Tim sat in Armie’s kitchen, in the clothes had had arrived in; a pair of white socks and high top Gucci trainers, Adidas sweat pants and an oversized grey hoodie.

Curls of brown hair hung over his eyes as he tucked into a Full English Breakfast.

He devoured sausages, scrambled egg, bacon and beans, chomping down on the food as if he hadn’t eaten in forever.

After such an extreme tickling session, he has developed quite the appetite.

Armie watched Tim haul down his cooking with an impressed expression.

Then, he hopped off his stool and walked to the fridge.

He poured Tim a glass of orange juice and then placed it beside his nearly empty plate.

Tim wiped his mouth and hid what could’ve been a loud burp by gulping it down.

“Better?” Asked Armie.

Tim nodded, making sure his mouth wasn’t full before replying.

“Better.”

The two friends sat in silence as Tim looked around Armie’s large, white, clinically decorated kitchen.

The cupboards, work surfaces, taps and floor glistened with an overwhelming shine.

“I’ve been to your place before. This … This isn’t it,” frowned Tim.

He had only just started to get his whereabouts - after all, he had arrived here in a blindfold.

Armie nodded.

“This is my secondary apartment. It’s a place where I … Do things. With … People, who share the same interests that I have.”

Tim raised his eye brows.

“Interests?” He asked.

Armie got comfortable on his stool and picked up a bit of leftover bacon from Tim’s plate.

“What I’ve been doing to you, for the past four hours.”

Armie popped the bacon into his mouth.

“Oh …” Tim said quietly into his lap, “ … Tickling.”

“Knismolagnia,” Armie cleared his throat, “… That’s the official term. For... What I have.”

Tim nodded slowly.

“Thanks for the clarity,” he mumbled.

Armie smiled.

“Does my interest in … Doing it with you … To this level … Does it make you feel uncomfortable?” He asked.

Tim had to think about his response before opening his mouth.

He had never experienced anything quite like this.

Sure, he’d been tickled hundreds of times before, mostly as a kid …

… But to be restrained and tormented, so violently and so relentlessly, in areas he had no idea he were even ticklish and by tools he had no idea would even tickle when applied …

'Uncomfortable' didn't really cover it.

“Why me?” Asked Tim.

Armie picked up Tim’s plate with one hand and nudged his glass of orange juice closer towards him with the other.

“I told you,” Armie replied, whilst walking the plate to the sink.

Tim looked at the orange juice, feeling too full to drink it right now.

“Don’t you, don't you know other guys as, as ticklish as me? Any other guys who cou—“

Armie interrupted Tim.

“—No.”

Tim blinked.

“Oh.”

Armie dribbled washing up liquid over the plate and began to clean it with a yellow sponge.

“You’re one of a kind, Timothée. Your sensitivity, your reactions, your levels of ticklish-ness … They’re unmatched. I knew that, the first time I pressed into your sides, goodness, a few years ago now. You might not of realised it but, I’ve not been able to keep my hands off you since.”

Tim shuffled on his stool as he thought back over the many times Armie had casually tickled him; in public at events, on the red carpet, or informally as friends …

He always put it down to Armie being playful.

Now, it became clear that there was more to his hands on approach.

Armie switched off the taps and then dried his hands with a nearby kitchen towel.

“And don’t get me started on your feet,” Armie looked down at Tim’s Gucci sneakers, wishing they were off, “Your feet are, by far, the most beautiful pair of feet I’ve ever seen. I knew the moment I saw you, bare foot in Italy, that I’d have to have them.”

Tim squirmed awkwardly as he recalled the nose bleed scene in Call Me By Your Name.

The script had simply said that Oliver would comfort Elio in private.

But, during the first and only take, Tim found his feet in Armie’s lap, where Armie would then finger his toes.

Tim remembered having to try so hard to keep in character as he writhed on the spot and tried, several times, to yank his foot away.

Armie finished the scene with a kiss to Tim’s sole.

It all makes sense.

Tim chuckled and hid his face with his hands.

“This is crazy ...” He squeezed his eyes shut, “... Man, why are you saying this? This is so damn —”

Armie smiled and slowly returned to the high kitchen table.

“—Weird?” He finished Tim’s sentence for him.

Tim’s palms slid away from his face, “No …” He then tucked his hands under his thighs, “… Unexpected.”

Armie sat back down on his stool.

“I am so, so glad that I’ve been honest,” He said, “I’ve always wanted to talk to you about this. You have no idea how excited I felt when I saw your Tickle Abuse application. I love that we have this mutual agreement,” Armie reached out and placed his hand on Tim’s shoulder, “… One that I hope can continue.”

Tim’s eyes fell on Armie’s hand.

He clenched his teeth as he let the nerves get the better of him.

He shrugged Armie’s hand off his shoulder and slid off the kitchen stool.

“Uhh … I, I don’t know, man … This is … This is, uh--”

As Tim began to pace around the kitchen, Armie folded his arms quietly.

“--Ten million dollars,” he announced.

Tim stood still.

“What?” He turned around quietly and looked Armie in the eye.

Armie nodded at Tim’s empty seat, gesturing for him to sit back down.

Tim reluctantly returned to his stool.

“Ten million dollars,” Repeated Armie, “Ten million dollars, and all I ask is you stay here, for exactly one month … And I get to tickle you in anyway … Any position, any form of restraint … On any area of your body I want, and then, when the month is up, you’re free to go.”

Armie eyed Tim like a lion eyeing its prey.

A confidence sparkled deep within his blue eyes.

The entire suggestion intimidated Tim.

He shuffled quietly in his seat as he eyed the orange juice looking back up at him.

Ten million dollars …

… That’s a lot of money.

Enough to pay for his New York Apartment, for the next three years at least.

Enough to pay off some debts, enough to pay back some friends …

… But would he be able to handle it?

Can I physically take it?

“That’s … That’s the sort of pay for, for a movie …” Tim narrowed his eyes as he tried to compartmentalise his thoughts.

“Exactly,” Armie unfolded his arms and leant on the kitchen table, “… Think of it as the sort of money you should be getting, if cinemas were open and if the movie industry weren’t on hold.”

Tim shook his head, “You… You can’t afford it. Come on, Armie - ten million dollars?” Tim scratched his nose as he avoided Armie’s gaze, “Can’t you just … Whack off to something online? I’m sure there’s tickle porn out there, right?”

Armie pursed his lips.

“Why are you turning this down?” He asked.

Tim ran his fingertips gently around the glass of orange juice.

“I, I don’t know…” he answered, honestly, “… I, I guess I’m … I guess this sort of offer has never been… Offered to me before… ” Tim slid his hands through his hair, “ … Man, this is insane.”

“You’re apprehensive, about being tickled, that intensely, correct?” Armie’s tone softened.

Tim kept his hands in his hair, enjoying the relief of not having curls dangling over his face.

“I mean, yeah, I guess. But, also … I’m … I’m not …” Tim looked up at Armie with a focused eye, “… I’m not gay, Armie. I’m … Happy, with who I am and … And I want you to respect that.”

Armie held out his hand.

“Your friendship is more important to me than anything else.”

Tim looked at Armie’s hand and then he imagined the weight off his shoulders, after receiving that sort of financial gain.

One month …

… It’s just four weeks.

Tim closed his eyes as he thought back a few hours, to a moment where he couldn’t breathe.

His toes curled inside his Gucci trainers as he relived the feeling of a hair brush gliding across his silky smooth, baby-oil-drenched soles.

Tim opened his eyes and without further hesitation, he said, “No.”

He planted his palms on the cold surface of the kitchen table to add additional authority to his answer.

Armie blinked.

“You’re one hundred percent sure?” He asked.

Tim nodded, just the once.

Armie paused and then, with respect in his voice, he smiled and got up from his seat.

“Okay. I’ll have a car take you back home,” he said.

***

Two hours earlier ...

Tim flexed his toes within his crisp white socks as his sneakers were gradually removed by Armie.

Tim still couldn't believe that the entire hiring process had lead him to now be seated, in Armie's living room, in this tickle chair.

He had expected a sadistic woman, or an older, wealthy guy with too much time and too much money.

But Armie? A tickle fetishist? 

Tim mulled thoughts through his head as he watched Armie take a quick sniff out of each sneaker.

Armie had tickled Tim before - more times than anyone else in his life ... On the red carpet, during filming, be it a jab to the hip or a full on rib-tickle in front of paparazzi ...

“You’ve ... You've always liked tickling me… Haven’t you?” 

Armie gently ran the tips of his fingers over Tim's socked arches.

"Has it always been that obvious?"

Tim’s toes flexed out into a worried stretch.

Armie applied pressure.

Tim twisted his feet from side to side as he balled his fists and pulled at his restraints.

“It damn well is now...” managed Tim, through gritted teeth.

Armie smirked.

He then pinched the tips of Tim’s socks, causing Tim's feet to flinch.

Tim sat in constant, high alert.

“You see, Tim… I’ve always wanted to do something like this with you. Words can't describe how glad I am you accepted." 

Armie pulled off Tim’s left sock, to reveal his bare foot.

He held onto Tim’s foot gently and admired the perfection in front of him.

“I've forgotten how beautiful your feet are.”

Tim planted the back of his head against the leather pad of the chair with a sigh, "Money makers, apparently."

Armie took his index finger and gently trailed it over the soft, silky expanse of Tim’s left sole. 

Tim squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his toes tightly.

Armie let his index finger finish somewhere near his toes, before going over to Tim’s other foot, where he removed Tim's second sock.

He threw the sock over his shoulder and began to rub Tim’s feet firmly.

Tim let his body relax within the tickle chair.

His arms went limp as he fully regained his breathing.

For a second, Armie tricked Tim into thinking the only thing taking place from now on would be a massage - but a scratch to his toes told Tim otherwise. 

“Fuck!”

Tim pulled forwards in surprise.

The wrist restraints clanked loudly as he threw his upper body towards Armie, “S-sstop!” He hissed.

Armie smiled at the volume of Tim's voice.

He then we back to massaging, instead of tickling. 

Tim remained pulled forward - he didn't dare sit back.

"How, how long is left?”

Tim tried to lessen his glare towards Armie, but a fierce desperation had started to leak out of him. 

Armie admired both of Tim’s bare feet as he pretended to think about his answer.

"However long I want," he announced.

Tim’s feet flicked from side to side as Armie attempted to hold them still.

“But… But the, the, time limit is… Is three hours…”

Tim couldn't hide the anxiety in his voice.

Armie started to take the black, thick string that sat attached to the stocks of the tickle chair and loop them around each of Tim’s toes.

This proved difficult, because anytime Armie even touched Tim’s toes, his feet would squirm defensively.

“No..." Tim winced as the string slid between his toes, "... What's, what's this for?"

Armie kept his eyes off Tim as he continued to tie his toes back to the stocks.

“You ask too many questions …” he jested.

“Agh!” Tim wiggled his hips as he watched Armie loop the individual string attachments around each of his toes, “No, that's not fair. I can't, I can't move ..."

Armie shrugged.

“Correct. And there's not much you can do about it.” 

Armie was right.

What can I do?

He was tied to this huge, red leather tickle chair.

Locked in, restrained.

His feet were the most restricted and immobile they'd ever been.

They were bare, naked.

His ticklish flesh - entirely exposed, fully vulnerable.

He was... Stuck.

He had no choice but to see this out.

Tim threw his head back in agony as Armie began to tickle his now fully exposed feet.

Before, without his toes tied, Tim could take some comfort in dealing with this torture by flapping his feet around in an attempt to avoid Armie's attacks.

But, with each toe so securely pinned back, and with all movement in his feet restricted ...

... All Tim could do was scream.

Fuck!

Fuck this is insane!

What the fuck is he--

--No!

Fuck the toes.

"Fuck the toes!"

Armie tickled Tim into hysterical submission, non stop, until he heard Tim unable to catch his breath.

Armie stopped the torture, allowing Tim a moment to regain oxygen.

“Please… I, I can't... I can't take this f-for any longer than, th-three hours ...”

Armie wiped some blonde hair away from his eyes.

"Oh we've barely scratched the surface..."

Armie then began to search through his tool box.

Tim lifted his head up.

His neck ached from being so stiff.

He peered over the stocks, stretching out to see what might be happening next.

“Now what?” He moaned.

Armie took his time.

“I bet you thought I'd go easy on you - because it's me. I'm your friend, right?” 

Tim lifted his shoulders and widened his eyes, "Well, yeah! I'm, I'm kinda surprised you're being so hardcore. I said yes to this damn thing because I, I thought you'd be--"

Armie analysed his hands, which now had sharp, metal claws attached to each finger.

“--I told you, Tim. I've always wanted to do something like this with you. When I saw your face in the database, I couldn't quite believe me eyes. This is, quite honestly, a dream come true."

Tim gulped at The Claws at the ends of Armie’s fingers.

"Okay, okay! I get it. But, you're still my, my friend, you're, you're meant to be ... " Tim winced as Armie applied baby oil over his feet, "... You're meant to be nice!"

Armie capped the bottle and then began to drag The Claws over the shimmering expanse of Tim's soles.

"Oh, I'm more than just your friend, Timmy."

Tim’s face exploded in hysteria.

"BE NICE! BE NICE? FUCK!" He cried.

The ticklish sensations caused by The Claws caused him to reach forwards and scream at Armie, whilst his wrists were tightly strapped behind him in place.

"Fuck, Armie, FUCK! Go, go slow, go slow!"

Armie didn't go slow.

In fact, he went faster.

He sent The Claws all over Tim's heels, arches and sides of his feet.

Tim bounced around in the tickle chair with spit foaming at the corners of his lips and his bicep muscles bursting tight, by how much he pulled on his restraints. 

His feet were abused and attacked by The Claws, unable to move and only able to endure the tickling that went on for six minutes, non stop.

Armie grinned sadistically.

He spent a focused amount of time on all areas of the ticklish, silky smooth areas of Tim’s highly sensitive feet.

He then found a space on Tim’s arch that caused the boy to go wild - so he stayed there a little longer and addressed that area to ensure that Tim would suffer.

Tim threw his head back, he mumbled out a maddened cry and then he started to heave out energy in the mixed up form of laughing and screaming.

The Claws had their way with Tim's soles for six minutes exactly, until Tim begged Armie so hard that Armie knew he had to give the boy a break.

"Man, come on, fuck! Please! Please? This is too much, STOP!"

Armie slid The Claws away from Tim's feet.

Tim’s body fell limply against the tickle chair.

His hands dangled lifelessly as he tried to catch his breath.

".... huff, huff, huff, huff, huff ..."

Armie wiped some sweat from his own head and got to his feet.

“Breathe in and out, slowly, I’m going to get us some beers..."

Tim now, in this moment, simply existed as Armie's tickle doll.

When played with, he was an erratic and violent mess.

When left alone, he fell lifelessly against his own weight like a character from Toy Story.

"... And then we'll be ready for round three..." said Armie, as he walked into the kitchen.

Tim let some dribble hang from the corner of his mouth.

He couldn’t speak just yet, he was too busy controlling his breathing.

He was so overwhelmed with relief, relief that it was over for at least a little while.

“…R… R…. Round… Thr… Three…?” He muttered, coughing into his bare shoulder.

Tim had no idea, yet, that 'round three' would include a specific tool - the very thing that would destroy him, and send him to a ticklish existence that he never thought possible.

But first ... A beer.

TCTLR continues in Chapter Three - ‘Blackout’ …