Today was the day Tim had so far successfully put off, for a whole twenty four hours.

If Armie had his way yesterday, they would’ve tried out his new portable stocks and tickle tools around fifteen minutes after they were delivered to his front door.

But, thankfully, Tim had persuaded him to do otherwise and their afternoon had instead played out as a chilled movie-marathon event, containing several more beers each, a few more pizzas and an admitted obsession towards Tim’s right index toe.

At 1.30 pm, the unavoidable arrived.

Armie walked up his apartment stairs dressed in a smart shirt, stone coloured chinos and leather loafers.

Under one arm, he carried the recently delivered portable stocks and in his other hand he carried the new basket full of tickle tools.

Behind him, Tim followed in his usual casual attire - a baggy tee, sweat pants and socks.

As well as a laid back outfit, Tim also bought along with him the cheeky attempt to once again delay the session further.

“… I’m just saying - ya know, yesterday was awesome - why don’t we, why don’t we just plough through a trilogy or, or something, with more pizza - maybe we could do The Godfather, or uh … Lord, Lord of the-- “

Armie paused on the stairs and slowly turned around to face Tim.

“--You remember what you signed up for, right?”

Tim lowered his head.

“Of course …” One more try, “… But—“

Armie gently placed his index finger over Tim’s lips, silencing him momentarily.

“Don’t make me gag you,” Armie smiled.

Tim looked down at Armie’s finger and then took one step down the staircase, away from Armie.

His movements communicated that he reservedly had no choice but to agree to do as Armie pleased.

Armie’s turned and continued to travel up the stairs.

As Tim followed, he wondered how he’d be able to take another session, so soon after the previous two.

The things inside that basket looked … Effective, to say the least.

He gulped at the thought of another hair brush gliding over the bottoms of his feet.

There were feathers, too.

Red ones, blue ones, white ones …

… All with sharp nibs, the very thing that turned Tim into a *literal* dribbling mess, whilst confined in The Incubator.

Once on the top floor, Armie lead Tim down a sunlit hall and into an office.

Inside the office sat a modern looking wooden desk, a chair on wheels, a window dimmed by white blinds and a few units shelved with paper work, folders and files.

“Why are we up here?” Asked Tim.

Armie plonked the stocks and basket of tickle toys onto the desk, whilst glancing over at Tim.

“You’ll see,” He smirked.

Tim shuffled on the spot nervously.

Armie pulled the chair aside and then grabbed onto the edges of the desk.

He started to move it around, so it now sat in the middle of the office room.

“Take off your t-shirt,” Armie instructed, “I’ll be a few minutes.”

Tim, with an element of sulkiness overshadowing him, dangled his arms by his side for a few seconds and then decided to lean into the situation at hand.

The sooner you do it, the sooner it’ll be over.

As Armie reached inside the basket for some rope, Tim pulled his tee over his head, exposing his slim, ticklish frame.

He neatly folded it down and laid it out on the desk chair, shaking his head so that his hair fell back into place.

Armie placed the stocks in a standing position, on the surface of the desk, right in the centre.

Then, he tied rope to either side of the stocks.

Tim tucked his hands under his armpits as he watched Armie expertly set up.

Armie took the rope and pulled it tightly down to the underneath of the desk.

With a red face and determination in his eyes, he began to tie the rope to each desk leg.

Tim quietly approached the stocks.

He ran his fingertips over the arch-like top and poked his fingers through the many holes decorating it’s surface.

With a firm grip, he used his hand to try and move the stocks from left to right, forward and backwards, however the ropes attaching the stocks to the surface of the desk had done a great job at keeping it still.

The insides of the ankle holes were lined with a black, teddy bear-like fluff.

Armie got back to his feet and wiped his forehead in success.

He then took the desk chair and wheeled it back to the desk, placing it in a position a desk chair of that kind would have to be placed, if someone wanted to sit down on it and use the desk for work.

Once Armie had done perfecting the set up, he then stepped to the side and politely invited Tim into his seat, as if escorting a Prince into a royal carriage.

“Get comfortable, young man …”

Tim’s hands slid off of the stocks and, reluctantly, he sat down on the desk chair.

It squeaked a little with his weight.

Tim spun around on it aimlessly as Armie pottered around the office, moving the basket to the edge of the desk whilst also readjusting the growing girth behind the zip of his trousers.

Tim realised that Armie now had no reservation in showing Tim how much this agreement aroused him.

Armie fingered through the baskets contents.

Tim assumed that this would be the moment Armie would be figuring out how the session would go, however, unbeknownst to Tim, Armie had spent most of the previous night tossing and turning with an erection, planning out every single second.

Once happy with the tools provided, Armie lifted the top half of the stocks so that Tim could place his feet inside.

Armie only had to look at Tim, to get Tim into position.

Tim lifted his feet onto the desk.

Then, he had no choice but to wheel the desk chair forwards a little so that he could comfortable place his ankles into the stocks.

The behinds of his knees hooked onto the edge of the desk - something that would’ve been uncomfortable, if he weren’t wearing such thick sweatpants.

Armie closed down the lid of the stocks and then latched them locked, at the side.

Tim’s socked feet now sat trapped and entirely vulnerable.

Armie delved into the basket and took out two leather cuffs.

He gently took Tim’s left hand and secured it to the left arm of the chair, by the wrist, with the cuff.

As Armie did the same thing with Tim’s right hand, Tim shook his left wrist and attempted to pull his hand free.

He’d be going nowhere.

Tim now sat topless, and a little squashed into the chair, with his hands tied to it, and his feet securely locked into the stocks attached to the surface of the desk.

Armie thought ahead.

He pictured, in twenty minutes time, when he’d be running an electric tooth brush around Tim’s toes.

He knew the boy would go crazy.

And that desk chair would be wheeling around all over the place ...

So, Armie took more rope from the basket.

“You got a never ending stash of that?” Joked Tim, as he watched Armie get down on all fours and then climb under the desk.

“Oh, this is nothing,” teased Armie, as he began to tie the base of the chair by attaching rope to the nearest legs of the desk.

Armie crawled behind Tim and then got to his feet.

He looked down at the top of Tim's head, whilst holding the sides of the chair and testing it's hold.

It felt secure.

It would move a little, if Tim squirmed hard enough, but it wouldn’t wheel too far away.

Armie tested his attempts by unexpectedly reaching his hands down over Tim’s shoulders, where he began to dig his fingers into Tim’s sides.

Tim may as well of been jabbed by an open wire.

He scrunched his entire body inwards, clamped his elbows against his ribs and then kicked frantically outward, repeatedly and aggressively.

The stocks stayed in place.

The chair only shifted back a centimetre or two.

They were good to go.

Armie’s fingers slid away from the warm, soft flesh of Tim's upper body.

“Fuck … “ Tim sucked in some saliva hanging off the edge of his lips.

Armie walked slowly back to the basket, as Tim readjusted himself in the seat and flicked some curls of hair away from his eyes by shaking his head to the left.

Armie ran his palms over the edge of the basket, assessing what tools he’d try out first, before allowing his touch to travel over the surface of the desk.

Then, his fingers ‘walked’ towards Tim’s feet.

Tim’s toes scrunched up beneath his socks, in desperate anticipation.

He clenched his teeth and stared up at the ceiling as Armie continued to walk his fingers, this time over Tim’s soles.

Tim was able to twist his feet from left to right as he curled his hands over the leather restraints strapped around them.

Armie took walking fingers back to the basket, where he pulled out a long piece of pink string.

Armie lay the string out on the table as Tim peered over the stocks, in an attempt to keep an eye on what was going on.

“What tool are you least looking forward to me trying out, Tim?”

Tim felt annoyed by more curls of hair now hanging over his eyes, curls he was tied too tightly to remove properly.

Armie pulled off Tim's sock.

As Tim’s left foot felt such sudden exposure, he answered Armie’s question with a nervous reply.

“The, the uh … The brush, I, I think.”

Armie smiled and nodded slowly in understanding.

“Yes, that drove you wild. And the brushes inside this basket, well, they’re brand new …” Armie wiped his upper lip clear of sweat, “ … One of them already looks like it’ll do the job. I think it has the potential to push you over the edge ... It might get you to use your safe word … ”

Armie’s index finger trailed up Tim’s bare sole as his other hand snatched Tim’s sock off his right foot.

Tim hissed inward.

He hated how one minute, he sat fully clothed, with pizza and beers, on the comfort of an oversized sofa.

And now, here he was - tied, squashed, with his knees up by his chest and his bare feet stocked and ready for whatever Armie wanted to do with them.

Armie took the pink string and tactfully, he began to tie Tim’s toes to the stocks.

He pulled the string through one of the many holes punched through the stocks and tied it into place - an anchored starting point.

Then, he looped the string around Tim’s little toe.

Tim couldn’t help but scrunch his toes up entirely as he endured the string sliding through such a agonisingly ticklish area of his body.

“Fuck, that … This is …” Tim shook his head, “That’s so fucking sensitive,” He squeezed his mouth shut.

Armie had to pull Tim’s toes apart, to allow the string to slide between them, much to Tim’s frustration.

As the boy squirmed within the squeaking leather of the desk chair, swearing into his shoulder with wide eyes and fists shaped as balls, Armie carried on looping the thin, pink string around, between, and under Tim’s toes, as well as through the stocks holes, until he reached Tim’s left big toe.

Still a fair bit of string left.

Armie then made his way across to the other foot.

Tim had long index toes, index toes Armie now knew very well, so Armie had to wrap the string twice around those, which of course caused Tim to start beating his hands against the arms of the chair.

Tim’s forehead creased with agony as he verbally urged Armie to speed forwards.

“Can you ... Can, can you hahaha-ha-hurry up with this part, Armie, i-i-it’s too much, ffffff-u-HUCK,” Tim jumped as the string slid through an especially ticklish area.

Tim sighed outward and rested the back of his head on the chair as Armie tied the end of the string in a tight knot, within the final hole.

Tim’s size 11’s now sat completely confined and toe tied to the contraption his ankles rested so securely within.

Tim tried to wiggle his toes, but the string held them in place.

Armie took a moment to admire his work.

Tim’s soles, soft as ever, looked stretched out and pinned back, exactly how Armie had planned them to be.

The ticklish expanse of flesh sat ready and waiting.

Tim swallowed down a bubble of nerves.

His eyes watched Armie’s hands travel back to the basket, where he fingered through his new toys.

He took out a blue feather and then laid this out, under Tim’s heels.

Tim lifted his head to peer over the stocks.

“No, no, not … Not that f-first … “

Armie ignored Tim’s pleas and walked towards the nearby cabinet, for the reason as to why he had chosen to action the setting in his office.

Here is where his camcorder lived.

Armie pulled open the cabinet drawer and removed the filming device.

He switched it on and then sat it down on the desk, so that it faced Tim.

Tim’s face flattened as he looked up at Armie.

“No, Armie … We, we didn’t agree on filming anything … ”

The lens of the camera zoomed in and out as it adjusted focus.

Armie tilted his head.

“We didn’t -disagree- on it, either.”

Tim shook his head.

“No. That’s not fair,” He squirmed his wrists within the leather restraints, “Come on, let me … Let me--”

“--Let you go?” Armie asked, with raised eyebrows, “You’re not going anywhere, kid.”

Tim felt frustrated by the sudden reveal of a camera.

He tried to hide his mood by shaking more hair over this eyes.

Armie quietly picked up the feather and, ever so slowly, he began to tickle Tim’s soles with the tips.

Tim lifted his knees a little further into his chest as he glared at the stocks containing him.

“No,” Tim tightened his teeth together, “Turn it … Off …”

Armie continued to run the feather over Tim’s soles, it’s invasive, effective edges now gliding repeatedly over the ticklish flesh of Tim’s feet.

“It’s staying on,” Confirmed Armie, “Besides, you have nothing to worry about. It’s private footage, kept between you and I and, I can promise you whole heartedly, it will never be used against you …”

Tim presented a fierce stare that felt equally directed at the feather, as much as it was at Armie.

“You keep that on, and I… I walk …” Tim’s feet flexed in their overly-bound position, his toes desperate to slide free from the string pinning them back to the stocks, “… Seriously,” Tim tried to sound confident with his sudden threat, “I, I'll walk…”

Armie gently took the tip of the feather to the gap between Tim's feet - a perfect place to saw the feather back and fourth.

Tim threw his head back in ticklish disbelief.

The sides of his feet were a place he didn't think to be ticklish, until this week.

“Fighting talk,” Armie felt his bulge harden in his trousers.

Witnessing Tim so rebelliously adamant to not be filmed had turned him on more than he expected.

“Who’s to say I wasn’t recording the MacBook screen, when you performed your sock strip for me?” Armie teased.

Tim grunted out a defeated chuckle as the feather continued to press into a mind numbing part of his brain that told him, 'if this continues in the same spot any longer, you're gonna have to start begging for it to end' ...

In and out,

In and out,

In and out,

The feather carried on it's saw-like movement.

That's enough.

“Fuck,” Tim blurted, “Stop, tickle, t-tickle somewhere else, that’s …” His toes squeaked within the strings, “… That’s starting to kill me … “ Tim’s wide eyed stare shot from Armie, to the feather, and then to Armie again …

… And then to the camcorder.

“T-t-turn it off,” He tried, once again, "I told y-you, turn it off ... "

Armie shook his head as he allowed the feather to leave the gap between Tim’s feet, where he spun it around so that he held it like a quill.

That nib, that oh so powerful nib, now pointed directly to the arch of Tim’s left foot.

“I won't do that, Tim, I can't," Armie admitted, “I -need- content, for when you’re gone … For when this is all over.”

Armie slid the nib of the feather across Tim’s sole.

“NO,” Tim arched his back and glared forwards with maddening eyes, “Shhhhhhit … Can’t you … Can’t you just … “ Tim looked down at the leather cuffs around his wrists and once again, he tried to shake his hands out of them, “ … Can’t you just use your memory?”

Armie paused the tickling, quite suddenly.

Tim slumped into the chair.

Armie swallowed down a feeling of sadness, a moment of apparent realisation that, no matter how much fun he had with Tim, no matter far he pushed him, no matter how many erotic, ticklish, torturous situations he put him in ...

… Ultimately, these four weeks would come to an end.

And this would all be over.

Armie glanced up at Tim, his blue eyes meeting him over the tip of the stocks.

“Please, Tim," Armie sounded sincere ... Almost desperate, "I need it.”

Tim, whilst finding relief in an unexpected break from the feather, sat up a little in the seat and took the time to read his friends face.

Armie currently lived out a fantasy, a dream that had come true.

The camcorder, for Armie, was a way of capturing that it was real, that it had happened.

And if he wanted to re-live it via some poor quality footage, long after Tim had left this apartment, then … Maybe that was something Tim could allow.

Tim sighed and looked into his lap.

He avoided Armie’s gaze when addressing him.

“Okay,” Tim croaked, “Just… Just promise me it never leaves this apartment. Promise me you don't use it as a weapon. Promise me, it’s just for us.”

Armie’s expression, once doubtful and sad, flourished into a broad smile full of joy and excitement.

“I promise!” He said quickly, “Of course, of course…”

Tim stared the camcorder lens directly in the eye, as if it were some tiny robot that he had reluctantly allowed to a party he didn't even want to attend himself.

Armie returned the nib to Tim’s left sole, but didn’t move it around.

It simply pressed into the softness of his flesh, like a sharp wooden stick about to penetrate marshmallow.

Tim winced, readying himself for the worst.

“You have to learn to trust me, Tim. If we’re going to do this properly,” Armie kept the nib precisely where it had landed, “Do you trust me?”

Tim couldn’t take the waiting.

He bit into his right shoulder with the tip of his teeth and with a tone drenched in uncertainty, he blurted out, “I fucking trust you.”

Armie began to draw circular shapes with nib, “Good boy.”

Tim threw his head backwards and focused on the ceiling, as locks of hair fell over the back of the chair.

“Oh God, fuck, w-why, why the ffffff-uhuhuhhhhhcckkkkkkk is this a thing!?”

Armie licked his lips at the sight of Tim’s toes trying to scrunch up.

Then, he dragged the nib to the sensitive area around Tim’s right little toe.

Tim threw his upper body over his knees as his hands and fingers flexed outward.

“OH GOD, STOP!”

Armie continued with giddy joy, unable to fully believe how lucky he was, that he had Tim in this position, on camera, already hysterically begging.

“Stop what, Tim? He asked, casually.

Tim looked insane. He had been driven mad by the nib, his facial expression made that clear.

“STOP WITH THE FUCKING FEBBER!”

Tim spoke in such distress that he now couldn’t say words properly.

“Febber?” Teased Armie, as he continued to draw lines over Tim’s soles, “What’s a febber?”

Tim made a loud ‘PFFFTTTTT’ noise with his lips as tried to shift his feet from left to right.

Some anger bubbled out of his mouth, in the form of thick saliva, “FEATHER,” he corrected himself, “STOP, with the fucking FEATHER. FEATHER? FEATHER.”

Armie found amusement at Tim self doubting his own ability to speak.

He laughed heartedly and, with reluctance, he removed the nib from Tim’s twitching feet and placed the entire tool back down into the basket.

Tim, breathless and red-faced, submerged himself in the given moment of mercy, a moment where he didn’t feel pushed to a different plane of coping.

These moments, where the tickling stopped and his body could exist as something other than a ticklish object, were few and far between - he had to salvage them, and make the most of the relief they provided.

“Note to self,” Armie balled his fist and spoke into it as if it were an imaginary voice recorder, “New blue feather, as well as it's nib - highly effective. The sides of Tim's feet - a strong 9.”

Tim’s weight sank back into the desk chair with a squeak as he tried to get his heart rate down.

“You… You k-know …” Tim’s head hung low, but his eyes looked upward, “ … You know *full well* what works, and w-what doesn’t … You’re just doing this becau—“

“—What’s so bad about the nib, Timmy?” Armie interrupted.

Tim wanted to wipe his mouth clear of dribble, but with his hands tied to the chair, all he could do was try to use his shoulder.

“You know!” He fought back.

“Entertain me,” Armie requested with a polite smile.

Tim huffed, as he thought about how to explain the feeling.

"It's so fucking ... *sharp*. It's unbearable, it pierces through tickling, into a ... A different realm," Tim readjusted himself in the seat, to a gain a more comfortable resting.

Armie loved asking about Tim’s ticklishness.

He not only enjoyed learning about the physical reactions, but the mental ones too.

“And that makes you feel …?”

Tim chuckled as he glared over at Armie.

“It makes me feel like I’m having the time of my life,” Tim joked, “What the fuck do you think?”

Armie laughed, “Touché …” He said.

Next, Armie pulled out an electric toothbrush from the basket.

He assessed it with his eyes, as if it were a magic wand.

There were two fully charged batteries within the toothbrush, like he had arranged, as well as two rubbery buttons on it’s plastic surface; one button to switch it on, where it would automatically run at a steady setting …

… The other button, to speed up the bristled head.

As Armie played with the buttons, the toothbrush whizzed at various speeds.

Perfect.

Tim watched it with narrowed eyes.

“Here we fucking go,” He mumbled.

Armie cleared his throat and then walked back behind Tim.

Tim closed his arms into his sides and braced himself for the worst.

Armie then began to run the toothbrush around Tim’s neck and collar bone.

Tim giggled like a cartoon character as he clamped his jaw down into his neck and twisted his upper body from side to side.

“Does that tickle, Timmy?” Armie toyed.

“YES IT FUCKING TICKLES,” Tim cried, whilst the toothbrush snuck it’s way into an especially sensitive area between Tim’s left ear and the top of his shoulder.

Tim squealed like a mouse as Armie allowed the toothbrush to invade the ticklish spots around Tim’s neck.

Tim shook his head from left as he made strange, reactive noises such as 'ACK!', 'GAGK!' and 'EEGGGH!'

Armie giggled along with Tim, entertained by the noises.

He then decided to use one hand to hold Tim’s head in place, and the other hand to navigate the toothbrush, this time around Tim’s face.

Tim squeezed his eyes shut as he squirmed his head around in Armie’s grasp.

“What the f-fu-huhuhahahccckkk are yoo-hoo-hooo-hoo do-hoo-hoo-hooing?” Tim managed to ask, through hysterical giggles, “Seriousleheeheeeheeey what are you doinghahaa…?!”

Armie grinned manically as he ran the toothbrush over Tim’s mouth and lips.

Tim clamped his lips together and waved his hands around frantically, as much as the leather cuffs would allow.

“Ticklish lips, too?” Asked Armie, as he kept the toothbrush buzzing around Tim’s mouth, "Is there an area on you that *isn't* ticklish, Tim?"

Tim shook his head violently from side to side.

“MFFPHH, MPFHHH!”

-Click!-

Suddenly, Armie switched off the toothbrush.

Once again, he spoke into an imaginary voice recorder as he returned to Tim’s feet.

“Second note - toothbrush *especially* effective on neck, shoulders, collarbones …” Armie switched the toothbrush back on, “… And lips, too.”

Tim tried to curl his tied toes as he lifted his head upward and glanced over the stocks.

He unclamped still-itchy lips.

“No!” He cried, “No, no, no, please, please, that’s gonna …” Tim shook his hands in plea, “… That’s gonna , that’s gonna …”

Armie pressed the toothbrush against the ticklish pads of Tim’s big toes.

Tim arched his back and began to hysterically kick his legs.

“THAT’S GONNA DRIVE ME INSANE,” He cried.

Armie caught a glimpse of ancient, angered frustration brush over Tim’s face as he sent the toothbrush over all ten toes.

That sort of expression, that sort of look … Armie felt more than aware of how much of a dream it is, for a Tickler to capture it.

It doesn’t happen often, and only really with ‘Lee’s who are as ticklish as Timmy, but when it’s caught, it’s beautiful, and is something that the ‘Ler usually wants to see again and again, especially on camera.

Tim rolled in his seat as he screamed into his shoulder, unable to move his feet or even flex his toes, as the toothbrush zipped up and down his baby soft soles.

He tried to kick, especially harder, when the vibrating bristles attacked his heels.

“NO, MAN UGHHH JESUS, STOP, STOP, STOP IT, STOP IT NOW,” Tim growled with dribbling impatience as his heels became the perfect landscape for Armie and his tooth brush, “MAN, COME ON!"

-Click!-

Once again, Armie switched the toothbrush off.

He then dropped it down into the basket and ran fingertips around his jaw in thought.

“I’ll probably use that for my teeth, too,” He said, whilst thinking out loud.

Tim flicked hair out of his face as he sat back up on the seat and glared at the stocks his feet sat so uncomfortably trapped in.

The toothbrush had created itchy areas in several different spots on Tim’s lips, neck, soles and toes - this alone drove him nuts.

He couldn’t rub his feet together. He couldn’t reach forwards. He couldn’t scratch himself.

And he daren’t ask Armie to sort this problem out for him.

So, he could do nothing but endure the itchy torture as he quietly caught his breath.

“We get it …” Tim said, through a broken voice, “ … My feet ... Are ticklish. Those things, in that basket, *work* … Can we watch a movie or something now?”

Armie smiled a she continued to search through the basket.

“Which movie, this one we're making now, or The Godfather?” Armie gestured to the camcorder, still recording Tim’s latest ticklish ordeal.

Tim dropped his head into his lap, “The, The Godfather …”

Armie peeled a red bandana from the basket and twisted it around in his hands.

He walked back behind Tim, who scrunched his shoulders up to his jaw in an attempt to hide the ticklish areas of his neck.

Suddenly, Armie placed the wound up bandana against Tim’s mouth.

Tim’s eyes widened as Armie pulled backwards.

The bandana invaded Tim’s mouth, leaving Tim with no choice but to bite down on the cloth.

Armie tied the bandana neatly at the back of Tim’s head.

Tim tried to say something to Armie, but the words came out in a disgruntled muffle.

“Magh, huhagh- oh, cking?”

Armie winced.

“Oh, sorry kid, I uh, I kinda can’t understand what you’re saying.”

Tim rolled his eyes and clenched his fists into balls.

Armie went back into the basket and pulled out the newly purchased lotion, and a newly purchased hairbrush.

Tim groaned in heavy apprehension.

His plump lips sat neatly around his gag as he looked through curls of hair, currently littering his face.

“Peash Army, noba-bwuch … “

Armie uncapped the bottle of lotion as he tried to translate Tim’s words.

“Please Armie, not the brush?”

Tim nodded with wide, begging eyes.

Armie squirted some of the creamy liquid onto his left palm and then placed the bottle down by the camcorder.

“Why not?” Armie asked, whilst applying the cream to Tim’s soles.

Tim gasped at the cold hit of thick liquid.

His feet tried to squirm the best the stocks and toe ties would allow, however his soles remained fixed stuck.

“Eeshh choo much …” Some drool started to fall out from behind the gag, where it hung over Tim’s chest.

“It’s too much? I think you find a lot of this stuff ‘too much’, don't you, Tim … ” Armie now started to tickle the creamy lotion into Tim’s foot, just for fun.

Tim hunched over his knees in ticklish agony as he groaned into the gag.

Armie rubbed the remaining lotion into his own hands, using it now as a moisturiser.

Then, he picked up the brush.

Tim watched Armie eye the tool, as if it were a legendary sword.

Tim sat up a little in the chair and curled his fingers around the arms of the seat, as if readying himself for the highest drop of a rollercoaster.

Armie then laid the brush in his palms as he narrowed his eyes at the detailing.

The bristles were plastic and individually spaced with perfect precision.

The handle, thick and stiff, fitted perfectly in Armie’s hand.

“Note to self,” Armie murmured into his other hand, “This is, out of all of my brushes, my favourite one.”

Slowly, Armie began to approach Tim’s feet.

Tim wobbled his knees nervously.

“NUU, nuuu, I dun wan daaaa,” Tim growled, through his gag, “Peashhh, peash dun…"

“You don’t want it? Please don’t? …” Armie travelled the brush gradually through the air, where it started to near Tim’s soles, as if in slow motion.

“Ush anoffa wun!” Tim cried.

Armie shrugged, “I don’t have another one nearby. Why, does this one look especially dangerous?”

Tim nodded so hard that he thought his head might fall off.

“We’ll, there’s only one way to find out …” Armie, starting off gradually, gently slid the hairbrush over Tim’s soles.

Tim grunted into his gag.

Then, he began to shout and cry, as the tickling started to speed up.

Armie now rubbed the brush over the oily, ticklish offering, causing Tim to hurtle his upper body around on the desk chair with in a violent, animalistic reaction.

“FUG, FUG, FUG YOU, FUG SCHTP, SCHTP!” Tim’s voice, coarse and trembling, pleaded into the material between his teeth as dribble rolled down his chin.

He clawed into the air the best he could, whilst kicking his feet within the stocks they sat stuck in.

Armie continued to brush Tim’s feet with a sadistic grin.

He had to rest some weight onto the desk, due to Tim pulling it closer towards him with every inward yank of his legs.

“NUFFFFF, NUFFFFFF-UH-HUHUHUHHAAAHHHHHCCCK, SCHTTUUUUUUUUUCK, HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAAAAAAACKKKK!”

With Tim’s feet positioned so closely together, Armie felt able to attack both soles at once, with one brush.

This sent Tim berserk.

He had now fully lost his voice, so his screams came out in a gravely yell that sounded like bliss to Armie.

The stocks shifted around the surface of the table as the ropes knots began to loosen.

Armie continued - he couldn’t stop now.

Tim wheeled around in the chair as he bucked his hips up and down.

His eyes were bloodshot, his jaw drenched in drool.

A thick layer of sweat had developed over his forehead.

That look, that brief moment of angry torment, now occupied Tim’s face fully.

Armie smiled in achievement.

He tickled one sole with the brush, and then used his fingers to tickle the other.

Tim writhed around madly, unable to speak or beg, all he could do was cry out into the gag …

… A gag tied around his head so tightly that it had now effected his breathing.

“ARRIEEE," Tim coughed, "I CUN BEEAAATHHEE-AGHHH SCCCTUPPP ... SCCHA-HA-HA-HAP! I CUN BEEEEAAAATHE,” heaved Tim, through widened eyes, “SSCHTTTUUUU, I CUN BEEEAAA—“

“You can breathe, Tim, otherwise you wouldn’t be able to talk,” corrected Armie.

The brush continued its tickle.

Between laughter and begging, Tim would heave in a short, heavy suck of air, and then he'd continue expelling oxygen outward in the form of hysteria through the gag.

"HAHAHAAAAASCHTUPPPPP, FUG, FUG," *heaaaaave*, "FUG, SCHTTPPP," *heave*, "I CUNN BREEEEE-E-E-EEEEHEHEHEEEEATH ...!" *heave*

Tim fell into panic mode.

He frantically pushed his tongue against the bandana wedged in his mouth.

When he quickly realised that wouldn't work, he sent his mouth towards his shoulder, where he repeatedly rubbed at the gag until the gag was out of his mouth.

Now, it hung slightly tied around his chin.

“ARMIE, STOP,” Tim couldn’t take it anymore, he couldn’t handle this level of tickling, “PLEASE, FU-HUH-HUH-HUCK! I CAN’T, I CAN’T BREATHE, I SERIOUSLY CAN’T BREATHE.”

Armie looked over at Tim, who sat in an unnaturally squashed, defeated, destroyed position.

However, Armie continued his attacks, this time focusing specifically on Tim’s arches.

“You know what to say,” Armie reminded Tim, “Say it, and I’ll stop.”

Tim had endured a number of sessions with Armie now, since signing the new agreement;

The Incubator, a foot worship session and now this.

During the three events he had not said his safe word, meaning he could use it twice.

If he survived this, he could use it a third time because, as Armie promised, the safe word always carried over.

So, the words ‘New York’ didn’t leave his mouth.

Instead, Tim mustered up the energy to try and get through this.

He heaved in and out, he screamed as loud as he possibly could, and then he tried to present a serious level of begging.

"ARMIE, COME ON. STOP. COME ON!" His voice sounded torn, "THAT'S IT THAT'S ENOUGH!" He started to cry outward, "THAT'S ENOUGH!"

“That's enough? Okay, if it's enough, say your safe word, or, would you like me to continue for another hour?” Armie sent the brush over Tim’s toes.

Tim threw his head backward

“NO NOT ANOTHER HOUR I CAN'T PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD.”

“How about, we do this … You tell me to keep tickling you,” Armie suggested, “Tell me to keep tickling you, and I’ll think about stopping.”

Tim, without hesitation, screamed with all the air in his lungs, up into the ceiling.

“KEEP TICKLING ME,” he screamed, “KEEP FUCKING TICKLING ME!”

Armie arched his eyebrow as he sent the brush over Tim’s heels.

“What’s that, Timmy? Keep tickling you? I thought you hated it … I thought it was enough?”

Tim screamed into his chest as he kicked harder and faster than he had allowed himself to do before.

The stocks started to slide further more across the surface of the desk.

The knot on the left leg slid open.

Tim could now pull the stocks towards him, something he didn’t hold back on doing.

Tim started to laugh and cheer as he physically began to break free.

“AH! AH! AHAHAHAAAAHHHHH, MOTHER FUCKER, I’M BREAKING LOOSE!” His face look overjoyed in achievement, "TAKE THAT BITCH!"

Tim pulled the stocks so close towards him that Armie could no longer reach the brush across the desk.

“WHO’S LAUGHING NOW?” Tim screamed.

Armie took a few breathless steps back and then stood staring at Tim.

He sat there as a dribbling, shaking mess.

The boy had endured enough.

He had been driven to manic, insane hysteria.

This has probably been the most intense session yet.

It had to end, simply because Tim *needed* to refill his air with lungs.

Sweat patches drenched parts of Armie's expensive shirt.

He dropped the hairbrush back into the basket.

“Okay, alright … You’ve had your time …”

Armie walked back towards Tim and started to unbuckle his wrists.

Tim coughed into his shoulder as oxygen returned to his lungs.

“Fuck,” He wheezed, “F-fuck… That was … I mean, shit, that was totally, totally—”

“—Intense?” Armie asked.

As soon as Tim’s left wrist had been set free, he unstrapped his right wrist himself.

Armie stepped back as he allowed Tim to continue to free himself.

“… The worst yet,” Tim mumbled.

Once his hands were free, Tim leant across his knees and began to unhook his toes from the string that had bound them in place for the last hour.

“Ah, Jesus …” Tim felt relieved to get his toes back.

Armie unlocked the stocks and then picked up the camcorder, as Tim free’d his ankles and then pulled the gag down so it sat around his neck.

He then reached into the basket, picked up the hairbrush and threw it across the office.

“That fucker, if I ever see that again, I swear to God,” Tim coughed into his fist and licked dry lips wet as the hairbrush landed with a clank in the corner of the room.

Armie smiled as he assessed the camera - he really had ruined Timmy today.

Suddenly, Armie's smile faded.

The camcorder hadn’t recorded anything.

Armie’s eyes shifted from left to right as he kept his disappointing panic private.

“You, you get everything … E-everything you need…?” Asked Tim, as he slumped back into the leather chair with an exhausted sigh.

Armie went from Tickler to Something More, within seconds.

He looked at Tim, as a whole, as a person, a human … A friend.

There he stood, trembling and violated with consent - asking if Armie had achieved the thing he had set out to do.

As if, to Tim, that was more important than how Tim felt himself, after such brutal experience.

After Armie’s heart sank, it suddenly broke.

“ … Sure, Tim,” He lied convincingly, “I … I got everything.”

There was no way he could ask Tim to go through that again.

He would have to live with the fact that, when this agreement would be over, there would be no footage of Tim toe tied in stocks, tickled beyond comprehension, for Armie to watch over and over and over again.

He knew Tim would be far more reluctant at the suggestion of filming another session.

And right now, he had Tim exactly where he wanted him, at a perfect rhythm, a solid, structured balance of understanding.

It was something he couldn’t risk fucking up.

Not now.

And just like that, Armie closed up the camcorder and dropped it into the basket, along with his New Toys.

TCTLR continues in Chapter Ten - ‘The Pits’ …