Huff,

Huff,

Huff,

“You’ll need to let him speak, if we really want to capture how upset he is,” Miller chuckled.

Andrew and Peter both felt the need to remove their masks at the same time; the air behind the plastic had grown warm and muggy, after their vigorous attempts to get Armie into his current breathless state.

They nod at their master, taking the hairbrushes away from Armie’s oil soaked soles, where they then bowed their heads and stepped aside.

Armie focused on catching his breath, before he could start to shape out words.

He un-scrunched his toes and flexed out his fingers, his ass cheeks now soaked to the leather padding of the tickle chair.

Tim’s hands dangled by his sides as he lowered his head.

“Wanna talk to me …” huff, huff, huff, “… About th, this secretive side of yours, kid?” Armie asked.

Tim scratched the back of his head as a beat of silence filled the room, the dozens of founder eyes all aimed directly at his naked body.

“Didn’t you hear what he just said?” Tim spoke in a quiet growl, “He told me to keep it a secret, man!” Tim lifted his head and glared at Armie, “I wanted to tell you, so bad, but, I, I had no idea what tonight would even be about! Of, of course I—”

—Armie licked a bead of sweat away from his upper lip.

He felt Andrew, Peter, Miller and John glance at him with a judging look, a look that reminded him to not press Tim too hard into revealing why he did something in secret, when he himself had just actioned out his own means without being honest.

“Go on!” Miller demanded, shrugging off his robe, where he too now stood entirely naked, “Tell him!” Miller began to approach Armie, where he slid behind the tickle chair, a move that caused Armie to shuffle in his seat and yank at his wrist restraints, “Tell him what we made you do!” Miller reached over the back of the chair and began to stroke Armie’s underarms with both hands, “That is … If you can physically get the words out …”

Tim’s mouth fell open as he watched Armie’s torso practically crumple into itself, at the mere press of Miller’s fingers over the tips of his armpit hair.

Tim had toyed with Armie over the past three years, during their sessions where Armie had given Tim the feather, instead of keeping the feather for himself.

He had made him writhe, he had made him squirm, he had even made him beg.

But he had never produced reactions like the ones he currently witnessed.

“—Hee, hee, hee, he told me, kid—” Armie threw his body to the left as Miller jabbed his fingers deep into Armie’s right pit, “—GRAGHH! Hee, hee told me hee, hee, no, no! Fuck! Fuck you, Miller!—”, Armie tumbled into hysterics, his grin manic yet menacing, tight but loose, a mixture of undeniable ecstasy forced together with utter distain for his circumstance as Miller tickled his pit with relentless strength, “—GRAGH! AGHAAAAH! AGHAHAHA! Oh god, oh, oh Miller, oh god, not like this! Come on! Come on!—” Now Miller aggressively tickled both of Armie’s pits at the same time whilst Andrew and Peter watched on in awe, “—Hetoldmeheknewwhatwedid—” Armie spat all at once, “—Hefilmedyou—” he could not stop the saliva from falling from his lips, “—whenyoufirstmet—” he buckled to the right and then threw himself forward, the tickle chair shifting over a few inches, “—hessssssaid—” Armie arched his back and squeezed his eyes shut, Miller now using one hand to invade Armie’s left pit whilst his other hand ventured down to the fur of Armie’s stomach, “—he said he’d leak it to the world if I didn’t do as he asked!”

Tim listened with narrowed eyes as he tried to focus on Armie’s babbled explanation, whilst taking in the details of the data.

Slowly, he turned his head towards Miller and spoke with a deep, grainy rasp.

“You filmed me…?” His fists scrunched so hard his knuckles glowed white, “In your studio?” He felt something animalistic move his body, something old and ancient that he had repressed since he signed Armie’s contract over three years ago, “—You mother fucker …” he hissed.

Tim threw himself at Miller.

He roared, he reached out to claw, his pupils became black dots.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Peter was the first to grab at Tim.

Andrew, startled by Tim’s rage, was the next to grapple with the twenty eight year old.

“—You mother fucker! You mother fucker! You mother fucker!—” Tim cried.

Miller stepped away from the tickle chair, much to Armie’s relief, as both Andrew and Peter took an arm of Tim’s each; Andrew taking Tim’s right, Peter taking Tim’s left, where they then together manhandled him around the burning trash can as he kicked and squirmed within their grasp, dragging him towards Armie, forcing him beside the device the thirty seven year old sat strapped into …

Tim spun on his heels and pointed at Miller, “You’re a mother fucker!” He repeated, as if Miller needed to hear it one more time.

Armie panted into the hairs of his chest as he endured a tormenting tingle within each armpit, “Le, leave it, kid …” huff, huff, huff, “They’re not worth it …” huff, huff, huff …

An excited expression saturated Millers face, it had been quite some years since he had emotionally pushed individuals this far …

“Oh, I’m not the only one who got camera happy, Wolf …” Miller stepped away and stood between Andrew and Peter as John continued to watch his show, in his wheelchair, from a distance, “… Come on, Hammer! You’ve still got a lot of talking to do!” He nodded at Armie’s feet and then glared directly at Tim’s face, “Make him squirm, Wolf … Do it, or we share your secret little kinks with the entire world …”

Tim caught Miller’s eyes shift towards the founders mask plugged into the laptop, a laptop with a screen showcasing an ‘uploading’ box that appeared to be at one hundred percent.

“What the fuck is that, Armie?” Tim could not help but allow his voice to go from demanding and powerful, to whiney and weak, “Armie, man! Tell me, what the fuck is that?—” His point went from Miller to the mask, from the mask to the laptop, from the laptop to the sole of Armie’s left foot.

Armie winced.

“Hey, kid, go easy, go, go slow!” His biceps bulged and his toes flexed as Tim began to draw up the bottom of Armie’s left foot, “Alright! Alright! Yes, yesterday, our session, it was as intense as it was for a reason!” Armie clenched his teeth and heaved out a few strained chuckles, his toes curling into a fierce clench, the toe ties keeping his foot in place, “Not the toes, kid, don’t go any further up, come on!—” He threw his head back as Tim’s index finger went further up, “—Alright, okay, damnit! They promised to not share anything they had on us, if I filmed you and I, doo—doo—doo—” Armie’s jaw stretched open as Tim began to scratch at the base of his toes, “—doo, doo-ing what we do, but the most intense yet—” Armie raised his voice, shouting so loud that his yell once again sent echoes through the room, “—IT WASN’T MY CHOICE!—” he shrieked, “—They wanted you kept in the dark!—” he cried, “—They call it a damn NARRATIVE!—” Armie’s head stretched towards Tim, his words leaving his throat with such vigour that Tim could feel the heat against his face.

Tim found himself lifting his other hand, where it arrived at Armie’s other foot; he found himself tickling both of Armie’s feet, unsure if he were doing it because Miller had ordered him to, or if he were doing it because he wanted to punish Armie.

“The, the mask …” Tim sniffed, his eyes filling with tears, “… That wasn’t a gift?”

Armie shook his head, his nostrils flaring as he watched Tim do the unthinkable; he began to claw and scratch and stroke at both of his soles, transforming Armie into a twisting, wriggling worm on a hook, his feet thrashing from left to right, the toe ties creaking, his hips thrusting from side to side, his laughter bellowing out across the candlelight.

“Tim, please, come on—” Armie muttered breathlessly, “—Come on, kid, don’t do this, stop, stop, stop—” he licked more sweat away from his upper lip, “—I’m a different kind of ticklish, kid, I swear to god, you don’t wanna go there!—” Armie felt his eyes peel away from his feet to Peter, only momentarily, as Peter arrived at the laptop where he too shrugged off his robe, revealing his naked form.

“It’s uploaded,” Peter announced, “Our members are gonna love this. It’ll make us millions …” Peter pressed the space bar, the video arrived on the laptops screen, another space bar tap and it began to play.

Tim lowered his head as he continued to tickle Armie, the sound of his own muffled and digital laughter in Armie’s bedroom flooding the underground hall they had all been positioned in.

Peter returned to Andrew and Miller, “There’s an incredible part at the end, with a length of string, seriously, boys, you’re gonna bust your load over that …” he whispered to his colleagues, “ … The man really is a genius …”

Armie scrunched all ten of his toes into one last determined clench, his entire torso thrusting forwards at Tim where he caught the young mans attention, breaking him out of his teary stare, where he grunted out six simple words that encapsulated the reason why he did what Miller blackmailed him into doing.

“—I was trying to protect you—”

Tim felt his nose burn as he blinked away shimmering droplets that fell from his cheeks and landed over the tops of his feet, the warmth of the hall causing them to melt straight away into his skin.

Miller stepped forwards.

“… And the Wolf wanted freedom … ” Miller declared.

Miller’s hand rested over Tim’s, where he pressed the aggression, the wrath, the vengeance away from Armie’s soles.

Tim stumbled away and wiped some tears away from his jaw.

Huff,

Huff,

Huff,

Huff,

Armie was not given enough time to control his breathing; before he had the chance to even try, Miller’s hands were back on him, this time at the left side of his torso.

Armie wish he could just flinch, or jolt, or stiffen; instead, his ass lifted away from the leather in something he had only just recently described himself - a leap.

The tickle chair rattled as soon as his weight landed back over its structure, an angered hiss making its way between his teeth as he was forced to wriggle in his seat, Miller’s fingers now dancing up and down his ribcage.

The only person within the hall that had not discarded their robe, not including the cloaked, hooded and masked founders lining the stone walls, was Andrew.

Before shrugging away the black silk, he reached inside the robe and pulled out a plane ticket.

The robe then fell at his feet, revealing his slender yet muscular frame; his broad shoulders, the faint sprouts of fur that decorating his chest and abs, the length of his legs and the defined shapes of his thighs.

Even with Armie begging his loudest, even with the knowledge that he had acted behind his back, even with all of this heaviness resting over his shoulders, Tim found himself unable to take his eyes away from Andrew, from the waist down.

Beneath Andrew’s stomach hung a thick and well endowed, now throbbing cock; its size far the largest, compared to everyone elses in the hall.

Tim cleared his throat and forced his eyes away, rubbing the back of his hand against the tip of a very wet nose.

Andrew acknowledged Tim’s interest, even if it was brief; he smirked at the twenty eight year old and began to approach him, with the speed of a leopard about to pounce on a small monkey.

Tim took a few uneasy steps back as Armie continued to heave and howl, Miller now circling each of Armie’s most sensitive spots on his body; his right and left nipple.

“—Miller! Oh god, Miller, not there, come on, stop, stop this now! Get the fuck offa me, come on, you sadistic bastard! Oh god, oh gohahahahahahahahaha—ahahahahahahaha!—ahahahahahahaahaaaaad …—”

All Miller had to do was draw circles around each nipple with his index fingers, causing Armie to twist his upper body away from him, into him, any way away from him, to try and stop the ticklish torment from happening.

Tim did not now where to look; his attention was pulled either to the mask he had held in his lap just yesterday, a mask now plugged into a laptop still playing footage filmed without him knowing less than twenty four hours ago, where it was then pulled to Armie and his struggle, a sight that both aroused Tim and worried him at equal measure. Tim’s green eyes would dart to Miller, where they would boil with such hatred that they would jump over to Peter, who now held a USB in his hand, for them to finally land back at Andrew and his meaty arousal.

Tim twisted into himself when Andrew snuck his fingers into the muscle of his right hip.

“Yo!” Tim went to grab at Andrew, but Andrew smacked his hands away as if they were annoying bugs.

Armie grunted and groaned as Miller slid his fingers away from his nipples and gently combed his armpit hair instead.

“Can you believe it, Hammer?” Miller took one hand and used it to grab Armie’s chin, lifting his head so that he faced Tim, “He’s gone behind your back now not just once, but twice …” Miller tightened his hold around Armie’s jaw, causing his cheeks to squish inward, his lips to puff, “… Doesn’t sound like a very healthy relationship to me, huh?”

Armie narrowed his eyes at the plane ticket in Andrew’s hand.

“What the … What the fuck is …” he pulled his face away from Miller, using all the strength in his sweat stained neck, “… What the fuck is that?”

Andrew pressed the ticket against Tim’s chest.

“Can I have the honours, boss?” Andrew kept his eyes on Tim, mainly focusing on the shape of his lips, but directing his question at Miller.

Miller dragged his fingernails over Armie’s chest, down his stomach and towards his cock, where his fingers curled around its shape and began to stroke at it firmly.

“After what you’ve achieved this year?” Miller scoffed, “No way, you reckless little sh—”

“—Yes,” John croaked, from the depths of his wheelchair, “Allow him …” he wheezed, amongst the plastic wires and metal of his oxygen tank.

Miller pressed his lips together and nodded just once, his pushed together smile stretching into a satisfied grin as he felt Armie reluctantly harden within his grasp.

Andrew tried his best not to, he knew it would only get him into deeper trouble than he was already in … But as the seconds went by, he found himself looking over at Miller and offering him a winning wink.

Tim lowered his head, his view a plane ticket flat against the shimmering flesh of his torso.

“We’re hosting a little … Party …” Andrew pulled his focus back to Tim, “… Lift up your arms, point to the ceiling, alright?” Armie kept his fingertips pressed against the ticket.

Tim burrowed his eyebrows into a flat frown and chewed on his upper lip.

As ordered, he slowly lifted his arms above his head and pointed at the ceiling; this move exposed his underarms, presenting the thick, dark curls of his armpit hair to Andrew, just as Andrew had expected them to.

Andrew’s eyes may as well have turned into bulging, pink hearts; he spoke out the word, ‘wow’ so quietly that no one in the hall heard it leave his mouth, especially when the volume of Armie’s grunts were considered, the further Miller sank his touch against his pecs.

“We’re hosting a little party,” Andrew repeated, “A ten week long excursion … An activity fuelled getaway, if you will … “ Andrew used his free hand to lift casually, where it travelled through the air with the grace of someone who knew what they were about to touch was something exceptional, something special, something one of a kind …

Tim squeezed his eyes shut as Andrew’s fingertips arrived at the armpit hair of his right underarm.

John began to dribble as he watched Tim’s fingers curl into his palms, creating tightly clenched fists.

“You’ve been to Tickle Fest, right?” Andrew began to stroke Tim’s armpit hair, “It’s kinda like that, but levelled up by a thousand …” Andrew chuckled as he watched Tim leap onto tip toes, “… No, scrap that … A million …”

Tim nudged his elbows into a slight bend as Andrew increased the pressure of his touch.

“Fuck that,” Tim said through clenched teeth, “Fuck you, I’m not going …” he spoke with promise to his tone.

Armie, through blurred vision, felt his heart drop into his stomach as he watched Tim’s erection stiffen, the more Andrew touched him.

“—Pl, ple, ple, please, Miller, stop, I, I can’t breath …” Armie gulped down a dry bubble, his body exhausted, his strength and muscular shape glistening in the candle light as the trash can illuminating this insane setting continued to burn.

Miller’s claws flattened as his palms slid away from Armie’s now erect cock, where they instead decided to massage his shoulders.

“Listen up, Hammer,” Miller whispered into Armie’s left ear, “This part is pretty fucking important …”

Andrew continued, his fingers curling through Tim’s armpit hair as he spoke.

“There will be games. Lots and lots of games … With lots and lots of people, people like you … ” Andrew’s astonishingly large cock began to lift as Tim squirmed on the spot, shuffling his feet, clearly very desperate to drop his arms to his sides, “… And there will be a winner …” He played Tim like the puppet he was, the strings once held by Miller, strings now held by Andrew.

“… If you win, you’ll never hear from the founders again … And that includes Armie …” Andrew transformed his stroking into gentle drags, causing Tim to twist a little to the right, a gasp leaving his mouth, “… If you lose, you live with us forever, and you get to see Armie twice a month …”

Peter, always keen to add members to the team, repeated the same words he had delivered to Armie at the Christmas party.

“Or,” he lifted his shoulders, the USB still pinched between his index finger and thumb, “You could just join the cult …!”

Tim winced and pulled himself away from Andrew, his spin detaching Andrew’s fingertips and the ticket away from his chest.

Andrew held the ticket firmly in hand, his cock now twitching and standing tall at the sight of Tim giving in, unable to take the touch over his underarm for a second longer.

Tim’s back now faced John, Miller, Armie, Peter and Andrew; he could not bare to look at Armie as a range of thought and emotion saturated a face filled with pain.

He kept his head lowered, his eyes peering up at all of the cloaked founders lining the wall opposite him.

The hall fell silent; only the sound of crackling flame and Armie’s heavy breathing filled the humid expanse around them.

Tim inhaled slowly as his mind travelled back to a moment in Armie’s kitchen, where he put pen to paper and scribbled his signature over a line, securing weeks and weeks of tickle torment with someone who, at the time, he considered simply a friend.

That time led to feelings and confusing reactions, that time led to the introduction of Miller and a camcorder, that time led to secrets, manipulations, choices and decisions, that time led to love, that time led to masks, robes, betrayal, blackmail and this very situation …

… It was then Tim realised that The House, these people, the way they work …

… They had been in control before Tim had even removed the cap from the pen itself.

For the first time in the three years he had grown to love Armie, Tim regretted stepping foot in his apartment.

He regretted agreeing to be tickled for money, for financial support, for an income that was taken from him by a disease nobody even talks about anymore.

He wished the pen was not filled with ink.

He wished he was not ticklish at all.

He began to wish he had never met Armie in the first place.

Began …

Began …

Began …

Before that thought could grow any further, Tim turned to face his captors, where he looked Miller directly in the eye.

“What if I decline entirely?” He asked, a defeated croak to his voice.

Peter unplugged the mask from the laptop.

He held the mask in the air with one hand, whilst holding the USB in the air with the other.

Miller’s hands slid away from Armie’s shoulders as he made his way beside Peter.

“… Timothée Chalamet, Tickled For Cash! …” Miller pointed at the USB, “… Synopsis: The young Hollywood actor is locked in stocks and tickled by a photographer who promises not to film it, when really, the camera was on as soon as he stepped foot inside the studio! Watch as he squirms and begs, his soles tickled relentlessly by fingers and then a hairbrush, as he remains completely unaware he’s being recorded! …”

He then pointed to the mask, Tim’s panicked glare following his index finger with its every move.

“… Timothée Chalamet, Tickled By Lover Armie Hammer!…” Miller grinned and scratched away an itch taking place across his stomach, “… Synopsis: The young Hollywood actor is tied naked to a bed and tickled in the most intense way yet! Gloves, hairbrushes, electric toothbrushes, fingers, you name it, we got it, step right up, all aboard…” his voice raised into a high pitched shout, “… Yadda, yadda, yadda FUCKING YADDA!—”

He then spun on the spot, his point dropping to now aim straight towards Tim.

Tim lowered his head.

“It’s porn, for now, Wolf …” Miller placed both hands over his hips, “… Just cum into a tissue for thousands of privileged, rich, exclusive idiots who want nothing but to see you squirm and beg on camera … “ he huffed, smiling at Tim, his shoulders dropping deeper at every word that left Miller’s lips, “… It’s private, it’s contractually confidential, all of our members sign NDA’s …” for the first time in a while, Miller spoke with a friendly tone; there was no sarcasm to his voice, no grit, no threat, until there suddenly was … “… Unless we tell them not to …”

Armie looked at Tim with an urgent stare, a boiling look in the blue’s of his eyes that said, ‘… Play, and win … Play, and win …’

Miller clapped his hands together, in an attempt to speed up Tim’s decision making.

“Alright, here it is, a game changer!” He declared, “Agree to The Games right now, on the spot, and we throw both the mask and the USB into the fire …” he nodded at the trash can filled with flames, “… Turn us down, and I share everything … “

Andrew approached Tim and offered him the plane ticket.

“Look on the bright side, wolfy … If you lose and you live with us … You and I? We can sleep top-to-tail,” Andrew seemed genuine in his proposal.

Tim looked down at the ticket with eyes filling with tears; his nostrils flared as his lips swelled up, his arms tucking themselves around his chest as he took a moment to consider this new ultimatum.

He had no idea what these ‘games’ would consist of, besides the fact they would obviously involve tickling.

He had no idea who else he would be playing against, these ‘people like him’.

All he knew were his outcomes.

Win: and it is a life without The House, a life without tickle torture, a life where being tickled would only take place by happenstance, from a friend being playful, or because the pedicurist scrubbed too hard …

It meant never having to look at Andrew’s ferocious grin, or Millers white toothed smirk, or Peter and his almost too quiet, too observant way.

It meant never having to look at John’s wrinkled gaze, the yellows of his nails, the sound of his staggered, dying breathing.

You’ll never see Armie again.

Tim felt no shame as a tear rolled down his cheek.

Loose: and it is a life with The House, a life tied to the many beds that filled the many mansions, a life that may not even include a career, if they chose to disallow him that …

It meant laughing all the time, in the worst way; it meant begging, screaming, giggling with strength he was not sure he had anymore.

It meant toothbrushes across the neck, string between toes, feathers over the taint …

It meant being able to fall into Armie’s chest for sweet relief every fortnight.

Only every two weeks.

Tim found himself in a rock and a hard place.

Neither outcome suited him, but both have their advantages, both were tinged with a tormenting sense of false hope.

… But hope none the less.

Tim snatched the ticket out of Andrews hand.

Armie dropped his head over his chest.

Miller began to remove his restraints.

Andrew started to stroke his own cock.

Peter threw the USB and Armie’s founders mask into the trash can.

The flames grew, the glow of orange lit the room, a cloud of amber rolled into the ceiling …

Miller nodded slowly, a calm sense of satisfaction washing over the creases of his face.

“Hammer did what we asked him to, out of love for you, Wolf,” Miller presented his learnings from the evening, as a way to further torment the couple before him, “Wolf did what we asked him to, out of love for himself …” he looked into the trash can as the mask and USB began to melt, “ … You should be thanking us. We’ve shone a spotlight on who you both really are …”

Armie looked over at Tim as he slid off the tickle chair, his knees weak, his body tingling.

Tim avoided Armie’s gaze, one hand wiping tears from his jaw, the other hand holding the plane ticket so tightly it had begun to grow damp thanks to the sweat saturating Tim’s palm.

As Armie and Tim were escorted away, Miller knelt by John and his wheelchair.

He kissed John on the lips and then whispered into his mouth:

“That was all for you, my love.”