Logan looks at you.

He smiles, a twinkle in those crystal blue eyes.

“You’ve been wanting this for a while, haven’t you?” He asks, “The big finish …. Me, tied down, tickled till I can’t take it anymore, Famous and Ticklish style?”

He folds his arms across his chest.

“Even though you had it last time, you still want more, don’t you …”

He bites his lower lip.

“I’m not wrong, am I? Just a focus on my feet wasn’t enough, was it?”

He unfolds his arms and places his hands behind his head.

“What about my pits?”

He drops his arms and then places a palm over his navel.

“My stomach?”

He can’t help but grin.

“You want everywhere else, don’t you?”

He waits for you to respond.

“Go on,” he urges, “Say it. Say the word ‘yes’ …”

…

He nods slowly.

“Good boy.”

He begins to approach you; he’s wearing sweat pants, a baggy white tee, his shaggy brown hair is parted somewhere in the middle …

His feet are bare.

“You know he puts me through hell, right? The person behind all this?” Logan chuckles, “Of course you do. You watched me suffer for over an hour last week. It’s mad, man. I’ve never been tickled like that in my entire life…” he shudders, “ …my toes, god, another level, believe me … He, he really doesn’t hold back. I haven’t laughed that much before! Fuck, I thought I was gonna pass out. I’m not sure if I can let him do this to me again.”

Logan tucks his hands into his pockets.

His stare travels up your body, where it lands at your lips.

He blinks, running his tongue over the roof of his mouth.

“Well?” He whispers … “This is it, the end of my story, so …” he looks at the hand you use to masturbate with …

“… What are you waiting for?”

xvi - ‘Pizza Boy’

The Slice and Dice motorbike arrived outside one of Beverly Hills largest mansions.

The tall metal gates creaked open inward, allowing the motorbike and its driver to carefully jitter across the gravel, where it parked up outside already open tall oak double doors.

A masked man in a tuxedo held a roll of cash in his hand as he watched the pizza delivery guy hop off his motorbike and open up the box attached to his seat.

Behind the mask, assessing eyes narrowed as they took in the Pizza Boy and his features; he looked to be around twenty, he had floppy brown hair, a handsome face, dark brown eyes and olive skin.

Shoe size …

…Ten, the masked man decided.

“Yo, dude,” the Pizza Boy handed the masked man his pizza; a sixteen inch double pepperoni meat feast, with extra sausage and mozzarella, currently concealed within a greasy pizza box that was hot to the touch underneath, “That’ll be twenty dollars …”

The masked man took the pizza and then slowly tilted his head to the left.

“Are you ticklish?” The masked man asked the Pizza Boy.

The young man chuckled, glancing from side to side, the mans masked appearance not really bothering him, up until he had asked a question like that.

“Uh, yeah, I, I guess,” the Pizza Boy took a step back.

The masked man remained still and silent, his oval white face persistently staring down at the Pizza Boy, who continued to shuffle awkwardly on the spot.

Click your fingers, the masked man thought.

He’d be taken within seconds.

Two henchmen at each leg, another two at each arm …

We could gag him immediately, take him to Room Number Three, offer him two hundred bucks for thirty minutes …

The masked man looked at the Pizza Boy’s feet.

Judging by the state of his footwear, he could do with the money.

The Pizza Boy adjusted the red cap on his head.

“Uhh, you uh, you gonna pay me or what, man?” He sniffed.

The masked man once again offered no verbal or physical response, for at least three or four seconds, until he finally thumbed a twenty from his roll of cash and handed it to the Pizza Boy.

The Pizza Boy took the note and shoved it into the back of his jeans pocket.

“Thanks, man. Uh, enjoy your uh … “ the Pizza Boy’s mouth fell open as he watched the masked man reach inside his tuxedo pocket with one hand, whilst his other hand held the pizza box as if it were a tray.

He picked out a calling card and handed it to the Pizza Boy.

“If you ever want to make some big money fast, just come back here, whenever you want, with this card.”

The Pizza Boy blinked.

He took the calling card and looked down at the illustration of a house surrounded by feathers, inscribed on the cards surface.

The words ‘you belong to us now’ were written beneath the drawing.

Before the Pizza Boy could speak, he looked up at the two oak wooden doors closing shut before him, where a little clicking noise suggested they had been locked on the other side.

The Pizza Boy stood on the drive way in silence, picking the edges of the calling card as crickets chirped in the bushes surrounding him.

Back inside the mansion, the masked man headed down carpeted corridors with the pizza box planted over his left palm.

He walked in a speedy stride; his haste suggesting the pizza was important, its delivery already a few minutes late, something the masked man prided himself on never being …

Up a spiral staircase, past statues, oil paintings, vases and tall standing plants, past a room filled with three masked men toying with a French male model, down another corridor and towards a set of doors that had been purposefully shut, the masked man eventually arrived at his destination, a little breathless but with the requested food still warm and ready for the important person who had demanded it.

From behind the doors, the masked man could hear the strained giggles, the huffing and panting, the ‘please, don’t start there’ leaving the mouth of a ticklee who thought he could avoid being in such a hysterical yet dire circumstance, a circumstance that had already taken place once tonight, and was now taking place for a second time …

The masked man knocked his knuckles gently against the wooden surface of the door.

Knock knock.

“Entree!” Said a commanding voice from inside the room.

The masked man nudged the doors open and stepped inside.

His view; Logan Lerman, strapped to The Extractor in just his underwear, his soles oiled up, his hair littering the top half of his face, his armpits and thighs exposed, his tickler standing to the side with a cigarette in one hand and a feather in the other.

“Where would you like your food, sir?” The masked man asked.

The tickler grinned, turning his face towards Logan, who had only been attached to The Extractor for two minutes, yet his index toe had already been a focus for thirty seconds, transforming him into a sweaty mess just when he thought he might of dried off after his session with Michael.

“You hungry, Wallflower?” Asked Brad Pitt.

xvii - ‘The Extractor’

Logan lowered his head as he watched the masked man leave, closing the door behind him.

Brad took one last drag from his cigarette and then made his way to the desk, exhaling two long shoots of smoke out of his nostrils like some wise, contemplating dragon.

“So … This is the part where you ask me how I got involved in this shit,” Brad said, stuffing the cigarette out in the ashtray with one hand, flipping up the pizza box lid with the other, “You’re supposed to say, ‘Brad! What the fuck? Aren’t we meant to be friends? Why are you doing this? Help me, help me, wah, wah, wah’ … Please, go on, Logan, ask me …” he then picked up a large, cheesy slice, taking a big bite out of the tip, turning around to face Logan, speaking with his mouthful, “… Ashk me the queshtion.”

Logan sighed.

“I, I haven’t heard from you in over a year,” he growled, his eyes glaring at Brad, “You went quiet on me, after you …”

Brad chewed on his pizza, swallowing it down, keeping the slice at his fingertips.

“Yeah, I uh, I owe you an apology …” he sniffed, “… It wasn’t cool, what I did. I, I should’ve asked you, instead of sneaking into your trailer like that. You must’ve thought I was pretty weird …”

Logan lifted his shoulders, shaking his head.

“What you tried to do feels pretty fucking tame, compared to all this.”

Brad smirked.

He took another bite of his pizza, turning back to the desk, where he peeled away another slice.

As he began to make his way over to The Extractor, Logan started to squirm within his leather bondage, his toes curling into a defensive scrunch the closer Brad approached his feet.

“I know you said you weren’t hungry, but I really think you should eat something.”

Brad waved the slice of pizza under Logan’s nose.

Logan felt his mouth water.

He closed his eyes and reluctantly nodded.

“Open wide, handsome,” Brad pressed the tip of the pizza against Logan’s lips, “Go on, take a giant bite …”

Logan opened his mouth and took half of the slice between his teeth, tearing it away from the crust, chewing quickly on the mixture of bread, cheese and meat, a soft, “Mnn,” suggesting that the slice was not only well deserved, but much needed after a full sixty plus minutes of his feet toe tied and tickled, non stop by Michael, and then two additional masked men …

Brad stepped back and took his index finger towards Logan’s right foot, where he landed it down over Logan’s arch.

Logan, with his mouth entirely full, could do nothing but widen his eyes and squirm within The Extractor as Brad grinned, scratching his index finger across Logan’s oiled up sole.

“Mnn! Mnn! Mnn? Mnn—” Logan chewed on the food, giggling with a closed mouth, refusing to let the pizza within his cheeks spill out and land all over his chest, the leather of The Extractor squeaking as he wriggled and shot watery eyed scowls down at his right foot, “—Mnn! Mnn? Mnn! Mnn? Mnn!—” Logan swallowed, “—FUCK, stop! What the fuck, Brad? I could’ve fucking choked!—” Logan curled his fists into balls, the straps across his torso rubbing against his skin as he writhed within his seated yet stretched out position, hot breaths of air leaving his flared nostrils the more Brad persisted in simply scratching the small expanse of flesh on the bottom of Logan’s right foot, “—Okay, man, come on, enough, enough, enough? Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease, I’m fucking exhausted man, seriously come ON—”

—Brad stopped.

He closed his eyes and smiled, taking his index finger to his mouth where he sucked the taste of Logan’s foot off of its tip.

“Man, oh man,” Brad breathed in slowly, “I’ve been wanting to do this as soon as I fucking met you, you know that?”

Logan winced as he adjusted himself within The Extractor; his arms stretched out either side and above him, his legs widened and kept apart by thick, belted leather, a waist band strapped around his lower torso keeping him entirely fixed into place, far more restrictive and less comfortable than the bed and stocks that had confined him just twenty minutes ago.

“I, I …” Logan cleared his throat, “ … I thought you were just into feet …”

Brad opened his eyes.

He walked back to the desk and dropped the half eaten pizza slices back into the box, rubbing the grease away with a nearby napkin.

“What went through your mind? When you woke up to me, on my knees, lifting your bed sheets, my nose pressed against the toes of your left foot?”

Logan felt his anxiety bubble within his chest as he watched Brad approach the trolly beside him, a tray with a selection of tools laid out over its surface; lube, a hairbrush, a can of shaving cream, a feather, a razor and five silver, extra sharp looking individual claws …

“I uh,” Logan peeled his eyes away from the tools and then glanced up at the ceiling, “I honestly thought nothing of it. You were pretty insane when we filmed Bullet Train. You, you were in character even when the camera wasn’t rolling. I, I guess I thought you were acting in a way your character would’ve acted …”

Brad cocked an eyebrow as he stroked his stubbled jaw.

“Hm. See, that makes this whole thing even hotter …” Brad walked back towards Logan’s right foot, “ … The fact that you had no idea that I didn’t only have a foot fetish, but I have a tickling fetish, too …” he pinched Logan’s middle toe, causing Logan to jolt suddenly, “… I’ve been a member of The House for over twenty years … You were always too hard to catch, at the height of your fame. But after meeting you, acting with you, touring the world with you, promoting that fucking god awful film with you …” Brad began to scratch and scribble his fingernails all over Logan’s right middle toe, “… I knew I had to have you like this. Especially after my first try was interrupted …”

Logan panted, his eyebrows lifting, his torso twisting to the left as he threw his head forwards, a loud and explosive bellow of laughter leaving his mouth as Brad tickled his most ticklish spot; his middle toe.

He began to scream, unable to speak, unable to plead, the level of ticklishness caused by touching such a sensitive spot of his body simply disabled him from doing all the things he wanted to do; to beg, to communicate his concern, to bargain or curse at Brad in a way he had never cursed at anyone before.

His foot twisted and flexed, his toes no longer pinned back by string like last time, his movement allowing him to try and escape Brad’s five fingers as they devoured his middle toe; but Brad’s grip was too strong, his intent too determined, his skill as a tickler too professional.

He wasn’t like Michael, he wasn’t new to this, he didn’t have the need for revenge flooding his veins, for Brad this was pure fun, a dream come true, a moment of ecstatic joy, a chance to do something he’d wanted to do for many, many years; to tickle torture Logan Lerman, a friend, a colleague, someone he had admired and lusted over for far too long …

Brad watched Logan’s face boil red, his cheeks puffy and pink, his eyes glistening as he expelled more breathless laughter, his expression saturated with alarm, euphoria, panic, surprise, regret and disbelief, all at once until Brad finally stopped working over his middle toe, his fingertips dragging down Logan’s right sole, causing the thirty one year old to huff, yelp, shriek and writhe within The Extractor …

Brad chuckled, sucking on his fingers once again, tasting the tangy taste of Logan’s toe from his fingertips.

Logan dropped his head over his chest, beads of sweat forming over his forehead as he focused on catching his breath.

“Th, th, that, that was … You?” He asked.

Logan closed his eyes as he thought back to the masked man standing at his front door, a moment that felt like it took place months ago …

He remembered letting him in, consensually allowing him to tie him up in just his jeans where he would be filmed in the rope work, made to struggle and groan for the camera, to do anything to get his dogs back …

He remembered the click, the buzz, the spin of the electric toothbrushes bristles as the masked man, Brad, approached him slowly …

Logan opened his eyes, his glance meeting Brad’s as Brad picked up a feather from the tray.

“That was me,” Brad confirmed, “You see, I like you, Logan. I really like you. And, I really didn’t wanna ruin our friendship. I knew there was no way you’d just ‘let me’ do something like this to you. So, I went via the dog-hostage route. I put on the mask. It was meant to be over after a few hours. But, your idiotic friends got involved…”

Logan eyed the feather with a sense of undeniable caution.

It was almost as if every fibre of his being that made up his fear of being tickled so relentlessly was made up in that single feather; the feather worked as a symbol for his dread, an icon for his anxiety, it summed up the hysteria and sensory overload made possible by tickling itself …

It was in that point in time that Logan realised he had been wary of feathers themselves, since his pissing incident; even though he had never been tickled with a feather before, the connection to the torture it was known to inflict was enough to make him avoid them at all costs; be it the stray fluffy feathers that escaped his pillows when changing the bed, or the feathers from doves or seagulls that litter the streets …

Logan acknowledged a hard beat from his heart as it pounded in his chest, the closer his tickler, and the feather, neared his trapped body.

Brad made his way between Logan’s spread apart legs, where he stood just inches away from Logan’s bound torso, “I paid a lot of money to The House to ensure I got you, a lot of money … You can imagine my disappointment when I found out I’d been compromised …” Brad began to stroke Logan’s face with the feather.

Logan spat and hissed as the feather landed across his nose, his lips, his chin, “No, please, pfft! Brad, come on! Pfft! Stop it, stop it, pfffttt!” He twisted his head from side to side, stretching his neck the best he could, but the leather around his throat kept him in place, his shoulders wriggling as Brad continued to explore his face with the feather, “What the fuck is, pffft, happening! What the fuck are you, pfft, talking about—fuck, this is, pfft, pfffttt fucking insane! Not the feather, not on my, pffft, not my damn face, fuck, man, you driving me wild, pfft—” Logan admitted as he tried to spit the feather away, its flutter across his skin overwhelming, irritating, ticklish and unavoidable, “Okay! Alright, you can, pfft! Have me! Pfft! Hog tie me to my bed, do what you, pfft, what you want, just, just lemme outta this thing!—”

“—I’ve been patient,” Brad nodded to himself, taking the feather down to Logan’s chest, where he travelled it over Logan’s stomach, “I let them do their ‘narrative’, I let them make their money, I let them play you against Michael, and vice versa …” with his other hand, Brad began to pull at Logan’s boxer shorts, “ … I let them have their way, so I could eventually have my time …” Logan began to writhe within The Extractor so hard that the device creaked and wobbled on the spot, “… And my time is right here, right now …”

Logan glared down at his crotch, trying his hardest to shift his waist and hips away from the feather, but the many leather belts and straps around his thighs and lower torso kept him in place, “Fuck, Brad, come on, man, no, not my, not my balls, dude that’s not, not cool, this, this isn’t fair,” Logan whined, his eyes widening as Brad lifted the hem of his boxer shorts and then pulled out his cock and balls, so that they lay snug against Logan’s right thigh, “Ahh man, seriously? Seriously! Come on, wait—no—stop! Please, oh my god, Brad, fuck, please—no, this is—fuck, this is wild, man! Shit, hey, wait, don’t touch there, don’t touch there, don’t, we, we, we don’t need you to touch there—” Logan threw his head back as Brad began to tickle his balls and cock with the feather, gliding it quickly over the soft, fleshy chunks as Logan wriggled in The Extractor, causing his cock and balls to wobble and dangle between his thighs where they hung through the open gap of The Extractor, now fully attainable and accessible, easy for Brad and his feather to toy with, “Brad, please, please, please, stop, not my balls, fuck, man, st, sssst, st, ssstop with the, the feather, not the feath, feath, oh, oh, oh my go-oh-ohahahahaha-ahahahahaha-ahahaha, ahaaaahahahahaha, agh! Agh! AGH! AGHA! AGHAHA! HAHA! HAHAHA—” Logan fell into a tumbled bellow of breathless laughter, his strained giggles and grainy heaves leaving his chest forcefully, unapologetically and without his control as Brad wiggled the feather non stop around the base of his cock, the sharp but soft edges tormenting the thirty one year old mercilessly.

Brad’s hard on began to grow within his jeans as he watched Logan suffer, the young actors own cock now swelling into a firmer shape the more the feather glided from tip to base, base to tip, tip to base and so on …

“I think someone is enjoying themselves,” Brad teased, Logan’s cock now stiffening as he squirmed from left to right, “Aren’t you supposed to hate being tickled, Logan? Isn’t this meant to be your worst nightmare? Your rock solid cock would suggest otherwise …”

Logan squeezed his eyes shut and buried his face into his shoulder, a line of sweat rolling down the side of his head.

“It’sthefeather!” He muttered, between the hysteria, breathing in quickly to expel his explanation, “—It’sthefuckingfeatherthefuckingfeather!—” He spat all at once, heaving in deeply, expelling a grainy strained sentence with no space to pause between words, — “ohgodstopfuckthefeatherpleasefortheloveofgodthisfuckingsucksstop-” heave, “—pleasefuckstopIcan’tbreathI’mgonnapassoutpleasestopit’sthefeatherit’sthefeatherit’sthefeather—”

“—Sure it is,” Brad winked, the feathers glide now fluttering away from Logan’s developing erection where it flicked and slid past the leather around his tummy and up to his neck, “Now, tell me, Logan, where should I explore next?” Brad took the feather down Logan’s left side and over his left thigh, where he journeyed it towards Logan’s left foot, “Your feet again? I know they’ve already been through hell with Michael, I, I know other more effective, hardcore tickle tools have been used on them, but, hey, maybe, just maybe we should find out if they’re feather ticklish … Wouldn’t that be awesome?”

Logan threw his head forwards, his eyes wide and furious, his left foot scrunching up as Brad dragged the feather between his big toe and index toe, “—NO—” He yelped, spit leaving his lips, his lungs burning, The Extractor keeping his violent and aggressive reactions contained, “En, en, enough with the feather! Enough with my feet!” He pleaded, “Please, Brad, fuck, if you’re gonna do this just, give my feet a fucking break! GIVE ALL OF ME A DAMN BREAK—”

—Brad let go of the feather, but kept it between Logan’s big toe and index toe, all five of Logan’s toes clenching it in place tightly.

Logan watched Brad get down on his knees, taking the brief opportunity to catch his breath …

“You know this didn’t begin in your apartment, with me behind a mask,” Brad carefully took hold of Logan’s left foot, its perfect shape poking out of the thick leather bondage containing Logan’s left leg, “It started in your trailer, on the last day of filming Bullet Train, whilst you were taking a nap …” Brad closed his eyes and pressed his face against Logan’s left sole, breathing in the scent, inhaling the smell of sweat, baby oil and tickled-to-oblivion skin, “I was ready, in place, everything was timed perfectly, where I then quite suddenly didn’t get my chance to do something like this …” Brad then opened his mouth and consumed Logan’s pinkie and second to last toe, sucking on them furiously as if they were sweets.

Logan struggled to compartmentalise his thoughts as his toes were sucked for the first time, not only by a man, but by someone who used to be his friend, someone he had worked with, someone he had spoken to on the phone countless times before, someone he had gone to dinner with, someone he had idolised since he was a teenager, someone who was an inspiration to him, the person who made him get into acting in the first place, Brad Fucking Pitt, now nibbling, licking and chewing on two of his toes, causing him to kick and writhe within The Extractor as more uncontrollable giggles flooded out of his mouth without warning.

“Ho, ho, ho, holy shit, Br—HAD!” Logan squealed, his cock and balls still poking out of his boxer shorts, “You, you should’ve just asked, man!” Logan wriggled within The Extractor, “I, I would’ve let you just—ahhh, man, fuck—my, my toes!—holy shit, I can’t take this, man, fuck, you gotta stop! Tickle somewhere else, man! Come on! Come on! Come on, come on, come on, comeoncomeoncomeon—” Logan curled his toes within Brad’s mouth, their fleshy lengths invaded by the fifty nine year olds tongue, the feather now falling free and landing somewhere on the floor, “Please, please, please, please, please, please, pleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease—” Logan begged breathlessly, “—Not my toes, not my toes, not my toes—” his eyes almost bulged out of his head when Brad took Logan’s left middle toe between his lips, sucking on it furiously, “—NO BRAD WHAT ARE YOU DOING COME ON MAN STOP OH MY GOD FUCK NOT MY TOES, NOT THAT TOE, NOT THAT TOE—” Logan had started to shout so loud his throat thickened with the volume, veins protruded at the sides of his head, his eyes watered, his expression scowled down at Brad, “—NO, NO, NO, ANYWHERE ELSE, TICKLE SOMEPLACE ELSE PLEASEGODI’MGONNAFUCKINGPASSOUT—” he threw his head and body around as if he were being electrocuted, Brad’s teeth, lips and tongue working over Logan’s left middle toe, sending one of The House of White Feathers most ticklish ticklees into a realm of tickled-to-lunacy levels of hysterics …

Brad, like with his pizza, spoke with his mouthful.

“How thingsh change, huh, kid?” As he sucked and nibbled on Logan’s middle toe, he scratched and scribbled his fingernails across Logan’s left sole, “You were beyond desperate to not get tickled, to the point where you factored in a fucking hand gun … And now you’re begging me for it …” Logan’s foot twisted and squirmed under Brad’s touch, his middle toe still caught in Brad’s mouth, Logan’s howls of laughter now echoing out through the room as the young ticklee continued to writhe within The Extractor, the leather bondage device keeping him spread apart in the X position almost too perfectly …

“BRA-HAD, STOP—” Logan snapped, his demand leaving his mouth in a forceful shout, “—I, I MEAN IT, ENOUGH WITH THE FEET—” his tone was deep and serious, his foot still flexing and twisting, his middle toe wrapped up in Brad’s tongue, “—STOP, STOP, STOP, STOP, STOP, STOP—” he repeated, his nostrils flared, his eyes wide open and bright white, “—YOU MOTHER FUCKER, GET YOUR MOUTH OFFA MY DAMN T—”

“—Say please,” Brad mumbled, his lips still taking in Logan’s middle toe, his fingernails still scribbling across his left sole, “Be a polite boy and say please …” Brad reached across to Logan’s right foot, where he began to tickle his right sole, now tickling both feet at the same time whilst sucking on his hyper sensitive middle toe, “… 🎶 I can’t hear you saying it 🎶 …” Brad sung.

Logan didn’t hesitate.

“PLEASE—” He yelled, his fists scrunched up into balls, “—PLEASE, OH MY GOD, PLEASE—” his head twisted from left to right as he took in the sight and sensation of both of his feet being tickled at once, his middle toe squirming around Brad’s long, wet tongue, “—PLEASE! PLEASE. PLEASE? PLEASE, BRAD, BRAD NO, NO, NO, BRAD, BRAD NO, NO, BRAD NO—!”

“Say … Please, Brad, tickle my armpits …” Brad requested, his mouth leaving Logan’s left index toe, only momentarily, where he then shuffled over to Logan’s right foot and began to suck on Logan’s right middle toe, “… Say it, Logan, and I’ll stop …”

Logan gasped, pressing his lips together, more strained giggles and breathless laughter leaving his nostrils as he watched Brad suck on his right middle toe.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fu-huhuhuh-huhuhuhuh-huhuhuhack—” Logan breathed in, squeezing his eyes shut, some emotion and saliva bursting out of his mouth as Brad began to chew and nibble on his middle toe, “—OH MY GOD, BRAD, DON’T BITE THEM! NO, NO BITING, YOU FUCK!—”

Brad chuckled to himself as he continued to suck and bite, bite and suck, suck and bite, bite and suck, both of his hands holding Logan’s right foot in place as he persisted in devouring that hyper sensitive middle toe …

“I haven’t heard you say it …” Brad urged, “… You’re gonna have to say it, Logan …”

Logan clenched his teeth and arched his back, his mind trying to take in an existence where he sat here, in this amount of restrictive bondage, his armpits tickled in ways they’d never been tickled before … One of his other most ticklish areas, exploited and manhandled for as long as Brad wanted; the mere suggestion of that situation taking place making Logan feel dizzy and weak, and Brad’s fingertips hadn’t even touched his underarms yet …

Logan quickly realised he didn’t have a choice, just like he didn’t have a choice with Michael; he reminded himself that he knew it would be hard, he knew it would be hell, he knew it would be an endurance …

But, after it would all be done, he’d have his dogs and above all else, this would be over, entirely over, finished, done …

Complete.

“PLEASE, BRAD—” Logan’s shout was grainy and coarse, “—TICKLE MY ARMPITS—” he yelled.

Brad’s lips left Logan’s middle toe.

He slowly got to his feet and dusted off his knees.

He wiped his mouth and then walked back to the desk, his eyes taking in the twinkling lights scattered out into the night time Beverly Hills landscape on the other side of the window.

“Hey, Logan. You notice we aren’t filming this?” Brad picked up his pack of cigarettes and pressed one against his lips, “That camera over there, it isn’t on. You’re the first person in this house that has endured a session, without it being filmed,” Brad picked a lighter out from his jeans pocket and lit his cigarette, “Well, except the sessions that took place before recording devices were invented, of course …” he took a drag and then spoke smoke, “… I wanted to make sure this was a private session. Just you and I. No audience, no paying crowds, no other eyes on this moment but mine …”

Logan, huffing and panting, licked his lips as he dropped his head over his chest.

“You’re in, insane,” he said breathlessly, “You, you should’ve just spoke to me about this,” he coughed, “I, I would’ve let you if you’d—”

“—No!—” Brad shouted, pointing at Logan with a stiff index finger, “No, you wouldn’t of let me do this to you! You’re fucking ticklish as FUCK, kid, and it’s incredible. It’s astounding, erotic, fun, special, unique, it’s, it’s fucking mesmerising how damn ticklish you are, alright? You would not let someone like me restrain you and tickle you, not like this. No way. So, save me the bullshit, alright, Logan? You got yourself into this chaotic mess, not me.”

Logan sat still and quiet within The Extractor as Brad took another drag of his cigarette.

“I’m sorry,” Brad shot smoke out of his nostrils, “I, I didn’t mean to lose my rag. I, I just … I don’t like what you’re suggesting. You’re making out that I didn’t have to go to these lengths, I didn’t have to bribe you, I didn’t have to pay what I paid to get you here. You could’ve just offered it to me on a plate, as if you were doing me some kind of favour …? Pfft … No. No fucking way. There’s no fucking way you would’ve let me—”

“—How … How much did you pay?” Logan asked, his voice soft and defeated.

Brad blinked.

He took another drag of his cigarette, pacing around the room slowly, his eyes narrowing at Logan’s exposed underarms.

“Ten million dollars.”

Logan’s eyes widened; he opened his mouth, but he couldn’t find the words to shape out his level of astonishment.

He just sat in The Extractor with his jaw to the floor, his confused stare shifting from left to right …

“Don’t be too surprised,” Brad stuffed his cigarette out against the base of The Extractor, “It’s the going rate for someone as ticklish as you,” he then went back to the trolly, picking up the bottle of lube, “Or, so Armie Hammer tells me, anyway. In fact, he had his ticklee for a lot longer than I have you, so if anything, I’ve been short changed …” he drizzled some of the gel over his own palms, rubbing the slimy liquid into his fingertips, “ … Anyway, I uh, I believe Michael asked you when was the last time you had your feet really tickled, and you couldn’t give an answer, is that right?”

Logan nodded slowly, closing his mouth back up, adjusting his mindset as Brad suddenly changed the subject.

Brad assessed the ends of his fingers, which were now heavily coated in lube.

“I’m going to ask the same about your armpits,” Brad placed the bottle of lube back over the tray as he walked to the back of The Extractor, “When was the last time your armpits were really tickled? And, I don’t mean like that time you nearly pissed yourself. Yeah, Michael told me all about that.”

Logan grimaced, his shoulders already jolting, his upper body already twisting as Brad disappeared from sight, positioning himself behind Logan, his claw-like hands appearing at either side of Logan’s torso.

“Oh god, oh, oh, oh my god—” Logan stuttered, “—I, I, I have no idea, that, that was the last time I, I was really, really tickled, be, be, before Mi, Mi, Michael—” he looked down at Brad’s right hand, his fingers wiggling at his right side, “—I, I can’t remember, fuck, uh, fuck! Uh, nev, nev, never—” he admitted, looking down at Brad’s left hand, his fingers wiggling at Logan’s left side, “—They’ve, they’ve never been tickled hardcore, man, uh, maybe, may, maybe stroked, or by, by acc, acc, accident but, but ne, never, never —” Logan, already breathless and squirming within The Extractor, started to beg Brad to begin, the wait, the pause, the taunting now too much to handle, “—Fuck! Fuck, Brad, please, just do it already! We all know you’re gonna do it! Just fucking do it already, come on, man, come on!”

Brad made impact with Logan’s sides, gently stroking and fluttering his fingertips across his ribcage, barely touching him as he gradually and ever so slowly made his way towards Logan’s underarms.

Logan jolted so hard he nearly threw himself out of his skin, “No, no, oh my god, fuck, Jesus—” he glared at Brad’s right hand and then at his left, “—Shit, this is insane, I, I can’t believe this is happening, I, I can’t stand this, fuck, Brad, come on, man, I’ll, I’ll pay you to stop! Anything, anything you want—oh fuck!—” Logan watched Brad’s fluttering fingers move closer up his sides, where they danced around hardening nipples and teased the fact that soon, very soon, they’d be deep within the sweaty, hairy confines of Logan’s armpits, “—Come on, Brad, name the amount, I’ll, I’ll pay you, seriously, just stop, stop tickling me, fuck! Oh fuck, fuck, oh fuck, oh, oh, oh—”

Brad grinned, his fingertips inching closer and closer toward Logan’s underarms, as Logan thrashed hard to the left, then hard to the right, “Michael said you offered the same proposal to him, man, you must really not want this to happen!” Brad pressed his chest against the back of The Extractor, breathing in the scent of Logan’s sweat, his view now the back of Logan’s head, his shoulders as they lifted and dropped, the sound of his arms squeaking beneath the long leather cuffs that bound him in place from elbow to wrist, “You got ten million, Logan? Huh? That’s what it would take to replace the ten mil I spent on making sure this happens …”

“—YES!” Logan cried, his watering eyes scowling down at Brad’s wiggling fingers as they arrived at his underarms, “I’ll pay you ten million! I’ll pay you ten million! Just, just don’t go any further, don’t go any closer to my, my armpits, my, my armpits, my, my arms, oh, oh, oh fuck, oh my god, no, you’re gonna do it, aren’t you? You fuck, oh you fuck, Brad you’re a fucking monster, oh, oh shit, no, it’s happening, fuck, oh my god, no, please, Brad, come on, go back to my feet, I can’t take it, I won’t be able to do it, Brad, not my arms, not my sides, not my pits, please, anything but, but my, my, my—” Logans breathless mumbling and senseless gibberish blended into strained giggles as Brad began to stroke Logan’s armpit hair, ever so gently invading the depths that made up his pits, causing Logan to transform his giggles into hearty, loud bellows of laughter, his entire body thrashing within The Extractor as Brad increased the pressure and intensity by forcing his fingers deep inside, their strength infiltrating the hyper-ticklish caverns, creating a sensational reaction within Logan that made Brad’s eyebrows lift and his mouth shape out the word, ‘whoa’.

The thirty one year old provided a mixture of begging, hysterical laughing, shouting and screaming as all four of his limbs pulled and yanked within their bondage, The Extractor wobbling on the spot as Brad bear hugged Logan and sent all ten of his fingers into one of Logan’s most ticklish areas; five fingers grabbing and clawing into one armpit, five fingers grabbing and clawing into the other, causing Logan to throw his head back and howl out his lunacy harder than ever before, his underarms tickled in ways they had never been tickled in his life, in ways they’d never be tickled again, his face now so creased with forced energy that the sides of his head had started to ache and his chest had begun to shimmer with sweat …

Brad growled as he wiggled his fingers hard, their rigid force penetrating Logan’s armpits mercilessly, relentlessly, the blonde older stud never once pausing as he continued to push Logan further and further into oblivion, not allowing him to catch a breath or even begin to try to beg, simply allowing him to come to the realisation that this tickled like fuck and it wasn’t going to stop, Logan’s sudden clarity arriving in the form of high pitched screams, one after the other, as Logan twisted his head from left to right, each twist providing another squeal, the girl-ish tone unexpected, ravaged by desperation and disbelief, the screams so loud they made Brad squeeze his eyes shut.

“AGHHHHHHEEEE AHAHAHAHAHA!—AGHHHHHHHEEEE AHAHAHAHA!—AGHHHHHEEEE! AHAHAHAHAHA—”

“—Thank you, Logan, thank you … Thank you for submitting yourself to me,” Brad whispered breathlessly, his fingers now sliding across the soft patch of each armpit that he currently exploited, the skin completely soaked with sweat, “Life is so short, I was starting to think I’d never experience something like this, with you, but here I am, making you feel something you’ve never felt before, all thanks to the simplicity of my own touch …” Brad was surprised by how loud Logan could scream, and at such a high pitch, so non stop, so unapologetically, his howls of laughter rolling out of him without a pause of breathe, just heave upon heave upon heave as his armpits were tickled non stop, past their limit, with no break provided, “You see, life is like a match, Logan,” Brad explained, his bear hug tightening, the force of his fingers penetration increasing in pressure, Logan’s screams getting louder and louder, The Extractor almost lifting off the ground, “You’re lit, you’re born, you learn, you live and before you know it, the match goes out, and it’s all over …” Brad poked his head through The Extractors back panel and left arm pad, where he was able to lick and whisper into Logan’s left ear, where he said something to Logan that was so sinister it made the young actor gasp in shock for the second time this evening …

“… Your match’s flame isn’t going out anytime soon, pretty boy …”

xviii - ‘Can We Still Be Friends?’

Logans hands hung out of the belted straps of leather.

His chest lifted and dropped, lifted and dropped, lifted and dropped …

Huff,

Huff,

Huff,

Huff …

Brad picked up the first silver claw from the tray and placed it over the tip of his right index finger.

“Myself and Michael are two very lucky people …” he then popped the second claw over the tip of his right middle finger, “… We’ve got to tickle torture The Logan Lerman, I mean, how wild is that! You, tied and tickled, that is a huge fantasy for a lot of tickle fetishists out there, man,” Brad placed the third claw over his second to last finger, “After you woke up to me sniffing your feet in your trailer, I didn’t go quiet on you for no reason. I wanted to create some distance. Leave you wondering what the fuck that was about. I also took the time to do a little research online,” he then placed the final claw over his little finger, wiggling all five of his fingers with a smile as the ceiling lights reflected off the shining silver that made up the sharp shape of the claws, “I thought, damn, I can’t be the only one obsessed with the idea of tickling The Logan Lerman …” Brad approached Logan slowly, wielding his clawed right hand like a weapon, his eyes narrowing at Logan’s left sole, “… Turns out, I was right …”

Logan curled the toes of his left foot into a tight scrunch.

“How long is … ” huff, huff, huff, “ … Left—” he croaked.

Brad ignored Logan, continuing with his speech, “There’s tonnes of tickle fiction about you, loads of edits on DeviantArt; you’re toe tied, ball gagged in a lot of them, tickled till you can’t take it for a second longer …” He now stood inches away from Logan’s left foot, “… None of it’s real, of course. It’s dreamt up by the people who can only fantasise about being in my position, where I stand right now; in the same room as you … You, you, you … My gorgeous, beautiful, ticklish little friend. Bound to The Extractor, your soles and pits and balls tickled till your soaked with sweat … My reality, as well as your reality, not some chapter in a story, a real life fucking situation taking place before my very eyes …” Brad took his clawed index finger and placed it against Logan’s left sole, “… It’s wonderful,” he whispered.

Logan threw his entire body, as much as The Extractor would allow, towards Brad, the bondage device locking him in place, it’s structure shifting under Logan’s weight, his entire face saturated in alarm as the sharpness of the claw created a feeling of hyper sensitivity over the bottom of his foot, far worse than a fingernail or electric toothbrush …

Brad raised his eyebrows.

“Holy shit. You really can’t stand having your feet touched, can you?”

Logan shook his head as his toes flexed and his chest pushed outwards, his mouth stretching open as he let a small chunk of air leave his mouth, “Mnn! Fuck, why does everyone keep stating the damn obvious?” He hissed, “I can’t stand being tickled, Brad, what you’re doing to me? It’s literally hell on fucking earth …” his foot twitched from side to side as Brad continued to press his clawed index finger over Logan’s arch, “Ho, ho, how long is left?” Logan repeated the question, “Please, fuck, you gotta tell me, I, I, I need a time frame, I, I need a time frame—”

“—I think, someone as ticklish as you, needs to have every inch of their body explored, so we can locate all of your ticklish spots,” Brad decided, “Miller will thank me. He’s desperate to find the most ticklish guy on the surface of this planet and the one he thought would be that has gone off the radar … And seeing as you’re almost as ticklish as he is, if not more so, it looks like you’re gonna have to take part in his experiments instead …” Brad placed all four clawed fingers over Logan’s arch where he started to scratch at the silky smooth skin that made up the sole of Logan’s left foot, “… How does that sound, kiddo?”

Logan threw his head back and gasped loudly, chuckling at first and then giggling seconds later, only to start heaving out heavy, deep laughter from the very pit of his stomach, his eyes widening, his fists shaking, his legs thrashing and kicking as he breathed in and yelled out his question for the third and final time—

“—HOW LONG IS FUCKING LEFT—”

As Brad tickled around Logan’s left foot; his heel, his toes, the sides of his foot, that succulent index toe, he finally decided to answer Logan’s question.

“I don’t really know,” he smirked, curling his index finger and thumb around Logan’s left big toe in an attempt to keep his foot still, “It’s around midnight now, so I guess I’ll keep you here till, pfft, past six in the morning, so that’s what, six hours to go?” He then scratched his clawed index finger over the pad of Logan’s big toe, sending the young ticklee into a maddened cry where he screamed and giggled into his chest, the perspiration once again forming over his forehead as well as his upper lip also, “What a sound! Laughter like that, just from me scratching away at this big toe? Damn, you really are a ticklers dream … How about I do all ten of your toes like this and then work my way up your legs, discovering every single ticklish spot from your ankles to your scalp …” Brad tutted as he eyed the leather wrapped around Logan’s calves and thighs, no doubt concealing ticklish areas behind his knees, “… Miller made a mistake giving me The Extractor as your set up; you need to be naked, spread eagle to a bed, ball gagged, an electric massager between your thighs, feathers gliding between each toe, electric toothbrushes in each pit, blindfolded for optimum sensory overload,” Brad unhooked Logan’s big toe and sent the claws all over his left sole, scribbling across the soft landscape of the bottom of his foot non stop, “Hmm, maybe that’ll have to be the set up next time …”

Logan, now laughing and panting so hard he could barely breathe, glared over at Brad and tried his best to communicate his despair.

“I signed f, f, f, for oh, oh, OH! Oh! Oh, only an haha, ahhaha, ahahaha, ahahaha, two oo oooo ooo ooo oo twooo ooo ooo ahahahours—”

Brad rolled his eyes, taking the clawed scribbling over the top of Logan’s foot, where he danced it across the leather straps covering his legs and towards his chest, his clawed touch now circulating around his right nipple.

“Oh, oh, oh, oh I knooooooooow you did, man, but I’m Brad Fucking Pitt, I helped build this fucking place, I can kinda do what I like … No one is checking the clock, believe me …”

Logan pressed his chin against his chest as he scowled down at the claws drawing shapes across and around each of his nipples, more shocked gasps and grainy moans leaving his lips as his nipples were tickled without his consent, his entire body thrashing within The Extractor as yet another ultra sensitive part of his body was found and then violated.

“No, no, not, not my nipples—fuck!—not my nipples! Not, not my nipples! I’ve only, only got, tiny nipples, man! Of all the places! Of all the places? How the fuck are they this ticklish—fuck! No, Brad, come on, this is ridic, ridiculous HAH—not my neck, man, come on! That fucking feels insane, man, shit—HA, OH GOD, oh my god, not my neck, not my face, get away! Pfft! Not, not my, my fucking hands? Get the fuck offa my hands, man!” Logan flexed his fingers as Brad slid his clawed touch across Logan’s right clammy palm, only to hop all five of the claws rather suddenly down to his right pit, scratching away past underarm hair and into the sweaty depths that made up the delve between his bicep and pec, “NO, NO, NO, not my pits, not again, fuck, man, I can’t take it, you can’t fucking just tickle me everywhere, you fuck! Stay in one place, you shithead, fuck, damnit, holy fuck, no, not my thighs, not between my thighs, not there, man, fuck, I’m losing my fucking mind, man! I can’t take this, fuck, no, come on!” Logan glared down at his boxer shorts, his cock and balls stuffed back behind his underwear, the claws now tickling the soft space of flesh that made up the inside of Logan’s right thigh, sending the boy berserk, “BRAD, FUCK, ENOUGH, COME ON, I MEAN IT, LEMME OUT, LEMME GO, THIS ISN’T COOL, THIS ISN’T FUNNY ANYMORE, MAN—”

—Suddenly, an idea landed in Logan’s head.

“—I NEED WATER, MAN!—” He screamed so hard he almost exploded out of The Extractor, “—OR I’M GONNA PASS OUT!—”

Just like Logan had hoped, Brad stopped immediately.

To Logan’s surprise, he even started to rub and massage Logan’s thigh, with his un-clawed hand of course.

Logan’s eyelids fell shut, a long and steady breath leaving lips shaped like an ‘O’.

“Alright, alright,” Brad pressed a red button underneath the leg extension of The Extractor, “Come on, you’re alright, kid. Breathe with me, okay? Take in a breath,” Brad clicked his fingers, causing Logan to jolt and open his eyes, his attention now fixed on Brad, “Listen, kid, take in a breath, alright? Breathe in …” Brad breathed in, urging Logan to do the same, “… And then breathe out …” Logan inhaled and then exhaled, mirroring Brad’s techniques as the room doors unlocked and then opened inward.

The same masked man that delivered Brad’s pizza stood at the doors, his hands placed behind his back.

“Get us a litre of Evian,” Brad demanded, “None of that tap water shit, and make it quick,” he watched Logan calm himself down, his once rigid and stiff exterior now slumped and exhausted, a chuckle of relief leaving his mouth as the masked man turned away and left the room, leaving the door ajar.

“This is …” Logan lifted his shoulders, shaking his head, “… I’m screwed,” he admitted, “I always knew I’d be screwed. And, I, I know this isn’t the last time you guys are gonna do this to me … I just know it … ” he ran his tongue over the roof of his mouth and glared into the chandelier hanging above him, “… Fuck …I tried so fucking hard … ”

He adjusted himself within The Extractor, his legs and arms squeaking within the leather straps, the belting over his chest rubbing into his skin to such an extent that red marks had started to appear across his torso.

Brad took his clawed hand and walked down to Logan’s left foot, placing his index finger over the base of Logan’s left middle toe, “I wouldn’t be so sure,” Brad began to scratch at one of Logan’s most ticklish spots, “They’re kinda fickle; one minute they’re super into one guy, the next it’s someone else. They’re also very aware. They know what’s happening to you tonight is one of the most intense experiences of your life…” Brad bit his upper lip as he watched Logan’s foot twist and pull, his toes flexing and stretching, the thirty one year olds determined strength beyond desperate to move his foot away from Brad’s touch, “… They … We … We’re not monsters. Even if you really think we are. We’ll give you a break …” he glanced up at Logan, offering a playful wink, “… Or, maybe we wont …”

The masked man returned, just as Logan had started to thrash within his bondage, his narrow eyed stare willing Brad to leave his left middle toe alone.

The masked man handed Brad the litre bottle of Evian and then left the room, closing the doors, locking them this time.

Logan continued to catch his breath as Brad took both hands and unscrewed the bottles cap.

Generously and gently, he walked to Logan’s side and aimed the bottle at his mouth, “Here you go, Logan,” where he carefully tipped some of the cool, crystal clear liquid past Logan’s lips.

Logan closed his eyes and glugged away at the water, allowing some of the spillage to land over his chest and shoulders where it reduced his body temperature as soon as it hit his sweat stained skin.

Logan’s eyes suddenly widened when he realised Brad was force feeding him the water, sending chug after chug of liquid down his throat, to the point where Logan’s cheeks were full and his fingers were flexing, his toes scrunching up, his legs kicking within the leather straps …

Brad stepped away, the bottle now half full, Logan containing a large quantity of water behind tightly closed lips.

“Mnn—” Logan’s eyes watered as he struggled to gulp down the liquid, “—Mnnn!—”

Without warning, Brad threw his un-clawed hand into Logan’s right underarm, invading his hyper ticklish pit with force and no mercy, causing Logan to spit out the water, his eyes almost popping out of his head, the liquid bursting out of his nostrils also …

“—PFFFTTTTTT!—”

The water sprayed over Brad; it soaked his face as he lapped it up, grinning heartily, loving every second as he continued to tickle Logan’s right armpit.

“SOAK ME YOU BITCH!” Brad cheered.

Logan, now dribbling, could do nothing but howl and thrash within The Extractor, excess water still trickling out of his mouth, past his chin, over his neck and down his chest where it blended in with the baby oil, the sweat, the gathering amounts of perspiration.

Brad’s hand slid out of Logan’s armpit, leaving the young ticklee panting and squirming, his head lifting, his blue eyes scowling into Brad’s, the words, “—You, you mother fucker—” leaving Logan’s puffy wet lips in the form of an angry growl, “—You, you mother fucker—” he repeated, “—You damn mother fucker …”

Brad chuckled, removing the claws off of his right hand as he stepped away, his eyes landing on Logan’s toes where they slowly travelled up his body; his bound apart thighs, his strapped up chest, his furry, ultra sensitive and exposed armpits, the leather around his neck, where they finally finished at his handsome face; a face that, despite now presenting a constant shade of pink with lips swollen and eyes bloodshot, still looked almost perfect, Logan’s symmetric features, thick eyelashes, bushy eyebrows and full head of hair reminding Brad that it was no surprise the young man was such a heart throb, such a beloved actor, such a lusted after ticklee not only within The House of White Feathers, but across the world …

“You’re fucking pretty,” Brad announced, removing the final claw off of his right little finger, “You know that?” he dropped it over the tray with the other four claws, hovering his hand over the next tickle tool, “Even when you’re tickled out of your mind you still look gorgeous as fuck.”

Logan squirmed within The Extractor, panic saturating his face as he watched Brad pick up an electric toothbrush.

“Brad, come on, man, not, not the toothbrush, enough already, give me a break, alright? You’ve been non stop, you haven’t even given me a second to, to just, cope with this, you know? Like, my lungs are on fire man, I can’t take being tickled like this, who, who, who can! Who does! You’re not meant to be tickled for this long, like this, it’s not right! It’s too intense—” Click! Bzzzzzzzzzz …. “—Come on, man, wait, no, don’t do that, don’t go down there, fuck, what are you doing, Brad, Brad, BRAD, no, no, no, n, n, n, n, n, n, n, NO—”

Brad shoved the electric toothbrush down Logan’s boxer shorts, vibrating bristle end first, allowing the tip to land against the space between his balls and asshole, trapping the device in place by ensuring the waistband to Logan’s underwear sat snug over the tickle tools base.

Logan threw his head down to his crotch, his eyebrows lifting hard and fast as not one, not two, not three, but four high pitched screams left his throat as yet another ultra sensitive area of his body was exploited, suddenly, without prior discussion, yet another surprise tactic from Brad, who second by second, minute by minute, continued to prove himself as one of The House of White Feather’s most sadistic ticklers.

As Logan shrieked and bounced his butt as much as he could within his confined, seated position, Brad danced his way towards Logan’s left foot where he actioned a constant tickling to his left sole, scribbling across the silky smooth, creamy landscape with all ten of his fingernails, causing Logan to erupt on the spot, to give up trying to shake the electric toothbrush out of his boxer shorts, to instead just sit there within The Extractor and not only shout and beg, giggle and howl, but to also scream like a girl, his mouth wide open, his eyes unblinking, emotion, saliva, dribble and concern exploding out of his mouth, his nose, his eyeballs and almost his cock.

“I’m gonna fucking piss myself!” Logan declared, the electric toothbrush whizzing and buzzing within his underwear, the more he thrashed and squirmed, the more the tool pressed against the base of his balls, his taint, the delicate depths that made up the very betweens of his thighs, all whilst Brad tickled and tickled and tickled across Logan’s left sole, causing the much lusted after ticklee to repeat his declaration of shameful lack of physical control of his body fluids, “I’M, I’M GONNA FUCKING PISS MYSELF, OH MY GOD!” He scowled down at his underwear, willing, urging, wishing for the electric toothbrush to run out of battery, magically fall through the gaps of his underwear, to malfunction and just, “—STOP STOP STOP STOP—” but the electric toothbrush didn’t stop, it continued; it whizzed and buzzed and vibrated so intensely against Logan’s taint that Logan’s eyes rolled to the back of his head and all that Evian that he had glugged teased him with the idea of leaving his cock in the form of a dull ache within his stomach, his breathless worry now aimed directly at Brad as he said, once again, sternly and with a growl to his tone, “—Brad, please, god, don’t make me piss myself—” the core reason behind his need to avoid a situation like this from repeating itself, quite possibly happening, right here, right now, his nightmare becoming truth—

“—You better keep it in, buddy!” Brad warned, “I fucking hate piss, that kinda shit is really not for me!” Brad tickled Logan’s left sole with his fingers whilst now also slurping, biting, nibbling and licking the toes of Logan’s left foot, often pausing at his middle toe to suck just that little bit harder, sending Logan into a realm of absolute hysteria as the electric toothbrush continued to buzz against his balls and taint, stiffening his cock into a ready shape, his pulsating helm prepared to force out a long trickle of piss the harder he was tickled.

Logan glared into his crotch, his eyes watering, his nostrils flared, his teeth clenched.

“Don’t piss, don’t piss, come on, Logan, not, not, not again, not, not again,” he cheered himself on, “You can fucking do it, don’t fucking piss yourself, keep it in, keep it in, fuck, it’s happening, I can’t, oh god, no,” his left foot twisted and turned, his toes curling under Brad’s tongue, his hips and waist shifting from side to side as much as the leather belt around his lower torso would allow, the electric toothbrush too pinned into place by the waistband, unable to slip free, it’s presence constant, infuriating, tormenting and annoying all at once until Logan threw his upper body forwards, his cry to Brad desperate and needy, “BRAD, PLEASE, MAN, COME ON, I CAN’T HOLD IT IN, I’M GONNA PISS EVERYWHERE! I’M GONNA PISS MYSELF LIKE I FUCKING DID THE LASTTIMEIWASTICKLEDTHISHARD—”

—Brad took one more nip at Logan’s index toe with his teeth before getting to his feet, reaching into Logan’s boxer shorts, removing the electric toothbrush and switching it off …

Click! Bzzzz<

Logan’s weight sank into The Extractor as he used the muscles within his body to pull the need to piss back inside, his cock twitching, his anus pulsating, his fists curling into balls as he closed his eyes and felt the urge to break subside gradually, second by second …

“… Fuck … Fuck … Fuck …” he whispered breathlessly, still giggling to himself as a strange sense of relief washed over him, “… I’m so scrwed,” Logan repeated, his tummy sucking in the need to release, “… You can’t just, you, you can’t just do this shit to people. You, you can think it, sure, but, you, you guys actually do this shit, don’t you? Fuck …You, you just, you just do it … ” Logan coughed into his shoulder, his toes wet with Brad’s saliva, “ … Come on, man, just let me go … It’s been so long, it’s, it’s been ages … I’ve been in this thing for hours, fuck, I can’t even, I can’t even see anymore …” Logan took his blurred vision over to Brad, who knelt back down at his right foot, then he took his fuzzy gaze over to the floor to ceiling window, his eyes narrowing at the Beverly Hills skyline, the nighttime still present, the twinkling of surrounding mansions and their inside lights suggesting that it was still either late at night or very early morning, “What… What time is it—” Logan mumbled, his head resting against The back of The Extractor, “—Is it still twelve? Wha, what, what time is it …”

Brad began to firmly massage Logan’s right foot.

“… It’s time for some worship,” he declared.

Logan’s shoulders dropped as he watched Brad’s lips hook over his right pinkie toe, where he started to suck on it slowly, carefully, gently, fully aware of Logan’s hyper sensitivity, handling Logan’s foot as if it were a delicate piece of china.

Logan’s eyes watered as he endured the ticklish sensation around his little toe, his grin manic and tightly clenched; sometimes it felt nice, a wet, warm, comforting feeling … Other times it felt too ticklish to handle, as if his little toe and his little toe only had been entirely consumed by nothing but ticklishness, Brad’s tongue now curling around Logan’s little toe like some kind of snake coiling around its prey, constricting all sensitivity out of it from its solid base to its fleshy, pulpy tip.

Logan watched Brad move to the next toe.

He slurped and sucked, dribbled and hissed, devouring Logan’s second to last toe with his greedy, ravenous mouth.

Logan threw his head forward and widened his eyes, his fingers flexing out into a maddened stretch, all five toes of his right foot curling beneath Brad’s mouth.

“—AGH! AH HA! HA! OH! NO—” Logan shouted, his demand fierce and loud, “—It … It tickles, man … No, come on, e, e, enough with the sucking …” he trembled.

Brad popped Logan’s second to last toe out of his mouth and then looked down to Logan’s middle toe.

He smirked at Logan, licking the taste of Logan’s baby oil soaked second to last toe away from his lips.

“You’ve made my dreams come true, this evening, my dear boy. My fantasy has been your nightmare, but ultimately, we’re both going to leave satisfied and fulfilled, I promise,” Brad’s eyelids fell shut as he took Logan’s middle toe between his lips, speaking with his mouthful, “Soon, I’m gonna go back to those armpits of yours and I’m gonna shave them clean of hair, then I’m gonna drench them in baby oil and stroke their silky depths with my claws for two hours, non stop, and then? Then I’m gonna cut away that underwear and tickle your asshole with a feather, and then, even if I do hate piss, I’m gonna watch you laugh so hard you wet yourself, you get to relive that time that made you so damn terrified of this in the first place, and then? And then I’m gonna cum all over your soles, I’ll tickle my orgasm into the bottoms of your feet, you’ll be let go, and then you’ll go home, with your beloved pets. See? We’re both winners,” Brad grunted, having to use both of his hands to keep Logan’s foot still as his thrashed and writhed within The Extractor, unable to handle Brad’s teeth, tongue and mouth suck, nibble and lick around the most ticklish part of his body, giggles and strained laughter leaving his chest as Brad persisted in exploiting the very end of Logan’s right middle toe, “I just hope, when this is all over, and you see me again at a premier, or an event, or even when I stand outside your home, hoping to catch a glimpse of you naked … I hope, I really do hope that we can still be friends …”

Logan’s legs, so restricted within their bondage, couldn’t bend at the knee or pull away from any form of tickling, so Logan’s foot had no choice but to twist and flex within Brad’s grasp as he sent his lips up and down his middle toe, sucking on the length with such consumption that Brad’s lips pressed down over the base of the middle toe, before sliding back up to nibble at the fleshy pad, causing Logan to hiss and heave, his eyes glaring down at the tray of tools on the surface of the trolly, his need for a damn break from the tickling now more intense than ever …

“Shave my pits then, you fuck!” Logan urged, “Shave my fucking pits, for fucks sake, you fucking fuck!”

Logan’s right index toe popped out of Brad’s mouth as Brad looked up past Logan’s leg, directly into his eye.

“You think I’m stupid?” Brad slowly got to his feet, “You think I don’t know that you want me to move onto that part so you get a brief pause from all the anguish?” Brad took a casual stroll to the trolly where he picked up the can of shaving cream and uncapped the lid, “You think I’m a bastard? That I’d deny you of that chance of relief?”

Logan lifted his shoulders and rolled his head, “Fuck, Brad, I don’t fucking know the answers to any of your fucking questions, alright! I just, I can’t take being tickled like this, man, I’m losing my damn mind over here, fuck!”

Brad smirked, aiming the can at Logan’s right armpit where he squirted a generous amount of shaving cream into his underarm, “You’re getting impatient with me, I can feel it …” he then squirted the same generous amount into Logan’s left underarm, the sudden arrival of pressure even at the gentle weight of mere foam still making Logan jolt, “… Boy, if you’re this aggressive now, god knows how you’re gonna be when the break if over, your pits have been shaved and I’m then finally in them, with all my gusto …”

Logan gradually came to terms with the gravitas of his circumstance, the details of what Brad wanted to do with him next arriving in his mind as an upcoming reality, Brad’s delivery of the unnerving schedule not really something Logan had taken in, due to being too focused at handling Brad’s teeth around his toe …

“Fuck, fuck, I’m screwed,” Logan began a try at escape, “Oh shit, okay, fuck,” he watched Brad pick up the razor, he tried to pull his arms out of the leather, he acknowledged the first real slice of panic pierce his chest as Brad placed the razor over Logan’s right armpit, “HELLLLLP! HELLLLLLP!” Logan screamed out to the doors and windows, “HELLLLP! HEEEEE—MPHH—” his cries for help were silenced as Brad placed his free hand over his mouth.

“No one is coming to save you,” Brad reminded Logan, “You’ve been here all night, and you’re going to stay here all night, that is your reality,” Brad removed his hand as he felt Logan’s panicked huffs subside, “Now, stay still, I don’t want to hurt you … Alright?”

Logan nodded quickly, pressing his lips shut as his eyes shifted down to his right armpit where he watched Brad carefully shave his armpit hair.

“You, you can do all you mentioned,” Logan squeezed his eyes shut, the sensation of the razor gliding past his armpit hair ticklish to say the least, “But, no, no tickling my armpits for two hours,” he requested, “No way, two hours is way too long, man, I’ll explode, I swear to god I’ll, I’ll explode …” Logan winced as the razor began to glide over smooth skin, his armpits no longer protected by his curls of armpit hair, “I’ll, I’ll piss myself, one hundred percent, I’m, I’m struggling to keep it in, even now, I swear, man, please—”

Brad moved to Logan’s left armpit, “I told you,” he said, “I want you to relive the very thing, the moment of your past, that made you so scared of this … I want to witness it, the look in your eyes, when it happens …” he started to shave Logan’s left armpit hair, his lips pursing in thought and focus, “… You keep on saying your screwed. You are screwed, that’s a certainty. I wonder, Logan, how does it feel to of tried to avoid this for so long, only for you to become screwed, for you to land yourself in the hot water you so desperately wanted to avoid?”

Logan panted as he watched Brad shave him, a situation he never dreamed he would ever be in, one that felt strange, mind numbing, bizarre and uncomfortable, all at the same time, “It sucks, man! It fucking sucks … “ he tried to keep his entire upper body as still as he could, the razors glide tickling his pit as it removed his armpit hair, the foam now fading away, “ …I, I ssss, sssss, sssseriously thought I, I could get out of, of this …” Logan threw his head back, “… If I knew this would be, THIS, I would’ve fucking asked NASA to shoot me to the fucking moon! I would’ve fucking hired a submarine and deep dived for the rest of my fucking life! I would’ve fucking LIVED IN A DAMN JUNGLE! I, I, I thought I’d be, fuck, tied to a bed and, and tickled like Seb was or, I don’t know, fuck, shoved in a damn sling, but, but THIS? THIS! This is fucking unreal, man, you guys are going to fucking town … Holy shit—” Logan raised both eyebrows as he watched Brad step away from his pits, lay the razor over the metal tray and then pick up the bottle of lube where he squirted it over his fingertips once again, “—Brad, hold up, ask, ask me another question, come on, man, let’s talk, let’s chat, let’s have a beer, or, or another slice of pizza, or, or, or, or—”

“—Or maybe you can tell me, how this feels?” Brad asked, his fingers now tickling the remaining chunks of foam away from Logan’s now hairless underarms, his fingernails scraping past the silky smooth caverns that held not even one curl of armpit hair; they were now glossy and white, creamy and smooth, shining from the amount of lube rubbed into their very depths, their levels of sensitivity increased by a thousand, which is saying something considering their levels of sensitivity already sat at mind blowing levels to start with …

Logan transformed into a body that simply reacts; a shape and structure that knew screaming for help did nothing, begging and pleading would be useless, shouting or screaming proved to be a waste of time, his entire body scrunching up to the left and then throwing itself to the right, a large grunt leaving his mouth as he arched his back and thrashed his torso from side to side, so quickly and at such a speedy rate it looked like someone had pressed ‘fast forward’ on his movements.

Brad grinned devilishly, the sight of Logan twisting and writhing with such strength and such rigidness telling him that Logan really, really, really could not stand having his underarms tickled like this, after they had been made to feel so hairless and soft.

“I’m waiting, Logan,” Brad whispered, “How does this feel?” He asked again.

Logan hissed in hard, taking in a sharp slice of air as his eyes boiled into his right armpit, his body thrashing to the left where his intense stare took in the sight of Brad’s fingernails deep within his left, where he would then thrash back to the right and take in the sights of Brad’s fingernails deep within his right, where he would then repeat that movement for a second, third, fourth time, his body thrashing from side to side so hard that The Extractor had started to creak and wobble beneath each determined squirm.

There was no laughter, no breathless giggles, no screams; just hearty growls and heavy grunts, his mind unable to understand or make sense of the sadistically unbearable levels of ticklishness taking place within each pit, his answer for Brad something he no longer could formulate, mostly because he could not speak, besides even think …

“I won’t stop until you tell me,” Brad warned, “Come on, Wallflower, tell me … How does this feel …?”

As Brad forced his fingernails deeper into the hairless depths of Logan’s armpits, Logan found himself widening his eyes to such an extent they almost popped out of his head.

“—It’stheworstticklingI’veeverhad—” Logan tried to throw his torso forwards, to close up his pits, even if it were just a little bit, but his thrash away from The Extractor did practically nothing.

“The worst you’ve ever had?” Brad smiled, taking Logan’s statement as a compliment.

Logan nodded quickly as he glared down at Brad’s right hand, its scratch and scribble now working its way to his left armpit, where Brad then tickled Logan’s left underarm with both of his hands, meaning there were ten fingernails in one underarm, all at once.

Logan’s jaw stretched open so much his chin pressed against the leather around his neck, all of his toes splaying out into a maddened flex, his fingers also stretching out in alarm as he declared, confidently and without regret, “—You’rekillingme—” his grunts and moans now having no choice but to be replaced by those feverish giggles he thought he could push down into his stomach, but no, here they were, falling out of his mouth uncontrollably, where they soon turned into bellows of manic laughter, high pitched screaming and forceful writhes within The Extractor as Brad went in hard on Logan’s left pit, soon taking his right hand out of the silky depths where it slid towards Logan’s stomach, Brad’s hand shaping out into a claw where he devoured Logan’s rib cage and tummy, fingering his navel, pinching and jabbing at his sides, rubbing and manhandling his hips and waist, all whilst Logan’s right armpit was ravaged by Brad’s relentless touch.

After being tickled so intensely, after having his own armpit hair removed, after being promised all the horrors that would take place between now and six in the morning, a relentless and oh so very screwed Logan Lerman finally snapped, breathing in hard, twisting his head so that he faced Brad, where he screamed out his thoughts at the top of his lungs, answering Brad’s question of ‘how does this make you feel’ with a hard hitting statement that summed up his feelings entirely …

“I FUCKING HATE YOU, MAN! WE’LL NEVER BE FRIENDS AGAIN!”

Brad’s scratching and stroking suddenly stopped.

His enthusiastic expression dropped.

Logan watched Brad’s fingers slide away from his pit and stomach, his underarms still tingling from the attack, their depths still soaked with lube …

Brad stepped away slowly, carefully, running his hands through his long head of hair.

He walked towards the desk and pulled open one of the drawers.

Logan swallowed down, Brad’s sudden silence and random decision to stop tickling his upper body making him feel more uncomfortable and nervous than the finger wiggling and shaving itself.

Logan peered across the room; with Brad’s back to him, all he could hear was Brad’s hands fingering through the clutter in the drawers, until Brad turned around and started to approach The Extractor, with a roll of black duct tape and a ball gag in each hand.

“Whoa, okay, fuck, Brad, al, alright—” Logan shuffled within his bondage, the leather squeaking as he wriggled in alarm, “—I’m sorry, I, I didn’t mean it, I, I …” he whispered a panicked, “—Fuck, alright—” before refocusing his mind on reassuring Brad that everything was okay, “—Sure, we’re friends, we’ll, we’ll still be friends, of, of course! Of course? What was I thinking, huh? I’m being stupid, man, okay? Alright?” Logan’s eyes followed Brad as he made his way to the trolly and picked up two electric toothbrushes, “No, Brad, put those down, man, come on, enough is enough, we’re friends, alright? Best friends, I mean it, come on man, don’t do this, fuck, that, no, that can’t, NO—” Logan curled all ten toes into a fierce clench as Brad began to tape an electric toothbrush to Logan’s left sole, ensuring that the tip of the tickle tool pressed against Logan’s left middle toe, “—What the fuck, man! No, no, no, no! No! No? No. N-n-n-n-n-n-n-n-n-n-no, please! Brad, come on! Fuck, no, please, please? Please. Please!—” Brad then began to tape the second toothbrush to Logan’s right sole, positioning it in the same way as the one taped to his left; the tip, perfectly placed so that it rested against Logan’s left middle toe, “—Brad, we’re friends, I mean it! I’m, I, I just can’t, I’ll piss if you do this, I’ll, I’ll have a damn breakdown I swear to god, man, come on—” Brad, now fully ignoring Logan, reached over to the electric toothbrush attached to Logan’s left sole and pressed the ‘on’ button, allowing the tip to buzz and vibrate into action, the spinning plastic bristles now vibrating against Logan’s left middle toe, causing the young ticklee to throw his head back and action one, two, three high pitched, girlish screams all at once, whilst Brad reached across and switched on the toothbrush attached to Logan’s right sole, the tip whizzing against Logan’s right middle toe, where both of Logan’s middle toes were tickled at once, the thirty one year old now hysterical, overwhelmed by disbelief, panting between his breathless giggles, his shoulders wriggling, his legs kicking, his back arching, The Extractor shaking beneath his writhes and jolts, “BRAD, BRAD, BRAD—” Logan cried, his eyes widening as Brad approached Logan and lifted the ball gag, aiming it at Logans mouth, “—NO, PLEASE, MAN, STOP, SWITCH THEM OFF, NO, BRAD, NO, BRAD, BRAD, NO, NO, BRAD, NO, BRAD, NO, BRAD, NO, BRAD, BRAD, BRAD, THE, THE THINGS, THE, THE THINGS, BRAD—” Logan couldn’t even think of the word, unable to say ‘toothbrush’, his mind too blurred by sensory overload, his mouth now taking in the shape of round plastic as the gag made it’s way past his lips, where Brad clipped the strap together at the back of Logan’s head, “—THE THINGS, THE THIMNNN! MNNNPHH! MPHHHH? MPHHHH!” Brad then walked behind the Extractor and took Logan, once again, in a tight bear hug, his hands positioned over each of Logan’s armpits, where the reality of Logan’s current and dire situation started to dawn on him; both middle toes tickled at once, a dire need to piss, with Brad about to invade his underarms, aggressively, unapologetically, clearly offended by Logan’s vile comment, Brad’s mouth opening, his lips brushing against Logan’s right ear as he whispered out the words …

“… It started with me, Logan …” Brad spoke in a quiet growl, “… And it ends with me, too. Your narrative has come full circle …”

Logan began to scream into his gag as Brad’s fingers clawed into his armpits, their invasion about to reach stratospheric levels of intensity when—

BANG, BANG!

… CRASH!

BANG, BANG!

xix - ‘Extraction’

Brad’s fingers slid away from Logan’s underarms as he shuffled out from behind The Extractor and narrowed his eyes at the locked door a few feet away from him.

Logan, growling out some form of relief from behind his ball gag, began to wriggle and squirm within his bondage as he acknowledged the sound of gunfire, whilst still enduring the buzz and whizz of the electric toothbrushes bristles as they continued to press against his middle toes.

Brad, speechless and alarmed, made a speedy effort to grab his belongings as more crashing noises and heavy footsteps started to approach the very room he and Logan were in …

“Okay, kid, it really has been fun,” Brad rushed from one side of the room to the other, picking up his mask from the couch, his car keys from the desk, completely disregarding Logan, the electric toothbrushes still buzzing over his middle toes, all of the other tickle tools laid out over the tray, “I’m uh, I’m gonna leave you right there, let you deal with your predicament by yourself,” Brand attached the white oval mask to his face, unlocked the door and then held onto the handle, turning to look Logan directly in the eye, “You’ve been a real sport, truly, honestly! And how perfect, right? How poetic, our time, once again, gets interrupted—”

—The door burst open inward; the door’s frame cracking into a dozen splinters, the surface of the door smashing into Brad’s face, sending the fifty nine year old hurtling across the room where he landed on the wooden floor with an almighty thud, his mask now broken down the middle, his nose bleeding, a disappointed, “Uhghhhhh…” leaving his lips …

“—You’re damn right about that!” Hemsworth declared as he stepped into the bedroom, a rifle in his right hand, his large, muscular body dressed from head to toe in black.

Logan’s eyes widened, his feet still twisting from side to side as the electric toothbrushes remained taped to his soles, where they would stay forever unless someone removed them for him.

As Hemsworth went to attach handcuffs to Brad, Sebastian arrived into the room, stepping over shards of wood, a handgun in his hand, a determined look across his face.

He wasted no time in running over to Logan, ripping the tape away from his feet, pulling the electric toothbrushes off of his soles, where he then reached across and yanked the ball gag from Logan’s mouth.

Logan gasped, drool seeping out of his mouth, his panicked glance shifting from his right arm to his left.

“Seb, oh shit, fuck, thank, thank god! Get me, get me the fuck outta this thing!”

Sebastian hissed, his fingers grabbing at the dozens of leather belts that made up each long thigh strap; there were five on one side, five on this side, another five belted around Logan’s right arm, another five belted around his left, “Fuck!” Sebastian spat, turning to Hemsworth, “I need your help here, you giant oaf!”

Hemsworth, currently grappling with Brad, tried to straddle the tickler, but Brad had kicked him away and was offering up a fight of his own, swinging punches and dodging Hemsworth’s kicks almost too expertly.

“I’m a little tied up myself!” Hemsworth jumped back as Brad swiped his fist at his stomach, “No pun intended, obviously!”

Logan had no choice but to sit there as Sebastian continued to unbelt each belt, succeeding in unstrapping three so far, with a further seventeen to go…

“Come on, come on, come on!” Logan urged, the sound of an alarm now ringing out through the mansion, approaching footsteps from outside the room, the floor above and the floor below getting louder and louder and louder, an idea landing in Logan’s head, “Seb, do my right arm first, then I can do my left!”

Sebastian nodded quickly, reaching over The Extractor where he started to unbuckle the straps to Logan’s right arm, Logan’s eyes expressing a worried gaze as he looked past the broken door and down the hall, where twenty masked henchmen began to hurtle towards him in a passionate run.

“Oh god,” Sebastian ignored the trickle of sweat rolling down his head, “Oh fuck!” He unbuckled one belt, two belts, three belts, struggled with the fourth, clenched his teeth and narrowed his eyes, finally unbuckling the fifth, “THERE YOU GO!”

Logan shook his right arm free and reached across his body where he began to unbuckle the left belt straps, the masked henchmen getting closer and closer and closer, their footsteps cluttered and fast, their charge filled with fury …

Hemsworth lost a tooth as Brad threw his elbow into his mouth; he staggered back, ducking another blow, sending his own right foot into Brad’s crotch, causing the tickler to yelp and hunch over, allowing Hemsworth to uppercut him directly beneath the jaw, Brad now lifted off his feet where he landed against the trolly, the wheeled structure rolling towards the floor to ceiling window, the tickle tools laid over it still in place.

“Come on you fucks!” Hemsworth picked his rifle up from the floor and turned to face the running crowd of masked henchmen, aiming his weapon at the ceiling of the corridor where he fired one, two, three shots, the bullets tearing apart the expensive decor just like they had since he and Seb had invaded the property, never once shooting or injuring anyone, simply scaring the cult half to death by firing at mirrors, windows, corners of the carpet and at the many feet of the masked henchmen, henchmen who had fallen victim to Hemsworth and Sebastian’s kicks, punches and head butts …

The running crowd jolted in shock, dipping beneath their shoulders as shards of the ceiling crumbled before them, pausing their charge momentarily, allowing Logan and Sebastian more time to unbelt each chunk of leather.

Finally, Logan was able to pull his left arm and two legs out from the bondage, landing his bare feet over the floorboards, his knees wobbling from exhaustion as Sebastian helped him into a standing position.

Both young men stood behind Hemsworth as they watched the charge of masked men approach, this time confident in ignoring Hemsworths rifle as he continued to fire more shots into the walls, knocking off statue heads and destroying glass vases filled with flowers; water, petals and debris exploding out into the corridoor …

Hemsworth took a breath and then expelled a loud, “TAKE ALL OF ME YOU MASKED FUCKS!” that almost deafened out the sound of the alarm, his tall, muscular strength hurtling towards the masked henchmen where he threw himself into them, knocking five or six back as if they were skittles and he were a hard hurtling bowling ball.

Sebastian turned to the side suddenly.

“Logan, watch out!”

Brad ran at both Logan and Sebastian, his arms wide open, the broken mask still strapped to his face, a relentless and purposeful, “GRAAAAAAAAAGHHHHHHHHHHH!” leaving his mouth as he ran across the floorboards, directly towards his all time favourite ticklee …

Sebastian looked at the door, hanging off its hinges, four, five, six, now seven masked henchmen making their way inside …

He turned to look at the window just two feet away from him.

He grabbed Logan’s shoulders and spun him around so that he faced him.

“Logan,” he said, “I owe you an apology…”

Logan squeezed his eyes shut, his jaw dropping, his weight carried by Sebastian towards the tall window where they both knocked into the trolly of tools, their bodies bursting through the glass, the window shattering into a thousand pieces, the trolly and some of its tools following their fall …

Brad slid to a halt, cupping his mouth with his hands as, in slow motion, he watched Logan and Sebastian tumble out of the third story window.

Logan’s eyes peeled open, his jaw stretching apart, a deep and long, “SEBAAAAAAAASSSTIAAAAAAAAN!” droning out of his mouth as he reached out for his friend, his hands shaped into claws, his half naked body tumbling through the air.

Sebastian, upside down in his descent, took his panicked gaze away from the driveway currently approaching them ever so gradually, his muscular arms stretching out for Logan who twisted in the atmosphere just inches away from him …

“LOOOOOOOO-GAAAAAAAAAAAAN!”

Surrounding the duo were thousands of shards of glass, falling at the same slow-mo speed, the L.A morning sun causing them to sparkle …

Between the shards were a few electric toothbrushes, an open bottle of lube spilling everywhere, some feathers and the roll of tape …

The chaotic plummet hurtled towards nothing but flat, hard ground, both young men squeezing their eyes shut as the gravel now sped towards them, where they had no choice but to brace themselves for impact.

Evans, in his green Ferrari, drove across the driveway and threw his foot on the break, positioning his finally returned vehicle under Logan and Sebastian, who landed on the roof of his car with a heavy bounce and a crack; the latter suggesting that Sebastian had broken a rib on impact.

Logan rolled off the car and hit the gravel, face first.

Evans’ head poked out of the drivers window.

“Get in, kid!”

Logan threw open the passenger door and jumped in, as Sebastian lay on his back, over the roof, more shards of glass landing around him, tickle tools now literring the ground surrounding the Ferrari.

Logan looked at Evans in surprise, a large grin spreading across the tickler’s face …

The sadistic snarl soon informed Logan that this wasn’t a rescue …

As Evans drove both Logan and Sebastian into a pre-opened garage connected to the side of the mansion, Logan became suddenly aware that this was instead a final betrayal.

xx - ‘The End’

Black leather gloved hands folded white denim overalls inside a pink suitcase. 

Stitched to the chest of the overall was a badge reading ‘Ticklee 006’.

The hands carefully laid out white socks, white pumps and a red ball gag over the folded up clothing and then they gently closed the suitcase.

The suitcase was then placed on top of another closed suitcase.

The Clown picked up the stack and held both suitcases close to his chest.

He strolled down one of many destroyed corridors within The House, walking over shards of glass, broken white oval masks and chunks of ceiling, taking stairs down to an elevator where he quietly made his way towards Sub Zero, whistling Lady Gaga’s Bad Romance to himself during his journey.

Once the elevator had arrived at a floor filled with darkness, The Clown narrowed his eyes behind his plastic mask and focused on three blindfolded men, each strapped to an individual tickle chair, their growls and grunts muffled by ball gags.

The men sat in their underwear only. They were dirty, scruffed up, two of them presenting random, tiny cut marks across their upper body, as if their strength had been met with glass.

The Clown laid a suitcase each, under two tickle chairs, leaving one tickle chair without a suitcase.

He stepped back.

And then, he removed his mask.

The Clown’s identity was hidden from Logan, Sebastian and Hemsworth as they sat tied within their individual tickle chairs, but his voice was instantly familiar.

“It’s time to end your narrative,” The Clown declared.

Logan began to growl into his gag as he felt a fingertip press against his bellybutton.

Sebastian’s eyes scowled behind his blindfold as he wriggled within his bondage, Hemsworth’s giant frame also thrashing in its seat, the structure of the device squeaking and wobbling beneath his almighty size.

The Clown’s finger slid up Logan’s stomach and then travelled through the air as it approached Sebastian’s left underarm, “You’re all going to sign a contract that provides peace between us, and the three of you. Each contract is an outcome, and each outcome is based on the level of entertainment you have provided, to me, our growing number of members, to the many wealthy share holders who have invested in your narrative,” The Clown tickled Sebastian’s armpit, causing the forty one year old to throw his torso to the right, his teeth biting down on his gag, “And mark my words, if you break your contracts, if you dare try to step foot in any of our Houses again, either in person, or in disguise …” The Clown then took his touch to Hemsworth, where he started to stroke the Aussie’s abs, toying with his navel as the muscle man giggled into the plastic ball wedged between his mouth, “… There will be hell to pay …”

Hemsworth, breathless and dribbling, sucked in his stomach as The Clown continued to tickle his tummy; all three men, their eyesight removed from them, couldn’t see the maskless Clown or the suitcases beneath them, they could only feel and listen, taking each touch and tickle from The Clown by surprise as he continued to move around and between them.

“You’d be stupid to break the provided agreements,” The Clown declared, walking away from Hemsworth where he returned to Logan, his gloved finger now pinching at Logan’s middle toe, “Your outcomes offer a conclusion; once they’ve been actioned, you’ll never hear from us again, which, I assume, is what you want at this stage, considering you’ve failed miserably at bringing us down …”

Logan’s feet stretched inward, his toes scrunching, his eyes squeezing shut behind his blindfold.

The Clown folded his arms across his chest as he walked back towards Hemsworth.

“You, you dense, brainless, blithering blockhead … You don’t get a suitcase. Instead, you’ll be wheeled away where you’ll be made to sign a contract that binds you to ten hours with all the masked men you either punched, shot at, or knocked out during last nights abysmal attempt at destroying something that is literally older than your grandparents…” The Clown reached forwards and stroked Hemsworth’s left sole, causing the forty year old to kick both legs within the tickle chair, strained chuckles still held behind his gag, “… Brad seemed to recall fifteen, maybe twenty injured masked men, after your bull-in-a-china-shop moment? That’s a lot of broken masks. That’s a lot of pissed off henchmen. That’s a lot of people tickling you all at once …”

The Clown clicked his fingers.

“Take him away …”

A masked man stepped out from the darkness and into the spotlight, where he wheeled Hemsworth away into pitch black, Hemsworth now struggling so hard within his tickle chair that all Logan and Sebastian could hear was creaking, rattling and loud, stern shouts.

Sebastian huffed and puffed as he felt The Clown’s presence arrive beside him.

“And you …” The Clown growled, “… You’re the one who fucked this all up. You’re the one who started this mess, who knocked it all of course. You deserve the ultimate punishment …” The Clown titled his head as he took in Sebastian’s bound, gagged, blindfolded beauty, “… But, to also reward you for you passion, you also deserve the chance of freedom …”

Sebastian looked from side to side, his eyelashes rubbing against his blindfold as he blinked once, twice, three times in confusion.

Logan shuffled in alarm as he felt The Clown stand behind his tickle chair, leather fingertips now combing past his armpit hair, his shoulder shaking, his grunts muffled thanks to the gag …

“Now, for the main man! The one and only, Mr. Logan Lerman … Wow, aren’t you just fucking adorable? One of the top three most ticklish lee’s we’ve ever had the pleasure exploring. Because you really can’t take it, we’re going to offer you the chance to receive freedom also …” The Clown then began to forcefully tickle Logan’s underarms, raising his voice over Logan’s shrieks and the tickle chairs creaking, “… Without a little punishment first, of course…!”

The Clown slid his hands away suddenly, dancing on tip toes around both tickle chairs until he stood once again before both young men, staring at Logan especially, who still sat stiff and rigid, nostrils flared, fists clenched after his pits were so suddenly invaded.

The Clown then took a few steps back, his entire body leaving the spotlight, his identity hidden by the darkness.

“I want him to see this. I want to hear him speak …” he whispered.

A further two masked men appeared from the pitch black; one removing Logan’s blindfold and gag, one removing Sebastian’s blindfold and gag.

They then walked away from the spotlight, leaving Logan and Sebastian panting as they glanced over each other with faces saturated in bewilderment.

The Clown continued to speak in a soft, controlled whisper.

“At the base of your chairs are suitcases. Inside each suitcase is an outfit, a ball gag and plane tickets. You’ll need to work with all three items, but only when we instruct you …”

The Clown turned towards Logan.

“Logan, you no longer have a name. You no longer have any purpose, other than to endure tickle torment, when we ask. You have no past, no future … You are now, quite simply, ‘Tickle 006’…”

Logan blinked, licking his lips, taking in all of this random information word by word …

The Clown looked towards Sebastian, “The same goes for you, Stan, otherwise known as ‘Ticklee 007’ …" he pointed at Sebastian, his hand reaching into the spotlight, the rest of his arm and body concealed by darkness, “… Any James Bond jokes and I spend two hours non stop between your thighs …”

Sebastian shuffled awkwardly within the tickle chair, pulling his legs together as much as his bondage would allow.

“After this evening, once contracts have been signed,” The Clown whispered, “You must then keep the suitcases as your own personal belongings, until further information is provided. Do you understand?”

Both Logan and Sebastian nodded quickly, at the same time.

The Clown’s grin was hidden by the darkness.

“Finally, I want to say a huge thank you to you both. Your efforts made to unintentionally provide a one of a kind narrative has helped to fund something pretty fucking huge, something you’ll both play an important part of once you step foot off that plane,” The Clown giggled, “In some ways, we never wanted the money for our bosses healthcare, but, then again, we kinda did - after all, it’s important he stays alive to see his fantasy come to life. Ultimately, the money received by our audience, to view the sessions you’re about to endure and the sessions filmed over the past days of chaos, will mostly fund the brilliance that’ll take place next year …” The Clown bounced on his toes, “… Boy oh boy, I can’t wait for you to experience it!”

Logan and Sebastian shot baffled glances at each other as The Clown’s high pitched, enthusiastic tone suddenly dropped.

“Take him away …”

Another masked man stepped into the spotlight, where he wheeled Logan into the pitch black, towards a set of doors at the end of the hall.

Logan arched his back and lifted his butt off of his seat.

“Wait, wait, hold on, what, what are you doing?” Logan wriggled within the tickle chair, “Where are you taking me? Damn, fuck, enough of this shit, come on! Hey, Sebastian, don’t leave without me, man! Come find me when you’re out! Hey, lemme talk with Sebas— fuck, no! No? No. What! What, what, what, what—” Logan braced himself for tickle horror, as if on a rollercoaster about to hurtle down a steep track, his feet knocking open the doors where he was introduced to another darkened room, however this one was filled with the same amount of masked, well dressed people as the previous night, the scent of champagne and sweat invading his nose, his gang tickling ready to reconvene, all ticklers turning to face them, an excited smile behind each mask as Logan began to scream, his calls for this to end before it had begun fading into nothing as the doors swung shut.

Sebastian sat in silence, his chest lifting and dropping, lifting and dropping, lifting and dropping.

The Clown stepped into the spotlight, a hairbrush in his right hand, a feather in his left, his identity now revealed.

“And you … You have a full day’s session with Evans …” Said Leonardo DiCaprio, “… But for the next few hours, you belong to me …”

Logan jolted to the left …

Then he jolted to the right …

He stared forwards, breathless and exhausted, his body bound to the tickle chair, the surrounding crowds poking him, stroking him, toying with his nipples, jabbing at his sides, scratching away at his underarms …

“Please, everyone … Stop, I’m begging you, I can’t take any more …” He muttered.

A masked tickler from the crowd approached him with an electric toothbrush.

A masked tickler from behind dangled a gag in front of his face.

Evans stepped forwards with a blindfold in his right hand.

Hemsworth appeared from the right with a bottle of massage oil in his left hand.

Michael held string, ready to pin Logan’s toes back, a large grin across his face.

Sebastian positioned a camera stand a few feet opposite Logan as the masked people within the growing crowd increased in numbers, the large gathering now surrounding Logan, the spotlight burning down over him.

“We failed you, Logan” Sebastian pressed the cameras record button, “But it isn’t us being punished …”

Beep.

“… It’s you.”

Sebastian gasped, throwing his torso up and away from the mattress, sitting up in bed, breathless and wide eyed …

He winced, placing his hand against his side, his intake of breath so hard and fast that it had caused his broken rib to sting.

He closed his eyes and reminded himself that what he had just experienced was just another reoccurring dream, a repetitive reminder of the guilt he felt after landing he and his friends in such a complex and life changing situation.

He pinched his nose and swung his feet out of bed, standing in Logan’s spare room now naked and lit by morning sun, his upper body and thighs decorated by tiny scratch marks after his three hour session with Leo, a House of White Feather’s Tickler since 2010, his shoulders and face displaying small cuts from the many shards of glass that had landed over his face as he lay on Evans Ferrari roof.

Downstairs, Logan swirled a spoon in a black cup of coffee whilst his dogs circled his legs, their big pink tongues hanging out of their mouths as they waited for Logan to make bacon sandwiches like he usually would at this point of the day.

He turned around just as Sebastian reached the bottom of the stairs.

“I figured you needed something strong, after all the sleep talking I heard through the walls last night …” Logan smiled, placing the cup of coffee down over the kitchen table, “… And the night before that …” where he took a seat in a stool last occupied by someone he thought he could trust: Michael B Jordan …

Sebastian sat down opposite Logan, his right hand curling around the cup, his other hand petting Logan’s dogs as they came to greet him in the form of licks and sniffs.

“Thanks, man, for the coffee and uh, the jeans …” Sebastian gestured down to the only thing on his body, “… I don’t feel like I can go home just yet. Not right now.”

Logan, dressed in sweat pants and a vest, shrugged to Sebastian and offered him a reassuring wink.

“It’s just tickling,” he said with a smirk.

Birds tweeted outside Logan’s kitchen window as both men took their time in waking up, their experience since Sebastian arrived at Logan’s street over a week ago proving itself as both physically and mentally demanding, to say the least.

Just like on that day, on the hill the Hollywood sign occupied, Logan asked Sebastian the same question he had asked him then.

“What do we do now?”

Sebastian took a sip of his coffee.

He stared down at the circle of black and then shot his blue eyes up at Logan.

“I think the question is more: what have we fucking learned?”

Logan frowned.

He got up from his seat and walked towards the closet under the stairs, pulling it open and reaching inside, both of his dogs following him where they started to sniff inside the closet.

He returned to the kitchen table with his pink suitcase.

He laid it out over the tables surface, flicked the latches and opened it up.

A ball gag, plane tickets to Sweden and neatly folded overalls with Ticklee 006 stitched to the chest stared back at Logan and Sebastian as Logan’s dogs sighed and both sat down under the kitchen table.

Sebastian continued.

“After all that, what have we got from this? What did we achieve, if anything at all?… ” Sebastian sighed, running his palm over his face, “ … Did this actually happen?”

Logan, keen to move this forwards, started to assess their current dilemma.

“Well, I got back my dogs, the main thing I wanted out of this. Even if you don’t feel it right now, you should know you, we, we won.”

Sebastian smiled, taking a sip of his coffee, the feeling of one of Logan’s dogs resting it’s head over his left foot more comforting than Sebastian could explain.

Logan picked up the ball gag and rubbed his thumb across the plastic surface.

“Evans got what he wanted … You … And as hard as it was for you to endure,” Logan reached across the table and squeezed Sebastian’s shoulder, “It’s over. The only torture you gotta deal with now is me forcing you into countless Real Housewives of Salt Lake City marathons … I’m obsessed, man. If you’re gonna stay with me for a few weeks, you gotta get used to it.”

Sebastian chuckled into his coffee.

Logan lifted the overalls out of the suitcase, opening them out across the kitchen table, still amazed that they had his measurements without asking him before designing such a garment.

“As for Michael …” Logan sighed, “… I guess he’s one of them now,” he ran his fingertips over the ‘006’ stitched into the overalls chest, “Or, he’s stepped away from it all and just taken the payment he was offered. I haven’t heard from him since he …” Logan squeezed his eyes shut as he thought back to Michael’s fingernails scratching across his oil soaked, toe tied feet locked into stocks, just two nights earlier.

In an attempt to nudge focus away from Michael, Logan shifted the focus to someone else, “How’s Hemsworth?”

Sebastian finished his coffee, placing his cup down over the kitchen table.

“He’s fine,” Sebastian confirmed, “More than fine, actually. He kinda enjoys the tickling thing. That man loves to laugh. Last I heard he actually went back to ask for more, only if they helped fund his next Thor movie …” Sebastian rolled his eyes, “… Like we need another one of those …”

Logan’s mouth fell open.

He then closed it slowly as he lifted his shoulders and smiled quietly, accepting Hemsworth and his decisions respectfully.

“Each to their own,” he said to himself, his eyes never leaving the ‘006’ staring back at him.

Sebastian watched Logan carefully.

He acknowledged the once anxiety-riddled young mans sense of calm; the way he handled the contents inside of the suitcase, not out of worry or concern but more out of interest, out of curiosity; second by second Logan was learning, and every bit of information involving The House of White Feathers and his friends circumstance that landed within his mind filled him with confidence, it no longer scared him, it no longer made him want to run, it no longer made him jolt on the spot, at the mere thought of being tickled …

Sebastian wasn’t sure if it was because Logan had his dogs back, or if it was because Logan had realised, after experiencing his worst case scenario, even if he had contained his piss, that it wasn’t that bad after all …

Either way, as a friend and as someone who had only met Logan over a week ago and now deeply cared for him, seeing Logan like this made him happy, and it made him realise that even if they hadn’t bought The House of White Feathers down, they had achieved something positive in some way after all.

“And then there’s Brad,” Sebastian stroked his jaw, shaking his head, “He’s always had a thing for your feet? Always been a member of The House? Damn, you couldn’t write this shit …”

Logan placed the overalls back inside the suitcase, folding them up neatly.

“I don’t wanna talk about him,” Logan laid the the ball gag over the overalls and closed the suitcase up, “I wanna talk about us.”

Sebastian placed his hands in his lap as he tilted his head.

“Us?”

Logan flicked the latches shut and then placed both hands over the surface of the suitcase.

“What happens in Sweden?” Logan asked, “What are we gonna be involved with? What do we have to do, to achieve freedom?” Logan wondered when they would be called, when they would have to cancel all plans and head to the airport where they’d put the plane tickets to use and throw themselves into the unknown …

Would it happen tomorrow?

Next month?

Next year?

Logan looked up at Sebastian and raised his most important question yet.

“… How many episodes of Real Housewives of Salt Lake City am I gonna miss?”

Sebastian tried to contain his giggles in the form of a pressed lip and sucked in smile, but after a few seconds he burst into laughter, transformed from worried to entertained as Logan made a determined effort to make light of the situation.

Logan laughed too, his dogs under the kitchen table wagging their tails at the sound of some much needed light relief.

Both young mens laughter staggered into chuckles, the chuckles spluttered into coughs, the coughs turned into clearing of the throat until Logan and Sebastian sat quietly in Logan’s kitchen, sniffing awkwardly, both unaware of how much laughter they needed to experience that didn’t come from electric toothbrushes or violating fingers, but laughter that came from the heart instead.

Logan shuffled in his seat, his serious stare aimed directly at Sebastian.

“Thanks, man,” he said, “For everything. For trying to help. For being there. I kinda don’t care that us making a mess of things got us in a trickier situation. We did the best we could. As friends. Real friends. I mean, you threw me out of a fucking window and I’m thanking you. That’s friendship, right there …”

Sebastian smirked, reaching across the kitchen table, brushing his knuckles against Logan’s right pink cheek.

“You’re welcome, kid.”

Another beat of silence, more tweets from birds nesting outside, a long, steady sigh from one of Logan’s dogs underneath the table.

Sebastian picked up his coffee cup and looked into its emptiness.

“Sweden could happen anytime now,” he noted, “What are you gonna do with your day, Lerman?”

Logan smiled.

He stood and left the kitchen table, his dogs scattering around his feet, excited and panting as Logan walked to a set of hooks nailed against his kitchen wall, hooks holding two dog leads.

Sebastian borrowed a pair of Logan’s sliders, as Logan slid his feet into some slippers.

The leads were attached to Logan’s dogs.

The front door to Logan’s home was opened.

Both Logan and Sebastian walked Logan’s dogs down the Los Angeles suburb streets as the morning Sun continued to rise, it’s burning light shining over both men as Sebastian paused to stop, his hand curling around Logan’s wrist.

Logan looked down at Sebastian’s touch and then lifted his head to look at Sebastian’s lips.

“When we’re in Sweden,” Sebastian spoke quietly, “Whatever they make us do, whatever happens,” his whisper transformed into a intent growl, “… I’m taking them down.”

Logan nodded slowly.

A breeze rolled between them both, bringing dust and leaves along with it, causing both Logan and Sebastian to squint as their hair blew in the wind.

A white feather pressed against Logan’s chest.

Logan and Sebastian laughed once again, at the coincidence of such an object arriving between them both, at the most perfect time.

Logan picked the feather away from his chest and tucked it behind his ear.

As both men turned to walk Logan’s dogs into the sunrise, they embraced the road ahead; a road filled with uncertainty, the acceptance of their fate and the knowledge that no matter what happened next, their individual narratives were far from over …

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