annihilate - / verb

1. destroy utterly; obliterate.

____

As Tim showered, he pondered over the word ‘annihilate’.

It was such a strong verb to attach to something as playful as tickling.

Even Miller himself had not used a description like that, and he was meant to be the evil one out of the two brothers.

Tim closed his eyes as hot water soaked his pale skin.

He leant against the inside wall of the shower as the hazy memory of a naked man tied to the lawn outside, surrounded by nighttime, orange flames and tall Horned Devils, flickered through his mind in a flash of disturbing imagery.

Tim snapped his eyes open as a monstrous command echoed in through one ear and out of the other.

“… Give yourself to us and we will not give you back …”

Tim switched off the shower and stepped onto tiled flooring.

He reminded himself that he had been pushed to his physical limits by intense upper body tickling time and time again …

… With those he trusted, as well as the ones he did not, by all kinds of varied techniques and methods.

As he wrapped a towel around his waist and perched over the corner of the bed, one thought remained unshakeable:

Why does he think he has the power?

Tim stood and allowed the towel to fall to his feet as he snatched a pair of trousers from his suitcase.

He picked up his iPhone and took hold of a white tee.

He dressed himself, his eyes shooting towards the open bedroom window - he had already assessed the four foot drop from ledge to ground - as long as he wore shoes, the land would be comfortable.

Tim yanked on his New Balance and pocketed his phone - he slicked his hair back with his hands and looked at himself in the mirror.

The weird ceremony, the talons, the alcoholism and the fact that he woke up restrained without giving his consent was enough for Tim to glare at his reflection and hiss out the words,

“—Fuck this—”

He walked to the bedroom window.

He pushed it further open.

He hooked one leg over the side.

He threw himself out.

Like a cat, he landed on his feet, his knees bending him into a quiet crouch.

He huffed, smirking at his own agility.

And then, he ran.

- f i v e m i n u t e s l a t e r -

Maxwell smoked a cigarette as he nursed a hot mug of coffee.

Behind him, the same tickle chair Tim had been strapped to yesterday remained baron.

“Just you and me, champ,” Maxwell addressed the tickle chair as if it were a friend.

Suddenly, the living room doors boomed open.

Maxwell kept his back to the doors and continued to look through the glass of the window, some smoke shooting out of his nostrils as he admired kicked up turf on the grass, an iPhone smashed over concrete, a sweat stained t-shirt pulled off in a wrestle, a left New Balance discarded in an attempt to kick free …

Through the double doors charged two Horned Devils.

The first to enter held the top end of a thick metal pole, the second to enter held the bottom end.

Tied to the pole, as if he were a pig ready to be cooked over a fire, was Tim.

He was ball gagged, the hems of each trouser leg stained with mud, his wrists tied to one end of the pole with rope, his ankles tied to the other.

His left foot was bare, his right still contained in the remaining New Balance trainer.

“Mmmph! Mmph! Mmphh!”

Tim hung in a deep ‘V’ shape, his body swinging like a sack of dangling meat as he was carried into the living room and presented before Maxwell.

Maxwell turned away from the window, sucked on his cigarette and then held smoke at the back of his throat.

“Didn’t your parents ever teach you to tie your laces, Timothée? …”

Tim’s glare was filled with fury, his eyes bloodshot, his forehead dripping with sweat as Maxwell blew smoke towards him.

“Mnn, mnnph mnnph grahhhmpp? Mmmmtheer fugger!—”

Maxwell sipped his coffee.

He then stepped towards Tim’s feet.

The toes of Tim’s left foot curled into a defensive scrunch before Maxwell could place his index finger beneath them.

“You heart throbs always put up a good fight,” Maxwell admired, “But my Horned Devils are no match for you.”

Maxwell stubbed his cigarette into a nearby ashtray and sighed smoke through his lips.

He then clicked the fingers to his right hand, once.

Click!

Both Horned Devils pulled large knives out from behind their cloaks.

Tim’s eyes widened - but before he could protest, The Horned Devils swiped their blades through each knots of rope binding his ankles and wrists.

Tim fell to the floor in a heavy thud.

“Mmpph!”

The Horned Devils left the room, with pole and cut rope in hand, as Tim scrambled to his feet.

He yanked the ball gag out of his mouth, allowing it to drop around his neck.

“You fucking drugged me, man!” Tim shoved Maxwell’s shoulders, his fierce strength causing Maxwell to stumble back a little, “How the fuck am I meant to trust you if you—”

Maxwell adjusted the collar of his shirt and cleared his throat.

“I did nothing of the sort,” he made his way towards the tickle chair and patted the seat, “Please, sit down.”

Tim folded his arms across his chest and shot an angered scowl into the ceiling twenty foot above.

“I had nightmares, I, I saw shit outside, I was so out of it you managed to—”, he chuckled and pinched the bridge of his nose, “—tie me to the damn bed, fuck!—”

Maxwell glanced down to Tim’s crotch.

“And if memory serves me correct, you enjoyed it.”

Tim felt his face heat up as he was rendered speechless, on the spot.

He ran his tongue across the roof of his mouth and flashed his eyebrows upward.

“—No, that uh, that, that was because you uh …”

“—There’s that word again …” Maxwell opened up one of the wrist restrains, “… No …” he then stepped aside, formally inviting Tim closer towards his annihilation, “… The more you break the rules, the less honest I’ll be about the truth.”

Tim’s inability to control his own curiosity often got him into trouble.

It was the reason he stayed in Armie’s apartment, for weeks and weeks on end.

It was the reason why he accepted the one of a kind screen test with Quentin.

It was why he agreed with Armie to attach secret cameras to his clothing anytime he had any involvement with The HOWF.

It was the thing that landed him in this very position, right here, right now.

It was also the thing that made his arms unfold, his eyes narrow, his voice tenderly ask, “… Truth?”

Maxwell nodded down at the empty pad of leather in the middle of the tickle chair.

Tim breathed in slowly and then took a step forwards.

He sat in the device and carefully placed his wrists against the tops of the padded arm extensions.

“Why did you run, Timothée?” Maxwell began to strap Tim’s arms into place.

Tim faced the window, his eyes squinting out towards the brightness of freedom that could have been his.

“I panicked, I guess …” Tim tested his restraints strength by attempting to pull his hands through the straps, “… Mnn, damn, these are tight, Max …”

Maxwell circled the tickle chair, “… Remember, be the most honest you can be with yourself …” he tapped the top of the stocks, requesting Tim’s feet, “… Did you panic because you were freaked out, or did you panic because you started to feel comfortable?”

Tim lifted his feet and confidently placed them over the tops of the stocks, crossing his legs casually at the ankle.

“Both? I think …” he watched Maxwell remove his remaining New Balance.

Maxwell dropped the trainer to the floor and separated Tim’s feet from the crossed legged position, where he began to massage them with firm fingers, “… Search deep inside the core of your mind,” Maxwell urged.

Tim frowned, his toes curling under Maxwell’s strength.

“I wanted out,” he announced.

Maxwell ran the pads of this thumbs over Tim’s big toes.

“Do you want out now?”

Tim was unsure if it were the soothing massage or the hypnotising tones from Maxwell’s voice that made him murmur out his next singular word …

“… No.”

Maxwell lifted Tim’s left foot and gently kissed the end of his index toe.

“That is the only time I’ll acknowledge that word.”

Much to Tim’s surprise, Maxwell placed his foot back beside his right and decided to not strap them down; he did not lock them in the stocks or even attach straps or cuffing - he simply left them to be free.

Tim shuffled up the tickle chair, bringing his feet towards him, his knees bending, his soles planting over the leather of the seat as Maxwell made his way towards his upper body.

“Yo, uh, before we uh, before we start,” Tim already found himself struggling to contain his laughter, “I, I gotta know—”

“—Your safe word is still ‘bleu’ …” Maxwell hardly brushed his fingertips across Tim’s right side, “… I challenge you not to use it. Sometimes, to survive, we must become more than we were programmed to be …”

Tim jumped away from Maxwell’s touch, the straps pinning his arms apart squeaking as he did so.

“Uh, that’s, that’s cool, n’ all …” Tim lifted his shoulders as Maxwell made his way behind the tickle chair, where he kneeled down to pick something up, “… But, what I really need to know is … Mnn!—”

—Maxwell doused Tim’s upper body in baby oil, as if he were about to set him on fire; the shimmering liquid oozed all over his shoulders, neck, chest, biceps and sides - it trickled down into his navel, past his hips, it stained the waistband of his trousers …

Tim wriggled beneath the layer of shine that now coated his body, “Okay, yup—”, he nodded to himself and raised both eyebrows, “So, so glad I didn’t waste my time showering,” he grinned as Maxwell capped the lid to the bottle and returned it behind the tickle chair.

Maxwell arrived beside Tim, blindfold in hand.

“Tell me,” Maxwell began to apply the blindfold to Tim’s face, “What do you really need to know?”

Tim’s mouth swung open as darkness consumed him; gone was the morning shine from the window opposite, the electric blue leather that made up the device he sat strapped to, the height of Maxwell himself, who Tim could no longer see …

“I uh …” Tim looked from side to side, his frantic head-shaking trying its best to locate his tickler, “… I gotta know you’re gonna let me go, man …” Tim jolted as he felt fingertips press against his left nipple, “… By the end of the weekend!” He yelped.

Maxwell picked up a nearby stool and positioned it at Tim’s right side.

“You have my word.”

Tim felt Maxwell’s hand curl around his own, where he clasped onto it tightly and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

“Mnn,” Tim contained a smile, a sense of trust reinstated after the events in his bedroom earlier, as well as the mystery of last nights ritual, “O, okay …”

The familiar arrival of dread caused Tim to sink deeper into the tickle chair as Maxwell’s comforting hand hold slid away, leaving his fingers curling into nothing.

“You have a body made for tickling, Timothée …” Maxwell perched on the stool and rolled the sleeves to his shirt up to his elbow as if he were ready to mould a piece of clay with his touch, “… Deep, cavernous armpits that are begging to be explored,” he reached across Tim’s torso and combed both hands through Tim’s underarm hair, causing Tim to slump downwards and widen his jaw, “Soft, silky, creamy white flesh pleading to be stroked,” he then brushed his knuckles down Tim’s ribs, their impact against skin hardly there, but it still sent Tim hurtling back up the tickle chair, as if he were climbing for his life, “A narrow waist, but such wide, broad shoulders …” Maxwell transformed his soft, playful touch into a sudden press against Tim’s hips, “… It’s no surprise Armand and my brother became so utterly obsessed with trying to have you … “

Tim immediately scrunched into himself, “—Grah!—”, like a submarine imploding under pressure - if his wrists were not pinned apart, his arms would have speedily wrapped around his lower torso as a means of self protection - however, his bondage kept that attempt in place, the straps squeaking once again, his knees lifting into a concerned and frantic kick that suggested he felt out of his depth, a feeling he had not felt in quite some time, “Oh! Oh god … ” he could not control his grin, its size already stretching into a manic shaped crest …

“You can’t see me …” Maxwell began to grab at Tim’s stomach and waist, tickling him the only way he possibly could tickle The Timothée Chalamet, “… But I can see you …”, he clawed at his abs, his thumbs pressing and nudging into sensitive muscle, “… I can see you squirm and writhe, unable to escape me, only able to endure me …” he started slow but as the seconds went by, as Tim’s physical and verbal reactions increased, Maxwell went harder …

“Okay, oh god!” Tim bucked upward, his back arching, his hips thrusting into nothing, as if he had an animalistic need to fuck the ceiling, “NO! Mnn, ahaha! Oh god!—”, his body slammed back down, his waist leaping from left to right in an attempt to dodge Maxwell’s ruthless devour of his oiled up, lower torso, “—AHH!—”, Tim expressed his alarm in a sudden high pitched wail, the kind that would make his fans ask, ‘I had no idea he could squeal like that’ … “—I, I don’t think I’m gonna—”, he could not finish his sentence, his need to enlighten Maxwell that it would be hugely unlikely that he would succeed in not using his safe word now drowned out by a dry, tight throat, “—Okay! Okay!—”, he wheezed, another scream leaving his lips, its tone squeal-ish, as if he were highly excited about something indescribable, “—Mnn! I ca, can’t control—”, once again, words were forced on pause as Maxwell controlled Tim’s movements, making him realise all too suddenly that his sporadic spasms, quick jumps, distorted twists and turns were out of his control entirely, “—this is, this is where I—”, Tim sank down and then leapt forwards, he pressed his feet into the seat and tried to hurtle his way towards the roof of Maxwell’s mansion, “—OH GOD! OH GOD!—” he shrieked, his startled cries breathless and mostly presented through his nose in the form of a nasally whine, “—AH HA! AH HA! AH—oh god, oh god, okay, oh god, ohmmmph?—”

—Maxwell used one hand to gag Tim, his other hand clawing at Tim’s right hip, where it remained in a constant grab, his fingers always digging in with persistent strength, his clasp reminding Tim, just in case he forgot, that ‘a weekend at Maxwells’ meant he would be under Maxwell’s grasp in ways unlike any he had experienced before …

“Mmmphh! Guhh! Mnn aahhh! Mnnphh! Mnnnphh!—”, blindfolded, tickled and now with a hand over his mouth, Tim could only splutter warm grunts and frenzied shouts into Maxwell’s palm as his unblinking eyes boiled into black cotton, his strained torso lifting into a non stop, violent thrust, the oil that now smeared the seat causing him to slip and slide with every land, “—Mpmmn! Mnn! Guhh! Nuumphh! Numnpph!—”, he rolled from left to right in a speedy spin that could only be created by being tickled like this, his body reactively and naturally leaping away to avoid the constant invasion across the shape of his right hip, his bellowed laughter now actioned in the form of a muffled shriek, “—MMPHHH! AHHH! GUHMMPHH! AHH! MMPH! MNN! GUHHH!—”, sometimes the screams would be clear, sometimes they would escape through the gaps between Maxwells hand and Tim’s mouth - other times they were successfully contained - they sounded more like moans of distress, they would soak Maxwell’s palm with hot, wet volume, “—MMMPHH! MMMNNPH! MNNNPHHH!—”

—Maxwell removed his hand from Tim’s mouth and then leapt his tickling hand away from his hip.

Tim slouched into the chair, panting breathlessly, “O, oh, oh-kay,” he huffed, unaware of how far up his knees had scrambled towards his chest, “Th, that was a lot …” he admitted.

Maxwell tapped the stocks once again, “Try to keep your feet down here,” he advised, but as soon as he heard nothing from Tim, who seemed too busy compartmentalising his circumstance, he had no choice but to lower his tone into a more stern command, “—Timothée—”, this time the tap was harder, “—Feet, down here.”

Tim nodded quickly and stretched his legs back down towards the bottom of the chair, his heels landing clumsily over the tops of the stocks, thanks to his lack of sight and ability to fully see where to place everything, “Gah, huh, huh, I’m s, sorry—” he gulped, a little overwhelmed by how ticklish Maxwell had made just his hip feel so far, his submissive personality already stepping into the spotlight, due to the slip of the tongue in the form of blunt apology, “Are, are you gonna put a belt around my waist?” He enquired, fully aware of how repeatedly he had thrust his hips forwards, left, right, almost off the chair itself …

Maxwell adjusted Tim’s blindfold and secured Tim’s right wrist restraint - the young ticklee had squirmed with such vigour that his right arm had ever so slightly nudged further through the strap …

“At some point I’ll probably just shrink wrap ya,” Maxwell would be lying if he said he had not considered the levels of intensity future training sessions with Tim might entail.

Tim wriggled into a more comfortable position, his fists tightly clenched since the oil had been applied, “Probably best, man. I uh, I’m a squirmer …”

Maxwell proved that he could never be fully located by a blindfolded Tim, nor could his next move ever be predicted, when he lifted Tim’s left foot towards his mouth and began to suck on his smallest toe.

“Ah ha! Ah ha! Ah ha!” Tim expelled gawk-ish chortles, his teeth on full display, “Uh ha! Uh ha! Uh ha!—”, he tugged his left leg, his right leg kicking outward, his eyes squeezing shut, “Oh god, my left foot is so much more ticklish! Uh! Guh huh! Ah ha! Oh god!—”, no matter how well he flexed his foot, no matter how hard he tried to gain back his limb, Maxwell’s tongue remained in its slither between, around and over Tim’s left pinkie, “Ah ha! Uh huh! Ah ha! Uh huh! Stop!—”, Tim felt relieved to have Maxwell listen to him; as soon as he yelled out ‘stop’, Maxwell dropped Tim’s foot and then politely stepped away.

Tim licked his lips and breathed in the scent of oil as he turned his head from side to side - he could not make out Maxwell’s pace, his footsteps or where he would approach next.

“Oh god … Oh god …” behind the blindfold, Tim’s eyes narrowed.

“—I’m getting a lot of ‘oh gods’ …” Maxwell noted, “… Armand had you down as a ‘jesus christ!’ kinda guy …”

Tim giggled into his chest as he readied himself, Maxwell’s voice coming from behind him, “I don’t know you, man!” Tim whined, “Consider me clueless!” He arched his back, his expression creased into distressed alarm behind the blindfold, “Agh! I dunno why I’m getting off on this so much! It, it feels pretty wild!—” Tim was now being so honest he could barely believe the words leaving his mouth.

Maxwell reached both hands around each side of the tickle chair, his hands shaped into claws once again, “It’s alright, this weekend, it’s your first time with me,” he purred, “It’s okay to just gage everything, to get a grip on it all, I told you yesterday! To get to know each other … to learn new things … Like all the usual spots, before I find new ones …”

Tim collapsed into himself, the tickle chair creaking, wobbling and rattling as he did so, “O, oh god—” he huffed yet again, all ten fingertips arriving around his sides in the form of a gentle nudge, five over his left set of ribs, five over his right set, “—Ssssst, ssss—” he bit his upper lip, keen to contain the dire desperation for as long as he could …

“—I’m not going to go hard,” Maxwell informed, “I just want to test …”

Tim nodded quickly, “O, okay!—”, his waist thrusting up once again as Maxwell began to claw over his sides with each hand, as if generously giving a puppy a passionate tummy tickle, however this was no puppy, this was a globally famous actor, a hyper ticklish, strapped down celebrity who was used to being in control, even at the hands of ticklers he was familiar with, except for now, within this instant, he had never felt more out of control in his entire life, “Mnn! Oh god, mnn! Mnn, ah! Ah ha! Ah ha! Ah ha! Mnn, oh god!—”

Tim thrashed into the ceiling, the more Maxwell clawed at his sides, always staying at the tops of his ribs, just below his pecs, never travelling up and down, never being too erratic or too senseless - if anything it felt too calculated, too expert, too natural - as if Maxwell was more than just a tickler, as if he were the meaning of tickling itself … Tickling, personified.

“—Ahahaha! Ahahahaha! Mnn! Mnn, oh god! Mahahahahan! Ahahaha! Guh huh! Gnn! Mnn! Ah ha! Ah ha! Ahahahaha!—” Tim propelled his body from side to side in a furious fling, his arms always contained against each padded extension, “—Oh god, ahahahah! That tickles so bad, ahahahaha! Ahaa! Aaaah! Oh god, oh god!—” Maxwell’s fingernails would graze across his ticklish flesh with an effortless glide thanks to the baby oil, Tim’s torso always shimmering and glistening against the window light as he squirmed and scrunched, arched his back and twisted away, his laughter now filled with a grain of excursion as he bounced on the spot, “—Ah, ah ha! Ah, ah ha! Ah, ahaha! I, I can, can't ssss, sss, see! Oh god, oh god—”, he raised his butt and straightened his spine, keeping his torso extended in mid air as he bit his upper lip, his lower body dropping back down as soon as Maxwell’s clawed touch dragged down to his stomach.

Thud!

Tim lay thirsty for air and slumped into his seat as Maxwell slid his hands back up his jolting torso and towards his shoulders, where he began to kindly massage them.

After three seconds exactly, Tim realised the act of comfort was a trick - suddenly, Maxwells clawed fingers returned to his upper sides, transforming him into a stiff, rigid, lifted line; his face presented pure terror, his jaw stretching open so wide that his chin pressed against the base of his neck, his head twisting from side to side as his senses became heightened thanks to his loss of sight, “Henn! Hnnn!—”, he made noises he had never made before, external giggled hisses with a tongue flapping over his mouth, “—Sssss! Ssss, ssss, sssss!—” he became something he no longer recognised as Maxwell once again softened his drag and claw into a soothing stroke.

“See, this is how I’ll train you to win …” Maxwell knelt behind the tickle chair and quietly tipped some more oil into each of his palms, “… I’ll discover ticklish areas across your perfect landscape of flesh that not even Armand is aware of,” Maxwell returned to a stand, his arms and hands back around each side of the tickle chair, his fingernails making impact with Tim’s ribs once more, “I’ll make you understand how ticklish you are in ways you never thought possible. You’ll have no weaknesses, because when the time comes, you’ll be ferociously aware of each fragile inch that can cause you to break …”

If Tim’s arms were not strapped down, he would have blown through the roof of the living room by Maxwells claw and grab across his ribs, “OH GOD!—”, this time, as well as the uncontrollable laughter and shouts for the creator himself, Tim kicked his free feet out into the air in a non stop, constant and rather fierce swipe, “—No, please, oh god!—”, Tim sank into the chair, his hips and waist leaping in various directions, Maxwell’s vigorous fingers now searching across his stomach, over his chest, up towards his neck, discovering, surveying, analysing each fibre of his ticklishness, “—Please, oh god, oh god!—”, Tim’s heels smacked against the stocks, his feet flung into nothing, his body fell victim to Maxwell’s fingernails, his ticklers hands shaped like medium sized aliens with rampant moving, spider-like legs, their travel across the unique surface they had landed on actioned just to infiltrate and observe.

“Is it bad, Timothée?” Maxwell teased, “Is it bad?”

Tim’s legs twirled, “Ssso, so bad!—”, his feet almost kicked over his own head, “—It’s so sensitive! T, tickles so bad, oh god, oh god!— MNN!—”

Genuine panic filled the living room in the form of a beyond eager beg, as soon as Maxwell’s fingernails arrived at a few inches of muscle between the tops of Tim’s sides, and the beginnings of his underarms …

“—GUHUHUHNN—NO!—” heave, “—Nononono please please anywhere but there anywherebutthere—”, Tim gasped, “—pleaseI’lldoanything!—”, he curled his spine into such a high arch Maxwell thought it might snap, “—I’lldoanything!—”, he wheezed.

Maxwell sneered and stepped away, sucking oil off the tips of his fingers as if he were feeding off Tim’s language, the breathlessness of his declaration, the dire, passionate and almost daring need to do anything, but stand being tickled in that spot.

“… Ahhh … ‘Anything’ … One word that can lead to a million different things …” Maxwell lifted his touch away from Tim and slid out from behind the tickle chair, “The good thing for me, is that I don’t want you to do anything, but take this …” he took hold of Tim’s ankles and carefully pulled them down to the stocks, despite Tim’s tugging resistance, “… Control your kicking. Control your need to shout your safe word. Control, control, control …

Tim tried to nod - he did, once - but his apprehensive whine towards the spot Maxwell had just touched upon, “—Oh no, oh god—”, portrayed him as a ticklee entirely aware of how utterly fun, how ecstatically bewildering, how viscerally eruptive the next however many minutes would turn out to be.

Tim flinched when he felt Maxwell’s lips beside his right ear.

“Timothée’s in trouble …” Maxwell whispered.

Maxwell then returned behind the tickle chair and reached each arm around each side, his claw-like grab returning unapologetically to the newly discovered spot; there was no hesitation, no discussion, no verbal warning, just five fingers beneath one armpit and five beneath the other, their grab and grope now tickling the tops of Tim’s ribs with dedicated strength.

Tim became overwhelmed with ticklishness, his body sliding, leaping, thrusting and dropping all over his seat, “—ooooOO damn I’m in trouble!—”, ‘wriggling’ would not be a fitting verb for just how manically Tim squirmed, his fists clenched into balls, his arms always tugging and pulling at his restraints, “—I’m in trouble! Oh fuck, I’m in trouble!—”, his laughter became a constant whine and groan, his torso twisting, his biceps bulging, “—I’m ss, sss, sorry! I’ll be good! I’m ss, sssss!—”, he could barely speak, his eyes wide open behind the cotton of his blindfold, Maxwell’s fingers never leaving that chunk of flesh either side of his body, an insanely sensitive spot newly located, and now feasted upon by a person Tim had no idea existed just two days ago.

“Well yes, I hope you are sorry …” Maxwell did not let up, he did not care for the marks on Tim’s sides or the scratches incurred by this epic upper body focus; discovering such an exceptionally ticklish spot on someone as entertaining and as ticklish as ‘Timo-tay’ was something Maxwell refused to label as a ‘lightning in a bottle moment’, “… You ran away from me, Timothée, and because you tried to dance those pretty, ticklish feet out of my home, you’ve created your own form of punishment …” Maxwell ‘annihilated’ Tim’s underarms and upper ribs, enjoying every wild leap and violent thrust from his new fixation.

Tim could not contain his bellows of laughter, his wheeze-like giggles now erupting from his mouth and throat second by second as he hurtled and kicked, his unrestrained legs spinning and booting upward as if they belonged to Bruce Lee, “—I’m sorry, I’m sorry!—”, Tim resented his wrist restraints just as much as he resented the fact that Maxwell had hands, “—I’ll be good, I’ll be good, oh god!—”, Tim continued to scowl into black as he felt Maxwell claw down to his hips, where he wiggled his fingers upward, slowly, casually, teasingly towards ‘the spot’, causing Tim to frantically kick with additional panic to the stomp each heel actioned against the stocks, “—ohgodohgodohgodohgod!—”

“Closer and closer,” Maxwell taunted, his mouth whispering behind Tim’s head, “Closer and closer …”

Tim flew into the air, his feet, legs and butt lifting, his back, arms and shoulders contained by bondage, “—GUH HA! AH HA! AH HA! HUH! AHAH! AH! AHAHA! GUH HUH! AHAH! OH, OH GOD!—”, Maxwell arrived at the spot, his grab, pinch, stroke and claw across Tim’s upper ribs merciless and extreme, “—GUH, I, I CAN, CAN’T ESCAPE!—”, he pressed his lips shut, fully aware of how loud his shouts had become, “—Ican’tgetaway!—” he hissed, his blindfold covered face glaring down at Maxwell’s grip over a part of his body that he literally could not stand to be touched, besides be tickled to this level of intensity, “—GUH HA! AH HA! AH HA! HUH! AHAH! AH! AHAHA! GUH HUH! AHAH! OH, OH GOD!—”, Tim now pulled at his wrist restraints with such determination that his hands had made their way inside the tightness of the cuffs, their squeak and tug, tug, tug of each yank just about heard over Tim’s bellows, however, much to Tim’s fright, the bondage continued to successfully contain him.

“You can’t run this time, Timothée,” Maxwell leaned into Tim’s realisation that he was trapped by teasing how easy it was earlier to hop out of a window and consider bolting into the sunset, “Your ribs and underarms are all mine, nobody else’s, until I say so …” Maxwell had to reach down further to engage his tickle, thanks to how hard Tim’s kicks had propelled his body deeper into a twisted, scrunched up state.

Tim’s head flew from side to side as he endured Maxwell’s tickle over oil soaked ribs, his mind blown by how utterly ticklish, how eye wateringly exhausting and exhilarating an experience like this could feel, “—I regret all my life choices!—”, Tim whined, his tickle torment made just that much harder as Maxwell sent one hand into his left armpit, his right still working that ticklish spot above his ribs, “—I regret all my life choices!—”, Tim repeated, his grin fierce, his feet kicking so rampantly his knees were back by his stomach, his fists now clenched so hard they vibrated …

“Keep those legs down,” Maxwell wisely advised, his tickle still deep, deep, deep inside Tim’s upper body, Tim’s dramatic leaps and stunt-like lunges taking place in all different directions …

“—Okay! Okay!—”, Tim forced his heels against the stocks, but after a few more seconds of Maxwells tickling across each upper rib, Tim found himself once again, and rather uncontrollably, flaying his legs just like he did before, his feet spinning through the air as if he were fighting some invisible force hovering over the tickle chair.

“—Keep them down—”, Maxwell now addressed Tim with a stern warning, his fingers persisting in their infiltration on Tim’s psychical senses.

“O, okay! Okay!—”, Tim’s attempts at keeping his feet still would be labelled as ‘pathetic’ - within three seconds, his legs were twirling back through the air as Maxwell’s tickle flattened from clawed, to a gentle stroke …

Tim became instantly intimidated by how quickly Maxwell had stopped tickling him - such a sudden pause on something so important could only mean Maxwell meant business.

Maxwell kept his hands over Tim’s sides, reminding him that the convulsions and writhes could continue at any moment; his voice dropped to an authoritative pitch, Tim’s breathless heaves arriving in the form of warm pants as Maxwell pressed his lips against the moisture of Tim’s left cheek.

“You want me to show you what happens to bad boys, huh, Timothée?” Maxwell growled.

Tim stiffened up, his nod so quick curls of hair landed over the blindfold.

“Man, o, okay … I’m sorry,” Tim huffed, his stomach lifting, dropping, lifting, dropping …

Maxwell ordered Tim to stop kicking one last time, “… Keep those fucking legs down …” he snarled, “… I’m serious.”

Tim nodded once again, this time harder, this time faster.

“Okay, Max, man, I’m sorry!”

Maxwell placed his palms over Tim’s nipples, “See what happens if you do that again,” he then pinched each nipple with his index finger and thumb, “Understand?”

Tim nodded for a third time, his teeth hooking over his upper lip, “I, I understand!” He sounded completely owned, his mind nudging him to say things he would not normally of said, if he were at the hands of another tickler, “I’m sorry!”

The seriousness of Maxwell’s threat melted away instantly as he let Tim’s nipples go and returned to tickling his upper ribs; within less than a blink, Tim went back to his thrashes and giggles, his shouts and his whines, his feet now pointing down over the stocks in a desperate attempt not to kick.

Tim faced his annihilation blindfolded, “—Yeah, alright! I can’t take it!—”, he had no hesitation in admitting how much of a pussy he was, “—Yo, man! I can’t take it!—”, he began to shriek, his torso twisting into itself as Maxwell violated his upper ribs, “—Ahhh! Ahhh! Ah ha! Ah ha! Ah ha! Alright! Oh god, oh god, it’s so ticklish, man! Ssss, ssss, sssst—”

“—Don’t beg for me to stop!” An additional extension of Maxwell presented itself in the form of a teacher, “That leads to pleading for mercy, that tricks you into using your last weapon,” if Tim used his safe word, Maxwell would have succeeded and failed at the same time; he would have won as a tickler, but he would have lost as a tickle trainer, “Laugh, scream, shout, let it all out,” Maxwell had now been tickling Tim’s upper ribs for almost fifteen minutes, with minimal breaks between, “Let the stress, let what they’ve done to you, how he has made you feel … Let it out of your body …”

“—Oh god, oh god, oh god!—”, Tim wished his feet were locked in the stocks, keeping his legs still was almost as torturous as Maxwells fingers reaching and digging into his upper ribs, “I can’t take it! Damn, shit, tickle somewhere else, you bitch! You mother fucker!—”, Tim felt Maxwell’s arm near his jaw as he continued to ravage up and down his torso, “—Mnn, mnn! Lemme go, lemme out!—”, Tim found himself tribally needing to protect himself, his lips grazing against Maxwell’s wrist where he opened his mouth and toyed with the idea of biting him, but Maxwell’s arm jumped out of reach.

“I want you to see this,” Maxwell sounded hysterical himself, like a mad scientist that had bought something stagnant back to life, “I want you to see you tickled, like this …” Maxwell tore the blindfold away from Tim’s face.

Tim’s eyes were wide open, his face creased somewhere in the middle as he leapt upwards and tugged at the restraints, his spine in a line, his giggles and laughter and shouts all kept within the base of his nose as he looked down and watched Maxwell’s hands and fingers tickle the top of each rib, the depths of each underarm, the white, oily flesh of each side; Tim spluttered and wheezed, he grimaced and groaned, “—OH GOD!—”, he was, quite simply, annihilated … “—Seeing it makes it so much worse!—”

Maxwell continued to tickle Tim’s sides, Tim now bucking and bouncing at a ferocious rate, unable to escape Maxwell’s touch from behind the tickle chair, “It’s gnarly, right?” Maxwell hoped Tim would agree.

“—Oh! Oh god, sss, sss, so gnarly, man!—”, Tim writhed so hard within the tickle chair its creak and rattle were now constant sounds that accompanied his thrusts and pulls, “—So, so gnarly! I, I gotta—”, Tim shook his head, his breath short, his body unable to handle this for a second longer, “—I gotta say my safe word, man!—”, Tim raised his voice, his tone angered, frustrated, “—I MEAN IT!—”

“—Don’t—”, Maxwell spoke into Tim’s ear, careful to not let him smack him in the face with his head, “—Get through this,” he advised, “Learn to endure, learn to cope, learn to obey …” he playfully nipped the top of Tim’s left ear with his teeth.

“—AGH, YOU DICK!—”, Tim’s head snapped to the right, laughter erupting from his throat as his ribs were tickled like crazy by Maxwell, “—You, you deh, deh! Dick! Oo! Oh god, no! No, no way! Fuck this!—”, Tim had decided to call it quits, “—My ribs, my, my arms, they’re too ticklish, man!—”, Tim whined, his eyes rolling to the back of his head, his cheeks boiling pink, a line of sweat now gathering over his upper lip, “—Do my feet, do my damn toes, ahhhh, Max, man! This is killing me, man!—”, all at once, Tim slumped into an aggressive bounce, kicking his legs like he was told not to, his voice grainy and deep as he expelled his safe word in the form of an assertive command, the arrival of the word soaked in a believable French accent, “—BLEU, BLEU, BLEU!—”

Maxwell’s hands slid away from Tim’s torso.

Both men huffed and panted as a humid silence filled the living room.

Maxwell stepped away and removed his shirt, revealing his toned torso once more.

He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

Tim gathered his knees towards his chest as he focused on catching his breath, his sides and underarms decorated in red marks.

“I’m, I’m sorry, man, I …” Tim lifted his shoulders as he watched Maxwell light a cigarette, “…That was something else …”, he lowered his head, licking perspiration away from his upper lip, “… I was starting to see stars …”

He speaks as if Armand no longer exists, Maxwell thought.

I guess I didn’t fuck it after all.

“I’m sure you’ll say your safe word next time, and the time after that, and the time after that, but I will teach you to deal, I promise you,” Maxwell sucked on his cigarette, speaking out smoke through his mouth, “You’re exceptionally ticklish, Timothée … That spot above your ribs is just one new discovery of mine. Just think how you’ll cope when I find another thirty … Not saying your safe word will be the least of your worries, and your greatest weapon.”

Tim gulped down a monster that urged him to say the words, ‘try me’ …

“Im, impossible …” he murmured instead, his green eyes lifting into a curious gaze, “There’s only so much of me you can—”

—Maxwell smirked.

“Dinner is at seven,” he announced, keeping his cigarette at the end of his lips, “Dress … Nice. I wanna see this famous Chalamet style in full force,” he un-cuffed Tim’s right wrist, allowing him to untie himself, where he then made his way towards the tall double doors that would lead to a long hall stretching all the way down to his living quarters.

Tim released his right wrist and then stretched his fingertips towards the ceiling, wincing as some muscle around his lower back twinged.

Maxwell paused before he opened the doors.

“I realise why you were crying out for god so much …”

Tim peered around the tickle chair as Maxwell opened the doors and left the room, his exiting set of words rendering Tim into the most submissive state he had ever had the privilege of being positioned in.

“… You were crying out for me …”