Sub Zero

Thirty feet below the ground floor of The Swedish House

Accessible only via elevator and swipe card …

___

Tom sat completely naked on the edge of a steel table, his hands politely in his lap, his feet dangling in a casual kick inches above a clinically white and exceptionally clean stretch of floor.

He admired the shine of silver open manacles nailed to the tables surface; there were four in total - two at the top of the table and two at the bottom - they were ready for him, and he ready for them.

As he pointed up his fingertips towards the panelled ceiling, yawned and squinted up at the brightness of the lights above him, he wondered what he would get The House to make him for dinner later on in the evening - currently he craved the freshness of a salad, but something told him he’d need a more substantial meal after this experience - such an ordinary thought during such an extraordinary situation only proved to Tom and the observing CCTV cameras how ‘used to all of this’ he had become.

In the corner of the large expanse of white space known as ‘Sub Zero’, a special level located within the underground section of the mansion Tom resided in, a singular glass sheet working as a door slid into the ceiling like something out of a sci-fi movie, allowing The Major to step inside.

His heavy laced up boots squeaked over the pristine ground as he stood silently, his eyes watering behind the many diamonds and jewels that made up his unique mask - he took his time in taking in the sight of Tom’s sun-kissed frame and its attractive contrasting glow against the beams of stark white surrounding him.

Tom blinked at The Major - for the first time since all of this had begun, they finally stood face to face … As the silence continued to growl, Tom wriggled his nose and rather suddenly let out an almighty sneeze, catching the explosion with his left elbow.

“—AH-CHOO!—”

The Major remained still and solider-esque.

Tom wiped his face with the back of his hand, “I was trying so hard not to sneeze! I know how serious this is, for you and I to mee—”

“—I did not fail,” The Major announced.

Tom sniffed, pursed his lips and crossed his legs at the knee, “Oh, er … Not one for small talk then?”

Slowly, The Major began his approach - he cautiously stepped towards Tom like an explorer who had endlessly searched the globe for a priceless artefact, an ‘object’ like so many of those beneath his remit referred to him as.

“I never fail …” The Major arrived at the steel table as he reassured himself, “… I caught you. Just like they asked me …” his voice was contained, controlled, considered, his tone providing the slightest suggestion of a tremble - his tall, dark exterior seemed menacing, but beneath the leather and the broad shoulders, the military uniform and blackness of the garments glued to his lean shape, he looked like he could explode at any given second, “… I always succeed …”

Tom leant back on his elbows, his toned abs twitching as he did so, “Alright, sparkles. If you say so …” his relaxed slouch caused The Major to do something he rarely did - to smile - mostly because it so brazenly appeared that Tom had absolutely no idea what he was about to endure …

“Behind these walls are a plethora of apparatus designed to drive you utterly insane,” The Major declared matter of factly, “I intend to use every single one, to get what I need …” he patted the surface of the table with his gloved fingertips, “… Lay on your back.”

Tom remained as he was, a playful sneer showcasing teeth just as white as his surroundings - his reluctance to abide said the words, ‘it wont be as easy as that’ …

The Major felt a lump of rage catch in the middle of his throat; the many tests and assessments, gifts and moments of worship Tom had endured had clearly messed with his confidence, giving him a serene level of superiority - at first, it felt challenging to deal with but the more Tom grinned, the more The Major transformed the anger into excitement.

“I cannot wait to break your fearlessness,” The Major had no reservations in playing Tom’s way, he had no shame in contently saying the word, “Please …” whilst then repeating himself, something he promised himself there and then he would do only once during his time with this much valued specimen, “… Lay on your back.”

Tom, smug with himself after getting The Major to plead first, quietly lay on his back as requested.

The Major curled his hand around Tom’s left ankle and lifted it gently, positioning it over the open manacle which he then closed down, locking Tom’s left leg in position at the corner of the steel table.

“I had all of these ideas,” The Major lifted Tom’s right ankle and cuffed it to the opposite corner, clamping now both legs in place, his thighs open just enough to allow his hairless balls to slump into a flat lay over the tables surface, “I even asked our members what would be the ultimate way to tickle you … Roped suspension, sand beach burial, stocked and toe tied, the list goes on …. ” he made his way to Tom’s head, standing behind it, “ … I was going to have you dressed as Spider-Man, hire out a Hollywood studio, act out a script I have in my mind …” he peered down over Tom, diamond mask facing boyish good looks, “… The big bad catches the superhero, interrogates him for information, exploiting his one of a kind weakness …” he took hold of Tom’s wrists and lifted them to the top of the table, stretching out his sides, taunting out his stomach, exposing his rib cage and most importantly of all, revealing the almost hairless depths of his underarms, “… I was even happy to go by the name the muscles of your team referred to me as … ‘Major Tickles’ …”

Tom stifled a chuckle as he watched The Major lock his biceps in a manacle each, his wrists now being connected by thick cuffs nailed to the beneath of the slab Tom lay restrained to, “Sounds creative. What made you change your mind?”

The Major picked out a small remote from inside of his trench coat and pressed a gloved thumb over the central button as Tom’s genuine curiosity continued to shape out a cheeky personality The Major could only adore, even when consumed by his own dynamically evil role.

“The level of extremity I wanted to inflict on you felt lost amongst the detail,” he explained, as a square section of the wall slid into the ceiling, revealing a red satin cushioned interior displaying a selection of neatly laid out tools, “I had to strip it back. Have the focus on just your extreme and uniquely absurd level of sensitivity,” he approached the open cabinet and reached inside, picking out a feather duster, “Now, it’s only you, me and my wrath …”

Tom’s eyebrows creased upward, “What you gonna do with that?” He watched The Major approach him, the feather duster twirling in his right hand, “This Sub Zero place looks squeaky clean, if you ask me …”

“Gradually, I’ll get under your skin,” The Major aimed the feather duster towards Tom’s balls, “I’ll rearrange your thoughts, even whilst you’re having them …”

Tom threw his head forwards and tried to close up his legs, his knees nudging inward only a few inches, “No, not there! You lot aren’t allowed between there!—”, despite his fierce second long writhe, the steel table beneath his sudden squirm did not move at all …

The Major chortled behind his mask, “Wriggling already and I haven’t even touched you …” Tom’s knees seemed desperate to connect, “… Agile … Flexible … Toned and energetic …” The Major admired Tom’s almost completely immobile body in its fixed position against the steel table, “… We’ve allowed you to call the shots,” his hungry stare took in Tom’s narrow waist, how tightly each silver manacle pinned his arms above his head thanks to how neatly they fitted around each of his biceps, “We’ve tricked you into thinking this is your world now,” he watched Tom’s feet as his toes pointed forwards, each ankle snug beneath each silver manacle pinning them to the left and right corner of the steel rectangle that would be his home for however long The Major wished, “It’s not your world. It isn’t even theirs …” he barely placed the feather duster between Tom’s thighs, "… It’s mine …”

Tom’s waist flung upward with such strength that his cock thwacked against his navel, “What!—”, he huffed, the feather duster just about making impact with his balls, “—What do you want from me, mate!—”, he licked his lips and gulped down the need to scream, “—You got a name?—”, the feather duster fluttered between his thighs, each fluffy feathered tip grazing against the smoothness of his taint, “—Gonna need to know what to call you if we’re hanging out like this!—”, Tom’s butt thrashed over metal as he scowled across his torso, the burn in his eyes almost setting the feather duster alight.

The Major floated the feather duster across a stomach keen to heave in, over a chest heaving out, “What do I want?” He chuckled as he travelled the feather duster over Tom’s face, causing him to blow it away with a pfft of his lips, his head stretching as far away from the tool as he could possibly allow it, “Isn’t it obvious? I want to know …” he lifted the feather duster into the air and made his way back to the open gap within the wall, “… Knowledge is power. I want to know how you had the audacity to break the rules,” he returned the feather duster and then picked out a thirty centimetre long seagull feather, “I want to know how you gained the guts to rebel against the system, to—”

“—Make you feel out of control?” Tom interrupted, a playful sneer taking place over his collarbone as he watched The Major pause all movement, his back facing Tom.

A few seconds of unexpected quiet ticked by - Tom had struck a nerve and he had no intention of holding back.

“So that’s the special reason I’m down here! Ahh. The punishment part. Well, mate, you can make me pay as much as you like,” Tom could not help but allow a testing tone to latch onto his voice, “But you didn’t catch me. You only get to do this, because I allow it.”

The Major’s statuesque appearance caused Tom to giggle, not in entertainment or because he was nervous for a response, but simply because he could not believe how mischievous he felt when faced with a character he thought he would be terrified of, a character that symbolised absolutely everything he had hidden from for the best part of twelve months.

When the apprehension arrived and started to feel too much, Tom surprised himself when he found the words, — “Aren’t you the one who’s meant to be blowing my mind?” — leaving his mouth.

The Major slowly turned to face Tom, causing Tom’s kittenish grin to flatten into a concerned line.

With the feather pinched between his index finger and thumb, The Major began his approach, returning to the betweens of Tom’s thighs.

Tom’s growl suggested a frustrated ‘ah, bloody hell!’ - he had no choice but to endure what he had asked for, mentally reminding himself to keep his mouth shut next time, as the feather arrived across his taint.

The Major said nothing - instead, he actioned his payback with a fast and dedicated twirl of the feather, where he kept the sharpness of the tip in a constant flutter between Tom’s thighs - the physical reactions occurred immediately - despite the feather being so soft, so harmless to look at, so innocent in regards to the animal it had been plucked from, the hyper sensitive sensation it caused beneath the base of Tom’s balls drove Tom utterly wild, causing his hips to violently leap, his waist to vigorously twist, his torso to frantically jump with immediate effect, the manacles only just about containing his squirming form.

Such an eruption of energy startled Tom, “—I’m sorry, I’m sorry!—”, he dug his heels into metal, his knees bending, his flaccid cock thrashing into the air, “No, get out of there!—”, he hurtled his head over his chest and willed the feather to depart from his balls, “—You’ll kill me—”, he warned in a snarl, “—And then there won’t be anymore of me to play with!—” he breathlessly tried his best to pitch the darkest outcome, a desperate bought of evidence that proved Tom was already willing to do anything for the attention on his taint to stop.

The Major slid the feather away from Tom’s taint and made his way towards the bottom of the table as Tom panted and huffed, the arch of his back dropping in relief.

“I’ve ill-treated some extraordinarily ticklish men in my time,” The Major dragged the feathers tip over Tom’s left knee and around the side of his left hip, “And already, your reactions to a simple feather have blown away all expectations. Every single individual I’ve toyed with may as well turn to dust, to be scattered into the wind, to never be remembered …” the feather arrived under the small gap created between the surface of the table and the arch of Tom’s lower spine, “… On top of being the most incredible individual I’ve ever touched in my forty years of living, you’re also wrong …”

Tom naturally had a high arch between his lower back and the start of his buttocks, no matter how hard he tried to flatten his spine, to catch the feather between his body and the table, the feather was always able to flutter across an area he had never had tickled before, “Huh?” Tom sounded authentically perplexed as he tried to escape the feathers stroke across his lower spine, his waist bucking and bouncing as he chewed on his upper lip, “What are you ch, chatting about?”

The Major dropped to his knees, the perfect, muscular length of Tom’s naked left side now inches from his face, “You lay bound in this room because of me …” he painted Tom’s left hip with the feathers tip, “… I was the one who commissioned a video of you in the first place …” he then fluttered it over his ribs and up towards his underarm, “… I was the one who made Andrew your ticklee back in 2023, I was the one who knew what he would do, how he would eventually make you feel …” he then began to wiggle the feathers tip over the top of Tom’s butt, sending the twenty eight year old into an explosive abundance of cackled laughter, “… Every shift in emotion between you both, every decision made, every choice, even the ones where you chose to run and he chose to help …" Tom’s body could not move an inch as The Major journeyed the feather in a see saw motion across the arch of his back, the feather just about able to wedge itself between the gap, his high pitched giggles filling the width of Sub Zero, “… To have Garfield locked in his mask, for you to choose to endure my wrath so it can be removed, it’s all because of me …” just as Tom began to shriek, the feathers tip now pressing between Tom’s butt cheeks, The Major finished his revelation with a determined and proud declaration, “… I am the one who led you HERE! …”

Tom’s stomach lifted and dropped, lifted and dropped, lifted and dropped as The Major slid the feather out from under Tom’s lower spine and got to his feet, placing both hands over his hips as he awaited Tom’s alarm, a reaction that would surely contain shock and if anything else, surprise towards being so expertly controlled and puppeteered since Andrew raised the suggestion of foot worship in a diner over a year and a half ago …

“I gotta say,” Tom sniffed as he caught his breath, “That’s pretty bloody impressive!” He flung his head over his chest and looked The Major in the eye, his face saturated with glee, “Is there like, an Oscars for tickling? Do The House have something like that?” He stretched cramp out of his leg and planted the back of his head down over the surface of the steel table, “You deserve all the awards …” he narrowed his eyes into the brightness of the ceiling and grinned playfully.

The Major clenched his teeth behind his mask, placed the feather between Tom’s legs and then pinched the fingertips of his right glove, “I have to feel this courage, this spirit you have obtained, from the real you, not the fake …” now he had the non-dupe Tom in his clutches, he could sense a complete difference in his persona, compared to the self commissioned content from the past he had viewed on repeat - the version of Tom strapped to a tickle chair, made to play mind games whilst tormented by Andrew, The Masked Tickler and The Clown in a abandoned Los Angeles warehouse existed as a stark contrast to the nude, immobilised and beyond bold character laid out in Sub Zero …

“Haven’t you heard?” Tom pressed his chin over his collarbone as he watched The Major remove his glove and curl the fingers of his right hand, his palm landing slowly like a UFO on a field, over Tom’s stomach, “I’m a pro at this now—”, he bit his lower lip and wriggled his waist, keen to jump his stomach away from a hand that could, at any given minute, shape into claws and go to town across his abs, “—Yup, that’s fine there, just feel, no need to tickle!—”, there was that grin once again, this time wider, all teeth in line …

The Major laid his hand over Tom’s stomach, his palm covering his navel - his hand dropped anytime Tom breathed in, it lifted anytime he breathed out, “Staggering,” The Major purred, “There is electricity beneath your skin, a moist warmth over your flesh, you are utterly despairing at the idea of being crucified so ruthlessly yet you are oh so eager for it to happen …” The Major lifted his hand away and removed both of his gloves, pocketing them inside his trench coat, “… That is what makes you so perfect. You exquisitely personify the mindset one has when being tickled … I see it before me, and I have seen it before …” Whilst The Major had his hands in his pockets, he pulled out a polaroid and dropped it over Tom’s chest.

Tom flinched, peering past his collarbone as he took in the visual of himself on stage at The Duke of York theatre as Romeo, with a co star, whilst performing ‘Romeo + Juliet’ during the sixth month break he had from The House of White Feathers - in the picture, Tom’s waist is grabbed by his co star, causing him to hunch over and almost leap from the stage floor, both of his own hands reaching towards the touch as a way to protect himself.

“That’s … That’s me …” Tom felt silly for stating the obvious but as the picture ignited memories within his brain, he smirked and lifted his chest upward, causing the polaroid to fall off his torso and float to the shiny Sub Zero floor, “… That’s me getting tickled …” he almost rolled his eyes.

The Major walked back to the cabinet in the wall and reached inside, “… I made that happen too,” he revealed, picking out his next tool, “… I captured that cast mate two hours before you both went out on stage. I spent a devious amount of time on his ribs, I counted each one over and over and over, until he agreed to tickle you during your performance …” The Major turned away from the cabinet with a pair of shoe laces held in his grasp, “… It was brief, but your leap was worth it. Anything to see you squirm from a distance …”

Tom, always peering over his chest, watched the shoe laces dangle from The Major’s pinch, the plastic ends floating over the top of his right foot, “… Oi! You lot weren’t allowed to touch me during th—”, he tutted, “—I mean, technically you didn’t, but you still—” he pointed his toes towards the surface of the metal table as The Major allowed the shoelaces to dangle over them, “—Stop toying with me, mate! Grrr, get on with it!—”, his foot twisted to the side as soon as the laces dangle hovered over the silver manacle and made their way in a taunting float up his left leg.

“These laces belong to the running trainers you left for us in that locker …” The Major dangled the laces over Tom’s abs, allowing the plastic ends to drag in a barely there scrape over his belly button, “… The thing you used to taunt us, now taunts you …” Tom flung his waist upward, he stretched his hips to the side, “… From now on, you will never know what to expect next, you will always guess, you will always be unaware of the process, the next tool, the next method,” Tom’s butt bounced repeatedly, his cock flapping about like a limp piece of meat, his hips always thrusting into the air as the laces now danced over the landscape of flesh that made up the flatness between his navel and the start of his manhood, “Understood?”

“Yes! Understood—”, Tom sighed through flared nostrils as the laces lifted away from his torso and The Major walked back to his gap in the wall - for the first time since being in The Major’s company, he had complied without a sassy remark or sarcastic response, informing both he and The Major that the cracks were starting to form, “Have you er, still got those trainers? I’ve missed them …” he tried his best to regain his hot shot status but the nerves had started to form when The Major turned to face him with a bottle of baby oil in hand, “… Always want what you can’t have and that …” he mumbled anxiously.

The Major uncapped the bottles lid and made his way to Tom’s upper body, “I watched from a distance, every night. I stood in the darkness of the London alley ways, observing you as you waved to the fans outside the theatre,” he then began to douse Tom’s torso, starting with his hips and waist, with the shimmer of lotion, “Sometimes you would wear a t-shirt too tight for your frame,” Tom had no choice but to allow the splash of oil to land over his stomach, his back arching in reserved delight as the chill from the liquid cooled him down somewhat, “I would catch a glimpse of your underarms, a peak of your pits,” Tom’s jaw widened as The Major poured more liquid over his nipples and chest, the lashings making their way into the very armpits The Major recalled spying on, “Sometimes you would wear a t-shirt too cropped, your wave too high, a flash of your waist caught on camera for us to cherish from afar,” just when Tom thought The Major would stop soaking him in oil, he continued, now drenching his flaccid cock in the stuff, the shine causing his balls to glisten, his taint to appear softer, “Such beautiful flesh at the time I was not authorised to wreak havoc on …” finally, The Major capped the bottles lid, “… Until now …”

Tom’s butt gathered some of the oil across each plump cheek, as a lot of the droplets had rolled past his waist and onto the tables steel surface, “Yup, we get it—”, he teased, “—You have a thing for tickling,” his butt slid in an effortless squeaky glide from side to side, “—Don’t worry! It’s not obvious,” Tom joked, “It can be our secret, Sparkles …”

The Major placed the bottle back over the surface of the table and tilted his head - a gentle crack released some pressure in his neck, giving him the freedom to release his inner monster - he made his way back to Tom’s head and stood behind it, where he then peered down over Tom’s two glistening underarms and his broad, oil soaked chest.

“I have waited so long,” The Major whispered to himself, “To do this …”

Tom kept the ‘oh god, oh god’ at the back of his throat - in fact, he wanted to shout it out loud, non stop, as he watched The Major extend an index finger from each hand, but he did not want to break, not just yet - so far, his armpits had yet to be the focus of any test or assessment since he arrived in Sweden, he had assumed The House were saving his most ticklish area till last, but as The Major’s fingers neared the ends of his elbows, it appeared they had simply saved them for The Major - Tom had no choice but to frantically conclude that perhaps, all along, they knew his time as The Object would lead to this …

“Mnn—”, Tom sucked in his lips as The Major’s index fingers arrived over an elbow each, “—No!—”, the word ‘stop’ was on the tip of his tongue but he held it back for now, not wanting to satisfy The Major so soon, his elbows flapping, “—Oi!—”, his eyes widened into a fierce bulge as he watched each index finger draw an intensely hard line down his arms, where they then hopped over the silver manacles clamped over each bicep and landed in the very middle of each underarm, “—GA HAH!—”, Tom closed his mouth as soon as he opened it, his head twisting from side to side uncontrollably as The Major drew faint circles inside each armpit, “—-Oi, you!—”, Tom’s torso, stretched out and drenched in lubrication, twisted automatically as The Major did the unexpected and decided not to stay in Tom’s underarms for too long - instead, he took his index fingers down to Tom’s sides where they dragged across each side of his ribcage, leaving white trail marks behind, “—Mate, please!—”, Tom hurtled his waist up and down, his hips catapulting from side to side, “—Oh, oh!—”, The Major drew circles over each rib, digging in with force, nudging each index finger into his hips, “—Ssss, sssss!—”, he then jumped his index fingers in sporadic pokes and prods, landing in various areas of Tom’s upper body, “—Oi! Oh! Oi!—”, this caused Tom to propel his hips in a rampant thrash, his cock always flapping about over his stomach, its juicy, chunky size bouncing across his belly button, “—Ah! Haha! Ah! Haha!—”, the giggles had arrived, the breathless fluster now in full force as The Major shaped his hands into claws and returned to Tom’s underarms, digging in with a merciless and unrestrained strength.

“These wonderful, hyper sensitive, flawlessly shaped caverns of ticklishness, the depths all mine to inhale …” The Major teased.

Tom arched his back so high it clicked - his face became soaked in a wash of overwhelmed bewilderment - not only did The Major dig, he also scribbled hard, transforming Tom into a pure line of ticklish stiffness as what could only be described as a joyously primal scream left the core of his stomach:

“STOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHP!—”

His toes flexed so hard they twitched, his eyes watering with such a boil that they almost leaked - they widened like saucers at the sight of The Major infiltrating his armpits with a furiously impassioned scratch - suddenly, Tom felt his butt slam back down over the table, as soon as The Major dragged his finger nails down his sides, tickling his ribs, hips and waist on a non stop rotation, reducing Tom to a flabbergasted mess that could only release the hysteria caused by such an intense tickling in the form of puffs and pants between strained laughter and complex inhales, all whilst leaping uncontrollably.

“You accuse me of having a thing for tickling, Tom …” The Major made sure to face his captee, “… Oh, I do,” he confirmed, “I also have a thing for armpits, my boy …” his scribble returned to Tom’s lubed up underarms, a focus now in the very centre of each, “… Your armpits, Tom!—”

Tom’s shrieks and howls were thunderous and rampant, they echoed out into Sub Zero as The Major kept his determined scratch inside Tom’s underarms, stubbornly remaining there as a way to increase the madness contained within Tom’s mind, to further arch his back and cause his waist to thrash.

“One hundred and fifty million dollars worth of beauty at my fingertips,” The Major watched Tom buck over steel with such non stop, relentless energy he may as well be fucking the air, “If you ask me, these underarms of yours are actually rather priceless …” The Major never took his eyes off Tom’s face, which had transformed into a pained crease gathering at the bridge of his nose - his cheeks were a shiny red, his eyes displaying only furious frustration, his wide grin disturbingly manic, the cackled laughter in his throat so fuelled with vigour that it caused his adam’s apple to match the size of a golf ball …

Tom launched his body from left to right non stop, his butt squeaking and sliding as the oil caused it to slip and slither with every thrust of his hips, “—NOOOOAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHA, NOOOOAHAHAHAHAHAHAH, NOOOAHAHAHAHAHAHA!—”, no, no, no; one word screamed over and over but made to last a good ten seconds with each expel due to the amount of roaring laughter that latched onto each ‘no’ - with the lubrication now blending with beads of sweat within each armpit, The Major’s fingernails scribbled with additional glide over the ultra sensitive flesh, adding a greater level of intensity that Tom had never experienced before.

“Andrew was wrong,” The Major declared, “Softer tickling isn’t always the way to set you on fire …” with that announcement, he slowly dragged his fingers out of Tom’s underarms and licked them clean of his sweat.

Tom lay in a rattled state, his mouth shaping into an ‘o’ as he blew out hot air in the form of a whistle and blinked away blurred vision, saying the word, “O, okay,” sniffing up exhaustion, another, “—Okay—”, leaving his lips as he breathlessly watched The Major return to the gap in the wall, “Okay!—,” he sniggered and chortled, disbelief consuming him, his stomach aching, his abs tighter than ever “… Okay … That was ticklish … And it was majorly unbearable … Haha, g, get it? H, how about we er, we walk the rest of the way, mnn?…” he could tell everything said between he and The Major up till now, every stroke of a feather duster or dangle of a shoelace, it had all been a gentle lead up to something far more enormous than he could ever have imagined, as soon as Tom’s eyes landed on the next set of tools cradled at The Major’s chest: a blindfold, a set of headphones and a ball gag …

“It’ll be a shame to hide that bubble of lunacy I can see begin to boil behind your eyes,” The Major noted, as he made his way back towards Tom’s head, “These fingers of mine were designed to explore underarms as ticklish as yours, a waist as tender as your own …” he placed the tools down between Tom’s feet and reached forwards, taking Tom by surprise, where he clutched at the V shape that made up Tom’s hips.

If the table were not bolted down to Sub Zero’s flooring, it would have most certainly flipped over, due to the unapologetic force of Tom’s leap.

“—OI!—”

“There’s that ‘oi’ again … Such an iconic yelp,” The Major admired, “I’ll never forget hearing it for the first time, after watching that interview …”

Most other ticklers, even at their most merciless, would go on to explain the reasoning behind each chosen tool - even if it were to enjoy talking about a certain technique - but no, not The Major - as Tom lay panting, regretting ever filming that interview with his girlfriend who revealed his weakness to the world, The Major remained quiet and did not divulge into the details and effects it would have on Tom to not only have his vocal ability and sight quashed, but his hearing too …

“Oh you kinky little …” Tom’s world went dark as The Major attached the blindfold over his face, the thin black satin material clamping across his eyes, “… Now I can’t see that pretty face of yours,” Tom giggled nervously, his biceps flexing beneath each manacle as his underarms continued to feel exceptionally vulnerable and now rather wet with a mixture of lotion and perspiration, “All those lovely diamonds and sparkly gems, gone foreve—mnnphh—,” Tom’s mockery became muffled as soon as a wedge of round plastic was shoved between his lips, “—ig gah weally neggeggary?—”, The Major heard ‘is that really necessary?’ as the gag surpassed Tom’s teeth and sat against the roof of his mouth, “—ew wug gee agle goo ear eh gagh—”, he continued to try to speak normally, his ‘you won’t be able to hear me laugh’ easy to understand by The Major, but to anyone not used to translating words behind a gag, it would sound like simple gibberish.

“Who said I want laughter?” The Major held the head phones in both hands - as he positioned himself behind Tom’s head, he placed the head phones over Tom’s ears and rested the arching attachment over the top of his scalp - the head phones were noise reducing, so almost every other sound within Sub Zero had either been terminated or decreased in volume by a extremely profound amount.

With three of his vital senses removed, Tom could only look from side to side, into nothing but black, his mouth gagged, his hearing disabled - he flung himself to the right, at the mere possibility of touch, at the mere suggestion of a fingertip against his right underarm - he curled all ten of his toes into a protective clench - he leapt upward, groaning through the ball of plastic in his mouth; confusion, paranoia and dread controlled his hurtles and writhes whilst The Major stood with his hands behind his back, his fingertips nowhere near Tom.

“I told you I’d get under your skin …” he turned to the glass door in the corner of the room as it slid into the ceiling, revealing a second tickler, “… And now, you can too …”