Everything fell in slow motion.

Logan’s eyes peeled open, his jaw stretching apart, a deep and long, “SEBAAAAAAAASSSTIAAAAAAAAN!” droning out of his mouth as he reached out for his friend, his hands shaped into claws, his half naked body tumbling through the air.

Sebastian, upside down in his descent, took his panicked gaze away from the driveway currently approaching them ever so gradually, his muscular arms stretching out for Logan who twisted in the atmosphere just inches away from him …

“LOOOOOOOO-GAAAAAAAAAAAAN!”

Surrounding the duo were thousands of shards of glass, falling at the same slow-mo speed, the L.A morning sun causing them to sparkle …

Between the shards were a few electric toothbrushes, an open bottle of lotion spilling everywhere, some feathers and the roll of tape …

The chaotic plummet hurtled towards nothing but flat, hard ground, both young men squeezing their eyes shut as the gravel now sped towards them, where they had no choice but to brace themselves for impact.

Michael ran his tongue over the roof of his mouth as the entire hall fell quiet.

…

…

…

Logan pressed the back of his head against the tickle chair and stared up into the spotlight.

Here we go.

Michael flicked the latch, unlocking the briefcase.

Logan shuffled forward.

“ … Mmnphh …”

He watched Michael lift the lid.

The audience gasped.

Logan’s heart sank so hard and fast he thought he was going to throw up.

Michael smirked.

The briedcases contents consisted of toe ties, massage oil, a hairbrush, an electric toothbrush and one seagull feather.

Michael pinched the nib of the feather and peeled it out from inside the briefcase.

Logan blinked, allowing himself a few seconds to make sense of the sight in front of him.

Where’s the gun?

Logan blinked again.

He tried to verbalise his thoughts, still staring at the selection of tools in the briefcase.

“Wherg gah guh?”

A thin line of drool left his lower lip, the gag now clenched tight between his teeth.

He inhaled and exhaled quickly, on repeat, through his nostrils.

He quickly turned his head to face Michael.

“Ig gis a goke?”

Michael remained tall, still, calm and smirking …

“No, brother. This isn’t a joke.”

Logan groaned into his gag, his fists curling into balls, his legs kicking within the stocks …

“MPHHH! MPHHH! MPHHH! MPHHH!”

His eyes bulged out of his head, disbelief overwhelming him completely, sweat now trickling down the sides of his face.

“NO,” was a word he tried to yell, “YOU TRICKED ME, YOU FUCKER,” was a sentence he so desperately wanted to scream, but the ball of plastic stuffed deep inside his mouth turned all of his frantic shouts and cries of disappointment into babbled, senseless muffles.

Miller stepped back into the spotlight, joining Michael’s side, placing a hand over his shoulder.

“Welcome to The House of White Feathers, Michael.”

Michael turned to face Miller and bowed his head.

Miller’s hand slid down Michael’s right arm and curled around his wrist.

He then lifted it slowly into the air, spinning Michael around so that he faced the roaring crowd.

“House of White Feathers!” Miller yelled into his microphone as Logan continued to squirm and writhe in the tickle chair, “Please place your hands together for your latest tickler, Mr. Michael B Jordan …!”

The audience erupted in applause, cheering and chanting Michael’s name, leaving Logan sweating and desperate in his bondage, his head turning from left to right as he tried to spot Evans within the sea of people.

Logan squeezed his eyes shut; his mind overwhelmed with dread, concern, confusion, questions, his thoughts unable to connect themselves thanks to the audience’s chanting.

Have they all fucked me over?

“… MICHAEL! MICHAEL! MICHAEL! MICHAEL! …”

Where the fuck is Evans?

“… MICHAEL! MICHAEL! MICHAEL! MICHAEL! …”

Oh no, please god, no …

“… MICHAEL! MICHAEL! MICHAEL! MICHAEL! …”

How can I get out of this?

“… MICHAEL! MICHAEL! MICHAEL! MICHAEL! …”

I have to get out of this.

Miller held up his hand, silencing the crowd.

“… MICHAEL! MI …—”

…

Nobody is laying a finger on me.

…

I’m not getting tickled.

…

It won’t happen.

…

Oh man, oh man, oh man, oh man, oh man, ohmanohmanohmanohmanohmanohman—

—FUCK!

What …

What …

What the fuck is going on?

The applause faded into excited mumbles and heightened, whispered discussion as Michael and Miller turned to face Logan.

Logan’s eyes were shaped into a narrow scowl, dribble bubbling out from the sides of his ball gag, his fists clenched so tight his biceps trembled, all of the thoughts had had just run through in his head had actually come out as shouts behind his gag, he was just too shocked to realise it …

“Ooft,” Michael cocked an eyebrow, “I think we pissed pretty boy off … ”

Miller chuckled.

“Oh, kid, what do you expect?” The fifty something year old began to walk around the tickle chair, Logan kicking and grunting with every step Miller took, “The poor young man has just been betrayed in public. In public! His expectations of an easy escape have been viciously ripped away by someone he thought he could trust,” Miller paused behind Logan, his right hand reaching around the chair, his fingertips nearing Logan’s left underarm, “If I were him, I’d be pretty upset too …”

Logan scrunched his entire body away from Miller’s fingers, arching his back to the right, stretching and flexing his form as far from Miller’s touch as he possibly could whilst furiously breathing into his gag …

“… MPHH, MPHH, MPHH, MPHH, MNNPHH …”

Miller licked his lips.

“Dang, this young man does not want to be tickled …” he murmured to himself, wiggling his fingers, teasing Logan, who now began to thrust himself in his arched position, his butt lifting off the seat, his toes curling within the confines of his running trainers, his jolting so strong that the tickle chair began to wheel away a few inches …

Miller took his teasing hand and placed it on the top of the chair, keeping it in place.

Logan fell into his seat with a heavy bounce.

The tickle chair rattled.

Logan sighed, dropping his head over his chest.

Michael held onto his bulge, caressing his growing hard on as he watched Logan attempt to avoid Miller’s fingers with such extreme determination.

“Calm down, brother,” Michael urged, twirling the feather between his index finger and thumb, “It’s cool. Alright? You can relax. We’re not gonna tickle you here, in this room full of people,” Michael stepped closer towards the tickle chair and curled his left hand around Logan’s right foot, “We’re not gonna let this room full of people tickle you at the same time,” he began to pick at Logan’s lace, “This room full of people know that isn’t how your story goes. You’re too special to be overshadowed by spotlights, hundreds of fingers, safe words, masked men, clowns or games …” Michael unlaced Logan’s right running trainer, “ … We’re just going to focus on just one thing; how ticklish you are …”

Logan growled into his gag, shaking his head, widening his eyes as he glared down at his right foot, willing, urging Michael not to remove his running trainer …

Michael gave it a tug.

Logan began to scream.

“MPHHHH! MPHHHH! MPHHHHH? MPHHHH! MPHHHHH? MPPNNGHHHH!”

Michael let go of Logan’s foot, the unlacing of his trainer only actioned to tease Logan, to send him further into a realm of lunacy where second by second, Logan’s worst nightmare started to solidify into some form of reality …

Logan huffed and panted, dropping his shoulders, his palms soaked with sweat between clenched fists.

“Take him to Room Number Seven,” Michael ordered, nodding at the masked man beside the tickle chair.

Miller smiled proudly as Michael stepped into his role as tickler almost effortlessly.

Logan pushed out his chest as he tried to pull both of his arms towards his neck, his watering eyes boiling through the leather straps around his wrists where he pleaded with them to magically snap or conveniently loosen up, so he could release himself and make a run for it, just like he should have done in the garage only ten or so minutes ago …

“MMNNNPHH! MNNPHHH? MNNPHHH!” The thirty one year old actor yelled and shouted at Michael as the masked man began to wheel Logan out from under the spotlight, through the crowd and back towards the double doors, his body thrashing and kicking so hard in the tickle chair that his unlaced, right running trainer fell off his foot, landing on the floor with a bounce.

Logan shrieked, pulling forwards, the toes of his now socked right foot scrunching, his protected left foot crossing over to cover his socked sole, his head twisting over the side of the chair as he watched another masked man pick up his trainer and hold it in their hands.

As Logan was wheeled away, he watched that masked man remove his mask from his face.

Evans.

Evans closed his eyes and placed the inside of Logans trainer against his nose, breathing in the scent of Logan’s foot.

He then smirked and waved Logan goodbye as Logan continued to protest into his gag, the tickle chair spinning around, knocking double doors open, Logan now wheeled through them, the doors swinging shut seconds after, Logan’s muffled cries fading into nothing …

Michael turned to Miller, peering down at him thanks to their difference in height.

“Time for a change in narrative,” Michael announced.

___________________________________

Tick,

Tick,

Tick,

Tick,

Logan, still gagged and still restrained to the tickle chair, sat in the middle of Room Number Seven, his sparkling blue eyes watching the second hand of the clock on the wall tick closer to the number twelve, where the minute hand then nudged closer to the number three.

He took his nervous glance over to the double bed positioned in the corner of the room …

Attached to the end of the bed were a set of wooden stocks.

His eyes shot over to an open MacBook laid out over the corner of the mattress.

He glared into his lap as a long line of dribble left his ball gag and landed over the crotch of his gym shorts.

He curled the toes of his right foot, their long length scrunching tightly beneath the white cotton of his sock.

His left foot remained protected by his running trainer.

Besides the clocks ticking, there was nothing but silence.

The room Logan sat in presented a creamy white aesthetic; there was a glass desk pushed up by a window that stretched to the ceiling, the furniture was square and Scandinavian inspired, there were some potted plants gathered either side of the entrance door, a door that had been left open.

Logan bit down on his gag as he shuffled in his seat, the leather cuffs pinning his arms out at either side, restraining him from being able to stretch forwards and peer outside the door …

All he could make out was a coridoor that lead to other doors, with room numbers on the front; opposite his room was Room Number Five.

Logan jolted in alarm as two masked men soldiered into his room, followed by Michael.

The masked men stood either side of Michael as Michael positioned himself opposite Logan, his legs apart, his hands behind his back, his spine straight and stiff.

Logan breathed quickly, his nostrils flared, the toes of his right socked foot scrunching tighter …

Michael folded his arms and turned to the masked man at his left, offering him a simple nod.

The masked man approached Logan.

Logan squirmed in his seat, wriggling in his bondage, the tickle chair wobbling from side to side as he began to panic, the masked man’s gloved hands reaching towards his waist.

“Mphhh! Mmmnpph? Mnmmph!”

Logan tried to twist his body away, the masked man’s hands going behind Logan, towards the bottom of his back …

Logan shrieked into his gag as the masked man reached into the back pocket of Logan’s shorts.

Logan bounced his butt across leather, the masked mans fingers wiggling across his left ass cheek as he fingered around for something …

The masked man retrieved the USB, his hand now out of Logan’s back pocket, allowing Logan to slump his weight into the tickle chair as droplets of perspiration began to gather over his forehead.

The masked man handed the USB to Michael, who dropped it into his own trouser pocket.

“Sweating already and we haven’t even removed your socks,” Michael chuckled, “You know how long people have been waiting for this?” He turned to the masked man on the right and offered him the same simple nod he had provided the masked man standing to his left.

Once again, Logan shuffled in panic as the masked man approached him.

To Logan’s surprise, the masked man’s gloved fingers curled around his ball gag, unclipping the strap, removing the wedge of plastic from between his teeth.

Logan licked his lips and swallowed down a puddle of dribble as the masked man returned to Michael’s side.

Logan didn’t hesitate in asking his first question, his voice coarse, his delivery fast.

“… Why are you doing this? … ”

Michael didn’t pause in providing his answer.

“Because I want to.”

Logan dropped his head over his chest.

Michael continued.

“These guys pay a pretty penny if you just do as you’re told,” he began to pace across the room, his Nike sneaker-clad feet making no noise over the carpet as he walked, “Something you’re not very good at doing, huh, Logan?”

Logan watched Michael pause by his right socked foot.

“This whole ordeal is actually pretty funny, considering you’re not to blame,” Michael took his index finger and pressed it against Logan’s right heel, “It was Sebastian who interfered in the first place. He made his way to you. He knocked everything off course, according to Evans, anyway …” Michael dragged his finger slowly up Logan’s sole, towards his arch, “… I personally think he should be the one in this chair, but, the audience demand for you is waaaaaaaaay too high …”

Logan’s right foot remained still for a few seconds as he tried to endure Michael’s touch, but as soon as Michael’s index finger arrived at his arch, Logan had no choice but to violently twist both of his feet inward, with such force that the tickle chair squeaked beneath his weight.

Michael shook his hand as if touching something hot.

“Damn, boy! I’m so glad I changed my mind! This is gonna be wild, brother …”

Logan huffed, his feet still tensed up, his eyebrows burrowed into a fierce frown.

“That all it took?” Logan spoke in a flustered whisper, his eyes scowling into Michael’s chest, “A bit of cash and you swap sides at the click of a finger?”

Michael shrugged his shoulders.

“Pretty much,” he said, “Evans and I had a secret chat after the barbecue. We figured joining up as a team ourselves would work better, for us. Turns out The House don’t care that he betrayed them. They’re obsessed with how the narrative has played out, how hard you’ve tried. They think it’s hot, they even thanked Evans for letting it stretch out this far,” Michael continued to pace, “They love that all of this has led to this very moment, a moment you’ve tried to avoid for so long, a moment you’re dreading. And now it’s gonna happen, and it’ll be caught on camera and sold for millions, and everyone is gonna be very, very happy …” Michael took his finger back to Logan’s right foot and actioned an unexpected swipe up his sole, “… Well, almost everyone …”

Logan jolted in the chair, his foot twisting into another determined clench, his teeth hooking over his upper lip.

Michael pointed his tormenting finger at Logan’s face.

“To think, originally it was just gonna be you, hogtied in your apartment, surprise tickled for thirty minutes or so … And now its gonna be so much more.”

The masked man to the right opened up his jacket and pulled out a contract.

He threw it into Logan’s lap.

Michael picked a pen from out of his pocket, "Sign the paper work and you get back your pets. They’re downstairs, taking a nap. I promise.”

Logan looked down at the sheets of paper connected at the corner by a metal clip.

“Why the fuck should I believe you? This morning you were making me coffee, reassuring me everything was gonna be okay. An, an, and now you’re standing here, acting like you fucking pay rent for this place … ” Logan shook his head, “ … Go fuck yourself.”

Michael placed the tip of the pen against Logan’s right socked sole.

Once again, Logan’s foot twisted inward, his leg jerking suddenly.

Michael summed up Logan’s circumstance in less than ten words.

“Take a look around. You don’t have a choice.”

Logan ran his tongue over the roof of his mouth.

He glanced at the left leather cuff pinning his wrist to the extended, padded arm of the tickle chair.

He then did the same to the right.

After being wheeled in here fifteen minutes ago, he had spent at least twelve of those minutes trying to break out of these restraints.

He had failed miserably.

Logan, quite simply, had no choice but to obey.

He took his eyes away from the bondage and looked over at Michael.

He didn’t need to sacrifice his pride by saying the words out loud, his sorry expression did that for him.

An expression that said: What do I have to do?

Michael kept the pen pressed against the bottom of Logan’s right socked foot.

“After some audience surveys, some data research, some thorough consideration, The House have decided that your feet need to be explored in one session, and your full body in another,” Michael began to draw circles over Logan’s sole, “So, that’s two sessions, two hours, and then you get your dogs and go home. They’ll never bother you again …” Logan’s toes flexed out into a manic stretch as his foot writhed from side to side, for the first time since this all began, the start of a giggle actually made its way out of Logan’s mouth …

Logan, already breathless, pressed his lips shut, “—Mnn—”, and glared at the pen, breathing in, exhaling his agreement in quick, “Okay! Alright, just, stop touching my f—”

—Michael stopped drawing circles, but kept the pen against Logan’s right socked pinkie.

“You get what this means, right?” Michael applied some pressure to the pen, causing Logan to throw his torso forward, the tickle chair rattling beneath his strength, “You can barely stand this thin piece of plastic pressing against your sock covered sole, and you’re about to let me put both of your feet in there,” Michael nodded to the stocks strapped to the end of the bed, “Where I can strip them, scratch them, suck them, nibble on them, do whatever the fuck I want with them … You really ready for that, brother?”

Logan huffed, his biceps bulging as he pulled at his restraints, his right foot twisting to the left as Michael pressed the pen between his pinkie and second to last toe, the nib pushing into the white cotton, ready to make impact with the exceptionally ticklish space between Logan’s toes …

“I, I can’t argue with your p, point,” Logan almost chuckled, clenching his teeth, his eyes watering, “This, this is gonna suck,” he admitted, his back arching, “I’m, I’m so fucking … Ugh, I’ve been,” he pressed his lips together, lifting his butt, scowling at the pen, “I’ve, I’ve been avoiding this as much as I can but, I, I …”

Michael removed the pen, finishing Logan’s sentence for him.

“… You don’t have a choice?”

Logan dropped himself back into the tickle chair, his weight causing it to wobble.

He nodded slowly, his lips swollen, his nostrils flared, his socked sole now covered in ink stains …

Michael walked to Logan’s side, causing Logan to once again thrash in panic, his body on high alert, concerned that Michael might unexpectedly throw all ten of his fingers into his sides or underarms.

Michael placed his right hand over Logan’s left knee.

“Chill, brother. Just stop moving, for a moment …” he then aimed the pen at Logan’s mouth, “ … And open wide …”

Logan gulped, his eyes crossing down to the pen, his mouth slowly opening.

Michael placed the pen between Logan’s teeth, allowing him to bite down and hold it in his mouth.

Michael lifted the paperwork from Logan’s lap, flicked through to the final page and then held the contract close to Logan’s face.

Logan scribbled some form of his signature over the dotted line by moving his head and jaw around, his hair now hanging over his face.

“I could’ve got you to sign that after we let you outta this thing, but, in all honesty, I get what The House means … It’s hotter seeing them struggle,” Michael took the paper work away from Logan, leaving the pen in his mouth, “Now, we’re gonna release you momentarily. You’re gonna undress yourself, you’re gonna keep your underwear and your socks on, and then you’re gonna climb onto that bed, you got it, brother?”

Logan spat the pen out of his mouth, where it landed gently against Michael’s chest.

“Understood,” he quipped.

Michael cocked an eyebrow.

He glared at Logan, unblinking, his expression communicating a single sentence; ‘you shouldn’t of done that’.

Both masked men approached Logan.

The masked man on the right began to un-cuff his right hand, the masked man on the left began to un-cuff his left hand.

Michael placed the signed paperwork over the surface of the glass desk.

“You know something, even if I do think you’re a spoilt little bitch … I do owe you an apology,” Michael watched the masked men unlatch the stocks of the tickle chair, lifting them upward, allowing Logan to swing his feet out of the wooden grooves, “… I think even I convinced myself that I would help you out, so much so that I guess I convinced you too, when, deep down, I kinda always knew I’d do things my way. There was never gonna be an outcome where I wouldn’t get payback, on my terms, how I wanted to, when I wanted to …” Michael held onto his growing girth, “… What really helps with the decision making process is if you realise you have a thing for tickling yourself, overnight.”

Logan slid off the tickle chair.

And then he made a run for it.

He spun on the spot and bolted towards the open door.

Downstairs.

They’re taking a nap.

Get them, and run.

Logan burst out of the room and sprinted down the hall, kicking off his left running trainer so that he could pick up speed by running in just his socks.

Sweat soaked his pits, a grin decorated his face, he had never ran so fast before in his life.

He barged past masked henchmen, he rolled downstairs, he found his dogs and then he broke down the front doors where he threw he and his pets into the green Ferrari, driving off into the night with Sebastian and Hemsworth where they—

—Logan blinked.

He stood with his hands at his sides, aware that attempting such an escape would only make his circumstance worse.

It was nice to imagine it, anyway.

He knelt down and began to unlace his left running trainer.

“I think you’ve always been a part of this,” Logan spoke carefully, “I think you put yourself in this, this narrative, or whatever the fuck they call it. I don’t think you developed a thing for tickling over night. I think you’ve always been this way. You’ve wanted to get your hands on me for a long fucking time,” Logan stood, toeing off his left running trainer, patting his chest with knuckles,, “Well here I am, brother. I’m all yours, for two whole hours, you fuck. Do your fucking worst …”

Michael smirked, his eyes taking in the brightness of both of Logan’s socks.

“It’s not as complex as that, brother. They wanted me, they got me, with your help. Now I get you with help from them. It’s as simple as that. That’s the narrative. The only reason it feels this bananas is because you’ve done your best to avoid your turn. But guess what? Now it’s your turn. It was always gonna be your turn. You just thought you had a chance at getting away with it. You thought you could trust me. Well guess what? You couldn’t. If I were a nicer person, if I were a little more rich, maybe I would’ve made sure Evans planted the gun in the briefcase. But … I’m not that guy,” Michael grinned, his teeth perfect, clean, all in line, “Oh, and, just a heads up. It wont just be me who gets a go …” he twirled his index finger in the air, “… Now, undress.”

Logan watched the masked ticklers open the wardrobe doors where they pulled out camera equipment, wires and a tripod.

As they began to set everything up, Logan shuffled on the spot.

“Right here?”

Michael nodded slowly.

“Right here.”

Logan huffed.

Reluctantly, Logan started to remove his clothing as Michael watched on.

He pulled his t-shirt over his head, revealing a slim torso, structured stomach, furry pecs and surprisingly erect nipples.

He screwed the t-shirt up into a ball, shook some hair away from his eyes and threw the tee at Michael.

Michael grabbed it out of the air before it had the chance to make impact with his face.

Tripod set, camera on, wires plugged in, Logan removed his gym shorts …

Michael flashed his eyebrows upward as Logan presented an impressive bulge, contained within small chequered boxers.

Logan stepped out of his gym shorts, kicking them at Michael, who once again grabbed them out of the air.

Logan pressed his feet against the carpet and folded his arms across his chest, providing a surprisingly confident stance, considering his gradually approaching situation …

Michael nodded over to the bed as one of the masked men hit the camera’s record button, where both masked men then left Room Number Seven, closing the door behind them.

Logan walked over to the bed as the doors lock confirmed the start of his first ever tickle session.

“You’re taking this pretty easy, considering how much you clearly can’t take being tickled,” Michael commented, kneeling down at the foot of the bed, opening up the set of stocks, “Considering how much you’ve been trying your damned hardest to not let this happen.”

Logan eyed the straps at each corner of the mattress as he planted his right knee over the bedsheets.

He took in the rope work, the bondage, the wooden stocks and the pink briefcase of tickle tools Michael was now pulling out from underneath the bed …

The reality of his circumstance, taking place right here, right now …

A whole hour of constant foot tickling …

Logan gulped, repeating words he had repeated time and time again, words that he had no idea were repeated by other young men who had been in this very room with ticklers more experienced than Michael …

Words that always failed to reassure, no matter how confidently you tried to say them …

“… It’s only tickling … ” Logan whispered.

xii - ‘A Problem’

Logan lay on his back, his socked feet locked in stocks, his right hand strapped to the top right corner of the bed, his left hand strapped to the top left corner.

He lifted his head away from the pillow as Michael spun the laptop around so that it faced Logan.

“Is this the part where you tell me you’re not gonna torture me with tickling? You’re gonna torture me by forcing me to binge all three seasons of You …?”

Michael couldn’t help but chuckle, entertained and also surprised by Logan’s attempt to make light of the situation, considering the circumstance.

“All of Bridgerton, actually,” Michael bantered back.

Logan smirked.

He could see his reflection in the laptops screen, a screen that now presented a paused interview of he and some cast mates filmed some years ago.

“Wait, that’s, that’s me duri—”

Michael placed his index finger over his own hips.

“—Shhh …”

He then tapped the space bar.

Logan blinked quietly as he laid his head back down over the pillow.

Michael closed the laptop and then neatly placed his selection of tickle tools, in order, over the carpet, changing his voice into a caramel tone as he did his best to impersonate Logan.

“… All over … All over … ” he held a pretend microphone under his mouth, “ … It really doesn’t matter where you touch me, it’s all ticklish … It’s uh … It’s a problem …” he grinned, kneeling down at the stocks so that Logan’s stocked and socked soles sat just inches away from his face, “… You referred to your level of ticklishness as a problem, to the press, on camera, brother. How do you feel about that?”

Logan stared up at the ceiling, his eyes having no choice but to take in the details of the sparkling chandelier hanging metres above his head.

“All that video does is remind me how fucking obsessed they all are. Everyone in this building needs to learn to just masturbate over stuff online, like normal people,” Logan chuckled in disbelief, “It’s fucking crazy …There must be a tonne of tickle content online! Why me? Why like this!”

Michael sat admiring Logan’s socked soles, their near-perfect size ten shape ready for the taking, locked and trapped, entirely prepared to be explored for the next sixty minutes.

“Aw, whining already,” Michael shuffled forwards in his knelt position and placed his right little finger against the sole of Logan’s left foot, “You know something? What’s fucking crazy is just how much of a problem this is gonna be for you,” Logan’s feet thrashed across each other suddenly, his right blocking the sole of his left as Michael actioned a very, very gentle scratch with his little finger, “You admitted it yourself. How incredible, man? The only way you could describe your ticklishness is by referring to it as a ‘problem’, and now … I get to exploit that problem for a full damn hour. Fuck, a full damn hour! This is so hot …” Michael actioned another gentle scratch to Logan’s right sole, where Logan once again tried to block off the attack, this time by swiftly swapping the positioning of his feet; his left foot now blocking his right sole, even catching Michael’s little finger unexpectedly and successfully, without trying.

Michael tickled his little finger free by scratching at the sole of Logan’s left foot, causing both of Logan’s feet to twist and writhe in the form of fierce jolts, the stocks shaking, the bed wobbling …

Michael hid some laughter with the back of his hand as his iPhone vibrated in his pocket.

All ten of Logan’s toes curled into a defensive scrunch as Michael picked out his iPhone and checked a few recent messages.

Evans: Seb and Hemsworth cornered. Have fun with Logan, buddy. I’m fucking jealous! 🔥 P.S. Welcome to the howf xoxo

Michael smiled and pocketed his phone, deciding to keep his update regarding Seb and Hemsworth to himself.

“Okay,” Michael breathed in slowly, calming down his excitement, “Lemme ask you. When was the last time you had your feet tickled, brother? I mean, really, really tickled. Not like this …” Michael scratched his index finger over Logan’s left heel, again, ever so gently, causing Logan’s foot to twist, “… More like this …” suddenly Michael took all ten of his fingers and unapologetically scratched them across both of Logan’s soles, causing Logan’s feet to wriggle and writhe beneath Michael’s touch, his toes flexing and scrunching, his right foot blocking his left, his left foot blocking his right, his right foot blocking his left once again …

Logan arched his back and widened his eyes, a second giggle leaving his lips in the form of exasperated, flustered breath, before he chose to press his lips shut and contain the laughter, his torso falling against the mattress in a heavy bounce as Michael’s fingers left his socked soles.

Logan peered over his chest, unable to see what was taking place on the other side of the stocks due to their shape and size; his own two feet purposefully and entirely hidden from him …

“—Fuck—” Logan curled his fingers around his wrist restraints, “—You, you fuck …”

Michael moved in closer to Logan’s soles, manoeuvring his head so that his mouth arrived underneath Logan’s right heel.

“Answer the question, brother,” Michael opened his mouth and bit down gently over Logan’s heel, scraping the socked expanse with his teeth in a gentle, playful nibble.

Logan’s mouth stretched open and his eyes bulged out of his head, his eyebrows lifting so high and hard that his forehead creased, his entire body throwing itself forward, his arms yanked back by their bondage, a loud and breathy huff bursting out of his mouth …

Michael continued to nibble, Logan’s right foot twisting from side to side as his left foot stretched over towards his right heel in a desperate attempt to nudge Michael’s teeth away.

“GAH! AGH! JEE, JEEZUS—” Logan’s eyes began to water, his heel never nibbled on by teeth before, this new level of exploration introducing him to a hyper sensitive sensation he had no idea how to handle, “—I, I’ve never had my feet tickled like this!” He admitted, “I, I don’t let anyone touch them, let alone tickle them, for christ’s sake!” Logan explained, his body bouncing over the bedsheets as Michael continued to scrape his teeth over Logan’s socked heel, “Maybe a, a pedicure my girlfriend forced me into, fuck, I, I don’t know!”

Michael kissed Logan’s right heel and then stopped nibbling on his foot.

“She forced you into a pedicure?”

Logan, panting and now protecting both soles by crossing his feet over each other once again, nodded quickly.

“She, she loves it when I do shit like that with her,” he huffed, “I, I hate it because, because I’m, be, because my feet are so, so, so—”

“—So damn ticklish?” Michael licked his lips and then held onto Logan’s right sock, “One hundred percent more ticklish than my own, man, the most ticklish feet I’ve ever touched, that’s for sure, but, then again, I haven’t touched that many, I’m new to all this, in case you hadn’t noticed …” Michael began to pull off Logan’s sock, tugging on it once, twice, until Logan’s creamy white heel was revealed.

Logan threw his head forward.

“No, man, c, come on, don’t, don’t take off my socks, not yet, dude, it’s too soon, can’t you, can’t you keep them on a little longer? Go back to the nibbling, or, or show that video again, re, replay it so we can talk about it more—”

Logan winced as he felt his sock peel away from his foot, his sole revealing itself inch by inch as Michael gradually rolled the thick white cotton closer towards Logan’s toes where the sock eventually left Logan’s foot entirely, leaving it bare, naked with all five toes curling into another defensive scrunch.

“—Damnit—” Logan hissed.

Michael’s mouth fell open as he screwed Logan’s sock into a ball.

“Holy shit, brother. You’ve got some pretty feet. Soft lookin’, too …” Michael couldn’t help but brush his fingertips over Logan’s now sockless right sole, the thirty one year old actor jolting so violently across the mattress that the entire bed shook with his reactive strength, “Man alive, Logan! I’m just brushing my fingers over your foot, and you’re going crazy! This is what Miller must’ve been referring to when he said about lightning in a bottle …”

Logan bit his lower lip and closed his eyes, his left socked foot stretching over to hide his right bare sole, concealing the ticklish flesh from Michael’s fingertips.

“Lightning in a b, bottle?” Logan wished he hadn’t asked his question with such a quiver to his voice.

Michael pulled apart Logan’s feet, focusing on removing his left sock by gathering the material around his left heel.

“His exact words were; lightning in a bottle, otherwise known as a ticklee, reaction or level of ticklishness unlike any other …” Michael started to peel Logan’s sock further up his foot, “I guess it basically means, something pretty fucking special …”

Logan used the toes of his right foot to try and catch the sock of his left foot as it began its departure, their long shape flexing, his ankles doing their best to force the muscles in his feet to work the hardest they possibly could, but despite his efforts Michael still successfully yanked the sock off of Logan’s foot, even if he did have to grunt and pull with a bit more gusto than expected.

Logan’s feet slowly rubbed against each other, the toes of his right brushing against the side of his left foot, his left toes then brushing across the side of his right, his bare soles exposed, silky smooth, locked together inches away from Michaels face.

Logan groaned into his shoulder, unable to see his feet, totally able to feel Michael’s breath against them.

“Oh, oh god,” Logan began to prepare himself, “Oh my god, okay, fuck, this is gonna be hell,” he spoke quickly, in a manic babble, “Oh shit, what am I gonna do, what the fuck, what the fuck am I gonna do,” he thought back to his brief time hog tied on his own bed, under the pretence he would just be filmed struggling in his bonds, unaware that the masked stranger he had let into his house would be tickling him with an electric toothbrush, “Ho, holy shit …Ho, holy shit …” he remembered the buzzing of the device, the spin of the bristles, the way the tip of the toothbrush had landed against his big toe, “… Fuck, Mi, Michael, not my feet, not my bare feet,” he recalled how high he jumped, how much of an unbearable sensation it had caused within him, how much he had begged for it to not happen …

… He thought back to how relieved he was when the masked stranger had to stop.

… All thanks to Sebastian.

Logan gasped, scrunching up his toes, keeping his feet stiffly still as Michael began to caress them with his fingertips.

Now there would be no stalling, no convenient situation to pause his torture, no delay …

His bare feet would be tickled right now, non stop, for a undeniably tormenting fifty three minutes, and there would be nothing he could do about it.

“Okay, Logan, you ready, brother? You’re feet are about to get it …”

Michael started by exchanging the caress with a scratch, his five fingers working their way across Logan’s right sole without warning.

Logan had held back on laughing, containing his reactions behind closed lips, mostly huffing, cursing and panting up until this point, but Michael’s fingertips and their relentless dance caused Logan to burst out into laughter, as if reacting to a hilarious joke or funny moment on television.

“GAH! AGH! AH-HAH—”

He pressed his lips shut, “—MNN—” his eyes widening, his arms pulling at the restraints around his wrists as he tried to knock Michael’s touch away with his left foot.

Suddenly, Michael’s fingernails slid over an exceptionally sensitive part in the middle of Logan’s left foot, an area that was a surprise to Logan, in regards to its insane level of ticklishness.

“GAH—FUCK—SHIT—” Logan expelled something he had never expelled before; a deep, uncontrollable cackle, a sound he had never created in his life, up until this moment …

Michael grinned, his fingernails now dragging across Logan’s buttery, creamy white soles as he realised that he was now in control of not only tickling Logan’s feet till he quite simply couldn’t take it anymore, but also introducing Logan to spots on his toes and soles that he himself had no idea were even ticklish, mostly because he’d never allowed anyone to handle his feet this way before …

Logan’s cackles turned into deep, breathless giggles, his head peeling away from the pillow, his eyes taking in a slab of wood, his legs disappearing into two holes; what was happening to his feet on the other side of the stocks hidden from him, a form of torture in itself.

Logan’s face boiled red as a layer of sweat developed over his forehead, all ten of Michael’s fingers now scratching over his soles from toe to heel, heel to toe, toe to heel, their rhythm non stop and persistent …

Logan pulled forwards with undeniable strength, the straps keeping his wrists at each corner, the muscles of his arms straining, his shoulders bulging, the bed shifting in a fierce wobble …

Logan’s creased expression relaxed as he took at least one second to attempt to ignore the tickling, his face falling blank, his eyes blinking in focus …

But a second was all it took for Logan to realise he couldn’t handle this, not at all, not even if he really, really tried …

“—ohmygod—” he muttered, his shins and calves aching by just how much he was moving his feet around; no matter how much Logan twisted his feet over each other, Michael still found a portion of landscape to explore, whether it was his arch, beneath his toes, his heel or the sides of his soles; Logan’s feet were never without their torment, always exploited, always tickled, always touched, even if Logan had now started to beg in the form of determined, uncontrollable growls.

“Fuck, man, alright—” Logan began to shuffle over the mattress, his eyes burning up to his left wrist restraint as he tried to pull his arm free, “Alright, that’s enough, fuck I can’t take it—alright, enough, come on, man—Michael, dude — mnnn!—brother, enough, give me a break, give me a damn break, fuck, I can’t — mnn — I can’t take this, man! This is way worse than I thought, way, way worse than I thought! Please, man, come on! Let me breathe, you, you gotta let me breathe— GAH! AGH! AH-HAH! AGHAH! AGH! NO! NO! NO—”

“—A break? We’ve only just started, Logan,” Michael chuckled, using one hand to hold Logan’s right foot in place whilst his other hand tickled Logan’s right sole, “Fuck, you’ve got some soft-ass soles, mother fucker! No wonder you’re so damn ticklish, no wonder you tried your hardest to stop this from happening! I don’t blame you!”

Logan smacked his head against the pillow once, twice, three times, four times, five times, his hair littering his face, his giggles transforming into grainy bellows as he laughed into the ceiling, his face distorted into a fierce crease, saliva bubbling at the corners of his mouth, his left foot pressing and nudging and thwacking at Michael’s grip in a desperate attempt to stop him from tickling his right foot.

“Seriously! Seriously? Come on! Aghh damn, fuck, shit, hey, hey, HEY, how, how about, I, I pay you to stop! Whatever they’re giving you—” Logan heaved in more air, unable to speak for a moment, the laughter taking over his voice, his eyes squeezing shut, his legs kicking madly, “—I’ll, I’ll, I’ll—” more laughter, more strained giggles, more yanks at his wrist restraints, “—I’ll double it! Just give me back my dogs, take, take my money, an, an, and let me go! Come on! Please! Please? Please! Fuck, I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe—” Logan arched his back and yelled out into Room Number Seven, “—JUST LET ME FUCKING GO! …”

Michael suddenly stopped tickling Logan.

Logan, panting and already exhausted, lay in promise, his head peering over his chest once again.

A beat of silence filled the room.

…

…

…

“Ye, yeah?” Logan sniffed, “You, you gonna take the offer?”

xiii - ‘The Middle Toe’

Michael poked his head from around the stocks, offering Logan a playful wink.

“No way, man! No money in the world could stop me from doing this. Feet as ticklish as yours? Nawwww. This is too much fun. I’ve never tickled anyone like this before! It’s hot. Your soles are all mine, brother … ”

Logan’s weight sank into the mattress as he slowly closed his eyes.

“… Shhhhhhit … ” he whispered under his breath, his moment of despair shoved aside as he felt an insane level of sharpness around his left big toe, “AGH!” Logan threw his torso forward, the bed wobbling with his strength, “What the, what the fuck is that?”

“Your feet are moving around too much,” Michael began to pin Logan’s left big toe to the stocks with a length of white string, “I need them fixed still …”

Logan shook his head, “You need them fixed what? What the fuck? Man, seriously! I, I need to move, the movement is, it’s, it’s helping me get through this, co, come on, Michael, please, please? Anything but this. Don’t tie back my toes! Come on, man! You, you said you, you were my friend, Michael, don’t do this, don’t do that, give me, give, give me my movement at least — NO —” Logan felt another length of string loop around his index toe, “—SHIT, holy, holy shit—listen to me, Michael, Michael, listen to me, come on! Fuck, not my toes, not, not all of my toes—” Logan winced as a third loop of string arrived at his left middle toe, “—FUCK—no, Mi, Michael, get the fuck outta there! Hey! Hey! Don’t slid the string between them like that! It’s fucking sensitive, man! Get outta there! Get the fuck outta there! Aghhhh alright? Alright? Alright! Shit, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Logan twisted his left foot as much as he could, wriggling it from side to side until, quite suddenly, he couldn’t wiggle it anymore …

Logan lay in panic, his left foot pinned into place, his entire sole stretched out and forced into position.

Michael brushed his fingertips over Logan’s left sole, to check out his string-work.

Logan gasped, his left foot twisting under Michael’s touch, its shape and stricture only able to budge a centimetre or so to the left or to the right, the string squeaking as he tried to move his foot.

“Perfect,” Michael grinned, now looping string around Logan’s right big toe, “Absolutely fucking perfect.”

Logan let out a steady, “Graaaaaaaaghhh!” his mind struggling to deal with his current situation, his feet never bound in such a way in all his life, his heart beat pounding beneath his chest, his palms moist with perspiration, his right index toe, middle toe, second to last toe all pinned back by string, the slide and glide of the thin, white material as it hooped around each toe causing Logan to kick his right leg and flare his nostrils, more strained giggles leaving his throat as he kept his chin pressed against his collarbone, “God … damnit! Fuck, fuck, alright, okay, enough with the string, eee, eenough with the fucking string, you fuck, you fuck, you’re such a fuck!” Logan’s head fell against the pillow as soon as Michael stopped toying with his toes, both of his feet now pinned back, his stretched out silky soles staring Michael right in the face.

Michael checked his watch.

“Forty five minutes left. That’s a pretty long time to have your feet oiled and tickled by, what they say, are two of the most intense tickle tools to select …”

Logan peeled his head away from the pillow, directing his worried gaze down at the stocks.

“Michael, please, I’m, I’m being serious, if, if you’ve chosen a damn hairbrush, put the fucking thing back, not that, not that, man, come on, anything but the brush, man … That’s not, that’s not cool, man, you, you don’t have to use the hairbrush … Be a friend, okay? Be a friend and choose to not use the hairbrush …”

Click!

Bzzzzzzzzzzzz …

Logan jolted.

“Fuck!” He huffed.

“I’m not gonna use the hairbrush …” Michael bit his upper lip, aiming an electric toothbrush at Logan’s right sole, “ … Yet …” he then pressed the electric toothbrush against Logan’s right big toe, “I’m gonna carry on where the original guy left off … On this bad boy right here …”

Logan clenched his teeth and buried the back of his head into the pillow, his eyes widening as they stared, unblinking, up at the chandelier above.

“Oh, oh god—” his bulging eyes suddenly squeezed shut as he grinned manically, all pearly white teeth on show, his back arching up so high that a person could comfortably lay in the gap between his spine and the mattress, his weight causing the bed to creak and wobble as soon as his body slammed back down over the bedsheets, “— OH FUCK—” Logan giggled so hard that exhaustion had started to bubble out of the sides of his mouth and out of each of his nostrils, his head stretching to the right as he tried to peer around the stocks, “—NO, you’re n, n, n, n, nehehehe-ehehehe-ehehehe-eheheehe-ehehehet-ehehehe—” Logan heaved in air, “—heeeeeaaaaave—noahaahah-ahaahhaaha-ahahaahaha-ahahahht doo doo ooo ooo ooing each toahahahahhahahahahahahahaehehehehe one by one are yooohooohohoohohohooohohoooo—”

“—Yup,” Michael confirmed as he took the electric toothbrush across to Logan’s right index toe, “I’m going each toe, one by one …”

Logan heaved in again, this time expelling a high pitched, grainy, “—NO! NO! NOOOOOOO! …” the silky long, pinned back shape of Logan’s right index toe now victim to the electric toothbrush as it slowly buzzed and pressed all over the column-shaped length, starting at the base and then working its way up to the toe-pad, where it moved in a circular motion over the bulbous, pink chunk of flesh, causing Logan to giggle so hard that he struggled to breathe, his begging and pleading for this to stop now leaving his dribble stained mouth in a flow of senseless babble that sounded like a mixture of hearty, relentless laughter mixed with a keen attempt at getting his point across.

However, it was when Michael moved to the space between Logan’s index toe and his middle toe did Logan really begin to struggle.

Michael raised his eyebrows as the noises from Logan’s mouth began to sound louder, more high pitched, a new level of desperate; a suddenly simple yet explosive, “—NO!—” leaving Logan’s mouth, informing Michael that he had landed on a sweet spot, maybe the most ticklish area of Logan’s right foot so far.

“Oooh, jackpot,” Michael whispered, mostly to himself, but loud enough so that Logan could hear the taunting, “Yeah, this is gonna drive you absolutely fucking wild …” Michael narrowed his eyes in focus as he ran the electric toothbrush against the delicate between of Logan’s index and middle toe, the vibrating bristles of plastic whizzing over flesh so silky soft that Michael could practically see his own reflection in the skin.

Logan clamped his chin down over his chest as he scowled towards the stocks, his body forcing out the laughter and the hysteria so that he could take in a large chunk of breath and then expel his madness in the form of the word ‘please’ said on repeat, non stop, until Logan had to take a breath again.

“… Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease—” heave “—Ican’tdothetoes—” heave “—oh god pleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasenottherenotthattoenotthattoeIcan’ttakeitmanpleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease—” heave “—ohmygodpleassepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseIcan’tbreatheIcan’tbreatheIcan’tbreathe—”

Michael paused for a moment, allowing Logan to refill his lungs with air, the young actor’s face now so red with strain that his eyes were glazed over, his lips swollen, his thick curls of brown hair littering his forehead.

Logan huffed and puffed, his chest lifting and dropping, his toes wiggling within their bondage, Logan’s middle toe and its toe pad still unbearably itchy from the toothbrushes presence …

He sighed heavily, a euphoric expression masked from chin to forehead that suggested this was the worst feeling of his life, and the best feeling of his life, all blended into one overwhelming sensory overload that he loathed and loved all at once.

Michael reached into his pocket and pulled out some gum.

He unwrapped a pink slither of edible rubber and threw it into his mouth, chewing down as soon as it hit his tongue.

“That middle toe,” Michael kept the electric toothbrush buzzing in his grasp as Logan continued to breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out, “I’m gonna let The House know that’s where they should start, next time …”

Logan laid his head back over the pillow, closing his eyes, seeing colours and shapes within the darkness.

“There …” huff “… wont …” huff “… be …” huff “… a next time …” Logan panted.

Michael chewed on his gum.

“I’m sorry, brother, I, I gotta make the most of this damn toe …”

Logan threw his torso forward, the bed jolting beneath his weight.

“—MICHAEL, NO—” he warned, “—Come on, man! That’s, that’s fucking sadistic! You’re being fucking sadistic! En, en, enough with the damn toes, come on!” Logan shifted his eyes to the clock on the wall, where he briefly tried to figure out how long was left, his attention snatched back to the stocks, “Don’t you fucking dare, Michael, come on, tickle, tickle another part of my damn feet, or, or, I, I, I swear to god, I’ll, I’ll, I’ll—”

Michael picked a bottle of baby oil out from the briefcase.

“Or you’ll do what?” He poured a generous puddle into his palm and then blew a large bubble out from between his lips …

“… What you gonna do, mother fucker?”

POP!

xiv - ‘Trance’

Logan hissed as Michael tipped his hand over Logan’s right sole, his fingertips pressing the shimmering liquid into the creamy landscape, his thumb and index finger returning to Logan’s middle toe where he then began to scratch and tickle the liquid into one of Logan’s most ticklish spots.

“MICHAEL, NO!” Logan repeated, his right foot twisting as much as it could within the stocks, the string keeping Logan’s toes fiercely in place, “NOT THERE, NOT THERE, PLEASE, PLEASE, OH, OH, OH! OH! OH! OH!” Logan’s eyes widened as his mind came to the realisation that this was happening, that toe, that fucking ticklish as fuck toe would now be victim to Michael’s fingernails as they scribbled and scratched up its hyper sensitive length and structure; its shape, its base, its pad all worked over by Michael’s merciless touch, causing Logan to continue to come to terms with his predicament, more, “OH! OH! OH! OH? OH. OH. OHOHOHOHOH! OH? OH! OH’s!” leaving his mouth, before he tumbled into more breathless laughter and strained giggles, his entire body thrashing and bouncing over the bedsheets as the very thing he willed to never happen to the bottoms of his feet, all ten of his toes, happening right before him, in this lavish bedroom, within this giant mansion in the hill tops of Los Angeles.

Michael took things up a notch, if that were even possible, by using his right hand to scribble all over Logan’s left foot, now tickling both of Logan’s feet at the same time; scratching at his right middle toe, Michael’s most ticklish discovery so far, whilst devouring the sole of Logan’s left foot, his fingernails and their travel journeying from toe to heel, heel to toe, toe to heel …

Logan now howled out his hysteria; it started quite suddenly, a scream that reached the chandelier within seconds, to then transform into extremely loud and borderline manic laughter that sounded, at its core, like mindless joy, but if you were to take a look at Logan’s face you’d see nothing but pure terror in the form of a wide, open mouth, a thick, muscular throat and eyes so open, so filled with lunacy, you’d not be blamed for thinking they were about to pop out of the thirty one year olds head …

Seeing Logan like that, in that very moment, showcasing an expression that laboured, it proved to Michael that Logan really was just as ticklish as he feared, if not more ticklish than he dared to admit; the poor guy had tried so hard to keep it contained, hidden, a circumstance like this avoided successfully up until now, however he had well and truly failed, his current situation proof of that, as he bounced and bucked over the bedsheets with such force that one of his balls had popped out of his boxer shorts, something Logan was fully aware of but no longer cared about due to the level of tickling taking place at the bottoms of his feet …

There were even points where Logan threw his head over his chest and offered Michael such a furious glare that Michael, for a split second and a split second only, felt slightly intimidated.

The buzzing over the carpet reminded Michael that he still had his electric toothbrush, and that two other factors were still to be considered; one, to make sure there is enough battery left to ensure the bristles spin with enough speed their impact over Logan’s toes would still be effective and two, that Michael still had seven more toes to explore …

Michael picked up the toothbrush and journeyed it to Logan’s right foot, this time leaving that hyper-ticklish middle toe and working its brother beside it; Logan’s second to last toe.

Logan, unable to speak or formulate words since the thirty seventh minute, could only huff, hiss, spit and pant as he felt the electric toothbrush land on his second to last digit, the vibrating bristles whizzing across its length suddenly and unapologetically.

Within his few seconds of relief, Logan was able to lick some saliva away from his lower lip and rub an itch away from his nose by pressing his face against his left shoulder, but as soon as the tip of that electric toothbrush returned to Logan’s right foot, the lunacy and the need to expel such hysteria became commonplace within Logan’s chest once again; it filled his throat, his mouth, his lips and it came from the very depths of his tummy, the very core of his being, with such strength that it caused his stomach to glisten with perspiration, his soles now glimmering with sweat, which of course helped with the sensitivity due to how quickly it mixed with the baby oil Michael had applied to Logan’s right foot.

Hearing Logan’s laughter, that short ‘heave’, the groaned intake of breath, the fact he could no longer beg or plead because he was howling so non stop, so loudly, the smell of his sweat, the sight of his soles twisting and writhing, unable to move thanks to the string pinning back all ten toes, the squeaking noise the string made with every squirm of his right foot, with every squirm of his left foot, the silky shape of his heels, the way each toe vibrated under the whiz of the electric toothbrush, the bed wobbling and creaking from side to side, the fact that Logan had bounced on the spot so much, so non stop, just because spinning, rotating bristles of plastic were now staying over his right second to last toe and his right second to last toe only, that his boxer shorts had made their way up his waist, exposing his flaccid cock and large chunky balls … All of it, every single fucking bit of it hypnotised Michael into a ruthless, savage trance where all he cared about was tickling Logan until he just couldn’t take it anymore.

He couldn’t take it five minutes in, Michael thought.

You broke him as soon as you peeled his socks away from his feet.

Michael was wrong.

Logan broke as soon as the mere suggestion of being tickled took place in his own apartment, when an electric toothbrush landed against his big toe almost a week ago.

Since then, that avoidance, that desperate attempt to change the narrative, to distract, to point every damn thing in a different direction now led to this very a moment; Logan’s Desperation …

Michael blinked himself out of his daze, the electric toothbrush buzzing to a stop as he sat back and allowed his jaw to drop.

Unable to speak himself, he turned slowly to the briefcase and began to comb through the selection of tools.

Logan’s eyes rolled to the back of his head as he lay panting, his chest lifting and dropping quickly, his stomach bobbing as he curled his fingers around his wrist restraints.

He had lost track of time, he had no idea how long was left, or how long he had been taking this …

Disbelief, shock, confusion and bewilderment filled his mind, his feet never tickled like that before, all ten of his toes itching from the buzz of the toothbrush, a dire torment in its own right …

Logan swallowed down concern as he felt more splashes of baby oil land over his soles.

His feet twitched within the toe string as the lash of liquid trickled down the bottoms of his feet, soaking the silky landscape where it would fall off his heels in the form of sparkling drops.

Logan no longer begged; he owned his situation confidently, he reminded himself that he had to get through this to get what he wanted, no matter how ticklish he was, no matter how much he wanted to plead, bargain, and hustle for it to end …

POP!

Logan threw his upper body forwards, his wrist restraints yanking him back down, a fierce gasp leaving his lips as Michael’s teeth arrived at his left heel where it nibbled over the chunky shape of flesh non stop, Michael’s sharp gnashers scraping and gliding over Logan’s heel with relentless force, causing Logan to continue to throw his torso upward, his eyes squeezing shut, his fists curling into balls, his jaw opening so wide that his neck nearly went into cramp.

Laughter exploded out of Logan, the force of his howls so powerful, the noise so arousing that it had gathered the attention of seven masked henchman, who all gathered on the other side of the locked door, where they listened to Logan scream and shriek as Michael nibbled on his left heel.

The fact that neither Logan or Michael had exchanged words for over fifteen minutes would be blamed on the intensity of the session; Logan physically couldn’t talk and Michael didn’t see the point in engaging in conversation, quite simply because he didn’t want to; why try when the ticklee themselves can’t even answer? Michael could see Logan sometimes attempt to shape out words, but his face was too creased up with hysteria and his throat too filled up with insanity that Michael would often see Logan simply giving up …

Michael curled his hand around the handle of a hairbrush.

He tasted Logan’s heel with his tongue; a mixture of baby oil, skin and sweat …

Where he then did the unthinkable …

He threw the hairbrush over Logan’s right sole whilst taking his nibbling teeth away from Logan’s heel, over to his middle toe, where he sucked and chewed on Logan’s most ticklish spot, whilst scrubbing his soles with the brush, causing Logan to provide a gut-wrenching cry of laughter the likes The House of White Feathers had never heard before …

xv - ‘Gasp’

With only one minute left till the hour was up, Michael decided to get to his feet and step away from Logan, where he took in the sight of his first ever ticklee, laid on the bed, panting and wheezing, his soles tickled so relentlessly that he could now barely open his eyes.

Michael acknowledged a look of complete, dumfounded confusion wash over Logan’s face as he struggled to catch his breath; his taunt, glistening body and bewildered frown suggesting that the past hour might’ve been one of the most physically intense hours of his life and that, he quite possibly, could have highly mistaken his own levels of ticklishness; Logan’s screams and anguished laughter, his statement mid way, ‘This is way worse that I thought! Way, way worse than I thought!’ adding as evidence to Michael’s theory that sure, Logan knew he was extremely ticklish, but not that ticklish, and if he had understood that about himself, he might not of signed the contract in the first place …

Logan, who had always kept one eye on the clock throughout his session, clicked his fingers and peeled his head away from the pillow, licking dry lips, his voice coarse and grainy.

“Come on,” he sniffed, “Lemme out,” he ordered, “We’ve done the hour,” he coughed, “Lemme out,” he repeated, “Lemme, lemme out …”

Michael knelt down by the camera and hovered his finger over the button that would stop the recording …

Despite the arrangement, the masked men hadn’t returned to assist Michael in transporting Logan to the next room …

For now, whilst he waited, Michael could still have some fun …

Michael spat his gum out onto the carpet, rubbed his palms together and made his way back to Logan’s feet.

“Whatever happened to you, man? To fear being tickled, the way you do?” Michael got back to his knees, Logan’s oily soles once again just inches away from his face, “I mean, I get it, your ticklish as fuck, a guy like you isn’t gonna wanna stand something like this for too long … But, to dread it so much before hand? To allow a physical weapon into the fold, to stop it from happening? What went on, brother? You got some childhood trauma you wanna share?”

Logan’s toes scrunched up within their string-like bondage as he readied himself for Michael’s fingernails to land over his soles; he even squeezed his eyes shut and bit his lower lip, a breathless giggle leaving his lips as he found himself holding back on calling Michael an extreme name that he had never used before in his life, a name that began with C and ended with T …

“Don’t, don’t fuck with me man,” Logan warned, “It’s been an hour,” he opened his eyes and scowled at the chandelier above, “Don’t, don’t you fucking touch my feet, man, not anymore, we’re, we’re done …” Logan intentionally made his voice deep and commanding, however his tied position reminded him that Michael could do whatever he wanted, a fact that made Logan’s stern tone crumble into a girlish whine, “… Man, come on! You’ve had your fun, dude! Please! You’ve, you’ve fucking tickled them for so long, Michael, I, I seriously can’t take anymore!” Logan winced as he felt Michael remove the string containing his left pinkie, “NO, Michael, fuck, leave them alone!” He wiggled his left foot as he felt Michael remove the string containing his second to last toe, and then he began to chuckle and groan, kick, punch and squirm as Michael started to remove the string containing his most ticklish spot; his middle toe, a toe he could not bare to have poked, prodded, stroked, rubbed, sucked on or scratched for a second longer, “This, this is fucking driving me—” Logan took in a breath and then shouted out the words, “—FUCKING NUTS!—” at the top of his voice.

“—How did you know?” Michael continued his investigation, as he left Logan’s big toe pinned back by string, but continued to untie Logan’s right toes, starting with his right pinkie as he enjoyed the sight of Logan’s right foot twisting and writhing within the stocks, the hyper ticklish actor completely unable to cope with having his toes played with, even if it did only consist of Michael’s fingers gliding through their betweens in an attempt to remove the string, “In that clip I showed you, you said all of you is ticklish, it was a problem … How did you know?” Michael grinned as he heard Logan panting in panic, the more he took his time with removing each loop of string from Logan’s toes, “What happened to make you gain that knowledge, brother?”

Michael kept Logan’s right big toe pinned back, leaving both of Logan’s stocked feet still somewhat fixed into position, both of his big toes contained by white string, all remaining eight allowed to curl and scrunch as they tried to remove the itchiness currently tormenting them.

Logan peered over his chest as he awaited for Michael to free his big toes, but that didn’t seem to be happening anytime soon, causing Logan to raise his voice in concern.

“MICHAEL—” Logan kicked once, twice, three times, the bed wobbling under his weight, “UNTIE my FUCKING toes, you son of a bitch!” Once again, he provided a dominant delivery of his words, for them to suddenly cascade into a pathetic, beg-ish cry that showcased how truly done he was with having his feet tormented, “Pleeeee—eee, eee, eee, eee, eeese! Please, please, pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease, I swear I’ll do anything, whatever you want, just, just enough with the feet, it’s, it’s been an hour, it’s, it’s been a fucking hour, man, come on!” Logan bounced his head over the pillow, throwing a tantrum the longer his ankles were locked within the stocks, “Fuck—” he ran his tongue over the roof of his mouth as he giggled in dire disbelief, “—I, I can’t do another round of this shit, oh my god, no fucking way, I’m, I’m gonna lose my damn mind, fuck, can’t I just come back tomorrow? How about we do next week? Name a time, a, a place, I’ll be there! I sweat go god, I’ll be there! Holy shit, holy shit, holy shhhhh—”

—Logan jolted, his torso thrashing forwards as his eyes widened and a loud “—GAH!—” left his throat, as soon as he felt something pin-sharp arrive over the arch of his right foot, “—MICHAEL, NO—” Logan started to howl out laughter as that sharp sensation began to draw circles over his right sole, “—MICHAEL, NO! MICHAEL, NO! MICHAEL, NO!—” Logan began to scream out his hysterics as he thrashed about on the mattress, his giggles and high pitched, hearty shouts echoing out into the room the more he expelled bellows riddled with insanity, “—NO, MICHAEL, FUCK, COME ON, OH GOD, PLEASE, MICHAEL, NO, MICHAEL, NO, MICHAEL, NOOOOOOO—AGH—HAHAHAHAH—HAHAHAHA—AHAHAHAHAHA—AHAHAHAHAH—AHAHAHAHAHAAAAACHAEL NOOOAAAHHHHHAHAAHA—”

Logan was taken to another realm of lunacy as Michael used the sharp, nib like tip of the feather’s quill to drag and draw over Logan’s right sole, his eight string-free toes curling and clenching, his feet fixed still thanks to the ties containing his big toes, his soles shifting and squirming the best they could under the quill, leaving Michael to push his question one last time, “—What happened?—” before the feathers nib jumped unexpectedly from Logan’s right sole to his left, causing Logan’s left foot to twist on the feathers impact, another hearty, impassioned yell of madness hurtling itself out of Logan’s stomach, through his chest and out of his throat, where it was followed by more breathless giggles and more demanding calls to Michael in the form of, “—MICHAEL, NO, MICHAEL, NO, MICHAEL, NO—” the tick, tick, tick of the clock reminding Logan that they had gone past the hour, which meant that rules had been thrown at the window and, much to his distress, quite literally anything could happen if time restrictions were not to be taken seriously …

“What … Happened?” Michael asked again.

Logan’s answer took place in the form of screaming shrieks, “Okay, okay, okay, okay, okayokayokayokayokayokay!—” he cried, the word, “—EIGHTEEN!—” arriving first, following by some constant laughter where he had to focus to catch his breath before saying the next word, “—BUNCH OF FRIENDS—” he spat, his giggling and the speed in which it left his mouth increasing by every second, the closer Michael dragged the nib towards his middle toe, “—THEY TICKLED ME TILL I—” Logan heaved in and out, his mouth widening in shock as Michael started to tickle his middle toe with the nib, scratching away at the base before sending it up the fleshy length, the length able to curl and flex, but completely unable to escape Michael entirely, “—I, I, I PEED MY PANTS—” Logan admitted, his legs kicking so hard the stocks had started to loosen in their tied-to-the-bed position, the rope giving way slightly after all of the many thrashes and jolts Logan’s knees and thighs had to offer over the past sixty seven minutes, “—I PISSED MYSELF ALRIGHT—” Logan glared at the clock, “—I, I PISSED MYSELF, MICHAEL, IT’S BEEN AN HOUR COME ON I’MGONNAPASSTHEFUCKOUT—”

Michael slid the feathers nib away from Logan’s toe as the door clicked open and both masked men returned.

He massaged Logan’s right sole, an act that still caused Logan to squirm, whilst translating his babbled answer into something he could understand himself.

“Wow, okay. Alright. So. At age eighteen, a group of friends tickled you so hard that you pissed yourself? Damn … ”

Michael’s touch was firm, empathetic, trusting …

Logan closed his eyes and tried to catch his breath, nodding quickly as relief consumed him; Michael’s massage still ticklish, but far better than the feathers nib, the hairbrush, the electric toothbrush or his fingernails …

… And this was only session one out of two …

“There … “ Logan huffed, his nostrils flaring, “… You, you happy now? I feel fucking stupid as fuck, telling you that shit, fuck …”

Michael rubbed Logan’s right foot as both masked men stood behind him, ready and waiting.

“You should learn from this,” Michael suggesting, the pads of his thumbs gliding over Logan’s arch, neatening out the cramps and knots contained within muscles that had twisted, writhed, twitched and flexed for too long, “The past hour was no doubt far more intense then some of your friends tickling you for what, five, ten minutes …?”

Logan felt his feet warm up under Michael’s touch, a gentle buzz present at the tips of all ten toes …

“It uh,” Logan swallowed, “It was only for two minutes, or, or so …”

Michael chuckled as he nudged the open briefcase towards the two masked men.

“Man, you pissed yourself after two minutes?” He shook his head, winking at his new colleagues, as they both hid their excitement behind their masks, knelt down and picked out a tickle tool of choice, each, their mischievous actions blocked from Logan by the large square shape of the stocks Logan’s ankles still sat secured in, “I guess that helps my point even more; if you can stand sixty nine minutes without pissing yourself, you’ve got nothing to fear … You can handle it …”

Logan lifted his head at the sound of fingers rustling through the briefcase, the presence of the two masked men who were once standing tall, now suddenly crouched out of sight …

“This … This was never gonna just be an hour, was it …” Logan scrunched all of his toes up, as tightly as he could, Michael’s massage leaving his soles, his feet now feeling more exposed than ever, their shape and vulnerability on display for what would no longer be just one tickler, not two, but three, all at the same time, “… You, you fuck—” Logan bent his knees, the stocks coming towards him by only an inch, his fists curling into balls, “—You absolute FUCKS—” Logan growled, his eyes widening, his teeth clenching together as he heard the buzz of an electric toothbrush return, its whizz arriving over his left middle toe, “—AGH! AGH, AGHAH! AGH-HAH! AGH-HAH! AGHH! AGHHH! AGHHHH!—” Logan’s screams tightened his throat as his eye balls increased in size and levels of whiteness, his fingers splaying out from their balled up clench as Michael’s teeth continued their nibble and bite over Logan’s right heel, their sharp, square structure scraping and biting down over Logan’s ultra ticklish flesh, “—ohmygod—” Logan wheezed, “—ohmygod—” he repeated, “—STOP! STOP! STOP!—” he begged, the generous and tormenting slide of dozens of plastic bristles landing across the sole of his left foot, now running across his arch, as one of the masked ticklers decided to make use of a hairbrush, “—GAH! GAH! AGHAHA! AGAHAHAH! AGAHAHA—OHGOD—OH GOHAHAHA-AHAHAHA-AAH! AHHH! AGHHH! AGHHH! AGHHHH! AGHHHH! AGHHHHHAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA—” Logan, now tickled by Michael and two masked men, each with their own tool and technique, could do nothing but howl, thrash and shout as every inch of his feet were tickled mercilessly, from the tips of his toes all the way down to his heels; they were nibbled and brushed, free hands scribbling and scratching, they twisted and squirmed, his right foot flexing away from the electric toothbrush against his middle toe with such strength that his left big toe popped free from its string, allowing Logan to try and use that foot to swipe away attacks or block his right sole, for it to only be tickled out of the way by more sudden and unexpected fingernails …

The ringing in Logan’s ears and the high arch of his back meant one thing and one thing only …

Logan had reached his ‘limit’ …

His moment of complete oblivion, his feet tickled in such a way that it made him question his physical ability in enduring this affliction, after such efforts to avoid it for so long; he recognised the instant he passed through the mind blowing nano second, he saw it as an out of body experience, his soul looking down on his situation as he protruded his chest and expelled laughter, giggles and screams into the chandelier above, his form almost convulsing in slow motion as he thrashed his arms and threw his body from left to right, the bed creaking and wobbling, pillows landing over the floor, the mattress squeaking under his bucks and bounces …

Michael nibbled over each heel, one masked tickler ran his electric toothbrush over the left middle to for five seconds, and then the right middle toe for five seconds, where he hopped the buzzing, vibrating wand back to the left, and so on, all whilst the second masked man scrubbed the hairbrush over the sides of Logan’s feet, which were just as exceptionally ticklish as the bottoms, the tops, the arches and the pads of each toe …

As Logan continued to laugh the hardest he had laughed yet, with only minimal, grainy heaves in-between each bellow to fill his lungs with air, the three ticklers behind the stocks worked on Logan’s feet as if his soles were purely made for this moment; designed as a hyper ticklish landscape that had no choice but to be explored and violated for this length of time because, if they were to be left, what a waste that would be? Feet as ticklish as Logan’s, bound and secured this way, existing only as two shapes that God himself had created to be on this Earth as quite possibly the most ticklish feet The House of White Feathers had ever dealt with, a canvas for tickle torture, every touch, stroke, bite, suck and brush producing the work of art that was Logan’s hysterical, thunderous, eye watering reaction …

Bzz—

A message landing in Michael’s iPhone forced his teeth away from Logan’s heels, as he patted both masked men on the back, reminding them to not get too carried away with the glistening, silky smooth perfection before them.

Both masked men removed their tools from Logan’s soles as Michael looked at his phones screen.

Evans: He’s ready for Logan.

Michael smirked, pocketing his phone as he peered around the stocks, catching sight of Logan’s exhausted, underwear-clad body as his chest lifted and dropped at a speedy rate, his tongue hanging out of his mouth, his cheeks a deep shade of pink, his eyes closed, his hair damp with sweat …

“We’re done, pretty boy,” Michael reassured, glancing up at the clock, “You did an extra thirty minutes. If it makes you feel any better …” Michael unpicked Logan’s right big toe from the string, both of his feet now free to flex and writhe in the air, “… They’re gonna wire you an additional thirty grand, for being such a sport …”

Logan, currently dealing with a burn in his lungs, also felt the comfort of his ankles being released as Michael unlocked the stocks, lifting the top half, allowing Logan to pull his feet free and stretch out his legs.

“I … I don’t …” Logan continued to pant, “… I don’t want your, your fucking moh, moh, money …”

Michael got to his feet as the masked men placed their tickle tools back inside the briefcase, closing its lid, locking it up, “You know something? I wanna say thank you, brother. I’ve never heard anyone laugh that much or scream that hard,” he approached Logan and began to un-cuff his left wrist, “You really are undeniably ticklish as hell,” he then moved around the bed and un-cuffed Logan’s right wrist, “I totally get why you were so keen to stop this from happening. Damn, I sure as hell would’ve done too, if I were as ticklish as you … What an experience, to witness you go through that. Hey, how was I? Did I do a good job? What was your worst part?”

Logan winced as he sat up, tucking one of his balls back into his boxer shorts as he wiped some sweat away from his lower lip.

“Oh! Oh, you did great, you fucking bitch,” Logan chuckled, purposefully not giving Michael the answers that he wanted, mostly because he felt like he didn’t deserve them, after putting him through such anguish, “Fuck, I’ve got cramp almost everywhere,” he tilted his head and then hooked his right foot over his left knee, massaging his own toes, rubbing his thumbs over his sole, “I fucking pity whoever you get your hands on next, man, fuck …”

Michael stood at the end of the bed and folded his arms across his chest, almost proudly, after hearing Logan’s brief review of his work.

“So, you ready for round two?”

Logan slid both palms over his face, dropped his head into his lap and then growled into his hands.

“Can you give me at least five minutes, you fuck? I’ve never had my feet tickled like that before,” Logan lifted his shoulders, using his hands to explain the craziness of the situation, flapping them about in the air dramatically, “I’ve never experienced anything like that before! Give me a, a fucking second, alright? To compartmentalise my fucking thoughts, for crying out—”

“—Get up,” Michael snapped.

Logan blinked.

He lifted his head and looked Michael directly in the eye.

“I’m not going to forget you going over the hour,” Logan spoke quietly, “You didn’t have to do that. That was a choice …”

Michael repeated himself.

“… Get up … ”

Logan paused.

He raised his eyebrows and then rubbed the back of his head.

He swung his feet off the bed and pressed his soles down over carpet.

He acknowledged the comfort of something so soft, so squishy against his feet, after an hour of constant sensory overload from toe to heel.

He then stood, arching his back into a stretch, turning to face Michael reluctantly.

Michael stepped aside and, as if welcoming someone politely through an open door, Michael presented the open tickle chair Logan had stepped out of over sixty minutes ago.

“Your chariot awaits … ” Michael smirked.

Logan adjusted the waistband of his underwear and walked towards the tickle chair.

He climbed back in, already lifting his arms to the stretched out pads either side, already laying his ankles onto the groves of the stock, suggesting that he might be keen to get this over with quicker than Michael dared to realise.

Both masked men positioned themselves at either side of the tickle chair, where they cuffed Logan’s wrists to each padded arm and then closed the stocks down over his ankles.

“Nice to see you again,” Logan smiled at the masked henchman to the right, “How you doing?” He asked the masked henchman to the left.

Michael tidied up some of Logan’s hair, removing some damp curls away from his face.

“Don’t make me gag you.”

Logan pressed his lips shut as he was wheeled out of the bedroom, his eyes taking in the stocks strapped to the bed, the Macbook, the briefcase full of tools, the scent of his own sweat and the puddle of baby oil now staining the carpet …

Moments and objects, smells and sights that made up one of the most intense experiences of his life.

He shuffled himself in his seat as he was wheeled down a long corridor, chandelier after chandelier passing by above …

Logan thought Michael was walking behind him as the masked henchmen strolled either side of the tickle chair, but Logan had no idea that Michael had actually stayed behind. 

“You’re one ruthless mother fucker, Michael … You were made for this shit, you asshole. I swear to god, when I get outta this I’m, I’m fucking lacing that fucking gum of yours with—” Logan shuffled in his seat, “—Michael? Michael? Michael!”

Logan curled his fingers around his wrist restraints in anticipation as he turned a corner, Michaels presence now completely removed, a tall set of double doors opening, a large room greeting him almost immediately as he was wheeled into an area that would be the setting for his second contracted round of tickle torment …

As the tickle chair wheeled to a stop and Logan’s bloodshot eyes fell onto the device he’d soon be strapped to, as well as the person who would be doing the tickling …

… All Logan could do was gasp.

LOGAN’S TICKLE TORTURE CONTINUES, AND THE STORY CONCLUDES IN PART FOUR

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