This story takes place one week after ‘The Favour’
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Logan had been ordered to squirm on camera.
In his hog tie, he grunted and groaned, attempting to pull at the rope and leather restraints tightly securing his wrists to his ankles.
His face boiled pink, a thin layer of sweat presented itself over his forehead, his knuckles burning white as he curled his fists around his bondage ...
As he continued to writhe over his own bed, creasing his own bedsheets beneath his shirtless body, the camera attached to the tripod continued to record his struggle …
Logan twisted his head, directing his question towards his ensuite bathroom.
“Am I — unggh— am I uh, doing this right?” He asked.
From inside the bathroom, a muffled voice replied …
“Scrunch your toes some more.”
Logan huffed.
He had begun to feel stuffy and hot, despite being only dressed in jeans.
He wished he had switched on the AC before allowing this stranger into his home …
Logan applied more strained moans to his movements, scrunching his toes, using all of the acting skills he had to make it look like he was trying his best to escape the hog tie, but the guy in the mask had tied him so expertly that there would be no way he’d be breaking free any time soon …
The masked man took a quiet step out of Logan’s bathroom.
In his right hand he held Logan’s electric toothbrush.
He stood in silence, surrounded by Logans typically L.A, clinically modern bedroom interior, as Logan continued to pull and yank at his bonds.
He watched him …
He admired him …
That toned back, that tanned skin, his strong arms and handsome face …
… The creamy smoothness of his silky soft soles …
Logan had been informed this session would just be about bondage.
To get what he wanted he would need to be tied up in various different ways, filmed throughout the day and then provided with his reward.
Logan had already completed one session, earlier this morning; spread eagle, to the bed, in his t-shirt, jeans and socks …
This was his second session out of three.
Logan flinched at the unexpected sound of buzzing.
Btzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz …
He turned his head so that he could face the masked man, his eyes watering from the strain it took to try to slip out of this rope work …
“No, man— mnnn— don’t go touching my stuff, put that back, come on, man, WHOA—”
Logan jolted in a heavy bounce, his entire body lifting from the surface of his bed as soon as just the very tip of the electric toothbrush landed against the bottom of his right big toe …
“—What the fuck, man! No, don’t, don’t do that! Jesus—”
Logan jumped again, this time harder, this time higher, as the electric toothbrush made its way down the sole of his right foot …
“—FUCK!—”
Logan twisted his body around so that he lay on his back, forcefully planting the soles of his feet over the now mostly creased bedsheets …
Breathless and angry, Logan glared up at the masked man standing at the corner of the bed, electric toothbrush held like a magic wand.
“What’s wrong, Logan?” The man in the mask asked, “Are you a little … Ticklish …?”
Logan shook his head quickly.
“I’m not ticklish,” he spoke through clenched teeth, “There’s no point trying. Come on, untie me, man, that’s, that’s enough …”
—The masked man reached into his back pocket.
He pulled out a ball gag.
He dangled it over the tip of his gloved index finger and slowly tilted his head.
“I think you’re lying. I think you’re really, really ticklish, Mr. Lerman …”
Logan’s eyes widened.
The masked man approached him with the gag, “… And I also get the impression you really, really don’t like being tickled …”
“Ahh come on, man, hell no! Wait, fuck! Man, stop, you, you can’t do this, holy shit—” Logan thrashed over the his bed, bucking across the mattress in his hog tie, desperate to get away from the masked man until a different buzzing sound, not from the vibration of the electric toothbrush’s head, interrupted the start of Logan’s surprise tickling …
The man in the mask tutted, switching off his tickle tool, reaching into his front trouser pocket where he pulled out his iPhone.
He looked down at the screen, his eyes narrowing in focus behind the white oval plastic of his mask.
The masked man had received a text message …
Masked Tickler No. 36, you have been compromised 🚩 You have five minutes. Release your lee and return to The House.
The man in the mask glared up at Logan’s bedroom ceiling as Logan lay quietly confused, panting, repressing his panic …
“BALLS!” He kicked the corner of the bed.
Logan lifted his shoulders, burying his face into his chest.
The masked man grabbed the knot between Logan’s wrist and ankles and quickly untied it.
Logan cocked an eyebrow, taking his bewildered expression from the masked man to the still recording iPhone, then back to the masked man again …
“Thank you, man, fuck, for a second there I, I really thought you were gonna—”
“—You’re one lucky sonovabitch,” the man in the mask stepped away, allowing Logan to free himself from his restraints, “I’ve wanted to tickle you for fucking years …” he then turned, grabbed the camera stand and camera and made his way out of Logan’s bedroom, “… Don’t worry, I’ll get my time again …” he muttered.
Logan kicked the rope away from his feet, clambering off the bed, stumbling over the carpet …
“Wait! What about our agreement, what about my, my d—”
“—I’ll be in touch, pretty boy!” The man in the mask bolted down Logan’s staircase …
Logan pressed his lips shut.
“No, no fucking way—” he jumped out of more rope, shaking his left foot free of bondage, stumbling over the carpet as he tried to chase after the masked man.
The masked man arrived on the sidewalk outside Logan’s home; the Beverly Hills street glowing in the sunlight, his black attire attracting the heat as he awaited his getaway vehicle …
Screeeeeeeeeeeeeeetch! Screeeeeeeeetch!
At the corner of the street a large white van burnt rubber as it turned and began to speed towards the man in the mask …
Logan arrived at his front door.
“Hey! Hey! You, you mother fucker! Get the fuck back here!” Logan shouted so hard the veins in his neck thickened, “HEY, GIVE ME BACK MY D—”
“—Adios, bitch!” The masked man saluted Logan as the van arrived outside his home, the back doors swinging open …
The man in the mask jumped inside the van …
The doors to the van slammed shut.
The van drove away, leaving nothing but tyre marks and exhaust fumes behind it.
Logan ran in just his jeans towards the fumes, coughing and waving them out of the way as he began to yell in frustration, out towards a van that was getting smaller and smaller in size as it headed towards downtown Los Angeles.
“Fuck you! Fuck you, you fucking piece of shit! I’m gonna fucking come for you, I swear to god, YOU FUCKING MOTHER F—”
—He took bare feet to the edge of the side walk, where his toes curled over the curb …
… He lowered his head, long chunks of brown hair falling over his face as he focused on catching his breath, his ankles and wrists still strapped in black leather cuffs, the rope once tied around them left in a discarded bundle in his bedroom …
“Fuck … ” he whispered, both hands sliding over his head, “… What the fuck … ” he continued to stare at the sidewalk, disbelief and alarm taking over him, “… Fuck, fuck, fuck!” He repeated.
Logan didn’t know what to do.
He was close …
So,
Damn,
Close …
Logan placed his hands on his hips and lifted his head so that the sunlight soaked his face.
He closed his eyes and scratched his neck as he tried to compartmentalise his thoughts; tried to regain clarity, tried to come up with some kind of plan …
A bright green Ferrari unexpectedly rolled up next to Logan, its engine purring gently, the handbrake lifting with a squeak.
Logan ignored the car for now, assuming it was just a neighbour parking up …
“Yo, Lerman,” a determined voice addressed Logan.
Logan turned to face the Ferrari’s driver, who sat with the window down, sunglasses on the tip of his nose …
Logan raised both eyebrows.
“Hey, kid. My name is Sebastian Stan and … I owe you an apology.”
i - ‘It’s Only Tickling …’
In the five minutes since Sebastian had arrived, Logan had learned that ‘the man in the mask’ was actually one of many, and that it would be too risky to have a conversation of this level of importance in his own home, just in case ‘they’ had planted any recording devices or hidden cameras in his living room, kitchen or bedroom …
So, Logan and Sebastian sat in the bright green Ferrari, parked behind the Hollywood Hills sign, where they both watched the sun set over a city riddled with paranoid conspiracy, celebrity abduction and blackmail-led manipulation …
Sebastian cracked open a can of beer, handing it to Logan.
Logan took the beer with a flat smile as Sebastian cracked open his own can.
“What do I do now?” Logan asked.
Sebastian narrowed his eyes in thought as the sky began to transform from orange to pink.
He wasn’t ready to announce his plan just yet, after only briefly skimming over his newly gained knowledge with Logan.
Instead, he took a few sips of his beer and swallowed down the booze, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
Logan blinked, cradling his beer in his lap, watching Sebastian quietly.
“What was it, for you?” Sebastian focused on the Los Angeles landscape at the bottom of the hill as he spoke, “What was the thing he used, to make you do what he—”
“—My dogs,” Logan bit his lower lip, “They’ve uh …” he huffed, “ … They’ve taken my dogs.”
Sebastian squeezed his eyes shut.
“They WHAT? Your fucking dogs …?” He turned to face Logan, “They’ve taken your fucking DOGS…?”
Logan nodded, biting into his left thumbnail, “Yeah, man. I, I woke up yesterday morning, and, and both of my dogs were gone … I found a pink briefcase with a handwritten letter inside, by my front door, explaining that if I, if I didn’t allow ‘a visitor’ into my home at noon the next day, didn’t do exactly as he asked, if, if I told the cops, or, or anyone …” Logan sighed, glancing up at the dimming clouds above, “… Then I’d never see my dogs again …”
Sebastian winced, shaking his head, almost crushing his beer in his hand …
“I cannot wait to give these guys what they fucking deserve …”
Logan covered his face with his left palm.
“This is insane. I, I can’t believe this is happening. He even … It felt … Like he’d tied up people like that hundreds of times before …” Logan’s palm slid off his jaw, “… I know! I know I sound stupid, I, I know it sounds fucked. He could’ve done anything to me in a situation like that, but, man, you have no idea how much I love my dogs, I’d do whatever it takes to—”
Sebastian pressed his lips together, interrupting Logan unapologetically.
“… He almost did do something to you. You said earlier, he tried to—”
“—Yeah. He uh, he tried to tickle me,” Logan chuckled into his beer can before taking a sip, swallowing down, licking his lips, “I swear to god, I would’ve lost my shit if he did what he did for more than three seco—”
“—No, Lerman,” Sebastian shuffled in the drivers seat so that he fully faced his new friend, “That’s exactly what he was gonna do. For as long as he wanted. He was gonna tickle the hell outta you … And who knows if he was gonna give you back your damn dogs afterward! Knowing what I know? He probably would’ve kept coming back for more, till he got bored of it, or till whoever the fuck is in charge told him to go adduct and tickle someone else …”
Logan kept his beer can hovering below his lower lip.
“You’re, you’re serious, about the tickle thing? He, he was actually gonna—”
—Sebastian looked Logan directly in the eye.
“—It’s what they do, kid. It’s what was about to happen to you. The dogs were just a way in, the ‘I’m gonna film you tied up’ was a way to keep you restrained, to keep you in place. And then he was gonna let loose, surprise you, catch you on camera screaming for your li—”
This time, Logan unapologetically interrupted Sebastian.
“—Wait, wait, wait,” Logan closed his eyes, “For real? Hold up. How do you know so much about all this? Have they …”
Sebastian glanced down at the gear stick as memories of his own time tied to a bed, tormented endlessly by his ticklers, came flooding back into his mind, “… Yeah. It happened to me. I’ve been there, Lerman. The difference between your circumstance and mine, is that the person who fucked me over wasn’t a stranger, it was my friend …”
Logan placed his beer back in his lap.
“What the fuck is going on?” He asked himself quietly, “How are people doing this?”
Sebastian smirked, unblinking, still staring into the middle of the car …
“… Because they can,” he whispered, mostly to himself, in a moment of realisation.
Crickets chirped in the background as the sun continued its descent, the sky darkening, a slither of light lining the Los Angeles skyline …
“I’m gonna help you get your dogs back,” Sebastian declared, finishing his beer in a few glugs, scrunching up the can and throwing it into the back of the car, uncaring if any excess spilled over Evans expensive Ferrari interior, “The good thing about having a so called ‘friend’ involved with these dicks is that you’ve got access to a tonne of information, information I know just how to get …”
Logan watched Seb’s beer can land over the leather, “Wait, h-how are we gonna—”
—Sebastian started the car and then reached into his pocket for his iPhone.
He dialled a number and placed the phone by his ear as the Ferrari’s engine caused the car to shake.
VVVRMMMMMM!
“Hey, Hemsworth?” Sebastian tucked the phone between the side of his face and his shoulder as he began to reverse the vehicle away from the Hollywood sign, “I need a favour …”
Logan finished his beer and mirrored Sebastian’s rebellious actions; scrunching up the can and hurling it into the back of the car as Sebastian explained what he required of Hemsworth, on the other side of the phone.
Sebastian hung up and adjusted the gear stick.
“Alright, kid. We’re going downtown. You any good at tickling?”
Logan scrunched up his face.
“Am I what now? Wait, aren’t we trying to stop the tickl—”
“—We gotta use their own methods against them, Lerman. Are you game? Or are you just gonna sit at home all week and wait for that masked freak to come on over, tie you up and play with your pretty little toes till he’s happy to give you your dogs back?”
Logan held his hands up in surrender.
“Oh, fuck! Yeah, man, I’m game! I, I just …”
Sebastian kept his foot hovering over the gas.
“What, kid? We’ve got a superhero to catch, come on!”
Logan placed both hands back in his lap.
“You uh … You said you owed me an apology. I don’t understand. What for? …”
Sebastian lowered his head as the sun fully set, changing this strange Los Angeles day into a night filled with opportunity.
“I’m … I’m sorry for being late. I’m sorry I didn’t get to you sooner, before they had a chance to take your dogs. I learned you’d be next. I, I would’ve warned you. I …” Sebastian sighed, his hands curling around the steering wheel, “… I wanted to warn you. Before what happened to me, happened to you.”
Logan placed a comforting hand on Sebastian’s shoulder.
“You stopped it from happening, man,” Logan smiled, “He didn’t get to do what he wanted to do. And besides, Sebastian, come on …” Logan chuckled, “… It’s only tickling …”
Sebastian smirked, shaking his head quietly.
“Oh, it’s so much more than that …”
He then sped off down the hill, driving he and Logan directly towards the only person he knew could help …
ii - ‘Give Me Your Mask’
When Sebastian and Logan arrived at the hired out home in suburban California, they could already hear Evan’s hysterical laughter before they opened the doors to the Ferrari.
Sebastian had heard a sound like that before, not just from Evans, but from out of his own mouth … So as he stepped out of the vehicle, the noise of pure insanity didn’t really phase him much.
As for Logan …
“Fuck, is, is he okay?”
Sebastian locked the car and pocketed the keys as Logan made his way beside him.
“Like you said, Lerman: it’s only tickling …”
Both Logan and Sebastian made their way to the front door of the house as Evan’s laughter continued to fill the quiet, neighbourly streets currently blanketed in nighttime.
Sebastian nudged the door open with the toe of his boot.
Logan followed, closing the door politely behind him, mostly because he didn’t want the laughter to be heard by the houses either side of this one.
Sebastian didn’t think to update Logan on the fact that his own tickle trauma had taken place behind the walls that made up this home, nor did he bother to inform him that it would be pointless shutting the front door … The neighbours would hear anyway, in fact they probably already had, just like last time …
Instead, he casually led Logan past the kitchen, through the living room and towards the back bedroom, where the laughter became louder and louder …
Logan’s heart pounded beneath his t-shirt as he took in evidence of a tussle; a ball gag on the floor, a pair of leather loafers randomly scattered down the hall, a broken glass by the kitchen sink, some stray rope draped over the arm of the couch …
He tucked some chunks of hair behind his ears and tried to calm himself by focusing on Sebastian’s back.
“…Oh god …”
Amongst the laughter, Logan could make out begging …
“… Please, please, for the love of god stop, stop, I can’t take it there …!”
Frantic, frenzied, furious begging …
“ … O, O, Oh shit come on man, come on, fuck! Fuck! Oh god please, Hemsworth, you gotta stop, oh my god, man, I can’t take it, please, please god, you fucking ball sack, dude, fuck this, fuck you, come on, you piece of shit, damn, HELP, HELP, HEEEEEEELP—”
Evans dire bellows echoed through the house as Sebastian and Logan arrived at the open bedroom door.
“Lerman, Evans … Evans, Lerman,” Sebastian introduced both celebrity actors, allowing Logan to step inside the bedroom.
“Holy shhhhh …” Logan’s eyes widened as he took in the sight before him.
Evans lay naked, on his front, his hands bound behind his back, his left ankle strapped to the bottom left corner of the bed, his right ankle strapped to the bottom right corner …
Taped to each of his soles was an electric toothbrush; their vibrating, spinning tips positioned perfectly so that the plastic bristles whizzed non stop over the fleshy expanse of Evans index toes …
Evans waist was propped up by not one, not two, but three plump pillows that sat squashed underneath his stomach, therefore propping up his astonishingly perky ass …
“ … Damn …” Logan hadn’t seen a butt on a guy like that before …
With his legs bound apart and his back arched in such a way, Evan’s cock, balls and rear were on full display and, as Logan stood staring in shock, were currently wiggling and jiggling at a rapid rate as Hemsworth knelt at the bottom of the bed, dressed in a vest and gym shorts, his golden, muscular arm reaching across the sweat stained bedsheets, a singular white seagull feather held neatly between his index finger and thumb, the tickle tool fluttering and wiggling over Evans’ taint and ass cheeks …
Evans had been tickled on his worst spot for the best part of thirty minutes, reducing him to tears, his face manic and creased, his grin tightly clenched and displaying all of his pearly white teeth …
He bounced his head across the mattress, his fierce glare boiling through Logan, who stood with his mouth open, unblinking, his hands dangling at his sides …
“—SAY HELLO TO TICKLE HELL YOU HANDSOME LITTLE BITCH!” Evans cried, his begging and pleading put on pause to welcome Logan to his torture as more breathless laughter followed on, filling the bedrooms four walls.
Sebastian placed a hand on Logan’s shoulder.
“It’s only tickling, right?” He smirked, “Grab a feather, kid. We’ve got work to do.”
Sebastian’s hand slid away from Logan where it instead reached down to an open gym bag of tickle tools placed on the floor.
He picked out an electric toothbrush and walked towards the top of the bed, kneeling down by its corner, his free hand tidying up some of Evan’s hair.
“Okay, fuck face. This is the third time we’ve done this to you in a week, Evans," Seb watched Logan walk towards the gym bag, “Come on, man. Work with us here. You buckled once before. We will make you buckle again …”
Hemsworth shot twinkling blue eyes over to Logan, offering him a gentle wave as he continued to tickle Evans ass.
“Hey, Logan!” He had to raise his voice over the volume of Evans’ hysteria, “It’s so awesome to meet you! My kids love Percy Jackson …!”
Logan cocked and eyebrow and knelt down by the bag, peering inside, “Uhh, oh, hey! Thanks! I uh, I love all the Thor movies …”
Logan swallowed down awkwardness; for him, it felt so strange to have such an ordinary exchange of words during such an extraordinary situation …
“I told you!” Evans heaved, his entire body now glistening with perspiration, “I, I told you l ayyyyyahahahahahah—ahahaahahahahast time, oh god, fuck, please! Just give me a break, tickle anywhere else but my damn ahahahahaahahaahahahahahahahahahahass!—”
Logan picked out a feather.
He twirled it between his index finger and thumb, glancing nervously from Hemsworth to Sebastian, his eyes avoiding taking in the sight of another mans naked ass wiggling over the bed in such a way …
“Uh, are, are we sure this is the best way to get my dogs ba—”
“—Lerman, you take one ass cheek, I’ll take the other!” Hemsworth suggested, shuffling over to the left to make room for the new addition to the team, “Come on, man, what are you waiting for?”
Logan pressed his lips together and crawled over to the bottom of the bed as Evans continued to scream and shout, his laughter so constant, so non stop, so uncontrollable that Logan almost felt sorry for him …
It was then Sebastian unintentionally reminded Logan of the people responsible for taking his dogs, people that Evans was beyond loyal to …
“You taking peoples pets now, huh, Evans? Which one of your freak friends took Logan’s dogs, huh? Spill it, dickhead!”
Logan sat beside Hemsworth and, for the first time in his life, he reached forwards and began to tickle another straight mans ass with a feather.
“FUCK, FUCK, FUCK—” Evans ass cheeks clapped together as he bucked his waist from side to side, unable to take two feathers at once over such a highly sensitive area of his body, “—NOT TWO, PLEASE, OH GOD, NOT TWO AT THE SAME DAMN TIME—”
Logan felt a surge of power bubble through his chest as he, for the first time since yesterday, acknowledged a sense of progress in getting back his beloved pets; he could see Evans react to the touch, he could hear the coarse tone in his pleading, he realised that between his thumb and index finger he held the power to make Evans help him out sooner, rather than later …
“The guy wore a mask!” Sebastian growled, “Who the fuck was he, where can we find him, how can we—”
“—WE ALL WEAR MASKS!” Evans squealed, a tear rolling down his cheek as Logan and Hemsworth continued to flicker their feathers across his ass, the electric toothbrushes still pressing down over each index toe of each foot, “WELL, MO, MO, MOST OF US ANYWAY! THERE ARE HUN, HUNDREDS, THOUSANDS, IT COULD’VE BEEN ANYONE! I DON’T HAVE CONTROL OVER WHO THEY—”
Click!
Sebastian turned his electric toothbrush on.
Btzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz …
“You got a mask too, Evans? You ashamed of yourself as well, you damn pervert? Have you been out there, in the city, blackmailing men, manipulating these fucks, tickling every damn sonovabitch you can get your cum-stained hands on?”
Sebastian started to run his electric toothbrush over Evans neck and face, the vibrating bristles whizzing past his lips and over his nose, causing Evans to thrash his head from left to right, his entire body ravaged by an onslaught of tickling from all angles …
“OH GOD, OH GOD—” Evans had started to hyperventilate, “—PLEASE, I CAN’T BREATHE, I’M GONNA PASS OUT—” his muscular form bounced on the spot, his ass shaking, his fists scrunching into balls, the sound of buzzing, heaving, cackling and shouting a constant noise that made Logan wonder if this was the right thing to do …
“Sss, Sebastian,” Logan called from the bottom of the bed to the top, “I, I think we need to give him a br—”
“—Hemsworth!” Sebastian ordered, “Start recording this shit!”
Hemsworth nodded, “On it, boss,” his right hand still controlling the feather, his left hand reaching into the back of his gym shorts pocket where he retrieved his iPhone.
He aimed it at Evans butt and started recording, leaving Logan to squeeze his eyes shut in frustration.
“Man, this is fucked,” Logan hissed, “This is a joke, this is a joke! This has to be a j—”
“—Come on, Evans, just a name, address, that’s all we need …” Sebastian pressed his electric toothbrush into Evans neck, causing the forty two year old to force out high pitched howls and screams into the humidity of the bedroom, “… We got Logan out of you first time, we got the name of the cult out of you the second time, how about we get the identity of the person who stole Lerman’s dogs out of you this time …”
Logan frowned as he continued to flick the feather across Evans butt.
Cult?
What the ffffffff …
Logan allowed disbelief to overwhelm him as Evans gradually broke, minute by minute, the harder and longer he was tickled by all three men.
“I, I HONESTLY DON’T KNOW, I, I SWEAR TO GOD, I SWEAR TO GOD!” He spat, “I, I, I, I DON’T SEE THEM ALL THE TIME, ONLY AT THE DAMN EV—” Evans pressed his lips shut and twisted his head away from Sebastian, crying out laughter into the mattress as he tried to conceal his slip, “—I, I, I, I DON’T DO THIS EVERY WEEK, ONLY WHEN THEY NE, NE, NE, NEED ME, ONLY WHEN THEY PAY—”
Logan narrowed his eyes as he clocked a specific word that had almost made its way out of Evans mouth.
“Whens the next event?” Logan asked, increasing the speed and pressure of his feather, “When the fuck is the next event?”
Sebastian took his electric toothbrush down Evans back, over his spine, past his waist, towards his ass where plastic and battery charged partnered with the sharp but soft …
“Yeah, cock sucker!” Sebastian pretended he had noticed the same thing as Logan, he pretended to be as intelligent, as quick, as on the ball, when really he just loved punishing Evans, getting his revenge on him after Evans had tied and tickled he himself in almost just an insane way, “When’s the next event, you fucking pussy?”
Evans screams now left his throat in the form of non stop, girlish bellows; his once strong, masculine frame now reduced to a bound, giggling, breathless, naked mess as his ass was tickled relentlessly by two strong-willed feathers and a buzzing electric toothbrush, his left and right middle toes also victim to a sensory overload far more intense than anything he’d experienced since becoming part of The House of White Feathers …
“FUCK YOU, SEBASTIAN!” Evans squealed, “FUCK YOU, YOU TALENTLESS MORON! AND YOU! LOGAN! LOGAN, YOU’RE GONNA GET IT, YOU FUCKING SHIT BAG, JUST YOU WAIT, YOU’RE GONNA WISH YOU NEVER STEPPED YOUR GORGEOUS FIVE STAR RATED FEET INTO THIS GOD DAMN HOUAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHHAHAHAHA—” Evans lost his mind as soon as Hemsworth left his ass and began to tickle around his sides, using his long, toned fingers to press, stroke and pinch around the actors waist, hips and ribcage, “OH GOD, HEMSWORTH YOU CHEEKY ASSHOLE, YOU’RE IN FOR A WORLD OF FUCKING DESPAIR WHEN I GET THE HELL OUTTA THIS! AND YOU CAN GIVE ME BACK MY FUCKING CAR TOO YOU DICKWADS—”
Logan surprised himself as he started to spank Evans ass with one hand, whilst tickling it with the other.
“Hey, bitch! Listen the fuck up! When—”
SPANK!
“NO, GOD—” Evans cried.
SPANK!
“Is—”
hiss!
“YOU LITTLE FUCK—” Evans shouted.
SPANK!
“The next—”
hiss!
“DON’T SPANK ME YOU BASTARD—” Evans spluttered.
SPANK!
“—Event!”
Evans winced and flinched with each spank, his butt bouncing every time Logan’s palm landed with a forceful thwack against each cheek, causing both Sebastian and Hemsworth to giggle mischievously as they watched Logan take charge.
“OKAY, OKAY, OKAY, DAMN, CHRIST ALIVE—” Evans’ nostrils flared as hand marks appeared on his butt, his body still wriggling away from Hemsworth’s upper body tickling, “—I’LL, I’LL TELL YOU, ONLY IF YOU STOP, GIVE ME A FUCKING BREAK, GUYS, PLEASE—”
Sebastian nodded at Hemsworth and Logan, who slowed down their tickling and spanking to a gradual pause …
Evans lay panting, sweating, desperate to catch his breath as Sebastian switched off his electric toothbrush, as well as the ones taped to Evans soles.
Only the sound of heavy breathing could now be heard within the bedroom as Evans avoided speaking …
Hemsworth tutted.
He reached forward and pinched Evans left ear lobe, twisting it in his grasp …
“Well?” The Thor actor snarled.
Evans kicked both of his legs frantically, his butt jiggling with every thrash of his thigh.
“OW OW OW OW OW OW OW OW—” he whined, “Don’t be a bitch, don’t be a bitch, don’t be a bitch!”
“Hemsworth!” Sebastian clicked his fingers, “He doesn’t deserve pain … Yet …”
Hemsworth let go of Evans ear.
He then stood back and folded his arms across his chest as Logan got to his feet.
“Man,” Logan sighed at Evans, “I’m such a huge fan of yours. Please, don’t make me hate you.”
Evans huffed and puffed as he turned his head away from Logan, laying defeated and naked with his ass still on full display.
“They’ve … “ he paused, wondering if he should even provide his ex-friends with this information, overly concerned with the consequences that could land in his lap, “… They’ve …” Evans couldn’t take anymore ass tickling, even if he tried, “… They’ve tricked Manu Rios …” Evans muttered reluctantly, “… He’s, he’s the main attraction of the next event, on Thursday night …”
“… This Thursday?” Sebastian asked.
“Who’s Manu Rios?” Hemsworth scratched the back of his head.
Evans nodded quickly, his face creasing the sweat stained sheets caught around his jaw.
“… This Thursday …”
Sebastian threw his electric toothbrush into the gym bag.
“Location. Times. I want it all … ”
Hemsworth looked over at Logan for support.
Logan blinked, “Uh, man, he’s uh, he’s the guy from Elite … Tall, Spanish? Like, insanely handsome?”
Hemsworth shrugged.
“There’s a … A House, one of The Houses …” Evans struggled in his bonds to gain more comfort, his spread apart position now causing his thighs and arms to ache, “ … The events are, are always held there … Hey, guys, can you at least untie me while I—”
“—No,” Sebastian replied bluntly, “How do we get an invite?”
Evans chuckled into the pillow, curling his fingers around the restraints binding his wrists behind his back.
“You can’t just get an invite. It’s an exclusive club, you cum-drop,” Evans explained, “They’ll only let you in if you have a mask, a mask only attainable if you’re a member of The House of Whi—”
“—If you’re a member, you must have a mask too, right?” Logan mirrored Hemsworth stance by crossing his own arms over his chest.
Evans sighed heavily.
“I’m the man with the mask. The first one …” he smirked to himself, rolling his shoulders proudly as all three of his ticklers stood surrounding his bed, watching him quietly, “… The original bad ass … The number one Masked Tickler, before all of the other Masked—”
—Sebastian held his hand out to Hemsworth.
Hemsworth placed his feather in Sebastian’s palm.
Sebastian knelt down at the bottom of the bed.
Evans began to squirm, his breathlessness returning, his panic presenting itself in his gasps and moans …
“—No, wa, wa, wa, wait, Sebastian, I’m, I’m telling you everything, you’ve broken me, alright, you, you, you don’t need to—” Evans began to giggle as Sebastian started to stroke his taint with the feather, “—No, Sebastian! Please! Not there, anywhere but there, man, come on, come on, come on!”
“I’m being honest with you, Evans. As someone who has worked closely with you, for many, many years. As someone who spent a lot of time thinking you were someone you were not … As someone who used to be your friend … Believe me when I say, we will turn those electric toothbrushes back on if you don’t cooperate,” Sebastian threatened, “We will tickle you all night till the sun comes up, and it’s not even ten o’clock … “
Evans squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his hips, kicking his feet, crying into the mattress …
“Give me your mask,” Logan demanded, approaching Evans, kneeling down by his face so he could get a better view of his hysteria, “Give me your mask, tell me how to get in …” once again, Logan surprised himself by his ability to reassert himself in such an unusual situation, “… Or we share what we’ve recorded tonight, with the rest of the world …”
Sebastian cocked an eyebrow.
“Impressive,” he winked at Hemsworth.
Evans cackled into his shoulder as Sebastian continued to stroke his ass with the feather.
“Playing me at my own game, kid!” He wriggled over the sheets, the bed creaking and squeaking with every pull of his legs, “You wouldn’t dare do something like that! You’re Logan Lerman, for Christ’s sake! You’re a ticker’s dream! You’re America’s boyfriend! You’re a sweet heart, you aren’t capable of—”
—Logan leaned in close to Evans face.
“—You fuckers have my dogs,” he spoke quietly, calmly, bluntly, his eyes never leaving Evans watery stare, “Believe me when I say, I’ll do anything to get them back …”
Evans gulped, acknowledging Logan’s desperation.
He continued to clench his ass and buck his hips as Sebastian wiggled the feather over his taint.
“Okay! Okay! Okay! I’ll give you my damn mask, you fucking bitches!” He agreed, through gritted teeth, “I’ll, I’ll give you the event details, the people you need to talk to, you, you fucking fucks …!” Evans twisted his face away from Logans, unable to take the ass tickling any longer, “Just, just fucking stop tickling my damn BUTT!”
A satisfied smile lifted Sebastian’s lips as he slid the feather away from Evans ass cheeks.
“You fucking pussy.”
Evans huffed, his body weight sinking into the mattress.
Hemsworth approached Logan, nudging his chest with the knuckles of his right hand.
“I hope you’ve got a pretty dress,” he smirked, “Looks like you’re going to a party …”
iii. ‘I’m Screwed’
Evans, now ball gagged, could only moan and dribble as the door to the bedroom was slammed shut and locked …
Logan landed on the couch, his body bouncing over its squishy padding as Sebastian took a seat on an armchair opposite him.
Hemsworth pulled open the refrigerator door and retrieved three bottles of beer.
“So,” Sebastian placed both palms over each of his knees, “Let’s recap.”
Logan pinched the bridge of his nose, still trying to fathom the situation at hand; the craziness of the circumstance, the safety of his dogs, the fact that he had just tickled Chris Evans ass, the fact there was a tickle cult, the fact a tickling fetish even existed …
As a wave of thoughts flooded his mind, Hemsworth gently pressed the tip of the beer bottle against Logan’s lips.
“I needed this after my first time, too,” he reassured, his Australian accent calming, soft, “Don’t sweat it. You’re still into girls.”
Logan rolled his eyes, taking the beer, shaking his head.
“That’s, that’s not what I’m worried about, man, I, I just—”
Sebastian reinforced focus towards the problem at hand as Hemsworth handed him a beer.
“—Dozens of guys, if not more, are being targeted mostly within Los Angeles, London and New York, from what Chris told us last time,” Sebastian took a swig from his beer, swallowing down the fizz, “And we know that they’re always blackmailed into their sessions. It can be career development, financial gain, award wins or … In this case … ” Sebastian spoke respectfully, unable to hide a look of concern from Logan, “… Getting back a pet thats been stolen …”
Logan took a sip of his beer, trying his hardest to not think about the worst case scenario.
“We also know,” Sebastian continued, “That the sessions are often, if not always filmed, tricking them into more sessions, with the whole ‘if you don’t do it again, we release the footage to the press’ bullshit …”
Logan sank into the couch.
“Like we just did, with Evans?”
Sebastian lowered his head as Logan shed light on the fact that they were, in some ways, behaving just like the people they were trying to stop.
Silence filled the living room as Evans continued to shout into his ball gag, his muffled moans travelling through the locked door and down the hall.
Sebastian took a slow sip of his beer, keeping the neck of the bottle by his lips as he stared into the floorboards.
“The first time we broke him, he said all of this is done for a mans ‘dying wish’, whatever the fuck that means,” Hemsworth cocked an eyebrow, nursing his beer in his lap, “We’ve gone at him, hard, three times now and he’s buckled with almost everything, except that, except that ‘dying wish’ crap. What do you think he meant by that?”
Sebastian sat back in his seat.
“I don’t know. I get rich guy vibes. Maybe the old fuck is terminally ill, super wrinkly, wants to see as many hot guys tickled as possible before he keels over,” Sebastian began to peel away his beer bottles label, “Fucking pervert. Hey, maybe he’s pretty important? If he’s the one thing Evans refuses to talk about. Maybe he’s the leader of this whole—”
—Logan placed his bottle of beer between his feet.
“—Wait, you’ve done this to Evans three times …?”
Both Hemsworth and Sebastian nodded in unison.
“This one here is obsessed with shutting it down,” Hemsworth thumbed Sebastian, “It’s all he’s been talking about, since … Uh, since …”
Sebastian scowled at Hemsworth.
“Since Evans blackmailed you into capturing me only a damn week ago, you mindless oaf.”
Hemsworth sheepishly shifted his eyes away from Sebastian, pretending to look at something in the kitchen.
Logan slid both hands through his hair, keeping them at the top of his head, as Sebastian stood from the armchair and sat down next to him.
“Hey, kid. You ever been tickled till you can’t stand it?” Sebastian took a sip from his beer, “And I don’t just mean playfully; a wet finger in the ear, some grabbing at your sides … I mean … Tongues around your toes, people invading your armpits with force, the bottoms of your feet scratched and sucked, grown men stripping your clothes off of you without you giving consent; blindfolds, gags, sweat, laughter, screaming so hard your voice almost rips … ”
Logan watched Sebastian’s lips as he spoke, shaking his head quietly.
“It’s uh, not a hobby of mine, I gotta admit …”
Sebastian smirked.
“That’s what Evans did to me,” he licked some beer from his top lip, “And he got one of my best friends involved too,” he gestured to Hemsworth, “He pushed me so far I saw dots. He tickled me so damn hard that at some points I couldn’t breathe. He found places on me I didn’t even know were ticklish, places that I didn’t even realise could be ticklish. I thought I might piss myself, in that very bedroom you just stood in a few minutes ago. That is why I wanna stop this. That is why I wanna get your dogs back,” Sebastian turned to face Hemsworth, “… That is why I talk about it all the damn time … Because someone has to do something about this, because it sure as hell isn’t happening to me again,” Sebastian pointed at Logan, “Or you …” he then pointed at Hemsworth, “… Maybe you, you cheeky fuck.”
Hemsworth chuckled into his chest, fully aware of Sebastians resentment towards him, after actioning Evans’ favour over a week ago.
Logan’s toes curled within his running trainers as he pictured everything Sebastian had just described happening to him.
He turned over his shoulder and peered down the hall, towards the locked door where Evans still lay ass up and naked.
He thought about the electric toothbrushes, the feathers, how it must feel to be tickled like that, non stop, by not one but two, three, possibly more people …
And filmed? Logan closed his eyes.
It’s only tickling …
His naive words repeated themselves in an echo within his mind.
It’s only tickling, it’s only tickling, it’s only tickling …
“This is my worst nightmare,” Logan mumbled to himself.
Sebastian took a swig from his bottle of beer.
“You’re pretty ticklish,” Seb declared, “I can tell. You don’t only look it, but you seem scared. Freaked out. More so since I picked you up earlier this evening.”
Logan opened his eyes slowly.
He felt like announcing his concern, expressing his worry, describing his level of other worldly ticklishness; a level of hyper sensitivity that, if exposed, could transform him into a crumbling wreck, a far more destroyed, sweaty version than Evans could only dream of being in the bedroom down the hall …
Instead, Logan chose to sum up his dread in a single sentence, fully aware now that this was far more than ‘only tickling’.
“If they get their hands on me, I’m screwed.”
Sebastian looked at Hemsworth, urging him with his eyes to say something reassuring.
Hemsworth cleared his throat.
“Listen, mate, how about Sebastian goes to the event instead?”
Sebastian’s eyes widened.
“Dude! What the fuck? Why me?” He picked up a pillow from the couch and hurled it over at Hemsworth, “You put on the mask, you mother f—”
Hemsworth grabbed the pillow before it had a chance to hit his face, “I’ve been there, remember? They took me clean off the street, hooded me up, escorted me there by van … That’s where Evans asked me to nab you. I think I’ve even sat in one of the halls these events take place in …” Hemsworth shook his head, “… Even with the mask on, a guy my size? I’m gonna stand out like a sore th—”
“—A guy your size…?” Sebastian rolled his eyes, “You’re one arrogant piece of shit, you know tha—”
“—I’m going,” Logan picked the beer up from between his feet, “I’m putting on the mask. I’m finding that Evans contact and I’m finding out where my dogs are, and, and, and I’m gonna take a fucking look around too, whilst I’m there. Yes! Fuck! Fuck, I’m gonna do this,” he turned to Sebastian and pressed his lips together, “… I’m sorry, man. I know you want this to be some kind of, of mission, where we tear them down and expose them and shit. But … Maybe that’s something you can do, a, another time … I … I just need my dogs.”
Sebastian turned away from Logan and looked down at his near-empty bottle of beer.
“You know, the easy solution would be to just let them tickle you, to get your dogs back. You could go to the address, hold your hands up in surrender, be a man and get endure it like we have … And then we take them down together …”
Logan gulped.
He sipped his beer and then shook his head.
“That uh, that can be plan B …” he chuckled nervously.
Another beat of silence filled the living room as Evans continued to struggle and groan into his ball gag, ten feet away within the locked bedroom.
Hemsworth, clocking an almost visceral fear of being tickled within Logan, scratched the tip of his nose, turning the otherwise tense conversation into something more up-lifting.
“You really do love your dogs, don’t you, mate? What are their names?” Hemsworth stood and sat down on the other side of Logan.
Sebastian shot a confused look between Hemsworth and Lerman.
“Dude, that’s a little insensitive—”
“—Stella and Bow,” Logan sniffed, his shoulders a little squashed upwards with the presence of Sebastian and Hemsworth either side of him, “Their names are Stella and Bow.”
Hemsworth placed his beer in the middle of the trio.
“Well, cheers to safely getting back Stella and Bow.”
Logan smiled, bringing his beer to the middle as Sebastian did the same.
Their bottles clinked together as Evans muffled cries gradually transformed into snorting snores, exhaustion finally getting the better of him.
iv: ‘Thursday Night’
Logan pulled a black leather glove over his right hand.
He then did the same to his left.
He wiggled all ten of his fingers, their flex causing the leather to squeak as he did so.
He sat in the back of the green Ferrari dressed in a black hoodie, jeans and converse.
In the drivers seat was Sebastian, and seated beside him in the passenger’s seat was Hemsworth, both twisted in their positioning so they faced Logan.
The Ferrari had been parked a few blocks away, down a dark side road littered with trash and dirty newspaper sheets currently blowing in the nighttime breeze.
“It’s a good thing you’ll be wearing a mask,” Sebastian quipped, “You look nervous as fuck.”
Logan’s blue eyes shifted from left to right as Sebastian presented an antique looking wooden box the size of a phonebook.
“That’s because I’m literally shitting myself,” Logan admitted, adjusting the collar of his hoodie as he glanced down at the wooden box, “Fuck, why does this shit have to be so weird? Is it fucking haunted or something?” He took in the wooden boxes details; its delicate lid, the large feather inscribed over the surface, the lightness of its weight as he took it from Sebastian and carefully placed it down over his own lap.
“He keeps it in there?” Hemsworth raised both eyebrows, “The kids right; this crap is getting stranger by the minute …”
Logan lifted the lid to the box.
A white plastic mask stared back at him.
Its eyes were oval holes, its mouth shaped into two closed lips, its edges chipped …
It smelt of baby oil and clearly hadn’t been cleaned since the last time it had been pressed against Evans face …
Logan picked up the mask and slowly carried it towards his own face, a face blank in its expression, a face ready to be hidden, ready to become someone else, something else entirely …
Logan paused.
He placed the mask back in the box and scratched his neck.
He sighed, glancing out the Ferrari window, a truck passing by being the only noise filling the void of quiet.
“Can’t you both just burst in?” He kept his eyes off of Sebastian and Hemsworth, “Take them all down? Put all that martial art stuff you learnt from The Avengers to good use? Hemsworth,” Logan reluctantly shot an eager gaze to the Australian giant, “Have you seen the size of your arms? You could so just break through a wall and just, I dunno, smash the fuck outta—”
—Hemsworth chuckled, “We’re nothing like the superheroes you see at the movies, mate. Besides, out of all three of us you’re the better actor, you’d be best at convincing them that you’re—”
“—Seriously?” Sebastian flicked Evans on the chest, “I’ve been nominated for a Golden fucking Globe, you dumb piece of sh—”
“—The kid was awesome in Perks of Being a Wallflower, I literally cry at that shit every Christmas—” Hemsworth flicked Sebastian back.
“—Christmas? You watch that movie at Christmas? You’re such a child, Hemsworth, you dumb sack of—”
“—I’m ready,” Logan confirmed, his voice now muffled, the mask now on.
Sebastian and Hemsworth’s mouths fell open at the same time.
Hemsworth reached out and tugged at Logan’s hood, “Put that over your head, mate, hide your hair …”
Logan lifted his hood over his head, pulled at the drawstrings, now fully concealing his hair, his neck, the backs and sides of his head …
“Remember,” Sebastian clicked his fingers, making sure he had Logan’s attention, “Evans only knows so much. We’ve tickled everything out of him. You’re him tonight. You only know so much. So, find out the rest. You locate the guy in charge. Go over what Evans said for me, the description, I need you to have it at the forefront of your mind, recite to me the word you have to say at the door … ”
Logan nodded quickly.
“Okay, so, uh, grey hair,” he mumbled nervously, “Han, handsome face? Always in suit. Around fif, fifty … The fucker doesn’t wear a mask. Uh, Mills? Mill … ”
Sebastian stared at Logan with heightened urgency, allowing him the chance to remember the right name.
“ … Miller!” Logan clapped his hands together once, “And, and cosquillosa … The Spanish word for ticklish …”
Sebastian smiled, “That’s it. You got it.”
Logan sighed into the plastic.
“Now’s the part you remind me why we’re not just sending Evans in?”
Sebastian shook his head.
“That’s not an option, kid. From this point on, we make the moves, we’re in control, we call the shots. Us three, in this car? We’re the only ones each of us can trust, alright?”
Logan glared down into his lap, this time refusing to offer Sebastian a nod.
“Uh,” Hemsworth held up his hand like a school boy in class, asking permission to speak, “I uh, I actually already asked Evans, if he’d be comfortable sorting this mess out for us. His answer was, and these were actually his words, ‘I’d rather take a crap on my own grandma’ …” Hemsworth winced, “… Yeah, he’s a fucking pussy. The fucker is clearly terrified of them finding out he’s blabbed to us, the daft cun—”
—Sebastian raised his eyebrows at Hemsworth, “Christ, Hemsworth, don’t make haphazard decisions like that again! And watch your mouth, lord, the amount of cursing that just came outta your lips! Damn … ” He turned towards Logan, “… Okay, ignoring mud mouth over there and refocusing on the reality at hand. It’s happening. Okay? It’s, it’s happening. You’re doing this. If you need us, just send a pineapple emoji to my cell, like we discussed …” Sebastian held onto Logan’s right knee, patting it reassuringly, “… Okay, kid? You alright?”
Logan, still looking into his lap, provided the thing Sebastian needed … A simple nod.
“If I sit here any longer I’m gonna have a panic attack,” Logan announced.
He pulled on the passenger door handle and stepped swiftly out of the Ferrari.
He shut Sebastian and Hemsworth away, reminding himself that the next time he’d see them, this would be over, he’d have his dogs back, they’d be sipping on beers again, any time now …
“… Any time now, any time now, any time now …” Logan whispered to himself as he began to walk through the wealthy Los Angeles suburbs, following the directions Evans had described, until he finally arrived at a large gated mansion with expensive looking cars just like Evans’ littering the wide driveway.
There was a Porsche, a mat black Jaguar, a few motorbikes …
Logan could make out the sound of a piano being played from inside the giant home; palm trees stretched up into the stars, laughter and socialising could be made out behind the walls, the front door had been intentionally left open …
Connected to the locked gates was a tiny office and inside the office sat a security guard dressed in a tuxedo and sunglasses.
Logan adjusted his mask and took in a breath.
He then approached the security guard, his gloved hands curling into a confident clench, his arms stiff by his sides …
The security guard yawned, got to his feet and then stood opposite Logan.
He waited for Logan to say the word—
“—Cosquillosa—”
—before reaching inside his tuxedo jacket where he produced a device that looked similar to an iPhone.
Logan blinked behind his mask, ready to turn and run, the device now aimed directly at his face.
The security guard narrowed his eyes as he scanned Logan’s mask, his focus on the devices screen.
Beep …
Beep …
Beep …
For the first time this evening, Logan felt thankful for the constant stench of baby oil, the stuffiness the mask created, the feeling of claustrophobia - despite the discomfort, this ‘costume’ hid his expression of dire worry and dread that currently saturated his face in the form of sweat droplets and anguish.
The security guard pocketed the device.
He stepped away, pressed a button behind his office door and then turned back to Logan.
“A little underdressed,” the security guard eyed Logan from head to toe, “Aren’t we, Evans?”
The gates to the mansion began to creak open inward.
Logan avoided speaking for obvious reasons and instead decided to react in a Evans-esque way: he extended his right middle finger.
The security guard rolled his eyes and then sat back down in his office.
“Cocky fuck …”
As Logan walked through the gates, he used the security guards words as a way to give him some much needed confidence …
So far, you’re convincing, he thought.
So far …
Logan’s Converse treaded carefully over the gravelly driveway as crickets chirped around him, the tinkling of the piano getting louder, the volume of laughter and chatter increasing …
Logan walked through tall wooden doors where he then entered a lobby; in front of him was a red carpeted, spiral staircase leading upward, above him hung a sparkling diamond chandelier, to his right was one set of wooden double doors leading to a corridor and to his left was another set of wooden double doors leading to another corridor …
The first thought that landed in Logan’s mind was;
Where would you keep two dogs, in a place like this?
He closed his eyes.
He pictured them in the garden, collared to a fence.
He pictured them in a basement, or locked in some kind of spare room.
He pictured someone else petting them, making them their own, someone who might be as much of an annoying asshole as Evans …
He curled his right hand around the hoodie material covering his chest as anger began to boil deep within him.
He opened his eyes and forced himself to calm down.
Grey hair.
Fifties.
In a suit.
Doesn’t wear a mask.
Hey, you!
Where the fuck are my dogs!
No.
Hey.
I heard you took Logan Lerman’s pets.
Where are they being kept?
I love animals, I just wanted to see them because … Dogs are cool?
Fuck.
Logan cleared his throat as he stood quietly in the lobby.
Hey.
I heard you took Logan Lerman’s pets.
I thought maybe we could give them back? That’s a pretty nasty thing to do.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Logan looked from left to right.
Which way first?
When playing Tomb Raider on the PlayStation as a kid, Logan had always chose to go right when he couldn’t find his way within the dinosaur populated depths of The Lost Valley.
He pulled that decision making process into present day and turned right, actioning an almost too casual stroll down the carpeted corridor, his eyes taking in lavish decor, the smell of champagne and framed paintings lining the walls, paintings of people he recognised …
That looks like Armie Hammer …
Is that, is that Tarant …
Fuck, this is wild.
Logan tutted.
Chris fucking Evans …
Logan paused and looked at the painting of Chris.
Chris sat perched on the arm of a wheelchair.
He wore a tight fitting polo shirt buttoned to the top, chinos and loafers.
His smile was wide and bright.
He totally asked the painter to make his muscles bigger.
In the wheelchair sat an elderly man, his nose, arms and chest wired to an oxygen tank.
The elderly man looked miserable, tired, done; he wore a silk dressing gown, his eyes were grey, his skin blotchy …
Logan took a step closer.
In the elderly mans right hand, he held a white feat—
“—Are you lost?”
Logan jolted, spinning on the spot, faced with another masked man.
Logan could feel the eyes behind the person trail over him, from head to toe, no doubt questioning why he was dressed so casually compared to the security guards tuxedo, compared to this masked man’s smart suit …
Logan shook his head quickly, something he regretted almost instantly.
He coughed into his fist, deepening his voice, offering a stern, “No,” as his reply.
The masked man nodded.
He patted Logan on the back.
“Manu is in the main hall,” he said, “He’s not my type, but people are going crazy for him.”
He then walked off, taking a cigarette and lighter out of his jacket, headed to the drive way for a smoke …
Logan exhaled slowly.
He had no interest in seeing Manu get tickled.
But what if he needed to go through the room Manu was in to get to the next part of the house?
Logan pulled the drawstrings of his hoodie down in a determined tug.
He continued to walk down the corridor, the sound of cheering, chanting and gentle piano playing getting louder and louder …
Logan’s heart thumped so hard he could feel it in his throat.
Then came the Spanish laughter …
It sounded different compared to the normal day to day laughter Logan was used to.
This sounded similar to the laughter Evans produced when he had that feather between his ass; it was panicked, constant, breathless and filled with shouts …
Begging came between, desperate pleas in a language Logan didn’t understand.
“No por favor no!” Manu shrieked, “No ahí no puedo soportarlo!” He cried, “No mis pies, no mis pies, no mis pies!” He screamed.
Logan turned a corner.
His phone vibrated in his back pocket.
Bzz.
Logan picked it out and glanced down at the screen.
Seb: 🍍?
Logan quickly typed out his reply:
Logan: all good so far x
Logan pocketed the phone, pulling a face behind his mask as he realised he had finished his message with a kiss.
At the end of the corridor was an open doorway leading into darkness.
Either side of the doorway stood two men; both wear black masks, both dressed in black suits and ties, both with a white feather stitched to the pocket on their chest …
They didn’t seem like guests …
More like henchmen.
Their hands were behind their back, they both faced Logan, they each allowed him to pass freely through the doorway.
Logan’s eyes widened behind his mask.
Inside this large, dark hall were dozens upon dozens of masked people; some men, some women, all dressed formally, all holding champagne, all being served by more masked men in leather jumpsuits handing out canapés such as mini cheese burgers, tiny cream cheese tarts, little slices of bread with salmon draped over the top …
Logan noticed a change in flooring as soon as he stepped into the room; it went from carpet to marble almost immediately …
Bright blue spotlights shone past more diamond chandeliers as a tuxedo clad masked man played a large eighteenth century piano in the corner …
A giant white beam shone down on something in the middle of the room, the main attraction, the ‘moment’ most people inside this hall were gathered around …
Logan felt his attention be drawn to another masked man a few feet opposite him.
In his right hand he held a tray containing six or seven champagne glasses.
The masked man began to approach Logan quickly.
Logan clenched his teeth.
The masked man moved at such a speed it almost felt accusatory, as if he were desperate to reveal something; to pull off Logans mask, to ask the piano player to stop playing, to reveal the infiltrator right here, right now …
This is it.
You’re caught.
You’ve fucked it.
Oh god.
Here he comes.
Instead, the masked man held out the tray.
“Champagne, sir?”
Logan unclenched his teeth.
He adjusted his mask and then nodded, just the once.
He picked up a glass of champagne, keeping it still and sturdy between the leather of his index finger and thumb; controlling his shaking taking expert levels of focus …
Logan used all of his acting abilities to become Evans, or at least someone who was used to this level of different, this level of strange, this level of crazy …
Logan took curious steps around and through people until he found himself a few rows from the front of an excited crowd.
The piano continued to play in the background as Manu Rios laughed hysterically into his bare chest; his muscular, naked form restrained to a chair like device, his arms bound out either side of him, his ankles locked in stocks …
Logan acknowledged the sweat developing over the Spaniard’s abs and upper lip; his hair was a little damp, his cheeks pink, the veins beneath his neck thick and throbbing …
How long has he been taking this? Logan thought.
One masked man stood behind the chair, both of his hands tucking in generously; his fingers invaded Manu’s underarms, his ribcage, his neck and his shoulders …
Manu wriggled and screamed, giggled and yelped, his tall, strong frame causing the chair to rattle and creak …
A masked woman in a tight black velvet dress scratched her fingernails over Manu’s right sole whilst a masked man in a red suit rubbed a hairbrush over Manu’s left sole, causing the twenty four year old stud to howl and bellow into the darkness, his hysteria echoing out into the hall where the masked audience cheered and applauded, some even recording the session on their iPhones.
Logan began to pant.
There’s no way in fucking hell they are getting me in that thing.
He didn’t only think that to himself …
He promised it.
He willed it.
He saw it as fact, knowledge, the outcome …
An outcome that didn’t involve him being tickled to that length, that extremity, that level of absolute horror…
Logan wanted to do something.
He wanted to bat Manu’s ticklers away from him; release the young man from his bondage, carry the guy out of here, even if it did mean, this time, he’d have to leave without his dogs.
Logan even took a step forward.
He readied himself to make a move.
Why can’t I move?
He reminded himself of why he was here, of what he said to Sebastian only a few days ago …
“ … I’m sorry, man. I know you want this to be some kind of, of mission, where we tear them down and expose them and shit. But … Maybe that’s something you can do. I … I just need my dogs …”
Logan’s own voice echoed through his mind.
He went to take a sip of his champagne, but the glass just pressed against his mask.
He frowned behind the plastic, wondering for a second why they handed champagne and food out if you couldn’t drink or eat any of it without removing your mask.
He licked his lips, wishing he could down a few glugs to help deal with the nerves.
Logan felt someone press him closer towards Manu.
Logan shuffled forwards.
It was then he realised he wasn’t in a crowd at all.
This is a fucking queue.
The people tickling Manu soon stopped, allowing the actor time to catch his breath before the couple in front of Logan were free to step forward and pick a tool out of an open briefcase placed on a waist high stone plinth.
Inside the briefcase were a selection of electric toothbrushes; an electric massager, a blindfold, a ball gag, lubricants, hairbrushes and feathers, all different shapes and sizes …
“No, please, everyone, stop, par favor —” Manu sounded exhausted, his hands hanging limply from the cuffs around each of his wrists, “I don’t want to do anymore, you, you can keep the money—” he then began to yell, his shouts loud and filled with passion, “— NO, ENOUGH, ENOUGH, ENOUGH!”
Manu fell back into giggling distress as one masked man began to tickle his stomach whilst another masked man took an electric toothbrush and started to run it across the toes of Manu’s right foot.
Logan became very aware of the open space in front of him.
As Manu begged in Spanish, Logan realised he was up next.
He’d be tickling Manu …
He’d have to pick a tool …
Besides Evans the other night, he hadn’t tickled anyone before in his life …
He avoids it, constantly, because he doesn’t want anyone to do it back to him …
Manu is so out of breath he’s now wheezing.
And I’m gonna make it that much worse …
Manu sat slumped and breathless as his current two ticklers left his body, their presence disappearing into the surrounding standing audience.
Logan was then shuffled forward by people patiently waiting behind him.
His body, now lit by the beam of light shining down over Manu, was entirely on show.
Logan felt conscious of his hair, his jaw, his stance, his posture …
Have I concealed enough of myself?
Have I made a good enough effort?
Is this the moment I get caught?
“What are you waiting for?” Manu growled, his toes flexing, his fists curling into balls, “Do it, you son of a bitch! Get it over with!”
Logan blinked, stumbling forwards thanks to another shove from behind.
He cleared his throat and eyed the briefcase and its contents.
He reached in, his gloved hand hovering over a tool he thought might make the least impact, as a way to give Manu some form of a break.
Logan handed his glass of champagne to a nearby masked woman and pinched a seagull feather from inside the briefcase.
He paused, wondering if picking such a tame tool would raise suspicion …
What would Evans do?
Manu continued to huff and pant in the background as Logan rushed on his decision making, conscious of the many masked faces watching him …
Logan dropped the feather back inside the briefcase and reached for a hairbrush.
“No, no, please—” Manu sat forwards, the tickle chair rattling under his weight, “—I, I, I can’t take the hairbrushes, not again, no otra vez! …”
Logan curled his index finger and thumb around Manu’s right big toe …
“NO, NO, NO!” Manu screamed.
He then began to scrub his sole with the hairbrush, the plastic bristles sliding across his silky smooth arch non stop, from left to right, biting his lower lip in concentration, his focus hidden by his mask …
Manu twisted and thrashed within the tickle chair, his strong arms and legs pulling and kicking within the device as he giggled and screamed into the spotlight, Logan’s second time tickling another man taking place all in one week …
The crowd cheered and chanted, clapped and raised their glasses, impressed by ‘The Masked Tickler’s’ sudden and unapologetic technique.
Manu begged hard, his Spanish fluent and partnered with bubbling saliva, his eyes wide open, his laughter now so loud that it had overshadowed the applause surrounding his circumstance.
Logan stopped.
His slid the hairbrush away from Manu’s sole and dropped it into the briefcase, turning to dart quickly into the crowd …
He brushed past shoulders, stepped over feet, slid through couples; the person behind Logan now taking their turn on Manu, Manu’s laughter returning, his howls and grainy screams ringing in Logan’s ears …
Logan caught sight of an open door way, guarded by more masked henchmen.
He slowed down his pacing and tried to calm himself down, walking towards the door way, Manu’s shrieks now fading away the closer Logan reached the door.
Both masked henchmen stepped aside.
Logan slid through.
Another corridor, this one just as richly decorated as the last …
More hanging framed paintings, this time of people he didn’t recognise; a woman from the 1930’s, a man from the 1960’s, a good looking thirty year old with blonde hair and blue eyes …
Logan paused at a large framed painting of a man in his fifties, in a suit, with dark grey hair …
“ … You …” Logan snarled behind his mask.
He turned away more determined than ever, his head twisting from left to right as he continued his search for this ‘Miller’.
Logan arrived at a staircase.
His toes hit the bottom step.
Down the other end of the corridor were a masked couple, their masks lifted above their noses, their lips locked in a drunken kiss.
Ask them.
Talk to them.
Where’s Miller?
No.
You can’t speak.
You don’t have Evans voice.
Point at the painting.
Get a move on.
Manu’s hysteria, the applause and the sound of piano now faded away entirely as Logan began to climb the staircase, each step quiet as his Converse landed on thick red carpet.
You can’t risk it.
Come on.
He has to be somewhere.
Fuck, I can’t wait to tell the guys what I’ve seen.
This is absolutely fucked.
Once at the top of the stairs, Logan felt the urge to raise his mask and wipe some sweat away from his forehead.
Huff, huff, huff …
He instead kept his hands by his sides, deciding to endure the hyper sensitivity of the trickle currently rolling down the side of his face …
Logan held onto the banister and lifted himself to the second floor, arriving at another carpeted corridor just as lavish and glowing as the last …
This time, instead of hanging portraits on the walls there were doors; some were open, leading into tickle sessions taking place, some closed and locked, a more private event happening on the other side of the door.
Logan could hear begging, giggling, breathless moans, buzzing and whizzing …
He didn’t once look inside any of the rooms, even if the kicking and bouncing of athletic, attractive bodies did threaten to catch his eye …
You need to be down.
Logan paused, standing still, the want to turn around and head back to the staircase overwhelming to say the least …
You need to be down, away from this, outside or underground …
Something animalistic within him kept on saying, ‘don’t be here, they’re not on this floor, get out’ …
Suddenly, Logan’s arms were grabbed and pulled behind his back.
Muscular strength wrapped itself around his waist.
“HELL NO—” Logan hissed behind his mask.
He felt his feet leave the carpet as he was lifted into the air and carried towards an open door.
Two masked men appeared either side of him.
They tried to grab his legs.
One successfully took Logan’s right ankle in an armlock.
The other attempted to snatch his left, but Logan kicked so fiercely that he swiped the persons masks clean off their face.
THWACK!
Logan, amidst his capture, still found the time to be doubly shocked.
Just some guy.
No one famous.
No on special.
An ordinary guy who is probably someone’s wife, their dad, a best friend, a lawyer or a dentist …
The man hid his face with both of his hands, spun on his heels and then bolted down the corridor.
Logan continued to kick his feet as he growled and grunted, rubbing his back up and down against the chest of the masked man currently pinning his arms behind his back.
The masked man holding onto his right leg eventually grabbed hold of his left as well.
Logan was carried squirming with all of his mite, through the open door where he was thrown onto a four poster, king sized bed.
He bounced a few times on impact, his attempt at climbing off and making a run for it thwarted by the strength of his captors.
They jumped on him, straddling him, pulling his arms above his head …
“Mnn—” Logan bit his lower lip, “—NO, fuck! SHIT—” he winced, his head unintentionally shaking his hood away from his hair, his mask still covering his face …
> Ktssshhh <
The sound of a walkie talkie.
“We need assistance in room number nine! I repeat, we need assistance in room number nine!”
The second captor lay over Logan’s kicking feet as the masked man straddling Logan began to try and negotiate some sense of calm.
“Listen, buddy, we’ve got you—” the voice was deep, muffled, “—there’s no point trying to get away, you’re ours now, you belong to us …”
Logan fought so hard his eyes began to water.
His thick chunks of brown hair were now splayed out over the pillow.
Footsteps …
… Running, thudding, urgent and closing in …
The room was filled with an additional four masked men, these ones all dressed the same; white shirts, smart black trousers, plain oval masks …
One pinned Logan’s right hand to the right corner of the bed, where he pulled a thick length of white rope from beneath the mattress.
One did the same to Logan’s left hand.
Logan began to panic as he felt his wrists be tied to each corner …
“NO, SERIOUSLY, COME ON—” He shouted from behind his mask, so loudly, that the mask almost blew off his face, “—I’M SORRY, ALRIGHT? PLEASE, FUCK—”
The masked men huffed and puffed as they used all their energy to bind Logan whilst dealing with his furious, defensive attempts at escape; his kicks, punches and body twists difficult to handle.
The third masked man yanked Logan’s right leg to the bottom right corner of the bed, the fourth masked man yanking Logan’s left leg to the left corner of the bed …
Carried, straddled and pinned into position, Logan gasped as he felt all four of his limbs be bound apart, his masked captors yanking down on each length of rope, stretching Logan out into a tight X shape, the twinkling chandelier above the perfect witness for such a successful capture.
Logan now lay panting as a total of seven masked men crawled away from him and slid off the bed, gathering themselves into a standing position as they surrounded the mattress.
One masked man stepped forward and held onto Logans mask.
He peeled it off his face, revealing Logan’s wide, icy blue eyes and pink, flushed cheeks.
Logan looked alarmed, enraged, his teeth gritted, his hair messy over his forehead …
He struggled in his bonds, his fists scrunched, his legs stretching out and pulling back in, the rope squeaking with every writhe …
Logan didn’t hesitate in begging.
“Al, alright, o, okay, you, you got me. Pl, please, fuck, please, please, do not tickle me, I’ll lose my fucking shit, guys, alright? Anything but the tickling, just, just let me go, just, just give me back my dogs, man, this is fucked, come on, guys, fuck, my dogs! I, I just want my dogs back, that’s the only reason I came, I’m serious, I don’t give a shit about anything else I’ve seen, seriously, please, damn, holy shit, please don’t tickle me, fuck,” Logan’s face creased up with concern as one of the masked men pulled a ball gag out of their pocket, “FUCK, no, don’t gag me, please, guys, fuck! Fuck, no, don’t do it, don’t do that, please? Please! FUCK—” Logan watched the masked man approach him carefully, the gag nearing his mouth, the space between Logan’s lips and the ball of plastic decreasing second by second, “—FUCK, NO, come on! Agh! Agh! Ackk, acccck—” Logan’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head as his pupils crossed, the gag forced slowly into his mouth, his teeth taking it entirely, his tongue forced into the back of his throat, “—MPHHH! MPHH? MPHHH! MPHHH!” Logan screamed, his eyes watering, his worst case scenario taking place, a scenario he had dreaded, a moment he had willed to never happen …
The two masked men closest to the bedroom’s door stepped aside.
Amidst the chaos, Logan could still feel the buzz of his iPhone in his back pocket.
Bzz
Bzz.
Bzz.
No doubt Sebastian asking if he were okay …
No.
I’m not fucking okay.
“Mmmmmphhh! Mphhhhh! Mphh? Mmphh! Mphhh!”
Logan had started to dribble.
An eighth masked man entered the room.
This masked man had a different vibe to his surrounding team.
As soon as he had stepped inside, all surrounded masked deviants lowered their heads.
The eighth masked man was dressed in a beige linen suit, his white shirt open at the chest, revealing tanned skin and a golden necklace.
His mask wasn’t white like the others, it was red.
He removed his mask slowly.
He smiled at Logan and then he said …
“… Looking for someone?”
Michael stepped out of his Jeep, gym bag in hand, his lips pursing tightly as he blew out a large pink bubble, his gum popping as soon as the bubble got too big.
POP!
He walked towards his apartment building, chewing on his gum, pulling the glass doors open, saluting the female receptionist who offered Michael a giddy smile in return.
His long index finger pressed the elevator button, his hand massaging the back of his neck, his shoulders throbbing from lifting heavy weights most of the morning.
Michael wore a tight white vest, sweat shorts, sports socks and Nike running trainers.
Ping!
As the elevator doors slid open, Michael stepped in.
He parted his feet, straightened his spine and patiently waited for the elevator to reach the tenth floor.
His muscular weight bobbed as the elevator slowed down to a gradual stop.
The doors slid open.
Michael stepped out and made his way towards his apartment.
Another purse of the lips, another large pink bubble, another—
—POP!
Michael unlocked the door, dropped his gym bag and then walked into his condo.
Sunlight beamed into his property; the wall to ceiling windows offering a glorious view of Los Angeles, the Hollywood hills, palm tree after palm tree after palm tree …
Michael paused.
His eyes fell on a pink briefcase with its lid open, sitting beside his kettle and toaster.
Laid out next to the briefcase was a singular white feather.
Michael remained still.
He shifted his eyes from left to right.
He slowed down the chew of his gum.
He chuckled, stroking his jaw, his bright white teeth clenching into a entertained grin.
He took careful steps towards the pink briefcase, where he quietly assessed the contents staring back at him …
… Piles and piles and piles of cash …
Michael went to pick up the feather.
His finger and thumb pinched the nib.
He then decided to leave it entirely.
Michael scratched the tip of his nose.
He placed his hands over his hips.
He looked towards his bedroom on the other side of the living room.
The door was open …
Michael sniffed.
“Alright,” he whispered.
He carefully pulled open one of the kitchen drawers.
His hand curled around the handle of a large cutting knife.
Michael tightened his grip.
He bounced on his toes and readied himself for combat.
He walked slowly towards his bedroom door.
He stepped into his bedroom …
Attached to the bottom of his bed were a set of wooden stocks.
Laid out over each top corner were wrist restraints and rope …
Michael’s adam’s apple dropped.
He slowly took his gaze to a masked man seated on an armchair in the corner of the room.
He wore a black leather jacket, a black t-shirt, black jeans and black laced up boots.
The mask covering his face was oval shaped, white, minimal features over the surface …
It was clean, it shined, Michael could practically smell the plastic from here.
“What the f—” Michael whispered to himself, lifting the knife slowly into the space of air in front of him, “Brother, you’ve got three seconds to get the fuck outta my—”
“—Michael … “ the masked man spoke.
Michael raised both eyebrows.
The masked man held onto his mask and then slowly took it away from his face.
He crossed his leg at the knee.
“… I owe you an apology,” Logan said.
‘THE CIRCLE’ CONTINUES IN PART TWO, ‘THE NARRATIVE’