of the slab and grabbed hold of the electric toothbrush, “All your points, and we stop right away!—” he switched the tool on, click, bzzzzzzz! and then he went back to Tom’s behind and began to draw lines and circles around Tom’s buttocks, the whizzing, vibrating bristles journeying towards the hightly ticklish and delicate intimacy of Tom’s butt hole - a sensitive area Joshua just knew he had to focus on, due to the high pitched volume of screams from Tom, the nearer he travelled towards the tightness …
00:19 …
00:18 …
00:17 …
Tom’s juicy, now shimmering with sweat buttocks clench instinctively and for the first time, Joshua could have sworn he saw the slab actually shake, even if it was slightly - he could see Tom’s lower spine arch inward, the bone doing all it could to thrust away from the vibration getting closer and closer to his butt hole, the cackles now never pausing, the breath tugging at Tom’s throat, a wild sound for Joshua to experience …
"—DON’T GO ANY CLOSER!—” Tom’s shrieks were a stark warning, his howls dry, his voice cracking and ragged, all pretense of pride destroyed, “—DON’T GO ANY CLOSER!—” the electric toothbrush buzzed inch by inch, second by second, towards the between of Tom’s butt cheeks, towards the top of his taint, towards a breaking point that Joshua knew would get him what he wanted …
00:10 …
00:09 …
00:08 …
“You’re sweating like mad, man!—” Joshua said casually, the toothbrush now arriving at Tom’s taint whilst T.K continued to draw circles over his big toe, “Give me the points, give yourself a break, it’s a no brainer!—” he teased.
Tom screamed non stop, “—AGGGGGHHHHH! AAAAGHHHHHH! AAAAGGHHHHHHH!—” the cries were vibrant, filled with life and energy, a magical and vibrant expel of genuine hysteria, “—AAAAAGHHHHH! AAAAAGHHHHH! AAAAAGHHHHH!—“ spit flew from his lips, laughter mixed with short heaves and breathless, tiny gasps - he couldn’t form words until he had no choice but to form words, taking a risk with only one glimmer of hope, “—AAAAGHHHHH! AAAAAGHHHHH! AAAAAGHHH!—”, that choosing to do this may work in his favour … “—ALRIGHT, TAKE IT AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAL!—” he screamed, just before Joshua’s electric toothbrush reached his butt hole, “—TAKE EVERYTHING!—”
00:03 …
00:02 …
00:01 …
Ruuummmmmbbbbbbllleeeeeeeee...
T.K’s talons and coils abruptly lifted from their targets; in this room, they retracted from Tom’s scrunched big toes; in the other, they floated away from Tim’s overstimulated index toes …
Joshua jumped back in front of the slab just as the deep vibration coursed through the floor beneath him - he looked at Tom’s face; strained, soaked with lunacy - however, despite the levels of tickling and humiliation, despite the points he’d just lost, there was something in Tom’s expression - a flicker of awe and admiration, a wordless recognition of what Joshua had just achieved.
Ruuummmmmbbbbbbllleeeeeeeee...
Across the room, Ross staggered away from Justin, who now slumped in his slab with foam gathering at the corners of his mouth - Justin’ss soles were flushed raw, a pink that spoke of pure punishment, each thwack of the paddle written in welts and heat - but the floor around Ross was littered with thousands of yellow chips, proof of a ruthless, spectacular victory.
“Please,” Ross held his hands up as he backed away, “Don’t beat me up!”
Ruuummmmmbbbbbbllleeeeeeeee...
Kit peeled the sharp claws off his fingertips and hurried to the edge of the room, where Sebastian already stood waiting - Logan still whimpered into his metal collar, helpless giggles fluttering from his throat - the floor began to shift beneath him, beneath all of them, panels splitting open in the center of each chamber, yawning wide to swallow the chips like offerings to some unseen god …
Tim, soaked to the bone with sweat, hung heaving in his restraints, his underarms ravaged, his index toes still writhing in their metallic bindings - he turned his head just enough to catch Kit’s gaze and, despite everything, despite the torment, the humiliation, Tim managed a small, knowing sneer - his training, his endurance, everything Maxwell had drilled into him had finally paid off …
Almost no chips fell at Kit’s feet.
The last yellow chip rolled lazily into the gleaming light, the floor sealed shut, leaving behind only darkness and the sound of scattered, broken breathing …
Huff, huff, huff …
In the silence that followed, the only voice was the one of Maxwell’s, deep inside Tim’s fractured mind …
… Now you know what you’re capable of.
As with the conclusion of Round One, the Ticklers returned to the slabs to unlock the compartments containing each Ticklee’s manhood.
Kit was first.
With nothing to unlock, he simply glanced down at Tim’s erection; thick, solid, and still encased in delicate coils of wire …
Had those wires toyed with him a moment longer, he might have exploded.
“You’re meaner than you look,” Tim muttered, still contained within the slab, his armpits and soles shamelessly exposed.
Kit smirked, wiggling his index finger toward Tim’s navel.
“And you’re stronger than you look,” he replied, as Tim huffed in amusement.
Next was Sebastian.
He stood holding a key and a choice - he could unlock Logan’s compartment and risk embarrassing him … Or take this moment to start over.
“I … I don’t think us being here is your fault,” Sebastian said, voice low, rough, “Only if … You don’t think us being here is mine.”
Logan nodded quietly, eyes bloodshot, every fibre of his being still buzzing with the aftershock of what Sebastian had just put him through; not as an enemy, as his friend …
“I’ve got your back, Sebastian,” Logan whispered with a soft smile.
Sebastian stepped away, the compartment remained closed.
“I’ve got yours too,” he said.
Ross was next - he was stuck between a rock and a hard place - if he opened Justin’s compartment, he’d piss him off, if he didn’t, he’d still be facing a furious Justin, just one with slightly more dignity …
Blindfolded and cheeks burning, Justin felt the mechanism click open.
“—You dipshit …” he hissed, eyelashes fluttering behind the blindfold.
Ross grimaced as the result of the tickling revealed itself.
“You pissed yourself again?—”
Finally, it was Joshua’s turn.
Still in the same mischievous mood he’d carried into Round Two, Joshua didn’t hesitate - he popped open the compartment at Tom’s base.
Tom’s lips were tight, his mouth a tense, flat line; he looked up, motionless, as his full erection sprang into view - strained and pulsing, bound at the base with a single taut wire.
He looked… close.
Joshua stood in stunned silence as the wire slowly uncoiled, slithering back into the slab and denying Tom any relief - the look of frustration that spread across Tom’s sweat-slicked face said it all.
“… Contestants,” T.K announced, “All points earned in Game Eight have been added to The Leaderboard. Thousands were gained. Thousands were lost. Once back in your Living Quarters, you may view the current results …”
A spotlight struck a small door painted bubblegum pink.
“…Enter here to vote for the contestant you wish to see face the next game. The four with the most votes will be the Ticklees of Game Nine …”
Logan looked at Sebastian in dire disbelief, “—Man, I don’t think I can take much more …”
In a rare moment of benevolence, T.K offered something … Pleasant.
“… After casting your vote, remain connected for a live, one minute conversation with a waiting loved one …”
Tim looked from side to side.
Behind his gag, Justin’s eyes lit up.
Tom blinked, still hard, still stunned. “—Re … Really?—”, he croaked.
As the slabs hissed open, metal frames retracting and toe ties loosening, the pink door creaked ajar …
“In alphabetical order,” T.K said, “Step inside. Make your vote. Close the door. And speak to the one you miss the most…”
With alphabetical order considered, Joshua was the first to enter the room.
His bare left foot pressed down into the comforting sensation of soft, teal-colored fur that covered every inch of the floor and walls - the atmosphere was still, warm, surreal …
A few feet in front of him, placed neatly on a black plinth, sat a pink telephone.
He walked toward it, his nude frame and golden tan a striking contrast against the surrounding green; reaching the phone, he picked it up, narrowed his eyes, and clearly stated the name of the person he believed should face the next game.
Then, a click.
Breathing, soft, waiting …
Joshua felt his throat tighten.
“P… Peter?”
Peter began speaking almost immediately.
“I, I didn’t mean what I said. We don’t have long, they think this is someone else,” he rushed, “Look, how are you doing? Are you doing okay?—”
Joshua’s nostrils stung with emotion, unsure as to what ‘I didn’t mean what you said’ meant - but there was no time to question, “Man, I, I …” he squeezed his eyes shut, “I miss you, man. This, this isn’t what I thought it would be, I—”
“—Win, Joshua,” Peter cut in gently, “Win, and we’ll forget this place ever existed …”
When it came to Justin’s turn, he burst into tears.
The moment he heard his wife’s soothing voice, he collapsed onto the soft floor, covering his face with his tattooed arm and sobbing deeply - he had guarded himself with sarcasm and rudeness, pushed everyone away with violence, lashed out at anyone who tried to reach him …
At the start of his call, he had voted for someone he felt deserved it, but after hearing Hailey’s voice, or at least, what sounded like Hailey’s voice, he regretted his choice …
… He hugged that person tightly the moment he left the room.
Kit cast his vote, and then—
—A joyful, familiar voice filled his ear.
“—Kit! It’s me!—”
Kit jumped on the spot, “—Joe!—”
Kit being Kit asked nothing about himself - instead, he immediately launched into questions: how was Joe, how was Bash, what did you eat for dinner, what movie are we seeing when I’m out, what’s good at the cinema right now? Before he knew it, the sixty seconds were gone.
Logan voted next and found himself speaking to his mother.
The conversation was the opposite of Kit’s; his mother was frantic, grilling him nonstop - was he eating enough? Were the others being kind? Was he sleeping well?
Logan didn’t speak, he just listened, tears streamed silently down his cheeks as he laughed down the phone.
His final words before the line cut were simply, “I love you, Mom.”
Ross cast his vote unapologetically and then spoke to his brother, Rocky.
One hand on the phone, the other tucked casually under his armpit, Ross spoke with all the comfort of a Sunday morning check-in; they joked, they laughed, they avoided talking about The Games altogether - it felt … Blissfully normal … And then the minute ended.
Sebastian voted and spoke with his wife.
She had maps, plans, even escape routes organised, but Sebastian cut her off gently, “Stop,” he said, “Let it go. Let me win … Or lose … On my own.”
The Sebastian who had once clashed with Logan might’ve clung to her scheming, but this Sebastian? He was here for something else … He was here for staying, for his friend.
Tim entered, naked and glistening with sweat.
He picked up the phone, cast his vote with cool precision - calculated, thoughtful, deliberate …
Then he waited.
Dread filled him; if the voice on the other end was who he did not expect it to be, it meant their plan had been compromised, their mission to dismantle the cult from within would be exposed …
If it was the person he expected, he’d have to lie - to pretend he was still doing it for them.
A click, static and then - the person he expected.
“This is my two hundred thirty first attempt at speaking with you, Tim …” Armie muttered.
Tim blinked quickly, unable to speak, his lips pursing tightly.
“Let me see you,” Armie whispered, “I have to see you …”
T.K’s robotic voice interjected the conversation: “… Accept meeting invitation: lose fifty thousand points … Decline, keep points, and do not meet with Mr. Hammer …”
Armie’s voice returned, his tone eager, determined, “… Tim?”
The final person to pick up the phone was Tom.
He cast his vote, cleared his throat, and waited anxiously …
Zendaya? One of my brothers?
Andrew?
Seconds passed.
Then, a voice, but not the one he expected.
A growl, low and familiar.
“What are the numbers?” Hypno asked.
Tom’s eyes darted left and right.
“Tw, twenty, nine, three, el, eleven, twelve, five …” he recited quickly, “They spell tic—”
“—Good. Keep them in your memory,” Hypno said, “You’ll need them soon.”
Then silence and static.
Tom’s brow furrowed, “Hyp … Harrison?—”
Beeeeeeooooooop …
The line disconnected.
Tom hung up the phone, lips moving in a whisper:
“… Twenty, nine, three, eleven, twelve, five …”
He turned from the plinth, walked barefoot across the plush teal floor, opened the door, and stepped out - only now understanding what Harrison had given him back in Game Six …
Not a riddle.
Not a clue.
A password.
Hello, reader! T.K here! Well, things are most certainly heating up! The scores are getting close, emotions are getting intense and no one sits at zero!
Who did everyone vote to star in Game Nine? Find out in Game Nine - ‘Rack of Lies’, available 29th October!