Black leather gloved hands folded white denim overalls inside a pink briefcase.
Stitched to the chest of the overall was a badge reading ‘Ticklee 006’.
The hands carefully laid out white socks, white pumps and a red ball gag over the folded up clothing and then they gently closed the briefcase.
The briefcase was then placed on top of another closed breifcase.
The Clown picked up the stack and held both breifcases close to his chest.
He strolled down one of many destroyed corridors within The House, walking over shards of glass, broken white oval masks and chunks of ceiling, taking stairs down to an elevator where he quietly made his way towards Sub Zero, whistling Lady Gaga’s Bad Romance to himself during his journey.
Once the elevator had arrived at a floor filled with darkness, The Clown narrowed his eyes behind his plastic mask and focused on three blindfolded men, each strapped to an individual tickle chair, their growls and grunts muffled by ball gags.
The men sat in their underwear only. They were dirty, scruffed up, two of them presenting random, tiny cut marks across their upper body, as if their strength had been met with glass.
The Clown laid a briefcase each, under two tickle chairs, leaving one tickle chair without a briefcase.
He stepped back.
And then, he removed his mask.
v.i - ‘Michael’
The alarm goes off.
The ten minutes are up.
I can see the relief wash over his face.
He didn’t even remove his gum.
He thought it would be over that quickly.
But …
He has no idea that they told me to go on for another thirty minutes …
‘Surprise tickling’, is what they called it.
Apparently there are genres of tickling, dozens of them, and I’m about to inflict one onto The Michael B Jordan.
A guy I’m a huge fan of.
A guy I’ve dreamed of working with.
A guy who now clearly hates me.
It’s alright, Michael.
Right now …
I hate myself too.
Michael growls hard when he realises my fingers aren’t going to leave his armpits anytime soon.
“LOGAN, FUCK! THE TIMER! IT’S BEEN TEN MINUTES, BROTHER! STOP!’
I don’t stop.
I keep going.
I’ve sat myself behind Michael’s shoulders, just like they suggested.
This way, I have full access to Michael’s underarms; his chest, neck, stomach and waist …
I’m straight, one hundred percent.
But I gotta say,
Michael is hot.
His body is insane.
Another level.
His skin glows, his abs shimmer, he’s a fucking giant.
And he let me tie him to his own bed, his feet locked in stocks I spent most of the morning installing myself.
I’ve bruised my thumb, thanks to a hammer …
There are screws and pages of instructions littering his bedroom floor.
The contract he signed is probably still wet with ink.
It didn’t take much to convince him.
They were right.
Money talks.
Apparently Creed III didn’t do so well at the box office.
And this apartment costs almost ten grand a month …
There’s that multiplied by ten inside the briefcase sitting in Michael’s kitchen …
The camera continues to record.
I continue to tickle.
Michael continues to beg.
He’s breathless, alarmed, confused by the fact that this isn’t ending.
“LOGAN, MAN, YOU BETTER STOP OR I’M GONNA WHOOP YOUR FUCKING ASS, YOU BETTER BELIEVE IT—”
Michael wants to threaten me more, I can tell, but the harder I tickle the more his giggles and laughter wash over his ability to speak.
He splutters and coughs, cackles and moans; he’s never been tickled like this before.
Of course he hasn’t!
Who has?
Who would seriously allow another guy to restrain them this way, put them through this kinda hell?
I won’t let it happen, no matter how much they throw at me.
I’ll get my dogs back.
Without being tickled.
I mean it.
I’m certain as fuck.
Mark my words.
Mark my mother fucking words.
Michael is now trying to pull his arms out of the restraints.
I hope I locked those cuffs tight enough.
I’ve never tied a guy up before.
Fuck.
I’ve never tied anyone up before!
His biceps are bulging, his fists clenched …
I wonder, for a moment, if he’ll actually break free.
The straps are squeaking, the rope shaking …
The bed wobbles so hard that I wobble along with it, my fingers now deep inside Michael’s moist underarms.
Man, this guy can pick up a sweat.
“You really would do anything to avoid getting tickled, wouldn’t you?”
His words echo through my mind.
“Anything. Literally anything.”
I couldn’t of sounded more pathetic if I tried.
I scratch my neck.
I gotta stop doing that.
It’s been fourteen minutes now.
For minutes past the contracted time.
I hope they enjoy this.
I feel awful.
The way he moves, the kicking and the shouting, he’s pretty damn alarmed.
I can sense the regret, the resentment, the shock.
Michael is twisting his head across my lap, his teeth snapping at my hands, my thighs, whatever he can get a hold of.
He almost catches one of my fingers with his teeth.
He really can’t stand this; he’s desperate, doing whatever he can to make me stop.
I turn my scratch into a stroke, my stroke into a rub, my rub into a firm massage.
“Okay, alright,” I whisper, “It’s okay, you’re okay …”
I pat his head.
Michael closes his eyes, his body sinking into the mattress as I slide out from under him.
“That wasn’t cool, brother,” he manages to say, licking his lips, “Why’d you go over? You get off on this shit too?…”
I remove my leather jacket and drop it over the armchair.
I pick up my iPhone and turn off the alarm.
Time doesn’t matter anymore.
“I’m just following orders, man …”
I make my way to his feet.
He peels his head away from the pillow.
“Yo, Logan, what the fuck are you doing?” He asks.
I kneel down by his right foot.
I curl my fingers around the heel of his running trainer.
“I’m just following orders,” I repeat, mostly reassuring myself over Michael.
Michael frowns, his feet twisting away from me, an impossible achievement considering they’re locked in stocks.
“Orders? Logan, Logan, look at me, man, what the fuck! Don’t do that, hey, yo, keep my shoes on, mother fucker!”
I tug at Michael’s trainer.
The camera continues to record.
Michael stretches his neck, his head aiming for his right wrist, his arm pulling inward.
He convinces himself he can bite his way out of this, however his teeth are too far away from his restraint.
He tries with the left cuff as I pull his trainer away from his foot, revealing a pristine white socked sole.
His toes clench, his body thrashing, laughter already leaving his mouth.
“No! Holy shit, what the fuck! Hoh, hoh, hoh, holy fuck, Logan, man, brother, not my, not my f, f, feet, don’t you dare touch my feet, don’t you dare touch my feet—”
I pinch the bridge of my nose.
I close my eyes.
Doing this to a guy as sweet as Michael isn’t easy.
I drop Michaels trainer on the floor.
I’m just following orders.
I’m just following orders.
I’m just following orders.
“I’m just following orders, man,” I repeat, almost in a trance.
I start to peel away Michael’s sock.
“Fuck your fucking orders!” Michael yells, his foot writhing from left to right as he tries to stop me from removing his sock, however such forceful movement only makes the removal happen far quicker …
The sock leaves Michaels’s foot, all five of his long toes curling in panic.
I surprise myself with my first thought.
Damn.
Michael has some beautiful looking feet.
They’re huge, almost the size of my forearm, his toes are wriggling like worms fresh out of the ground.
They’re level of ticklishness, unknown.
Until now.
That’s why I’m here.
That was part of the deal.
His proposal.
Michael begins to whine.
Something I didn’t expect from a guy his size.
As I crawl to his left foot, he throws his head over his chest and delivers his whimpering.
“Logan, buddy, please! I, I signed for ten minutes, brother! Ten minutes!” He’s chewing frantically on his gum, “Let me out, that’s enough! No, not my feet, not my, not my bare feet!”
I remove his left running trainer and start to take off his sock, the scent of his sweaty soles from his gym session earlier now filling the room, as well as my nostrils.
I pause, allowing Michael’s begging and confusion to fade into nothing as I stare down at the plastic, oval shaped mask laying on the carpet.
It stares at me, with its tiny eyes.
I look back at it.
I ask the mask …
‘Why did you make me do this?’
____________________________________
Andrew Garfield knelt down beside Logan’s left foot.
Logan’s eyes widened, he peered over his chest, he began to shake his head, his begging caught behind the ball gag.
“Mmmp! Mmnnph? Mnnngh. Grrgggmpphh! Grrnnnphh? Mmmnp! Mnnph—”
Andrew pinched the lace of Logan’s Converse and began to tug at it, a large grin spreading across his face.
“You really don’t want to get tickled, do you?”
The surrounding seven masked men chuckled.
Logan’s head continued to shake, his eyes never blinking, his cheeks boiling red, his arms and legs kicking in his bound, spread eagle position.
“Mmmp! Mmnnph? Mmnnph? Mnnngh. Grrgggmpphh! Grrgggmpphh! Grrnnnphh? Mmmnp! Mnnph—”
“You’re probably wondering how you got into this mess,” Andrew murmured, pulling the laces enough so that Logan’s Converse now loosened entirely, “You see, we’re used to people coming here and pretending to be someone they aren’t. Members dress up as clowns, they wear masks, they embrace identities kept private, until they unleash them on handsome, young, ticklish men like yourself … They pay to wear a costume. You? You just strolled on in here and raised a tonne of suspicion, didn’t you?”
Logan threw his head against the pillow as his worst nightmare became a reality; his Converse now sliding away from his foot, revealing a white socked sole and five squirming toes.
“Lerman,” Andrew threw the Converse over his shoulder, “We’re experts on movement. Body language is a top priority for our security team. They actually knew you weren’t Evans as soon as you stepped your pretty little feet past the main gate …”
Logan squeezed his eyes shut, breathing through flared nostrils, sweat developing over his forehead.
“Mmmp! Mmnnph? Mmnnph? Mnnngh—”
“You thought you could just walk in here and what? Find your dogs eating leftovers in the kitchen?” Andrew placed an index finger against Logan’s socked heel, “You’d pick them up, skip out of this house and dance your way into the sunset like some kinda fucking Disney movie?” Andrew giggled into his fist, “Yup. They told me what they’ve done to you. Stealing pets … Tsk … We really have reached new lows …”
Logan continued to plead behind his gag, his begging muffled, grainy and tired, entirely surrounded by dribble.
“Mmmp! Mmnnph? Mmnnph! Mnnngh, mmphh, mpph, mmphh—”
Andrew took his index finger up Logan’s heel and towards his middle toe.
Logan thrashed to the right, his entire body scrunching into itself, his toes clenching tightly.
Andrew’s jaw dropped.
“Holy shit.”
He took his index finger down Logan’s sole, from toe to heel, just the once.
Logan thrashed to the left, this time harder, this time quicker, the entire bed shifting with his movement.
The surrounding masked men all grew boners, each at the same time.
Logan breathed through flared nostrils, pointing the toes of his left foot downwards, beyond desperate to plant his sole against the surface of the bed.
Andrew watched the ropes creak and squeak, Logan’s body stiff and rigid, his chest lifting and dropping …
“… And I haven’t even taken off your sock … ” Andrew whispered to himself.
This was it.
The moment Logan had been dreading.
The experience he willed not to happen …
He was bound, gagged, about to receive an intense tickling from Andrew fucking Garfield, when—
—Andrew narrowed his eyes in focus as a masked man to his right knelt beside him and whispered something in his ear.
Andrew raised both eyebrows.
His index finger left Logan’s socked sole.
He stood, dusting off his thighs, pointing to Logan’s mouth.
“Remove the gag.”
One of the masked men walked towards Logan and carefully removed his gag.
Logan licked his lips and wiped some drool away from his chin by rubbing his jaw against his shoulder.
Andrew expected him to start begging, like he had been doing since they group had strapped him down …
Instead, Logan remained breathless and quiet, his eyes taking in his surroundings, the men in the masks, and Andrew fucking Garfield in his stupid linen suit.
Andrew looked up at the chandelier.
He smiled at the mirrors frame; gold, antique, expensive …
He glanced down at the thick red carpet, Logan’s left Converse unlaced and laying on its side …
He then turned to Logan.
“They all want it,” he announced, circling his finger in the air, “Everyone. Everyone inside this House, everyone in The House downtown, everyone in The House in London, the one in Sweden, the one we have in France,” Andrew chuckled, “I don’t think there is one tickle fetishist on this planet that doesn’t wanna slide a feather between Logan Lerman’s toes, or brush their fingertips through Logan Lerman’s armpit hair, or see him restrained completely naked, his body explored by hundreds and hundreds of fingers. Writers have written countless tickle fiction about you, Logan. Readers have re-read them over and over and over. Imagine what they’d do if their dream became a reality?”
Logan focused on controlling his breathing, the perspiration caught under his clothing a form of torment in itself.
“It’s … It’s not gonna happen—” Logan spoke in a deep growl, “—Alright? Now give me back my fucking dogs.”
Andrew folded his arms.
He acknowledged Logan’s determination.
He also acknowledged his fear, his level of ticklishness, his dread at being bound and tickled …
It was saturated all over his face, it vibrated off of his skin, it was radiant and electric, attractive and erotic …
It took almost every fibre of Andrew’s being to restrain himself, to not straddle Logan’s left foot, to not yank off his sock and tickle his bare sole with not only all ten of his fingers but his tongue and teeth too …
“You really would do anything to avoid getting tickled, wouldn’t you?” Andrew asked.
Logan’s head remained still, his fists remained clenched, his left sole now planted firmly over the bedsheets.
“Anything,” he muttered, “Literally anything.”
Andrew smirked.
He paused for dramatic effect.
And then he clapped his hands, just the once.
Clap!
“Alright. Here’s my proposal. My boss’s boss, he’s uh, not very well, to say the least. Heath care, the cost to fund all the guys we provide for him, the rent on all these big, luxurious houses … It’s fucking expensive, man!”
Logan shifted his eyes from left to right.
“Uhh, o, okay … So, you, you want money?”
Andrew tilted his head and lifted his shoulders.
“Sort of …” he began to pace around the bedroom as laughter from the other rooms outside and down the corridor continued to bellow out around The House, “A little bit of House of White Feathers trivia for you, Lerman. Most of the time we seek out who we want to tickle for shits and giggles. We have a database, a uh, a list if you will. We locate the ticklee next on the list, we bribe them, we do our work, yadda yadda. Sometimes we have ticklers out there locating several individual ticklees at once. Most of the time it’s about just capturing the content. Other times, it’s about discovering a narrative … Something that is one of a kind. A final result that is so hot, it’s guaranteed it’ll sell for millions and millions and millions. The kind of money that would fund my bosses boss’s health care pretty damn easily … Keep him going for another year, ya know? We need him alive for … Well, I’ll keep that to myself … ” Andrew tucked his hands into the pockets of his linen trousers, “… You’re one of our most requested ticklees in our history, Wallflower. The people downstairs? The people in this very room? Me, myself …? We wonder when we’re gonna get our hands on you all the time …”
Logan narrowed his eyes, his fingers curling around each of his wrist restraints as he lay on the bed, looking up at Andrew.
Andrew leaned in towards Logan.
“You wanna know who else people salivate over?”
Logan remained still, his body on high alert, as if ready to suddenly receive a tickle attack from Andrew …
… Instead, the sinister bastard whispered out another question.
“How about we kill two birds with one stone, Lerman?”
____________________________________
“MICHAEL!”
I shout so loud I almost scare myself.
Michael stops thrashing around, his entire body going still.
He looks at me with fury in his eyes, his grin moon-shaped, his face saying to me, ‘really? you’re still going? this is still something you think is wise to do?’
He is soaked with sweat, both of his soles drenched in baby oil, his feet tickled non stop by the hairbrush in my hand for almost twenty minutes now …
The bed stops shaking.
Silence fills the room.
I breathe in slowly.
“Michael,” I repeat his name, this time quietly, “Calm down, please …” I urge, “… We’re almost done, you’re, you’re almost done …”
Michael is so angry I can practically feel it burning through me, thanks to his unsettling stare.
“You keep going with those damn brushes …” Michael speaks slowly, through gritted teeth, all ten of his toes scrunched up, “… I swear to god, when I get out of this, I will throw you out of that god damn window …”
I blink.
I glance at the window.
We’re ten floors up.
I look over at Michael.
He’s serious.
Deadly serious.
I look over at the camera.
I have, quite literally, no choice but to continue.
I think back to my first words to Michael, over an hour ago.
“I owe you an apology.”
I lower my head, Michaels muscular arms pulling at his restraints again and again and again and …
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
Michael growls.
“Brother, don’t you fucking DARE—”
He is thrown into further chaos, the insanity and madness the hairbrush creates within his mind transforming his large, athletic body into a shambolic mess, his long legs and muscular arms kicking and pulling at his restraints as he heaves out breathless, non stop laughter to the point where I worry that he might pass out.
I run a brush over each sole, two at the same time, Michael’s hysteria the loudest its been all morning, the realisation that this isn’t stopping anytime soon finally setting in.
Ten minutes only.
His signature is on the paperwork.
Yet here you are, tickling him non stop, for an additional half hour …
He’s going nuts.
He hates you.
He’s in shock.
He never expected this.
There’s nothing he can do about it.
He’s tied, he can’t move, his feet locked in stocks …
I wonder how it must feel to be taken to this level of lunacy.
How it must feel to have hundreds of tiny plastic bristles comb up and down the bottoms of your feet, feet soaked in lube …
My toes curl within my Converse.
Such a moment came close to happening only two nights ago …
But you did what you did to get out of that.
You’re doing it right now!
Only another five minutes or so, and you will be the one begging.
Begging for Michael’s forgiveness.
I run the hairbrushes from left to right, over both of Michael’s arches, just like they advised.
Apparently, this is the most sensitive area of the foot.
Michael has started to curse at me, calling me all of the names under the sun.
Bitch,
Mother fucker,
Pussy,
Ass hole,
Jerk,
Loser,
Fuck face,
Dick head white boy,
The list goes on.
In all honesty …
I’d be more than mad.
He thought this would be easy money.
A way to pay rent for a few months.
Just ten minutes.
Ten minutes that had transformed into an eternity of undeniable tickle horror.
Maybe he wasn’t aware he was this ticklish.
Maybe he thought he could take it.
Whatever went through his mind as he signed that contract … It doesn’t matter now.
He’s tied, his soles shimmering in lotion, the hairbrush still scrubbing from side to side …
I think I should stop soon.
He’s heaving so hard his gum catches in his throat.
His eyes almost bulge out of his head.
Through his hysteria he coughs the gum back into his mouth and then spits it at me.
I wince as it smacks me in the face.
The tiny ball of pink lands in my lap.
It doesn’t stop me.
I continue.
His laughter is now so loud and hard that he’s struggling to breathe.
In fact, he starts to communicate that exact situation.
“Brother, brother,” he pants, his eyes rolling to the back of his head, “I, I, I can’t breathe! Listen, you gotta stop, please, god, stop, come on—”
I slow down the brushes rub.
My arms are killing me.
Michael’s head lands on the pillow so forcefully it bounces a few times.
I remove the hairbrushes and allow Michael to catch his breath.
Man, he needs it.
I watch his chest lift and drop, lift and drop, lift and drop …
His toes curl away itchiness, he coughs into his shoulder, droplets of baby oil fall away from his heels.
I get up and wipe some sweat away from my forehead.
“You okay, Michael?”
He lifts his head.
He seems surprised by my genuine concern.
“Get me a glass of water, you little bitch.”
My mouth falls open.
I take the sharpness of his words with a pinch of salt.
I have all the time in the world, once this is done, to explain myself, to talk him through everything, to make things right; Andrews suggestion, the narrative, the money, my dogs, why I agreed to do this …
I nod.
I turn and walk out of his bedroom.
I squint, the blue sky and sunshine beaming in through the windows straining my eyes.
I shield my face and enter the kitchen.
There’s that pink briefcase filled with cash.
There’s that mother fucking feather.
I sigh and search Michael’s cupboards for a glass.
I raise my voice.
“Where do you keep your—”
I press my lips shut, opening a cupboard that is filled with glasses.
I pick one up and hover it under a tap, twisting the tap to cold.
I stare at the ceiling as the glass fills with water.
“You better let me the fuck outta here when you get back!” Michael calls from his bedroom.
I start drinking the water myself.
As I do so, I realise how far my selfishness extends.
I gulp it down, swallowing the contents hard, my throat lapping up the icy liquid.
I didn’t realise how thirsty I was.
I refill the glass for Michael.
I think about walking my dogs, feeding them pizza, falling asleep with them on the sofa …
I reassure myself it’ll happen soon.
I turn and head back towards Michael’s bedroom.
I walk in.
I drop the glass in shock.
Michael is no longer restrained to the bed.
The stocks are open.
“Yo, cunt.”
I turn to the left.
Michael blows his gum into a large bubble.
It pops, just as he punches me in the face.
Everything goes black.
Logan placed the USB in the middle of the large, round, wooden garden table.
Around the garden table sat Hemsworth, Sebastian, Michael and Evans.
Burgers continued to sizzle over the BBQ as Hemsworth’s wife carried a silver tray loaded with beers to the now random mixture of friends.
She handed them out one by one, her eyebrows raising as she noticed Evans wrists were tied to the arms of his chair.
He smiled politely at Hemsworth’s wife as his bottle of beer was placed in front of him.
“Hey, Elsa, how you doing?” He winked.
Elsa, speechless and confused, returned to the kitchen as Logan folded his arms across his chest, his left eye still swollen from Michael’s punch less than twenty four hours ago.
“They said if I hand delivered the footage on Monday evening, at exactly eight o’clock, they’d give me back my dogs.”
Evans chuckled into his chest.
“Really? As easy as that? That doesn’t sound like them …”
Sebastian tightened his grip around his beer bottle.
“What the fuck, Evans! You don’t think them making him do what he did to Michael was hard enough? Jesus, man …”
Michael stared at his beer, his jaw furiously chewing on gum, his eyes avoiding Logan.
“Evans is right,” Logan declared, “It’s not as easy as that. Part of all this is,” Logan huffed, “They want, they want Michael to get his revenge …” his voice trembled as he spoke, “… On me.”
The burgers sizzle was the only sound in the garden as The Circle of friends sat in silence and listened to Logan.
“That was Garfield’s full proposal. A narrative …” Logan continued, “ … What he’d pitch to the people who pay for this shit … I bribe and tickle Michael in his own home, I record it, I upload it to a USB, Michael and I deliver the USB, Michael tickles me at the next event, for everyone to see. We all go home, pets included, end of story, we all get on with our lives,” Logan took a seat between Sebastian and Hemsworth, “ … Man, I, I can’t go through what I put Michael through, what Manu went through …” Logan looked at Sebastian, “… What you went through … Seriously, I know we’re all ticklish here but, but fuck—” Logan bit into his right fist, “—I’m seriously another level of—”
“—I don’t get the narrative bit,” Hemsworth sipped on his beer, his eyes keeping watch on the burgers, “What does that mean?”
A bellow of BBQ smoke wafted over the table as Evans adjusted himself in his bound position.
“It’s the hook,” Evans explained, “The structure of the session, the thing that sells, or draws the audience in …” Evans smirked as he looked over at Sebastian, “… My narrative for you, Stan, was that I would blackmail Hemsworth into tying you up, making you ready for me, making Hemsworth help me out …” Evans grunted in frustration, wishing he could tug at his growing hard on, “… Man, that was hot …”
Sebastian rolled his eyes, reaching forward, picking a chip out of the bowl and throwing it at Evans face.
“Shut the fuck up, Evans.”
Evans flinched as the chip landed against the chest of his polo shirt.
“Stan, you cock! I told you, this is expensive merino, you son of a—”
—Michael sat forwards, his elbows resting over the surface of the garden table, his tall exterior powerful and commanding.
“It’s more than that,” Michael explained, “They’ve created layers, moments of interest, twists … Logan’s narrative was talking me into a session, a session I was tricked into thinking would only last ten minutes but went onto thirty. I bet the people who are gonna watch that video are gonna get off on how mad I got,” Michael tapped the side of his head, “Just thinkin’, with the mindset of someone who would have this kink,” he licked his lips, “The narrative continues with me getting my own back on Logan, and he has no choice to let me, cornering him into a situation they know full well he can’t bare to be in, all because of—”
“—All because of his stupid dogs … ” Evans muttered to himself.
Hemsworth leaned in towards Evans.
“I’m more than happy to continue this meeting whilst you sit there with an electric toothbrush between your ass …” he warned.
Evans closed his mouth and lowered his head.
“I, I can’t do that,” Logan held up his hands, “I, I agreed to what Garfield suggested because, because I always knew I’d sit you guys down and we, we could come up with a way where I don’t do that, a plan, some kinda Avengers style thought process shit …”
Michael sat back in his seat.
“Oh, so it’s okay for you to tickle the fuck outta me? But when it comes to me tickling the fuck outta you, you get all the white boys to rally around and come up with a rescue plan?” He tutted, picking up his beer, taking a swig, wiping his mouth after, “Nice …”
Logan reached out to Michael.
“No, man, Michael, listen, I, I needed something, proof I’m game, I guess, if they asked to see a clip, or, or a few seconds of our session, I didn’t want them to think I wasn’t playing ball, I, I’m sorry I went so hard I, I just wanted to give us some ammunition before I figured out the next—” Logan listened to himself trying to justify his actions, “—I, I never meant to … Fuck,” he dropped his head, “I’m sorry, man. We should’ve all just sat together in the first place and talked it over …”
Another beat of silence as sizzling meat and evening crickets chirping filled the background.
Michael took another swig of his beer and looked out down Hemsworth’s garden.
“I’m still working out how the fuck Andrew Garfield is involved with all this,” Hemsworth stood up and made his way towards the BBQ, “I’ve met him loads of times! He’s a decent guy, kind, chatty, a top bloke!”
Sebastian ran a hand over his newly shaven head.
“I gotta hand it to you, kid. You’ve avoided it pretty well so far …” Sebastian took a sip from the bottle, “… Lucked out in your home, then bargained you’re way out of it after you got caught in The House itself … Now you’re gonna try and swindle your way through their next attempt … This must be driving them wild.”
Logan picked up his beer and pressed it against his mouth, speaking into the neck of the bottle.
“I … I don’t think it is? It was their decision, not mine. He had me tied to the bed, he could’ve gone to town right there and then. Instead, he said that the content of Michael and I, it would sell for millions. It would help fund healthcare for his boss, or, his bosses boss, or, uh, his bosses bosses bosses, fuck, I can’t even remember …”
Evans actively turned his face away from the group.
Michael blew another bubble with his gum.
POP!
Sebastian clicked his fingers at Evans.
“So, this narrative shit …” he took another sip of his beer, “… It’s basically the video you perverts sell to the members of this cult, am I right? If Garfield gets his way, he’ll end up with footage of Logan tickling Michael, and Michael tickling Logan …”
“… And two dogs released,” Hemsworth flipped a few patties, winking at Logan, “That’s the most important thing.”
Logan felt a sting in his nose as Hemsworth reminded everyone of what was at stake.
“It’s gonna be one fucking sexy video,” Evans grinned, straightening his back, “I can see why he’s relying on making a big buck out of that, it would make huuuuuuuuge money, help fund more than just health care by a long shot.”
Sebastian placed his bottle of beer in his lap.
He took his gaze slowly over to Logan.
“I hate to say it, kid, but … I think you gotta just do this. Roll with the narrative. Endure a tickling from Michael. Get back your dogs … Like you said at the start of all this, it’s only ti—”
Michael shook his head.
“—It’s not just tickling,” he said.
Hemsworth continued to flip the burgers.
“It’s oblivion … ” Michael folded his arms, “… It’s being pushed someplace you never thought possible, both physically and mentally. It’s exhausting and tough, distressing and fun all at the same time, it’s—”
—Logan turned to Michael.
“—I’m sorry, man. I mean it. I’m a fucking mess. I’m so desperate to not get …” he huffed, lowering his head, “… I spent too much energy trying to shift the attention off me that I didn’t realise how intense I made it for you. I deserve this black eye,” he announced.
Michael softened up.
He leaned across the table and placed a reassuring hand over Logan’s right shoulder.
“You’re a dick,” Michael squeezed his hand, “And you’re my brother. I’ll help you.”
As he sat back down, Sebastian glanced over at Evans and Hemsworth, then back at Logan.
“… We’ll all help you,” he said.
Logan closed his eyes and smiled, where his new circle of friends finally made him feel something he hadn’t felt since waking up pet-less …
… He felt reassured.
viii - ‘Avengers Style Shit’
Before Logan could express his thanks, Hemsworth arrived back at the table with a plate full of cheese burgers.
“Tuck in, team!”
Evans watched his burger arrive next to his beer, both things he could not devour due to his bound hands.
“Uh, guys, could uh, could someone unt—”
“—I’m gonna start by calling the cops,” Michael declared, his hand reaching into the back pocket of his shorts.
“No!” Logan almost reached out and grabbed Michael’s phone out of his hand, “They said at the very start if I tell the cops, or, or anyone, I’ll never see my dogs again …”
Michael placed his phone back inside his pocket.
“Okay, okay, noted …”
Evans couldn’t take his eyes off of the burger in front of him, his fingers flexing, his wrists wriggling under the rope pinning them to each arm of the chair.
“I wouldn’t stress yourself out over that one,” he advised, “A few cops are members of The House anyway,” his mouth began to water, “Calling them up would do nothing. Bieber tried it, Cavill tried it, we now think Holland is trying it. Pfft, good luck to ‘em. The police didn’t bat an eyelid. Hey, could someone cut me a chunk off of that bur—”
Sebastian reached over the table and took Evans beer away from him, uncapping it, taking a few large swigs, “Did Garfield say how he wanted Michael to tickle you? I know you mentioned it would be at Monday’s event, but, like, what does that entail? How are you gonna be tied? Will there be other people there? You gonna be butt naked? They just focusing on your feet, or they going all over the shop? Did he leave you any hints—”
“—No, Seb,” Logan glared at his friend, willing him to stop saying out loud things he couldn’t bare to hear, his beer still hovering around his lips, “He just said it would happen after we hand in the USB …”
Hemsworth took a giant bite out of his burger, speaking with his mouthful.
“Evans? What say you?”
Evans winced, turning his head away from Hemsworth.
Michael leaned forwards, another bubble expanding out from between his lips.
POP!
“Evans … Speak up, brother.”
Hemsworth swallowed down his burger.
He shuffled up closer to Evans and whispered in his ear, “… Electric toothbrushes, between your ass, all night long …”
Evans sat forwards quickly.
“Okay! Al, alright. But first, can someone feed me some of this damn burger? We gotta find a way to hang out without me being tied up! Seriously, we’re friends, for christ’s sake …”
Sebastian scoffed into his beer.
“We used to be friends, more like …”
Hemsworth picked up Evans burger and shoved it into his mouth.
Evans, wide eyed and hungry, chewed on the food and swallowed it down until Hemsworth took it away from him.
Michael covered his face with his hands, the strange and unique reality of this situation finally dawning on him.
“They’re setting Logan up in a similar way as Manu,” Evans explained, “You’re Logan fucking Lerman, for gods sake, I’m not surprised they wanna make as much money out of you as possible. The email has probably already gone out. Yup, it’ll be you in the tickle chair, briefcase full of tools, big ass spotlight, long ass queue of high paying members …” Evans swallowed down some extra patty caught in the back of his throat, leaning in a little towards Logan, “… And I can’t fucking wait to see it.”
Logan pressed the beer bottle into his lips.
He squeezed his eyes shut and downed the bottles contents in one, his throat bobbing with every glug.
Sebastian, Evans, Michael and Hemsworth tucked into their cheeseburgers, quietly watching Logan quench some of his fear.
Hemsworth wiped his mouth with a napkin and politely excused himself from the table.
“I have a suggestion,” Sebastian picked some gristle out of his teeth, “One I think Logan isn’t gonna like. I uh, I thought maybe we could prepare him, get him to practise, I dunno, ready him for what he’s about to go through …”
Evans sat forwards in interest.
“Yes! Let’s do it now, test his weaknesses, his worst spots! Maybe I could put a polite word into the members at his event to avoid those places, as a way of helping him out?”
Logan looked from Sebastian to Evans, then to Michael, as they all discussed their thoughts around him, his voice soaked in alarm.
“Wait, you, you think that more than one person is gonna tickle me at a time?” He asked.
Sebastian took another bite out of his burger, chewing and swallowing down before speaking.
“You know, Evans, that’s the nicest thing you’ve suggested since I found out you’re a fucking pervert …” he wiped his mouth and got to his feet.
Logan's head lifted as he watched Sebastian walk around the circular table.
“Seb,” he curled his fingers around the arms of his chair, “Sssss, sit back down, Seb …”
Michael, not a fan of cheese burgers due to being a vegetarian, blew a bubble with his gum and got to his feet also.
POP!
“You take his upper body, I’ll take one of his feet …”
Evans huffed, his wrists now actively trying to slide free of the rope.
“Fuck! I, I wanna join in too! Guys, come on! Please? Please! Please … ”
Logan stumbled into a standing position, turning around, assessing routes within Hemsworth’s giant garden that could work as an escape.
As the Los Angeles sun began to set, Sebastian arrived next to Logan.
“Calm down, Logan,” he demanded, “You’re gonna go through far, far worse in a couple of days. Let’s at least see where you can’t stand it, and where you can …”
Logan tried to move away from Sebastian but Michael arrived on his other side.
“Yeah, pretty boy,” Michael chewed, “Payback’s a bitch.”
Logan chuckled nervously, his left wrist snatched by Sebastian, his right wrist snatched by Michael.
Evans, twisting in his chair, kicked his feet so hard one of his loafers slipped off.
“Bring him back! I, I wanna see, I, I wanna see!”
Logan pulled his arms out of his friends grasp and shoved them both away.
“Okay, alright!” He snapped, “I’ll do it. Fine …” He pointed at Michael, “ … As long as, on the night, you promise to only tickle me in the places that aren’t as bad …” he scratched the back of his head, mumbling to himself, “… If there are any places that aren’t that bad …”
Sebastian held up his hands as Michael took a reserved step away.
Logan made his way back to his seat and sat down, the BBQ still expelling fumes in the background as the sky turned from orange to pink.
Sebastian arrived behind Evans shoulder.
“Any tips?”
Evans, panting like a dog, replied without even thinking about his answer.
“It’s Logan fucking Lerman, for fucks sake! You gotta try his armpits and his soles, first.”
Logan squeezed his eyes shut.
“Fuck,” he whispered.
Michael nodded, chewing his gum, blowing out another bubble.
POP!
“Give me your foot, brother.”
Logan kept his feet tucked under the seat as Sebastian made his way behind Logan’s chair.
“Where’s Hemsworth? We’re gonna need rope …”
Logan shook his head.
“No,” he said determinedly, “You’re not tying me down, no fucking way … “
“But, you’ll be tied to a fucking tickle chair on Monday, kid, you gotta learn how to take it,” Evans spat.
Sebastian reached over Logans shoulders and gently held onto his wrists.
“How about we come up with an idea that leads to me not having to take anything!” Logan suggested enthusiastically, “That’s kinda the road I was hoping we would go d—”
Logan gasped as Sebastian suddenly lifted his arms above his head, without warning.
Logan’s elbows were now squashed up against either sides of his face, his armpit hair poking out of his t-shirt, his torso stretched …
Michael knelt down and grabbed Logan’s right ankle, yanking his leg out from under the seat where he sat in the cross legged position and tucked Logan’s ankle under his armpit, securing it in a tight armlock.
Sebastian frowned as he looked from left to right.
“Where the fuck is Hemsworth? I need him to work Logan’s pits. If he’s taking a shit after inhaling that burger so damn fast I’m gonna—”
Michael began to untie the lace of Logan’s right Converse.
“We haven’t got all damn night …”
Logan buried his face into his right arm, he couldn’t bare to watch his footwear be removed against his will for the second time this week, and this time by someone fuelled by vengeance …
“Mi, Michael, go slow, okay? My, my uh, my, my feet are uh, they’re uh, ha, uhm, they’re pretty fucking ticklish, I uh,” he laughed, trying to make this work for Michael instead of himself, “I don’t wanna kick you in the face, ya know? One black eye between us is bad enough, huh?”
Michael tugged Logan’s Converse away from his foot.
Evans practically drooled at the sight of Logan’s sole staring him in the face.
“Guys, how about we untie me and I show you how it’s done, huh? Let the expert take the reigns? Really put our boy through the tough stuff, honestly, it’ll make his session on Monday seem tame as fuck! Come on! Don’t fuck me over like this! First my car and now you’re taking this moment away from me? You f—”
Sebastian smirked at Evans, “—Enjoy your burger.”
Evans shoulders dropped as he looked down at his half eaten cheese burger, a cheese burger he couldn’t even touch, a torturous circumstance that was only heightened in its intensity thanks to the view of Logan seated, manhandled by his friends, ready for his body to be explored …
“I’ve always wanted to play this game,” Michael declared, a smile lifting his lips upward, “Alright, how does it go again? Okay, yeah, I think I got it …” he pinched Logan’s right big toe, keeping his sock on for now, “ … This little piggy went to the market … “
Logan’s toes curled into a tight scrunch.
His foot twisted under Michael’s armlock, some breathless giggles already leaving his mouth as he shuffled in his seat, his left foot pressing against Michael’s shoulder.
“You fucker, not this little piggy, fuck!—”
“— This little piggy stayed home …” Michael pinched Logan’s index toe.
Logan winced.
“Michael!”
Sebastian, still keeping Logans arms above his head, laughed in joyous entertainment.
“Logan, you’re officially the most ticklish guy I know. You should never of let us know this about you!”
Evans grunted and huffed, desperate to be part of what was going on.
“… This little piggy had roast beef …” Michael pinched Logan’s middle toe.
Logan held back a scream, grunting hard, pulling his right leg towards himself, pushing his left foot against Michael’s shoulder.
“… This little piggy had none …” Michael pinched Logan’s second to last toe.
Logan’s eyes widened as he began to kick his right leg fiercely, trying to pull his arms down from Sebastians grasp, his face flushing red as he wriggled on the seat.
“Come on, MICHAEL—NO!”
Evans grinned.
“Oh boy, you are screwed …”
Sebastian turned around as soon as he heard Hemsworth’s footsteps return to the gardens decking.
“… And this little piggy …” Michael pinched Logan’s little toe …
“Holy shit, Hemsworth!” Sebastian’s jaw dropped.
He let go of Logan’s wrists, allowing the soon to be tickled actor to reach forwards, punch Michael’s back repeatedly and yank his right foot from out of Michal’s armlock.
Michael chuckled, his fingers ready to action a dedicated foot tickling to Logan’s right sole, “Ahh, saved by the bell, pretty boy …” his hands dropping to his sides for now …
Logan grabbed his Converse and hooked it back onto his foot, hopping on the spot as he did so.
“Shit, Hemsworth … Is, is that real…?” Logan huffed.
Hemsworth carefully laid out a handgun over the garden table.
Evans raised both eyebrows.
The weapon shimmered in the sunset, it’s silver shape surrounded by beer bottles and the remains of cheeseburgers.
Everyone took their seat back round the table.
“Sorry it took some time for me to get,” Hemsworth folded his arms across his chest, “Took me longer than I thought to talk the wife into opening the safe.”
Sebastian stroked the stubble of his jaw, his eyes blinking quickly.
“Shit just got serious.”
Logan tied the lace of his Converse and then ran his hands through his hair.
“What are you suggesting, Hemsworth? We fucking … Kill them all? Jesus Christ …”
Hemsworth glanced over at Evans.
“You said something about a briefcase, at this event. You’re our inside guy. How about, you be there on Monday night. And instead of allowing the bastards to load the case with tickle tools, you make sure it’s loaded it with this gun.”
Logan went to speak, but it was at that moment in time he realised he was speechless.
Sebastian picked up Evans bottle of beer and took a slow, quiet sip.
Evans appeared cautious; he knew the full consequences that would be put into process, if The House learnt of his betrayal; so far he had been successful in not over stepping boundaries by asking about Logan’s dogs, by not questioning Miller or Andrew, John or any senior motive …
He had done as Sebastian and Hemsworth had asked, to stop them from releasing footage of him actively helping them out, providing classified information, therefore furthermore delaying Logan’s time in the tickle chair …
Could he go this extra mile?
Hemsworth continued.
“Michael. If Evans agrees, and I’ll make sure he fucking does … That leaves you as the weapon holder. When you open the briefcase, you take out the gun, you aim it at those masked fuckers and you get them to release you and Logan, as well as Logan’s dogs …"
Sebastian clicked his fingers.
“I can make it juicier,” he declared, “You,” he pointed at Evans with a strong index finger, “You’ll be in the crowd, in your damn mask, recording it all on your iPhone…” he then glanced at Michael, “ … Threaten them, Jordan. Get every fucker in there to remove their masks and reveal themselves … I wanna see them all admit to what they’re doing, what they’ve done …”
Logan sat up in excitement.
“Fuck!” He cheered, “Yes! This is more like it! This is the Avengers style shit I was talking about!”
Evans chuckled, shaking his head.
“Boys, Im only ninety nine percent certain it’ll be an event like Manu’s. They may of changed their mind since the last I heard! And even if it is like Manu’s, that means there will be a huge line of people ready to tickle Logan. What if Michael isn’t first? What if they want him to go last? What if he comes in at the end? What if some other fucker opens up the briefcase, expecting hairbrushes and lube and instead they see that fucking thing,” he nodded at the hand gun laid out neatly in the middle of the table, “You’re all stupid fucks. You think you’re one step ahead, you’re not, when it comes to these people, you are always three steps behind …”
Sebastian stood quietly.
He walked towards Evans.
He nudged his plate of cheeseburger further across the table, away from the hungry actor.
“Listen up, cum-stain. You’re gonna make sure it’s like Manu’s session,” Sebastian spoke in a deep growl, “You’re gonna make sure Michael goes first. You’re gonna be untied, in less than ten minutes, and you’re gonna walk that cute, ticklish ass to the fucking tickle cult head quarters and you’re gonna make sure everything is set, so that Logan doesn’t get tickled, so that he gets his mother fucking dogs back. You hear me?”
Michael ran his tongue over the roof of his mouth, whispering the word, “Damn,” under his breath, impressed by Sebastians authority.
Hemsworth took a sip from his bottle of beer.
“We have you on camera helping us,” Hemsworth reminded, “Proof that you’ve broke, you’ve given in, all because you can’t take a feather between your arse …”
Evans lowered his head.
“You haven’t got a choice,” Sebastian smirked, “Help us, or put yourself in a position where you’re helpless.”
Evans gritted his teeth.
He glanced up into the sky as the sun set, transforming the clouds from pink to a deep shade of navy.
If The House discovered he’d provided not just one or two, but four high profile ticklees with classified information, well …
My ass will be tickled daily, weekly, yearly, for the rest of my life, he thought.
Evans butt cheeks clenched.
He turned to look at Logan.
To the groups surprise, Evans offered the young man a genuine smile.
“I’ll … I’ll help you get back your dogs, kid …”
All four surrounding men clapped in applause, cheering their solution, their plan, their own narrative …
… Whilst Evans sat, tied and dribbling, his head peering over at his plate of food.
“… But first,” he said, “Can someone feed me the rest of my cheese burger?”
ix - ‘Monday Morning’
Logan pulled at his wrist restraints.
The leather felt tight, pinning his arms either side of him.
The chest of his t-shirt stuck to his skin, the sweat beneath his clothing developing quicker the more he’d thrash and writhe within the tickle chair.
He had squirmed so much his gym shorts had rode further down his waist, unintentionally revealing a large portion of his underwear.
His hair was damp, his lips swollen, his breath short.
He grimaced as baby oil trickled over all ten of his toes.
The shimmering droplets rolled over his soles and soaked the silky smooth bottoms of his feet …
His ankles, secured in stocks, were not going to slip through the holes no matter how hard he yanked his legs.
Suddenly, a loop of string hooked itself around Logan’s left big toe …
Another loop of string hooked itself around his right …
Logan gasped in shock, his eyes widening, more loops of string hooking over each of his toes individually, without warning, pulling them back against the stocks, stretching the bottoms of his feet, restricting them from any form of movement …
Foot steps, slow and gradual, approaching him …
A hand extends from the darkness where it arrives under the spotlight.
Logan begins to panic …
The hand is holding a hairbrush.
The plastic bristles are facing Logan’s right sole …
The hairbrush begins its descent …
Closer …
Closer …
Closer until—
—“GAAAH!”
Logan sat up in bed, his eyes snapping open, his hands reaching out to his feet.
Huff …
Huff …
Huff …
He lowered his head, pinching the bridge of his nose as he panted to himself quietly.
Downstairs in Logan’s kitchen Michael stirred a spoon in a large mug of coffee.
He handed it to Logan as soon as Logan arrived at the kitchen table, barefoot and wearing only sweatpants.
Michael, in his gym gear after taking an early morning run, sat opposite Logan where he nursed his own cup of tea.
“Another nightmare?”
Logan sipped his coffee, scratching the back of his head.
“Is it that obvious?”
Logan’s eyes were puffy, he hadn’t slept properly since the meeting, all he could do was dread delivering that USB later this evening …
“I heard you from down here. That yelp was pretty damn loud,” Michael blew his tea in an attempt to cool it down.
Logan sighed.
Both young men sat in silence as the morning sun shone through Logan’s kitchen window.
“How is this actually happening?” Logan glanced up at Michael, “Like, how did we get into this so quickly? One minute I’m ordering take out, the next minute my dogs are gone and I’m being blackmailed into getting tied up, in my own home…”
Michael lifted his shoulders as he sipped some of his tea.
“People will go to some extreme lengths to get what they want.”
Logan burrowed his eyebrows and scratched his neck.
“Is it really that special? Seeing us, getting tickled? Can’t they just go online and, I don’t know, whack one out to some tickle porn? Seriously …” Logan sipped his coffee, “… I’m not gonna let them get away with this. Even when we’re done and I’ve got my dogs back, I’m taking this to the press. I’m going straight to the Los Angeles Times and I’m—”
“—Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Michael reached his hand forward and laid it down over Logan’s, “Slow down, cowboy. One thing at a time.”
Logan’s eyes landed on Michael’s hand.
He then slid his own hand back into his lap.
Michael cleared his throat.
Another beat of silence, this one longer, this time a little awkward.
Logan sipped his coffee.
He placed the mug down over the kitchen table and then he looked Michael in the eye.
“Thank you,” he said.
Michael tilted his head, slouching back in his seat.
“For what?”
Logan crossed his leg at the knee.
“For not doing to me what I did to you …” he pointed at his black eye, “… When I woke up after you smacked me in the face, I thought I’d be on your bed, in those stocks, but instead … I, I was in your apartment building lobby. I appreciate that, man,” Logan smiled, “You’re a friend.”
Michael opened his mouth.
He put down his tea, struggling to find the words to explain why he held back.
“Listen, Logan, I—”
Knock knock.
Both Logan and Michael turned to look at the front door.
Logan slowly got to his feet.
Michael noticed the tremble in Logan’s stance.
“Dude,” Michael spoke calmly, “It’s probably the mail man … Chill …”
Logan huffed.
He walked out of his kitchen, down the hall and towards his front door.
He yanked it open.
He was greeted by nothing but the view of his street, some parked cars and a woman riding by on a bicycle …
Logan looked down at his feet.
On the welcome mat sat a pink briefcase.
Logan ran out onto the street.
He hoped over a neighbours front garden sprinkler, the whizzing water splashing against his legs.
He stood on the sidewalk, glancing left and then glancing right.
He shielded his eyes from the sun, unable to see any masked men, any singular person who could’ve delivered that briefcase.
He dropped his hands at his sides.
An elderly lady sat on her front porch chewing on a slice of buttered toast.
“Young man, what did you do to those dogs?” She spoke with her mouthful, “I haven’t seen them in quite a while! Did they die?”
Logan rolled his eyes.
He stormed back into his house, picking the pink briefcase up along the way, slamming the door, carrying the case to the kitchen table …
Michael, washing up his empty mug, turned to face the briefcase whilst drying his hands with a kitchen towel.
“They really love the colour pink, don’t they,” he smirked.
Logan opened up the briefcase.
He pulled out a letter written out by typewriter.
He cleared his throat.
“… Michael … ” Logan read, “… Keep the cash for your session, even if it did end too abruptly. See it as payment for how hard we’re going to get you to tickle Logan later this evening …” he gulped, “… Fuck.”
Michael sat back down.
“Go on …”
Logan breathed in slowly.
“… Logan …” he continued, his eyes trailing across the sheet as he read out the letter, “… We can’t wait to see the look on your face when we peel off both of your socks …”
Michael chuckled.
“These people are craaaaaaay—”
“… Both of you … ” Logan paced around the kitchen as he held the letter out in front of him, his bare feet making no noise over the tiles, “… Be at the below address at exactly the time we instructed. Not a minute early, not a minute late …” Logan slowly dropped the sheet, “… You belong to us now. Yours sincerely, The House of White Feathers …” he murmured, his expression blank.
Michael slowly got to his feet.
“I guess that’s it,” he said, “It’s happening. We’re doing this.”
Logan scrunched up the letter in his hands.
“Yes we fucking are,” his fists shook, “We’re fucking taking them down.”
Logan sat in the back of the green Ferrari, his blue eyes staring down at the USB stick between his thumb and index finger …
He thought about the amount of money contained within the tiny piece of plastic, the millions people would pay to view the content contained within something no larger than his little finger …
… Content involving Michael B Jordan, stocked and restrained to his own bed, tickled for ten minutes and then surprise tickled for longer; hairbrushes on each sole, sweat saturating him from head to toe, his manic expression so wild that, according to Evans, would be described as a ‘lightning in a bottle moment’, a ‘few seconds of footage that could sell for thousands of dollars’, at least.
And that was only part one of the content, the first part of the narrative …
Logan lifted his head and stared down a road lit by street lamps.
A road that lead to part two.
Outside of the Ferrari, Michael and Hemsworth made small talk in the nighttime.
They had parked a few blocks away from the address noted down on a now screwed up sheet of paper.
Sebastian, in the drivers seat, turned to face Logan, his butt squeaking agains the leather.
He didn’t need to say anything.
His warm gaze, his small smile, his reassuring presence asked one thing and one thing only;
‘Are you ready?’
Logan looked back down at the USB stick.
He nodded slowly.
“Listen,” Sebastian reached forward and placed a hand on Logan’s knee, “Before you go. I … I need to ask something of you. Alright?”
Logan peeled his eyes away from the USB and landed them on Sebastian’s mouth.
“Sure.”
Sebastian clenched his teeth.
“Whatever happens, communicate with me. Last time, when you got caught, you went off the radar for days. I know they made you do shit with Michael, I get you had to keep it a secret, but … I was worried about you, man. I dunno, I kept picturing you tied up like I was, driven insane by all kinds of shit. I’ve felt it, man, that oblivion Michael described. I know how much you don’t want it to happen so, when you went silent, I got kinda concerned. Look, all I’m asking is that you keep in touch as much as possible, alright? That cool?”
Logan nodded slowly once again, scratching his neck.
“That’s cool.”
Sebastian placed his hand on Logan’s knee.
“One last thing. You gotta stop it, the neck scratching. What’s up with that?”
Logan kept his fingernails by his jaw, surprised that Sebastian had noticed his habit.
“I uh, I …” he smoothed his neck instead of scratching it, “ … It’s something I’ve done since I was a kid, when I get worried about stuff, or anxious, I guess.”
Sebastian’s hand slid off Logans knee.
“After tonight there won’t be anything to worry about. Alright, you better get going. It’s almost eight o’clock. Evans has confirmed that everything is in place. It’s a matter of time now, kid.”
Logan glanced up at the Ferrari’s ceiling just inches away from his head.
This time, he wouldn’t need a mask.
This time, he wasn’t entering The House in disguise …
This time, he was going in with a full plan, a weapon in position, other people there to support him.
Michael, a man who literally makes movies about kicking ass …
And Evans, our guy on the inside …
Holy shit.
I’m getting my dogs back.
Logan smiled at Sebastian.
“See you on the other side, friend.”
He pocketed the USB and held out his hand.
Sebastian grabbed it.
Both young men shook hands and grinned, their friendship secured, the successful outcome of this evening feeling more attainable than ever.
Logan slid out of the Ferrari and joined Michael and Hemsworth.
Hemsworth turned to Logan and patted his right arm.
“You’ve got this, Lerman. Remember, mate, this plan can’t fail. You aren’t getting tickled.”
Logan, nervous and already breathless, nodded quickly, tucking some chunks of hair behind his ears.
“I think I’m gonna hurl.”
Michael nudged Logan’s chest with the knuckles of his left hand.
“Give me a heads up, I’ll hold back your hair.”
Hemsworth stepped back.
Michael and Logan started to take the short walk a few blocks away from the Ferrari and toward the address on the letter delivered earlier today.
“You ever handled a gun before?” Logan asked.
Michael pursed his lips.
“A few times.”
Logan cocked an eyebrow.
“You mean, on set and stuff? Props, not like, a real g—”
“—A real gun,” Michael confirmed.
Logan adjusted the collar of his t-shirt.
“We’re not like, gonna shoot anyone, are we?”
Michael stroked his chin.
“Only if some stupid mother fucker gets in my way …”
Logan had to speed up his walk, to keep up with Michael’s wide stride.
“You’re uh, you’re joking, right?”
Michael remained silent.
As they approached the address, a large black van quietly pulled up beside them.
It’s engine remained on, its shiny exterior squeaking to a stop.
The back doors swung open.
Two masked henchmen in boiler suits and military boots hopped out, their weight landing on the tarmac of the road with a heavy thud.
In their hands they held two individual lengths of rope and two ball gags.
“This … Was never a delivery,” Michael paused beside Logan in realisation, “This is a pick up.”
The masked henchman to the right twirled his finger in the air.
“Turn around, gentlemen.”
Logan and Michael did as they were told, surprised by the masked henchmen’s politeness.
Right there, in the middle of the Los Angeles suburb, surrounded by family cars, white picket fences and the observing stars above, Logan and Michael were gagged on the spot, their hands bound behind their backs.
Michael struggled to contain the ball of plastic between his mouth; he’d never been gagged before.
Logan, already dribbling, had felt this sensation just once, only some days ago.
The masked henchmen manhandled both Logan and Michael into the back of the van, where they were forced onto seats lining the inside of the vehicle.
Sat directly opposite them was a maskless man in a cream linen suite.
Handsome …
In his fifties …
A little grey to his hair …
Logan narrowed his eyes.
“Mi-eehhr—” He tried to say, through his gag, “—M-eeehhhrrr?—”
“That’s right,” the well suited man replied, “I’m Miller. I heard you came looking for me,” he reached forwards and strapped Logan into his seat by securing his seatbelt, “That act alone suggests there is a mole within the system, so, thank you, for shedding some light,” once Logan was clicked in, Miller did the same to Michael, “I have a few ideas on who it could be, but I’ll handle that another time …” he then sat down opposite Logan and Michael, crossing his leg at the knee, “Well! It’s a pleasure to meet you both … I’m a huge fan …”
Logan and Michael could do nothing but breathe through their nostrils, their lips consuming the ball of plastic wedged inside their mouths.
“Mmmph … Mmmph … Mmpph …”
The masked henchmen jumped inside the van and slammed the doors shut.
The engine re-started.
The van began its journey.
“When we arrive, you’ll both be separated,” Miller explained, “Michael, you’ll come with me, Logan, you’ll go with one of my staff.”
The van turned a corner.
“Before the evening begins, I just wanna say a huge thank you,” Miller continued, “Taking the time to accept Andrew’s proposal and create this content for our client base has really helped us out. The deposits we’ve received for the stuff you’ve filmed already surpassed a million dollars, just last night! You’re both extremely popular,” he grinned, glancing out the van window as the vehicle approached a different mansion to the one Logan had infiltrated earlier in the week, “I gotta say, what happens in the next thirty minutes? Oh boy, it’s gonna be one heck of a show …”
Logan continued to glare at Miller, his shoulder bouncing against Michael’s as the van wobbled to a stop.
You’re right about that, fucker, he thought.
The back doors swung open.
Miller pinched the end of Logan’s nose.
“I bet you can’t wait to see your dogs,” he smiled, “They’re so cute. I’ve been walking them every day, so you don’t have to worry about that. They’ve been fed, watered, we’ve been playing ball … That Stella! She has to be one of the kindest dogs I’ve ever met …”
As Miller started his exit, Logan began to growl into his gag, the knowledge that his dogs had spent such an ordinary time with such an extraordinary stranger caused his blood to boil, his feet to kick, his teeth to squeeze down over the ball of plastic.
“Grrrrmppph! Graaaaamppphhh! Grggggmmmpphhhh!”
One masked henchman held Logan into place whilst the other escorted Michael out of the van.
Micheal turned to Logan, where he tried to offer him one last look of reassurance before he was shuffled across the giant drive way and out of sight.
Miller winked at Logan.
“Catch you in the chair, handsome.”
He then slammed the van doors, closing Logan and one masked henchman inside the vehicle.
The van wobbled back into motion.
Logan twisted his head from left to right, his hands still bound tightly behind his back.
“Mmmmmph! Mmmmnnnph, mmmmnnnphhh?”
He thought he’d at least leave the van with Miller and Michael, yet here he was being transported someplace else …
The van bumped over a curb and then rolled down something steep.
It creaked to a halt.
There was a clicking noise …
Then the sound of rattling metal …
The back doors opened once again.
Logan squinted, garage lights blinding him momentarily.
As his blurred vision sharpened, his eyes landed on the tickle chair, positioned in the very middle of the garage, surrounded by gym equipment, some storage boxes and a humming refrigerator, it’s surface littered with empty pizza boxes.
The masked henchman unbuckled Logan’s seatbelt and then shuffled him out of the van.
Logan stumbled into the garage.
The masked henchman removed the rope around his wrists and then carefully took away the ball gag.
Logan sucked up some dribble, his grey t-shirt now stained with saliva.
“Climb in,” The masked henchman ordered.
Logan looked at the gap between the vans exterior and the garage door …
He could slide through it, run as fast as he could into the city, go straight to the police …
He knew he’d been told he couldn’t tell the cops …
But the anxiety within him had become so overwhelming it began to take control of his mind, tell him to do things he shouldn’t do, just to get out of experiencing his worst nightmare …
Tied, tickled, for countless hours …
It’s not gonna happen.
It’s not gonna happen.
You’re not getting tickled.
You’ve made it this far …
It’s not gonna happen …
Logan squeezed his eyes shut and pictured the handgun; it’s silver surface glimmering in the spotlight, Michael’s hand curling around the handle, the screams of shock from the masked audience …
Logan felt his confidence return.
He cleared his throat and climbed into the tickle chair.
He sat down, shaking some hair away from his eyes.
The masked henchman held onto Logan’s left wrist.
He pulled it to the left padded extension of the chair and strapped it into place.
He then did the same with Logan’s right arm.
Logan sat quietly, his heart beating in his throat, the sound of piano playing from upstairs irritating him already.
He curled his fists into balls, his torso bound into place.
“You uh, you having a nice night?” Logan asked the masked man, as he lifted the stocks, “Didn’t uh, didn’t fancy doing anything else this evening? Oh, I don’t know, like, say, watching a movie? Going for dinner with your wife? Maybe doing a crossword, taking a bath?”
The masked henchman tapped the stocks, gesturing for Logan to place his ankles in the grooves.
“I’m gay,” The masked henchman declared.
Logan lifted his feet, laying his ankles in position, the masked henchman closing the stocks down over them.
“O, okay, al, alright, so, uh, husband, you, you didn’t fancy going for dinner with your husband instead of doing shit like this?”
The masked henchman closed the latch, locking the stocks in place.
“We’re not married.”
Logan hissed into his shoulder.
“OKAY. You’re boyfriend, you didn’t fancy doing something else with your boyfriend, instead of doing SHIT like this—”
—Logan’s eyes widened when the masked henchman began to wheel Logan out of the garage.
“Oh, wait, so, we’re uh, we’re going right now …? Right this second?”
The rubber soles of his running trainers knocked open double doors, the masked henchman now escorting Logan through a carpeted corridor, past a giant staircase, underneath chandelier after chandelier after chandelier …
Am I in the same house as the one before?
Is this different? New? Are they all decorated the same?
Fuck, I’m missing The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills reunion …
Logan felt surprised that such a normal thought had landed in his mind, during such an exceptionally bizarre moment where he had convinced himself he could barely think straight.
The piano playing got louder and louder, until eventually, it was on the other side of another set of double doors.
The tickle chair squeaked to a stop.
Logan now felt so nervous he had begun to grow dizzy.
“Jesus,” he whispered to himself, “Jesus fucking Christ …”
The sound of Miller’s voice in a microphone could be heard in what Logan presumed would be another large, giant hall; mostly dark with a spotlight shining into its centre.
“… You see …” Miller’s voice echoed, “… We have something he wants. And he’ll do anything to get it back. As you all know, he actually infiltrated one of our events a few nights ago, to find it. That’s how determined he was! Sexy right?” The audience whooped and cheered, Miller’s laugh pressing against the microphone …
Logan stared at the closed doors just a metre away from him as he continued to listen to Miller’s voice.
“… We struck a deal with him: Do as we say, and what you want is all yours. What did we say for him to do? Trick and tickle this handsome young man right here … Give it up, everybody, for someone you have wanted to see tickled for the best part of three years, star of the Creed franchise, thirty six year old Michael B Jorrrrddaaaaaaaaaan! …”
Logan couldn’t see what was taking place on the other side of the doors, but he could picture Michael walking through the masked crowd; the spotlight leaving the tickle chair where it would shine over him, the applause, foot stomping, clapping and cheers now so loud Logan could feel it vibrating through his restraints.
“How you feeling, Michael?” Miller spoken into his microphone, a few seconds of debate within the audience, and then Michael speaking, his voice deep, “I feel good, man, I’m uh, I’m ready to get my revenge …” Michael played his part, the audience’s reaction erupting in the form of another loud applause, “That’s good, that’s great,” Miller said, “Now, to remind everyone, we’re in the process of receiving Michael’s session. We are also professionally filming tonights event and once all footage has been combined and edited, we’ll send out all of the content to those who have paid by midnight tomorrow evening. The video should be around an hour and a half long … Compatible with Quicktime, all footage should not be shared with non-members of The House, such an action will be punishable by law, yadda fucking yadda, you all get the drill by now … SO … Without further ado …
… Shall we get Logan?”
Logan thought the applause was loud for Michael, but as he sat here waiting, he found the need to squeeze his eyes shut, his heartbeat increasing even further in speed as the cheers, clapping and what sounded like screams of hysteria arrived at an extreme, almost deafening level …
“Wow!” Miller had to shout into his microphone, “Oh wow, that is one hell of a welcome…!”
Logan’s eyes watered as his mind became consumed by dread and despair, his palms soaked with sweat, his nostrils flaring, his toes scrunched up tight within his running trainers.
“Does everyone remember Percy Jackson?” Miller asked, his microphone voice echoing out behind the closed doors.
Once again, deafening applause …
“Well, here’s here. Here’s behind THOSE DOORS and in thirty seconds, he’ll be right in front of you, so close you can touch him …
More applause, more clapping, more cries of excitement …
Logan closed his eyes.
“Come on …” he growled through clenched teeth, “… Don’t make me wait any longer, you fuck …”
“Okay. Let’s do this! Would everyone please put your hands together for thirty one year old star of ‘Percy Jackson’, ‘Perks of Being a Wallflower’ , ''Bullet Train’ and now our latest tickle video ‘Logan’s Desperation’ … Mr … LOGAN … LERRRRMAAAAAAANNNNNNN!”
Logan’s eyes snapped open.
The masked henchmen wheeled Logan through the double doors, the rubber sole of his trainers once again knocking them open, his worried as fuck expression greeted by hundreds of smartly dressed people, some wearing masks, some surprisingly not …
They applauded and cheered, reached forward and tried to hold onto his hands, clapped and jumped on the spot, some stepping aside to make room for the chairs journey to the centre of the hall, others too excited and therefore getting in the way … One person at the back even passing out …
The masked henchmen wheeled Logan to a halt, his now sweat soaked body illuminated by the brightness of the spotlight above him.
Logan’s eyebrows straightened into a flat line as he breathlessly glared at the audience, his eyes shifting from left to right, right to left, left to right …
His startled gaze finally landed on the stone plinth with a briefcase laid out over its surface, Michael standing beside Miller.
Michael smiled at Logan, giving him one reassuring nod.
Logan pressed his lips shut, his nervous scowl shooting to Miller as soon as the fifty year old stepped forward and placed the microphone against Logan’s mouth.
“Say hello to everyone,” Miller whispered, “They’re desperate to hear you speak,” he hissed.
Logan blinked a few times and opened his mouth.
“Uhh …” his uhhh echoed throughout the hall, “… Heh, hello, everyone …”
The audience erupted in more loud applause, their fierce clapping lasting around ten to fifteen seconds before Miller raised his right hand.
“Tell us,” Miller spoke into the microphone, “How ticklish are you, Logan?” He placed the microphone under Logan’s chin.
Logan readjusted himself in his seat, his fingers curling around the leather of his wrist restraints.
His jaw widened, his eyebrows lifted, his feet wobbled from side to side …
The audience waited eagerly, silence filling the hall, only Logan’s breath against the microphone could be heard.
Reluctantly, Logan answered.
“I’m actually not very ticklish at all,” he smirked, sweat staining his upper lip.
The masked audience chuckled and laughed, providing the sort of response similar to the sound an audience would create after a joke in an episode of Friends or The Big Bang Theory …
Miller didn’t find Logan’s response as funny.
“Gag that pretty mouth of his, will you?”" He directed his order at the masked henchman who had wheeled Logan in.
Logan twisted his head from left to right.
“You, you don’t need to do that, honestly,” The masked man picked the ball gag out of his back pocket and began to near Logan, “Don’t you wanna hear me laugh? You, you won’t hear me laugh if you—” the masked man wedged the ball of plastic into Logan’s mouth, clipping the strap together behind his head, “—Mpph! Mphh. Mphh? Mmpphh …”
Miller turned to Michael, patting his right arm.
“You’re one lucky son of a bitch, Michael. You get to tickle one of the ticklees people here would sell their soul to tickle. You gotta promise me something, okay? You gotta promise me that you’ll make the most out of every single second …”
Miller held the microphone under Michael’s mouth.
Michael pressed his lips against the microphone.
“I promise.”
Another large applause, more cries of excitement, more whoops and cheers …
Miller twirled the microphone and bowed the to the applause, stepping back into the crowd, his cream suit disappearing into the darkness.
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.
And then —
‘THE CIRCLE’ CONTINUES IN PART THREE, ‘IT’S A PROBLEM’