Kit curled all five toes of his left foot into a worried stretch, their long lengths contained and protected behind the thick white cotton of his sock as Miller pulled away his Converse.

Now with breath fully regained and some of the sweat drying from his upper lip, he looked up at Miller with a face saturated in confusion and asked something Miller did not expect.

“You’re not seriously going to tickle my feet, are you?”

Miller chuckled and began to unlace Kit’s right Converse, “What did you expect?”

Kit felt the shape of his right foot expand as the shoe made its departure, the tightness of the canvas that had surrounded his foot now gone completely - he eyed Miller mischievously and with an almost flirtatious tone, as well as a twinkle in his eye, he nudged his enquiry closer, “Haven’t I been through enough already?”

Miller grinned like a shark at Kit, positioning himself beside Kit’s left socked foot, his response arriving in the form of a blunt and somewhat rather smug, “Nope!”

Without warning, Miller clawed his fingernails over Kit’s left sole and actioned an aggressive scribble, all five of his fingernails scratching over the soft cotton, their scribble landing over his heel, his arch, the sides of his foot and the base of his toes.

Kit hurtled forwards with such animated strength that he took even himself by surprise, “Ah!—”. his foot scrunched inwards, all of his toes curled into a clench, his foot twisted from left to right … Almost as soon as Miller had tested Kit’s reactions, his fingernails lifted away from his sole and began to grab at his sock, where he then started to remove it from Kit’s foot.

“No,” Kit whined, “No, no please …”

As he peeled the white cotton away, Miller noticed the bewilderment currently masking Kit’s face; he seemed shocked, uncertain, his eyes shifting from side to side - he was thinking at a mile a minute, adjusting himself in his seat, pursing his lips, flaring his nostrils … Miller analysed the many blinks, sniffs and coughs to fill the silence … He had seen a reaction like this time and time again over the decades he had proudly positioned himself as a professional tickler of the male body - each time he noticed this always present yet always unique expression, he always felt the need to shed a focus over it.

“Lemme guess,” Miller pulled Kit’s left sock away from his foot and then started to do the same to his right, “You’ve never been tickled like this before?” He watched Kit’s toes curl into the tightest scrunch he had ever seen, “You didn’t realise you were this ticklish? You think it’s insane, crazy, you’re losing your mind?” Kit’s feet were incredible, they were narrow and long, milky white and hairless, his toenails perfectly shaped and neatly trimmed, all toes aligned as if The Foot Gods themselves had designed them …

Kit swallowed down a strange flush of shyness as his feet were stripped bare, “Er … All of the above?” He rarely exposed his feet, so to have them locked, stocked and sock-less made him feel, “This feels rather strange …” he admitted.

“Getting your feet out?” Miller could sense Kit’s dubiety as he stood and laid one of Kit’s socks over the back of the tickle chair, beside his face, as a reminder that his feet were no longer his own, “Or the whole thing so far?”

“The whole thing,” Kit watched Miller pick up some lengths of string that had been nailed to the top of the stocks, “It’s not what I expected. I sort of imagined a more aggressive approach,” he peered over his chest, the smooth, creamy pale expanse of his torso presenting nothing but glowing white flesh, “I thought I’d have to hide myself for a while, from the guy I’m seeing … For some reason I thought there would be marks, or something …” Kit could not help but gulp down a fist of solid air as soon as he realised Miller would be tying his toes back to the stocks.

Miller knelt down and continued actioning his toe tie on Kit, “You’re a rare breed,” he explained, “There has only been one, possibly two others that are like you …” he looped the string around Kit’s left big and index toe, pulling the length back a little, “You’re too sensitive, that skin of yours hardly protects you … And you’re too delicate, like a fine wine glass. I don’t need to apply too much pressure to break you, to get you breathless,” Miller then began to tie Kit’s right big toe and index toe back to the stocks, pinning both of his feet into a fixed position, “If I were to go harder, it would send the dial into an unnecessary realm that would not be enjoyable for either of us …”, Kit’s soles were now taunt, the flesh tight, his feet unable to move an inch from side to side …

Toe tied and now completely free of sweat, Kit narrowed his eyes into both of his underarms and then shot a curious gaze towards Miller, asking his second unexpected question of the session.

“Can you try hard?” He even widened his arms apart, to expose his underarms further, “I want to see if I can take it.”

Miller lifted his shoulders and raised both eyebrows, “Okay, kid …” he then stood from the knelt position and made his way back behind the tickle chair.

With Kit’s underarms still damp with lotion, Miller did not need to seep too much dribble over his own fingertips - once he had oozed some spit across his finest tool, he reached over Kit’s shoulders and forcefully threw all ten of his fingers into just one pit, Kit’s left, where he actioned an assaultive dig and scribble into the very depths of the delve that made up the cavernous crater that shaped one of the most sensitive areas of Kit’s body.

Kit shot from inquisitive to furious in less than a second; his entire torso hurtled forwards with a violent and animalistic robustness, his arms kept back behind his head, his knees pulling so hard up towards his stomach that the stocks almost broke in half - he scowled at Miller’s fingernails, his eyes boiling pure heat into the infiltration until he could not handle it anymore, “—Okay! Please stop!—” he called in a panic.

Miller slid his fingers away from Kit’s pit and curled them around the back of his neck, squeezing it reassuringly.

“Trust me, kid. I know what I’m doing,” Miller ruffled up Kit’s hair and then made his way back to his feet, “I’m an expert …”

Kit nodded in understanding, unaware of how stiff he had made his own spine - he slumped back into the seat and wondered whether to feel comforted that he was in the hands of someone with such expansive knowledge on how to manage tickle torment on a willing victim, or intimidated by such extreme power.

As he watched Miller pick up the seagull feather from earlier, feelings of exhilarated excitement and complete astonishment looted Kit’s mind - for the first time since allowing himself to be restrained to this seat, he found himself panting out the word, “—fuck!—”

Kit started to kick his legs, non stop, as if pedalling a pedal boat up stream through a wavy river - as the feather flickered and fluttered across the sole of his left foot, he found himself once again giggling uncontrollably, his breathless heaves returning, that familiar heat residing over each cheek, “What—”, his wide eyes shot towards the window, “—What if someone sees!—”, he whined out his concern in the form of a wheezy pant.

Miller, now utterly fulfilled thanks to the knowledge that Kit’s feet were feather ticklish, reached into the gym bag and picked out a second feather, “You afraid people will discover your weakness?” He teased, kneeling opposite Kit’s soles, where he started to rapidly stroke both feet at the same time with the soft tipped end of each feather, “By midnight tonight, five million people are going to be jerking off to this …” Kit curled all of his toes into a tight clench and kept them that way, his feet trying their best to twist from side to side beneath each feathers taunting glide, “… Surely it won’t matter if a few passers by outside catch a glimpse?”

Kit shook his head from left to right, as if trying to rid the craziness wedged behind his skull - his giggles had become so strong and so breathless that they now did not make a sound - Kit would just widen his jaw and release energy, constantly, his adam’s apple bobbing, his throat thick with hysteria - when he heaved in to catch his breath, he would then pant two to three times before expelling the same amount of quiet, grainy, unrelenting force - all because of two seagull feathers combing through the betweens of his toes …

Kit wanted to verbalise his stunned stupor, he wanted to let Miller know that his skills were responsible for this, that he should be proud of himself for introducing him to an exhausting sensation like the one he currently endured, but he simply could not speak - he wheezed and heaved out his giggles, only to suck them back in and repeat the process, his feet constantly flapping, squirming and writhing under the gentle flutter of each feather - his mouth would move, it would shape out the words, but nothing but heavy shudders, breathless whispers and uncontrollable giggles left his lips …

“You trying to tell me something, kid?” Miller dropped the feathers to the floor and swapped them for his fingertips, “Having trouble saying it out loud?” He then began to scribble his fingernails over both of Kit’s soles at the same time, actioning a determined focus across each arch.

Kit leapt towards Miller in protest, another strained tumble of giggles erupting from his throat, however these ones felt more desperate, more worn, more urgent - he bulged out his chest, his almost insulted facial expression encapsulating the words ‘what are you doing?’ - having his feet scribbled on with such ruthless force caused his entire face to beam a shining pink, so much so that it had started to work as a stark contrast to the rest of his smooth, pale, milky white torso - within a matter of seconds, Kit’s eyebrows had burrowed, his eyes had squeezed shut, his sneer looked like that of a wild, cornered dog, or in this case a big brown bear - he looked cuddly yet distressed, cute yet alarmed, understanding yet perplexed - everything he did not want to be, but the ever present giggles and the manic chortles told a different story - it suggested pure bliss, pure agonising, never ending, consuming bliss …

Miller became mesmerised by the sight of Kit’s boiling exterior - from where he knelt, the simple scribble and stroke of fingernails now taking place across each plump ball of Kit’s soles seemed to create a fusion of heat and pulsating lunacy beneath Kit’s skin - he appeared as a NASA rocket ready to launch into space; fire, fumes, shoots of smoke and cloud billowed from any available orifice like his ears, nostrils, mouth and eyes, but he was not allowed to take off, he did not hurtle into the stratosphere or experience any sense of relief, he just remained ignited and shuddering, trembling and shaking, the ground beneath him quaking, the tickle chair squeaking and rattling as he kicked and kicked and kicked and kicked, his giggles now causing dribble to bubble at each corner of his mouth as he threw his torso closer to Miller and hissed out a yearn for pause, “—sssss, ssssss, ssssss!—”, yet the ticklishness across the bottoms of his feet was so cataclysmically sensitive, he could now hardly even say the word ‘stop’.

Kit had slouched so far down the chair that his elbows no longer bent - his arms stretched up in a straight line, his hands gripping hold of the top of the seat for dear life, his butt bouncing and bucking over leather, his face pressed firmly against his bicep, his teeth biting into his own flesh as a way to distract him from the intensity of a level of ticklishness he did not expect - he cackled and giggled with such might that it became viscerally clear that he would have trouble breathing once again, in the next minute or so, if Miller decided to continue to handle his feet this way - unfortunately for Kit, Miller had urges, needs to discover, and only one thought landed in Miller’s mind, the more he watched Kit’s face gleam pink, the more he watched Kit’s feet twist and stretch …

‘If he reacts like this to my fingers, how will he handle the brush?’

Miller used one hand to scribble over the bottom of Kit’s right foot, keeping those breathless giggles on an endless cycle, whilst using his free hand to reach into the gym bag for his next tool.

Kit had no idea what Miller held in his hand, mostly because his eyes were either squeezed shut or they were blinking repeatedly in an attempt to squint away the sweat - so, when the feeling of several dozen individual plastic nibs landing over the sole of his left foot, where they would glide up to the base of his toes - their sharp ends slipping over a foot soaked with perspiration to the point of not needing any additional lubrication in the form of oil - he was most certainly taken by surprise, his astounded expression creating a wheezy gasp, his bewildered scowl suggesting complete and utter startlement.

“—Ssssss, ssssst, sssss!—” wheeze, “—sssssst, sssst, sssssst!—”, wheeze, “—mehahahgruhuhahahahmuhhuhuhuhahahhehehuhuahahagruhuhuhssssss, sssss, ssssst—”, wheeze …

With previous ticklees, Miller often needed to scrub hard to get a reaction as delicious as this, but with Kit all he had to do was lightly run the brush from side to side across the delicate chunks that made up the bottoms of his feet; his creamy heels, soft balls, the pads of each toe - sometimes the brush did not even make impact, sometimes it barely grazed over the ultra ticklish surface - no matter what level of infliction the brush managed to achieve, it always guaranteed a breathless, boiling, bewildered tumble of madness to vibrate beneath Kit’s flesh, to the point where he simply gave up trying to speak and just sank in the chair, giggling, giggling, giggling, giggling away to his hearts content, tears now streaming down his face - he looked happily anguished, joyously pained, overwhelmingly tired - maybe if he knew that this would be as dastardly exhausting, that he could feel this ticklish, that he could be tickled this way, he might not have enthusiastically agreed to partake in such a physical onslaught on his senses …

“—Ican’t—”, wheeze, “—Ican’t—”, wheeze, “—Ican’t—”

“Can’t what?” Miller watched Kit’s toes stretch and curl like fingers, “Can’t what, kid?” He wanted to get up close and personal, so he sat on the floor, his back facing Kit, where he then curled his arm around Kit’s left foot, holding it in a firm lock, even though it was already contained within the stocks, “Can’t what?” He repeated, almost obsessively, Kit’s foot now rubbing against his chest as it squirmed beneath the brush, his toe ties keeping it entirely trapped, “Tell me …” Miller urged.

Kit shot glazed over, wide open eyes towards his feet, his teeth clenching hard into a tightly clamped grin, “—Ican’tdoit—” he announced, his declaration followed by another never ending tumble of breathless giggles, “—Ican’ttake—”, he couldn’t even finish with ‘it’, his hands trying to reach out to stop Miller, his fingers splaying, his wrists and arms caught above him, “—Damn!—”

Miller kept his eyes on Kit’s left foot, taking in the many outstanding details that presented themselves during such a heated and intimate moment, “You can’t do it?” Miller teased, his view being that of The Kit Connor’s left foot contained within his armlock, its large shape squirming, stretching, pushing forwards, pulling backwards, constantly reacting to the scrub of the brush, “You haven’t got much of a choice, kid … You let some old man tie you down, what were you thinking!” Miller could not help but notice how utterly soft the betweens of Kit’s toes appeared, how quickly they would splay outward and then curl into a defensive scrunch, the plastic nibs of the brush gliding across their lengths, “I could do anything to you! I could keep you here all day, all night, all week! Tickle you till you lose your mind!”

Kit, flabbergasted and now spluttering out his words, threw his body forwards in a strained hurtle towards Miller, “—I already am losing my mind!—” He whined like a spoilt child, his mouth falling open in relief as Miller slid away from his left foot and shot up into a standing position, leaving Kit in a soggy slouch over his seat, his appearance similar to that of someone who had just run half a marathon with no breaks between, “—Okay, let me out, stop, please …”

Miller dropped the brush back into the gym bag where he then made his way behind the tickle chair for a second time, “I decide when we stop,” Miller warned, his hands returning to Kit’s underarms, where his fingernails went back to lightly scratching and faintly scribbling over his armpits, “You’re the opposite to me … When I thought it would be difficult to catch you, you were thinking it would be easy to handle …” as soon as Miller’s fingernails made impact with Kit’s underarms, Kit went back to heaving, giggling, wheezing, panting, his arms flapping like some distressed, mother-less bird, “It’s not easy, is it, kid? You said it yourself … You can’t do it … Why?”

Kit hurtled his torso from side to side, he tried biting, nipping, gnawing at Miller’s hands, his tight, wheeze-like giggles consuming his thoughts and his throat, “—No, please, stop!—”, Kit babbled in a defeated, high pitched sob, “—Itticklestoomuch!—”, he repeated all at once, urgently, insanely, his well trimmed eyebrows now so highly raised that they almost reached his hairline, “—Not my pits, please!—”, he cackled in saturated disbelief, his pink tongue curling out of his wide, open mouth, his bulging eyes round and white like some startled cartoon that could not understand the dilemma they currently faced …

“—Couldyoustop?—”, he ‘requested’, almost too politely, “—Ican’tgetout!—”, he realised once again, the constant touch deep within the wet depths of his armpits literally blowing his mind, the tightness of his gym shorts now twisting around his thighs, exposing the fact that he had chose not to wear underwear, one of his hairless balls now slipping out of the hem of his shorts, “—I’mserious,now! I’mfindingitrather …”

He scowled at his left armpit in complete shock, aware that one of his balls were poking out of his shorts, almost uncaring at that fact, more focused on the tickling instead, “—I, I’m finding it rather —”, he tossed and turned, he hurtled and he leaped, “—I can’t even think straight!—”, he began to grow frustrated, his wheezes, whimpers and whines turning into grrr’s, growls and grunts, “—Oh, alright! Okay, okay! Not my armpits, not anymore, please! they’re too ticklish! I, I can’t breathe!—”

Miller decided to test Kit’s limits by not just nudging, but blatantly shoving him off the cliff of mania he currently stood at the edge of, this time tickling harder, this time grabbing, poking and digging in with the same speedier more aggressive strength he had given Kit an example of a moment ago - as soon as he actioned such an infiltration, Kit erupted into a manic thrust, kick and throw of each body part, mostly his torso, which flew to the left and then to the right, the tickle chair almost toppling over, “—NO, STOP, PLEASE, I GIVE IN!—”, Kit had nothing to give in to, he had no truth to contain, no secrets to keep, no password to reveal - instead his ‘giving in’ was submitting entirely, fully, one hundred percent ‘giving’ himself in as a person far too ticklish to handle this a second longer, his restraints now barely containing his muscle, “—AGHAH! IT’S TOO MUCH!—”, his declarations were now delivered in the form of worryingly loud screams, “—PLEASE, STOP, NOOO, NOOO!—”

To contain the shrieks, Miller allowed a brief sense of relief to wash over Kit, pausing on the tickling for around three seconds, whilst he picked up Kit’s sock, still neatly laid over the top of the tickle chair, and without warning, suddenly gagged him with it.

“—MMNNPHH!—”

Kit became furious, his bound position exploited in a way he struggled to understand, “—Mnnph!—”, in a way he had never dared to expect, “—Gaackk!—”, he made noises he had never made before, his tongue forced to the back of his throat as the dry-ness of the sock was forced between his teeth, “—Mmmphh! Mnn, mnn, unnn?—”, the white cotton material now tied tightly behind his head, his eyes made to bulge open …

Before he could even compartmentalise his circumstance, the extreme sensation of thick, sturdy, rigid fingers returned to both of his underarms with brute strength, their intense scribble almost burying into Kit’s flesh, causing every inch of his pale, brawny frame to catapult away form the tickle chair, the restraints, stocks and the device itself keeping him in position, “—MNNPHH, MNNNMNNNAAGHHMNNN, MNNGAAHHAHAMNN, MNNPHAHAAAAMNN, GRAHAHAHAMNNPH!—”

Kit flung his waist in all kinds of directions, his bare ball still snugly caught between his thigh and the hem of his shorts, shorts that rode further up his hips with every thrash - now, his entire cock and balls had slipped out past the gap of the only piece of clothing he wore, further transforming the pink boil of his cheeks into a beetroot red as shame mixed in with the hysteria he had no choice but to endure.

Miller looked down at Kit, who looked up at Miller, his eyes pleading with his tickler for some form of mercy - his biceps bulged as his torso twisted in ways it had never twisted before, his screams and giggles, his grainy laughter and commanding shouts caught behind the sock he had slid onto his foot earlier this morning, a sock now soaked with dribble and stuffed inside his mouth, “—MNNNPHH MN, MN, MN! MN? MNPHH! MNPHH! GRAHAHAHAAAANNPHH!—”, his begging did not make sense, his pleading and cries for a break going unnoticed thanks to his inability to produce words.

Miller kept one hand deep within Kit’s right underarm, whilst his other hand covered his eyes, blinding him, “They’re outside, by the window,” Miller teased, toying with Kit’s suspicions, his paranoia, “The press have heard you laughing like a crazy person, oh! They’re taking pictures right now …” Miller had to force his palm over Kit’s face as his head spun in a frantic twirl.

“—MNNNPHH MN, MN, MN! MN? NNUUU, NUUUU! NUUU! MNPHH! MNPHH! GRAHAHAHAAAANNPHH!—”

Kit threw his attention towards the window as soon as Miller removed his hand, his remaining energy left his nostrils in a heavy exhale as Miller slid his touch away from his underarms, a long line of drool now hanging from Kit’s chin - on the opposite side of the window remained an empty garden and a calm, unbothered sprinkler.

“Yew prig!—” Kit announced from behind his gag.

Within a flash, Kit threw himself forwards in alarm and began to shake his head, whining and moaning in distress as Miller picked out two electric toothbrushes and knelt down by his soles, returning his focus to his feet once again, “—Mnn! Mnn? Nuuuu! Nuuu! Pleeeeeg, pleeeeeaaaag!—”, Kit used his acting skills to ham up his concern, creasing his eyebrows upward, giving Miller puppy dog eyes, to help produce the severe seriousness contained within his display of worry, “Nnnuuu! Nuuuu! Nuuuuu!—”, Kit wished the gag was out of his mouth, his tongue pushing at the cotton, as Miller switched on both electric toothbrushes.

Click! Bzzzzzzz …

All Miller had to do was faintly press each toothbrush against the pads of Kit’s feet, for seconds at a time, to transform Kit into a mound of bubbling fury - the tip of the electric toothbrush barely had to whizz across Kit’s soles, hardly scraping the surface, for Kit to scream and shout, jump and jolt, his fists now thumping and punching the back of the tickle chair as the giggles were pulled from the depths of his tummy by a relentless force, “—Mnnnagahahahahaha nuuuu nuuuu mnahahahahahaaghhphh! Nnnuuu! Nuuuu! Nuuuu! Maaaahahahahahahahaha mnn! Mnn? Mnn! Uhhhh! Mnnnpnh, nuuu nuuuu!—”, Miller continued to admire Kit’s vigour, his large feet creating shapes of desperation, his long toes splaying and curling as his soles creased and scrunched inward, his big toes and index toes now successfully slipping free of the string, thanks to how hard Kit twisted his hyper sensitive feet, “—Gaaahh! Oohh! Mnnphh!—”, a brief moment of success, some kind of control, a sweet moment of bliss, all suddenly ruined once more by the electric toothbrushes presence around his pinkies, pinkie’s he had no idea could be that ticklish.

Kit began to squeal within each giant thrash for escape, his little toes never tickled like this before - the tickle chair rattled and creaked as it shook and wobbled, Kit’s flaccid cock and balls still wedged at the thigh gap of his shorts, his butt pounding the base of the seat in a relentless bounce as he shrieked behind the sock, his arms doing all they could to pull and pull and pull from the restraints around his wrists - his cheeks shone with sweat, his eyes were blood shot, his chest heaving, his abs now fully on show, his knees close up to his stomach as he kicked, kicked and kicked, “—NUUUUU, NUUU, NUUUUU!—”, when Kit’s eyes started to roll to the back of his head and the coughs and splutters started to arrive behind his gag, Miller knew the end was near.

That sight, that visual, that was ‘the moment’, the break that takes place, a sensational second or two containing an expression of complete madness, where the lee reaches that out of body, out of mind leap or hurtle, gasp or pant that informs a tickler as experienced as Miller that not only has he executed his job perfectly, but that ‘the time is up’, even if you don’t want it to be - the lee has reached their limit, to go on further would be unnatural, wrong, uncomfortable for both taking part in this one of a kind ordeal …

Miller switched off the electric toothbrushes and then checked his watch as Kit’s pupils dilated and beads of perspiration rolled down the side of his blotchy red face, all ten of his toes now scrunched into a protective clench.

“You lasted twenty five minutes …” Miller stood and returned to Kit’s upper body, pulling the sock out from his mouth, unknotting the tie from behind his head, “… Even The Object can take a little longer than you …”

Kit’s hands dangled from outside of his wrist restraints like rubber gloves as the sock dropped away from his lips “… I, I don’t know wha, what that… ” His raised eyebrows dropped to a frown as he chuckled into his collarbone and licked some perspiration away from his upper lip, “Wow, that was … That was …” he could not move, he could not find the energy to shuffle up the seat, he could not find the words to describe what he had just endured, all he could do was subconsciously sum everything up in eleven words, eleven simple words that encapsulated such an important and expansive dimension of thoughts, feelings and opinions, “… I haven’t screamed, or, or laughed, like that in my entire life …”

Miller felt keen, before he officially ended the session, to explore just a little bit more, mostly to see if there were any places he had missed, considering he had spent such dedicated time on Kit’s underarms and feet, “… You’re a giggler, that’s for sure … You get breathless, too …” Miller began to rub and prod Kit’s muscles and weighty flesh, as if he were rubbing seasoning into an expensive slab of steak, “… Do you sweat this much when you’re at the gym?” Miller noted some grunts when he arrived at his biceps, some jolts when he kneaded at his chest, some winces when he stroked past his nipples …

“All, all the time!” Kit huffed as his stomach and sides were pinched and poked, “Could you ssss, sssort my shorts out… ?—”, he stiffened up when his waist and hips were grabbed, but he naturally did not provide any severe responses to the areas under analysis, “My balls are out, oh god!” He now felt fully embarrassed, “Oh! My tummy hurts!” He began to giggle again, quiet to start as always, but then they lifted in pitch and strength as soon as Miller’s grab arrived between his thighs.

“Let’s put them back …” Miller pretended to help Kit out by tucking his ball back beneath his shorts, but by doing so he also sneakily actioned an invasive inspection across Kit’s taint, which was unsurprisingly soft and, to Miller’s extreme satisfaction, tremendously ticklish, “… Ah …”

Kit’s knees clapped together as if magnetised, the response was actioned in less than a second, the fact that he could not close up his thighs to protect such a tenderly hypersensitive area caused him to almost blast out of the tickle chair, his lips pressing together tightly, his nostrils flaring so widely that you could fling bowling balls down each of them … “—No!—”, Kit shook his head fiercely, his desperate need for his taint to be left untouched proved by how hard he pulled at his left wrist restraint, “—Please, not there!—”, his hand slipped free, it grabbed at Miller’s wrist, “—Please, stop!—”, Kit’s fingernails buried themselves into Miller’s skin, as a way of telling him he was more than serious, “—STOP—”, his call for an end to this frenzy left his throat in a stern and above all else concerned demand, causing Miller to remove his infliction and step away, where he felt keen to finish everything off with one more ‘final moment’.

“You have strength, kid …” Miller knelt down by Kit’s left foot, “… Big, tall, mighty … Look what I’ve reduced you to …” he placed his index finger against Kit’s left sole and dragged it upward, slowly, faintly, towards his toes.

With his left hand free, Kit wasted no time in reaching forward, his fingers stretching outward, “—Please, stop!—”, his right hand, still cuffed, permitted him from being able to reach Miller’s index finger, so he had to throw himself back against the chair and quickly remove the strap around his right wrist, “—No, please, come on!—”, with both hands free, he was able to reach both arms down past his shins, but his hands failed to reach the stocks, “—Mnn!—”, Kit bit his upper lip in focus as both of his feet were suddenly toyed with, playfully, ony by light fingertip strokes and gentle brushes, enough to still send him wild, “—Leave my feet alone!—” he cried.

“Only if you say one thing,” Miller suggested, “And then I’ll stop…” he watched Kit’s feet flap, curl, twist and flex beneath his barely there touch, “… Alright?”

Kit continued to try to stop Miller, his hands even grabbing at the stock’s latch, unable to flick it open, “Yes! Yes, alright!”

Miller drew circles around the base of Kit’s big toes, causing Kit to giggle and whine into his fists.

“Say, ‘I’m Kit Connor, and I’m a ticklish little bitch’ …”

Kit did not hesitate.

“I’m Kit Connor!” He cried, “And I’m a ticklish little bitch!” He finally made impact with Miller’s hands, grabbing at them tightly, pushing them away from his feet.

Miller held his hands up in surrender and smirked.

“Easy,” he said.