Tim now existed as a physical entity owned now only by the tickle chair and Armie Hammer's tickling fingers.

Trapped, toe-tied, secured, and totally at the mercy of another person, Tim had no choice but to just endure the entire process, until Armie released him.

His feet tingled.

His soles shimmered, soaked by baby oil.

Droplets of the liquid fell off his heels and landed on the floor.

His ankles - tight in the stocks.

His wrists - numb in the restraints.

His stomach had just got back to feeling less tight.

His breathing - only just returned.

Armie sat beside the tickle chair and poured Tim's beer into a glass.

He kept his own in the bottle.

After taking a swig, he moved the glass of beer towards Tim’s mouth.

Tim swallowed the beer down.

A few large gulps soothed his dry throat.

He felt the impact of the alcohol immediately.

He hadn’t drank for a few weeks.

The booze, on top of his current exhaustion, not only cooled him down, but it took the edge off from this one of a kind, maddening situation.

“Can we, can we just stop?” Asked Tim.

Armie took a sip of his beer as he avoided Tim’s glare.

He felt bad for pushing his friend so far, but his tickling fetish and it's gathered desires overwhelmed any previous loyalties.

“We have stopped," he replied, "For now..."

Tim lowered his head and allowed the feeling of dread to fill his chest.

“I… I don’t think I can take anymore, Armie. I’m… I’m too ticklish…”

Armie got to his feet.

Tim's eyes widened as he noticed a boner beneath Armie's jeans.

“Hearing you say stuff like that… It drives me wild, Tim. I knew you were ticklish - but this ... This is another level…” Armie finished his beer and popped the empty bottle down on the coffee table.

He knelt down by Tim’s bare feet and began to gently press his index finger against Timmy's arches.

Tim's feet writhed around automatically.

His toes pulled at the individual string restraints pinning them back.

Armie smirked and stood back up.

He walked over to Tim and, ever so slowly, stepped *behind* the tickle chair.

He looked down at Tim’s head.

His curly, dark hair looked a little wet in places, probably from all the sweat.

Without warning, Armie reached over Tim’s shoulders and began to tickle under his arms.

Tim winced and jerked his spine upwards.

He screamed into the air as soon as Armie’s tickling fingers reached the depths of his armpits.

Tim’s eyes bulged out of his head as the armpit tickling intensified, as soon as Armie added additional pressure.

Tim’s laughter bellowed, uncontrollably, out of his lungs.

He pulled at the wrist restraints manically, in a desperate attempt to close up the space between his armpits, but the restraints were too secure, and Tim’s arms would be going nowhere.

“Oh fu-huhuh-huhuh-huhhcckk, no, not there, not there not there fuck, no! No!”

Armie chuckled as he continued to tickle Tim’s armpits.

"No?"

He watched Tim’s head throw itself around, to the point where Armie had to watch out so that he didn’t get hit.

Tim’s brain hit defence mode, the longer Armie remained buried within his pits.

He couldn’t handle this anymore.

This is fuc-kin-g insane.

He would have to do anything he possibly good to stop this.

So he craned his neck to the side and widened his jaw.

It was then he grabbed Armie’s hand with his teeth and bit down onto his flesh.

Snap!

Armie yanked his hand back and flapped it in the air.

Tim’s head fell onto his chest as Armie paused the tickling.

Armie sucked the bite mark on his hand and then slowly walked around the tickle chair, where he knelt down to face Tim. 

Tim noted Armie's anger behind curls of hair.

“Tim, that was…” Armie's pretend anger shifted from glaring to wide eyed happiness, “... That was fucking hot.”

Tim chuckled, his breath returning, his throat hoarse.

“I… I had to… I’m, I'm sorry…”

Armie knelt down by his box of tickling tools and ran a hand through his hair.

“Don’t apologise, you hit a wall. You did what you had to do..."

He reached into the box and pulled out his next tool.

A hair brush.

"... And now you'll pay for it."

Tim eyed the brush and the threatening bristles protruding out of it. 

He knew, for sure, if that reached his feet ... He wouldn't be able to stand it.

Tim started to ask questions, to fill up time, to avoid the brush being used.

“Have, have you always had a, a … Thing ... For tickling?”

Tim wished he could speak properly, but his lips felt too swollen.

Armie arched an eyebrow as he ran his finger tips over the brush.

“I have. But, I think, Tim… Tickling you is my new obsession.”

Tim gulped,

“Now, for the final act…” Armie placed the brush against Tim’s shining, left sole.

Tim winced, saliva bubbling at the corners of his mouth.

“No… Come on, man. Please don't do that, please don't do that ...”

Armie ignored Tim's pleas.

He then began to gently slide the brush over Tim’s sole, and within seconds, Tim had shot a manic look into the ceiling - a look that simply said, 'I can't'. 

Armie ran the brush up and down, left to right, over Tim's arch, an area he had learned to be especially ticklish.

Tim’s giggles turned to bellowed laughter, which eventually turned into hysterical, loud, visceral screams, the longer the brush persisted with it's torture.

"No fuck, FUCK, Armie stop! Bah-hah-hahaha-hahaaa qu-hee-hee-heet it, fucking quit it!"

Tim squirmed so hard the tickle chair nearly lifted off the floor.

Armie continued.

Tim’s eyes burst wide open, his forehead now lay covered in sweat.

The brush created a mind numbing ticklishness - something he had never understood before - something he never thought he’d experience.

It was then Armie applied a second brush, to Tim’s right foot.

Tim glared forwards and eyed the brushes with a manic stare.

"WHAT?" Tim whined, "No! Not two? One is enough, one is enough!" 

Armie chuckled and continued to tickle both of Tim’s baby oiled covered feet, with both hair brushes.

Tim went berserk.

He threw his back into the tickle chair and sent his hips and waist bouncing about over the red padded leather.

Armie persisted.

Tim heaved out emotion and physical anguish in the form of dry, long-lasting heaves.

The brush was too much to handle...

Tim lost his breath.

His face and the sides of his head went numb

And then, everything went black.

TCTLR continues in Chapter Four - ‘Starfish’ …