B U C K I N G H A M P A L A C E
L O N D O N
Prince William strolled down the red carpeted halls of Buckingham Palace, where he furiously headed straight towards his Father’s quarters.
Servants and maids scurried away as he breezed past them, ignoring their presence entirely.
He boomed through tall double doors, arriving inside a lavish office double the size of most peoples homes.
Seated at an oak wooden desk, surrounded by wealth, golden furniture and dangling chandeliers was King Charles III.
Charles entwined his chubby fingers and shuffled in his velvet seat where he turned to face his son, who now stood just two feet away from him.
“Father,” Prince William scoffed, “You won’t believe it! He’s declined again …!”
The Prince curled his fists into balls, spit leaving his lips as he spoke.
“He, he can’t have his own way all of the time,” William snarled, “I won’t have it! Not again, not like all the times before! He has to do as he’s told, he, he, he has to play by the—”
King Charles raised his right hand slowly, silencing his spoilt heir to the throne.
William closed his mouth and lowered his head.
A beat of quiet rested between both royal men.
Charles stood carefully.
He wore a navy blue suit and white shirt buttoned to the top.
The tie around his neck was red … His outfit portrayed his dedication and pride towards his country - the United Kingdom colours traditionally being red white and blue.
From inside his blazer he produced a small calling card.
He handed it to Prince William, remaining predictably unspoken for now.
Prince William snatched the calling card from The King in a huff and eyed the details printed on its front; an illustrated house surrounded by feathers.
“What’s this, Father?” He asked.
King Charles cleared his throat, speaking in his usual muttered tone, a tone drenched with pure British posh-ness …
“I’ve saved our strongest weapon till last, dear boy. These people have been around for decades … ” Charles explained, “Give them a call and arrange a uh, a, a meeting with them, and your brother…”
Charles began to leave his office, patting William’s shoulder as he passed him by.
“Believe me,” Charles mumbled, “When they’re finished with him, he’ll have no choice but to turn up at my Coronation …”
Prince William watched his Father walk away, where he then took his eyes back down to the calling card and smirked.
L O S A N G E L E S
T H E N E X T D A Y . . .
The Masked Tickler arrived outside a modern L.A mansion, its square structure lit by a burning sun and bright blue sky.
He sat in a black truck, his body dressed in black boots, black cargo pants and a grey t-shirt.
Unlike previous times, The Masked Tickler had chose not to wear his usual plain white plastic mask and had instead opted for a more regal design made up of silver and cream - the design structured to look more like a face than just a covering.
Something royal, The Masked Tickler thought, for such a special occasion …
He switched off the trucks engine and then grabbed the gym bag in the passenger seat.
He then stepped out of the vehicle and began his steady climb up stone steps, past a front garden sprinkler, towards doors he assumed to be guarded by security, or at least locked …
The Masked Tickler’s fingertips pushed the door open.
The Masked Tickler chuckled behind his mask.
This is going too well …
He glanced down at a pair of smart leather loafers that The Prince had clearly kicked off as soon as he had stepped into his home …
Had he forgot to close the door?
Was he too careless to think, too relaxed too consider?
Was he in a rush, did he need to use the toilet, is he fucking stupid?
The Masked Tickler realised too quickly how much he didn’t give a shit.
He didn’t keep up with Britains Royal Family … He didn’t even care much about celebrity …
The famous men he tickled on a daily basis were handed to him by people senior to his position …
As long as he got paid, that’s all that mattered.
However, he couldn’t hide from the media coverage and the relentless headlines regarding his next subject and his personal life.
Prince Harry, the rebel Prince …
The one who always got into trouble, the one who always broke the rules, the one that made his brother William look like a perfect do-gooder, a bald, smiling mouse that was actually a rat …
The one who decided to leave Britain and move to America, to disassociate himself from The Royal Family, the late Queen and most importantly, his Father … The soon to be crowned King Charles III.
As The Masked Tickler walked quietly through the halls of Prince Harry’s L.A mansion, he reminded himself of his mission statement:
Make him agree to fly back to the U.K …
Attend his Father’s Coronation …
Then go home.
It was a simple request, a plain objective and it required no other expense …
But something told The Masked Tickler that Harry might be more stubborn than The House of White Feathers assumed …
After all, The Prince had turned down the offer of free security, just because it came from his Father.
Once again, The Masked Tickler found himself chuckling behind his mask.
Look where that has got him …
As The Masked Tickler continued to creep over the clinically white and pristinely clean reflective floors of Harry’s mansion, he could hear the gradual sound of rock music coming from somewhere below …
The Masked Tickler followed the sound until he reached an open door by the kitchen, a door that led down to the basement.
The Masked Tickler kept his gym bag in hand as he adjusted the mask around his face, ensuring that it securely contained his identity.
He then began his descent, The Rolling Stones song ‘Paint it Black’ greeting The Masked Tickler from Harry’s iPhone, an iPhone The Masked Tickler would soon see sat on charge on the concrete floor …
Bent over on his knees and struggling to fix a leak underneath a sink was The Prince.
He wore a blue shirt tucked into stone chinos.
A stripy tie dangled from his neck.
His feet were socked in dress socks, those smart loafers discarded back back at the front door …
You’re making this way too easy for me, Harry …
The Prince’s head remained hidden from The Masked Tickler, his shoulders squashed beneath the sink as he struggled to twist a bolt into place with a wrench.
The tap above continued to expel water, a large puddle now gathering around the basement floor.
As the music continued to play, The Masked Tickler arrived at the bottom of the steps and simply watched Harry struggle.
Harry was completely oblivious to the person behind him, a person who had infiltrated his home …
… Until The Masked Tickler dropped the gym bag onto the floor with a heavy thud.
Harry lifted his head in surprise, banging it on the underneath of the sink.
“Ow!”
He shuffled out, breathless and confused, The Masked Tickler slowly approaching him with a length of rope now in hand.
“Meg? You’re home early …” Harry muttered, slowly getting to his feet …
As he turned around, The Masked Tickler pounced at The Prince.
“I’m not your Meg… “ he warned.
***
After a long twenty minutes of scuffling, Harry had finally been restrained.
The Masked Tickler stood hunched over, catching his breath, a thin layer of sweat covering the skin behind his mask.
“You got some fight in you, boy,” The Masked Tickler huffed.
Harry stood on tip toes, his dress socked feet barely touching the concrete floor of his basement as the tap in the sink continued to dribble out water.
His hands had been roped together to the beam above him, his arms stretched up high, more strings of rope bound across his chest, shoulders, back and stomach in a criss-cross tie.
His shirt was still neatly buttoned to the top, his tie caught between the rope, perspiration now saturating the blue cotton covering his armpits.
Dust and dirt marked the knees of his chinos, his ginger head of hair sat ruffled on the top of his head, his eyes were bloodshot, his face narrowed into a fierce expression, an expression that read as defeated, manhandled, a loser in the fight between Prince and stranger.
“Take what you want,” Harry declared, “I, I don’t care, just, just don’t hurt me, or, or touch me, or …”
The Masked Tickler began to laugh as he stood back up in a tall standing position.
He walked over to Harry’s iPhone, which still played Rolling Stones songs …
And then he stomped on it just once, crushing it beneath his boot.
The basement fell into silence.
“Touch you?” The Masked Tickler adjusted his mask, turning away from crushed iPhone as he made his way to the gym bag, “I’m going to do far more than just ‘touch you’ …”
Harry began to panic.
He jumped and kicked, pulling his weight down on the ropes binding his wrists above his head, his dress socked toes slipping and sliding across the hard floor beneath his feet.
“No, please! I, I told you, take whatever you want,” he panted, “Don’t lay a finger on me, you can’t, you mustn’t! Please, I’m begging you, you, you, you —”
“—You what … ?” The Masked Tickler interrupted, as he knelt down by the gym back and reached inside, picking out an electric toothbrush, “You pervert? You monster? You freak? You son of a bitch …?”
He slowly turned around to face Prince Harry.
“Which one will it be, Harry? What name will you call me? You decide …”
He turned the electric toothbrush on.
Click!
Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz!
Harry dangled in bewilderment as he watched the masked stranger step slowly towards him with the electric toothbrush in hand.
“What on earth?” He raised his eyebrows, unsure as to what this weirdo wanted to do with him, with a tool used to clean your teeth …
He began to relax, gradually coming to the realisation that this person didn’t want to hurt him, they just seemed a little unwell, maybe a little mad …
… Someone he could potentially talk out of this situation …
“Listen,” Harry began, “Just, just untie me, it’s al, alright, we don’t have to tell anyone about this …”
The Masked Tickler was now a metre away from Harry.
“It’s fine, I get it, you want some time with me,” Harry swallowed down as he watched the masked stranger begin to aim the electric toothbrush towards his stomach, “I can make time, untie me, we, we can sit upstairs with some tea, have a, have a chat …”
The Masked Tickler sighed as he pressed the electric toothbrush and it’s vibrating, whizzing, bristled tip against Harry’s shirt covered navel.
“You Brits and your damn tea …”
Harry jumped up in shock, his fingers curling around the rope, his eyes widening as he pressed his lips shut.
“—NO—” he warned, his voice leaving his mouth in a deep growl, “—Don’t do that …”
Harry twisted on the spot, twirling in a speedy spin as The Masked Tickler continued to explore his stomach with the electric toothbrush.
“Don’t do what, Harry? Is everything okay?” The Masked Tickler asked.
Harry winced, the electric toothbrush landing on a sensitive area just above his hip.
“What are you doing?!” Harry glared down at the tool now gliding up his right side, “What the, what the fuck are you, are you—”
Completely disturbed and uncertain as to how or why this was happening, Harry continued to spin and twist in the spot, forever looking down at the toothbrush whilst glancing back up at the rope pinning his wrists high above his head.
“You tell me, Harry …” The Masked Tickler ran the toothbrush over The Prince’s shirt covered ribs, “… What am I doing …”
Harry felt a giggle leave his lips, a giggle he instantly regretted, a giggle he immediately sucked back in through flared nostrils.
“You’re … You’re … You’re …”
The Masked Tickler wanted Harry to expel his first chunk of laughter when he finally felt comfortable to admit the reality of his circumstance, and he knew that would only happen if he slowly, ever so slowly, took the toothbrush to the sweat patch gathered under Harry’s right underarm.
“Go on …” The Masked Tickler urged, “… Be a brave little Prince and just say it …” the electric toothbrush neared Harry’s right armpit, “… What am I doing?”
Just as The Masked Tickler had predicted, Harry shouted out his response in a heavy tumble of grainy, uncontrollable laughter.
“YOU’RE HAHA, YOU’RE AHAHA TICKLING ME-EEHEHE—” Harry’s forced grin was clenched and white, “—WHY ARE YOU, HOW ARE YOU, STOP, STOP TICKLING ME!”
The Masked Tickler kept the electric toothbrush over Harry’s underarm, his other hand reaching up top Harry’s left armpit.
“I am indeed tickling you!” He dug his fingers into the sweaty crevasse, the space of flesh still unbearably ticklish despite it being covered by a thin layer of sweaty blue shirt material, “And how do you feel about that? Are you having fun? Is this something you expected to be doing today? Enduring a sudden, invasive tickling by the hands of complete stranger?”
Harry twisted and spun, twirled and bounced on his toes, his once pale face now glowing pink as he tried to jump away from the electric toothbrush and wiggling fingers currently penetrating his underarms.
“I want you to stop!” Harry announced, “I, I need you to stop! Oh — oh my, oh—agh! —please, god, get the fuck off of me!”
The Masked Tickler had to wrap his arm around Harry to keep him still, pinning The Prince on the spot as he continued to explore his upper body with the electric toothbrush.
“You want me to stop?” The Masked Tickler teased, “And why’s that, Harry? Why do you want me to stop?”
Harry hissed, impatience now taking over as the electric toothbrush whizzed and buzzed over his underarms.
“Because, be, because …” Harry held back more giggles, choosing to contain them deep within his chest, an action that furthermore made his skin boil and for sweat to bubble over his upper lip and forehead, “… You know why!” Harry couldn’t bring himself to admit it.
The Masked Tickler curled his free hand around Harry’s tie and used it to keep Harry in place, making use of the tie as if it were a lead attached to a collar.
“I’m going to need you to say it,” The Masked Tickler decided, “In fact, you’ll have to scream it, shout it out loud, and then maybe I’ll consider explaining why I’m here …”
Harry didn’t hesitate on that offer - if there was a way to hurry this horrendous experience forward, it was to willingly yell out some words that he hadn’t yelled since his wife had given him a foot rub a few months ago …
“I’M TICKLISH!” He cried, twisted and thrashing in a constant spin, The Masked Tickler now stepping away but still keeping his hand around Harry’s tie, “I’M TICKLISH!” The Prince repeated, “I’M TICKLISH, I’M TICKLISH, I’M TICKLISH … !”
Harry glared down at the toothbrush still buzzing over his right pit, his eyes now watering, breathless giggles leaving his lips without his control, disbelief saturating his face as The Masked Tickler continued to tickle him.
“I said it!” Harry whined as he watched the electric toothbrush travel over his chest and towards his left pit, “Please! I said it, I did as you asked! Now stop, stop, stop!”
The Masked Tickler pulled Harry’s tie towards him, taking some steps back as he did so.
Harry groaned as he was lifted higher onto his tip toes, his arms now stretching behind him as his back arched and his chest followed the pull of the tie …
“Agh! Aghhh! No, please, Jesus—”
Click!
Bzzzzz—!
The Masked Tickler switched off the electric toothbrush and shoved it into his trouser pocket.
He then let go of Harry’s tie, allowing The Prince to swing back into a tip toe stumbled twirl …
To Harry’s astonishment, The Masked Tickler then threw himself around Harry.
He slid behind him, taking The Prince into a sudden bear hug …
“No! What! Wait, you bastard!”
He wrapped his arms around Harry so that his right hand clawed over Harry’s left pit, and his left hand clawed over Harry’s right pit …
Harry unapologetically exploded into a convulsed twist of thrashing movements and desperate hysteria as The Masked Tickler tickled both of his underarms at the same time, his fingers wiggling and scrunching into the sweaty cotton depths of The Prince’s pits with relentless force.
“AGHAHHHHAHHHHH! AGHHHAHAHAHAHA—AGAHAHHAHAHHHHH! AGHHHHAGAHAHAHA!”
Harry’s laughter was deep and loud, it echoed into the basement and, if Harry had taken the security offer from his Father, it would be easily heard by any guards standing at the front door …
But Harry had no security …
That’s how The Masked Tickler had made his way inside here so easily …
That’s how The Masked Tickler had grappled Harry and bound him this way …
That’s how The Masked Tickler had managed to wrap himself around Harry like some strong, agile python, his fingers now ravaging Harry’s sides and waist in a non stop, constant tickle attack that sent The Prince into a realm filled with madness and overwhelming sensory overload where all he could do was laugh, try to breathe, try to beg and try to shout …
“AHAHAHAHAHAH! AAGHAAHAHAHA —NO—AGAHAHAHAHAHAGAHAHAHAHAA—PLEASE—AHAHAAHAHAGAHAHAHAHAH—STOP—AGAHAHAHAGAHAHAHAHA—WHY, WHYYYY—YYAAAAHHHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAA!”
The beam above began to creak and bend; dust sprinkled down over Harry’s ginger head of hair and The Masked Tickler’s shoulders …
Harry kicked his feet, allowing them to flail outward as he continued to cry and shout, his laughter now non stop and uncontrollable, his right foot managing to shove back into The Masked Tickler’s legs in an attempt to push him away,
But The Masked Tickler kept himself in that wrapped position, his masked face pressed up against the warmth of Harry’s back as he continued to invade The Prince’s underarms with merciless strength.
All until a loud enough creak from above informed the professional tickler that if Harry continued to squirm and pull this much, that beam would soon snap and he’d have a thirty eight year old Prince to re-tie …
One that this time wasn’t oblivious and unaware, one that was instead angry, violated and beyond frustrated …
The Masked Tickler slid away from Harry, leaving him breathless, coughing and heaving into his chest.
The Masked Tickler walked slowly around The Prince until he stood a few metres away from him, out of kicking distance.
Harry dangled, sweat dripping off his beard, still on tip toes …
“You’ve never been tickled like that before, have you …” The Masked Tickler’s words arrived as a statement, not a question.
Harry shook his head, still trying to catch his breath.
“Not even by your brothers, or your friends, or your lovers …” The Masked Tickler placed his hands on his hips.
Harry shook his head once again, gulping down.
“Why … Why …” he sniffed up some emotion, his underarms still tingling, his back and shoulders throbbing in a dull ache, “ … Why are you doing this?” He whined.
The Masked Tickler stepped closer towards Harry, his movements careful and considered.
“If you promise to do as you’re told for the next few hours, I’ll tell you …” The Masked Tickler took his index finger and trailed it around Harry’s jaw, under the fuzz of his facial hair and across his neck, “… Do you promise?”
Harry twisted his head, holding back more breathless, hot giggles as The Masked Tickler’s finger finally left his body.
“YES,” Harry huffed, “I, I promise …”
The Masked Tickler smiled behind his disguise.
“Good. Now, be a good little Prince and stay still …” he turned around and reached back into the gym back, “ … I need to cut off your shirt …”
R O U N D T W O
Harry had been allowed a change of shirt, after the one he had dressed himself in this morning had been cut to sweaty shreds …
The Masked Tickler followed his every footstep, surprised by how Harry not once tried to escape …
He remained calm, submissive, obedient …
All things that told The Masked Tickler that this Prince was far more intelligent than some of the other famous people he had jumped.
Once re-dressed, ticklee and tickler made their way into Harry’s living room, where Harry consensually allowed The Masked Tickler to tie him to the sofa.
Both of his arms were bound out either side of him, his feet propped up on the coffee table and tied at the ankle.
The Masked Tickler began to sniff Harry’s dress sock covered feet.
He breathed in their scent through his mask, licking his lips behind his disguise as the smell of sweaty soles travelled up his nostrils.
Harry grimaced, glancing up into the ceiling as he urged this moment to end.
“My s-s-ssssecurity team will be here soon,” Harry lied nervously, “You b-b-best get whatever you want to do over with, they’ll out number you by—”
“—Shut up,” The Masked Tickler snapped as he continued to breath in Harry’s feet, “I know you don’t have any security, only your Dad has offered that out and you were too much of a proud little Prince to accept it …” The Masked Tickler began to rip open Harry’s dress socks, tearing them at the arch, “… You’ve only got yourself to blame, for landing in this mess …”
Harry’s foot twitched as The Masked Tickler’s index finger ‘accidentally’ scraped across the bottom of his foot as he yanked away the dress sock material from his soles.
He sighed, his eyes shifting from left to right as he realised The Masked Tickler was right.
If he had taken The Kings offer of security, swallowed down his pride and stubborn-ness, he wouldn’t be in this situation.
“So … Tell me, then …” Harry lifted his head in alarm as The Masked Tickler began to lift his mask away from his jaw, suggesting to Harry that he might be ready to reveal himself, “… Why are you d-doing this?”
The Masked Tickler kept the mask strapped to his face from the nose up, only revealing his lips and mouth, lips and mouth that Harry didn’t recognise, much to his own disappointment.
“You think I’m going to just tell you?” The Masked Tickler took some access rope binding Harry’s ankles and wrapped them around his feet, ensuring that they were pinned neatly side by side, “How about you work it out for yourself …”
Harry’s eyes widened as he watched The Masked Tickler began to suck and kiss the soles of his feet.
The Prince squirmed on the spot, pulling faces of disgust as another man chewed on his toes and nibbled on his silky smooth soles …
“Agh—” Harry shuffled forwards in distress, “—Please, don’t do that, please, please …” he gulped as The Masked Tickler began to suck on his big toe, “… Come on, anything but my feet, anywhere but my —”
“—Well?” The Masked Tickler slurped, now feasting on Harry’s index toe, “Have you worked out why I invaded your home?” He moved his lips to Harry’s middle toe, “Why I strung you up and tickled you till you couldn’t breathe?” He then began to suck and lick on the two last toes, “Why I have your royal toes in my mouth?”
Harry kicked his legs, grunting as his heels slid across the coffee table.
“I have no idea!” He cried, The Masked Ticklers fingers now stroking the bottoms of his feet as his tongue curled around his toes, “Just tell me, for goodness sake! I, I, I can’t stand this!”
“I’ll give you a hint,” The Masked Tickler increased the pressure of his touch, his fingernails scraping across the sleek skin that made up the bottoms of Harry’s mega-ticklish feet, “It’s about an event you’re meant to be at tomorrow …”
Harry tried to thrash forward but the restraints pinning his arms out either side of him kept him in place.
“The … The Coronation …?” He growled, his eyebrows burrowing into a deep frown, “You mean, they put you up to this? To, to punish me? Because, because I won’t go?”
Harry sounded breathless, furious, agitated … All whilst The Masked Tickler invaded his toes with his tongue, brushed his fingernails across the arches of his feet …
“Almost …” The Masked Tickler mumbled, his mouth full of foot, “… It’s not punishment … They want me to tickle you for as long as it takes, until you agree to do as you’re told …”
Harry huffed and puffed, his feet writhing under The Masked Tickler’s touch, “But, I, I hate them! I hate all of it! I, I hate my brother, my Father, and his stupid wife!”
The Masked Tickler slid his tongue away from Harry’s feet and then began to crawl behind the couch.
“Do you hate them …” he stood, reaching over the couch, where his hands began to suddenly tickle at Harry’s underarms, “… More than this …?”
Harry thrashed from side to side, kicking his feet over the surface of the coffee table as he erupted into a bellow of steady, deep laughter.
“PLEASE, NO —” He cried, “—ENOUGH! ENOUGH! ENOUGH! I CAN’T DO THIS, I CAN’T DO THIS!” He declared.
The Masked Tickler sent his wiggling fingers up and down Harry’s torso, keeping them in his pits for a few seconds at a time, then taking them down to his sides and stomach.
“Then agree to arrive at The Coronation,” The Masked Tickler said, “Or, quite simply don’t … I’m happy either way, I get to tickle you into submission, or tickle you till you submit … However long it takes is up to you!”
Harry heaved into his chest, sweat developing around his neck and the sides of his head, his eyes shooting down at The Masked Ticklers fingers currently invading his armpits.
His wife was on vacation, his security non existent, his mansion located on the top of a quiet Los Angeles hill …
He was surrounded by blue sky, heat and silence …
The Masked Tickler could go on forever and ever, if he liked …
Harry panted and spluttered, his squirming taking him over the couch in a repetitive bounce as his sides and underarms fell victim to dire, relentless, real tickle torture …
“Please, please, please, please, please!” Harry begged, “Get out of there! Stop! I can’t stand this! Anything but tickling! Steal from me instead, rob my home, fucking SPANK ME OR SOMETHING!”
The Masked Tickler couldn’t help but giggle, “Now that is a low level of desperation! You’re asking me to spank you instead of tickle you? You must really hate this!”
Harry began to shout for help, his back peeling away from the couch as he stretched his neck high up and raised his voice.
“HELP! SOMEONE! HELP ME! HEEEEEEEELP …!”
The Masked Tickler hastily reached back inside his trusty gym bag.
“HELP, FOR GOODNESS SAKE! PLEASE, SOMEONE HAS BROKEN INTO MY HOME AND IS TICKL—MPHHHHH—”
Harry’s cries were muffled by a ball gag suddenly stuffed into his mouth.
The Masked Tickler stepped back, his eyes shifting down the hall to the open door, an open door looking out to nothing but sky and palm trees …
Thank fuck he doesn’t have neighbours …
Prince Harry’s choice to leave the U.K and The Royal Family back in 2020 and to instead isolate himself far away with his wife had worked to The Masked Tickler’s advantage … No one could hear him scream.
The Masked Tickler pulled his mask back down over his nose and jaw.
He folded his arms and he walked back around the couch, eyeing Harry behind his disguise.
“Mphhh! Mphhh! Mphhh!”
Harry grunted and groaned through his gag as The Masked Tickler used his eyes to assess The Prince’s body and the many areas that could work as his main weakness.
You have to make this happen, The Masked Tickler thought.
You need this payment.
He has to agree to this damn Coronation.
Come on, you’ve been doing this for years …
You know how to break people.
Famous people.
You’ve broken pop stars, actors, influencers and models …
You can break a Prince …
Harry’s armpits were sweaty and wet, the perspiration dampening his shirt.
They were highly sensitive, he clearly hated having them touched, but his laughter wasn’t as strong as …
… The Masked Tickler’s eyes landed on Harrys soles.
Harry’s eyes widened, he kicked his legs, he shook his head.
“MPHHH! MPHHH! MPHHHH!”
The Masked Tickler smirked.
He took an iPhone out from his back pocket and dialled a number.
He then placed the phone to his ear.
It rang for a few seconds before the person on the other side picked up.
“Hello,” The Masked Tickler whispered, “You said if I needed a second pair of hands I could give you a call …”
Harry screamed through his gag as The Masked Tickler called for support.
“MPHHH! MPHHHH! MPHHHHHHHHHHH ….!”
“Oh, you’re already in the country? Perfect …” The Masked Tickler smiled behind his mask, “ … See you in thirty minutes …”
B R O K E N P R I N C E
After more manhandling, more sweat, more grunts, groans, swearing, cussing, kicking and spitting, a ball gagged Prince Harry was picked up and carried by The Masked Tickler and his brother, Prince William.
“I wish you’d just do as you’re told, Harry!” William spat, “You’re such hard work! There really was no need for all this! You could’ve just said yes in the first place!”
William held onto Harry’s kicking feet whilst The Masked Tickler took him by the underarms.
“MPPPHHH! MPH! MPHHH! GRRRRPHHHH!”
Within a few minutes, Harry had been bound to his own bed, face down, his hands behind his back, his ankles tied together to the bottom of the mattress.
The Masked Tickler threw William a ball of string.
“Tie his big toes together,” The Masked Tickler ordered, “You’ll need his feet as still as possible.”
“MPPH! MPPH! MPH! MPH!”
Harry’s face, shimmering and red, twisted from side to side as he felt his brother pull string around his big toes, an act that tickled more than he could handle, and this next session had barely just begun …
Dribble oozed from behind the ball gag as veins thickened around his neck and sides of his head with every scream and shout.
“You did the right thing by choosing his feet to make him break,” William declared, “It was always my way of getting him to do what I want, too.”
William showcased his own flare as an skilled tickler by tying the string around Harry’s big toes, as well as the banister his feet lay over, therefore connecting his feet securely to the bed, soles up.
He scratched an index finger over Harry’s right sole, allowing The Prince to grunt and thrash across the mattress.
“Sorry, brother,” William smiled, “Just testing out if I’ve tied them tightly enough …” he continued to scratch across his brother’s toes, causing Harry’s feet to attempt to pull out of their bondage, “ … Yup, looks tight enough!” William cheered.
The Masked Tickler took his electric toothbrush back out of his trouser pocket, switching it on once again.
Click!
Bzzzzzz!
“MPHHH! MPHHHH! MPHHH!”
The Masked Tickler then reached into his gym bag, retrieving his next tool, where he threw it over to William.
William caught a bottle of baby oil at his chest.
“Soak his soles in that, it’ll make his levels of ticklishness far, far worse,” The Masked Tickler advised, “I’m going to hit a spot all men can’t stand … You stay at his feet … Two of us at once on two of his most sensitive spots will get you what you want …”
The Masked Tickler climbed onto the bed and straddled Harry’s waist, aiming the electric toothbrush down towards Harry’s thighs.
“Far worse?” William cocked an eyebrow, “I don’t think my brother’s feet can be anymore ticklish, but I’ll take your word for it!”
He uncapped the bottle and began to drench Harry’s soles with the shimmering, oily liquid.
“MMPPPHHH! MPHHH! MPHHHHHH!”
Harry howled into his gag as he felt the slippery gush land on his feet where it dribbled over his heels, down his arches and through his long, fleshy toes, toes that squirmed and flexed, clenched and curled as William began to rub and tickle the oil into the silky smooth flesh.
The Masked Tickler removed Harry’s gag.
“We won’t be able to hear you agree to your Father’s request if you have that in your mouth, will we, dear Prince?”
Harry spat out his fury as soon as the plastic ball left his mouth.
“William you mother fucking bastard!” He snarled, his head twisting over his shoulder as his brother started to scribble his fingernails over his soles, “How dare you? OH, HAHA, STOP! OH! AGH—AHAHAH! You’re insane! You’ll pay for this, you, YOU, HAHAH! YOU bloody arse-licking wanker …!”
William sat in the cross legged position and calmly tilted his head, playfully tickling his brothers feet without mercy as Harry tumbled into breathless laughter, shouting, cursing and giggling.
“Oh, brother, you should know that I always get my way …” William sighed contently as he watched Harry’s feet twist and writhe under his touch, their positioning fixed still, their movement entirely restricted to a few twitches and toe-curls thanks to the rope around his ankles and big toes, “I wouldn’t let you disappointment The Establishment, The Institution, Father and Camilla … I wouldn’t allow you to let down the country, make the rest of the world laugh at us and our family dramas …”
Harry heaved hysteria into the pillow and mattress beneath him, breathing in quickly to shout out his responses in the form of high pitched cries.
“I’M NOT GOING! AGHAHAHAAAHHHHAAGAHAA —YOU CAN’T MAKE ME!— AHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAHH!— DAMNIT, STOP TICKLING ME, NOW! PLEASE! — AHAHAHAHAHAAAAAHHH! —THIS IS MADNESS!”
The Masked Tickler pressed the electric toothbrush down over Harry’s trouser covered butt, “Speaking of laughter …” he mumbled behind his mask.
Harry began to twist his hips, bucking across the bed like a fish out of water, his laughter now transforming into panicked shouts as The Masked Tickler took the electric toothbrush down between his thighs, where it travelled over his balls and taint, an exceptionally ticklish area for any male, this time covered by trousers stained with sweat.
“You can strip him, if you like,” William shrugged, his fingernails now tickling all of Harry’s ten toes, “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before …”
The Masked Tickler shook his head, riding Harry as if he were a bucking bronco, “He’s a Prince … I’m not that much of a monster …”
William rolled his eyes, continuing to tickle Harry’s toes whilst The Masked Tickler pressed the electric toothbrush further down into the depths that made up the betweens of Harry’s thighs.
Harry screamed and howled into his bedroom, scaring away some doves that had gathered on the rooftop above.
“PLEEEEAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAEEEEEESSSE STOP STOP AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAH AHHHHH WILLIAM YOU BASTARD AHAHAHAHAAHAAHAAHA PLEASE WILLIAM FUCK JESUS YOU LITTLE WAAAAANKAHAHAHAHAHAHERRRR!”
The Masked Tickler could feel the heat from Harry’s body forming from beneath him.
Man, he really is pushing through!
“Go harder!” The Masked Tickler yelled at William.
William narrowed his eyes in focus and began to scribble harder over Harry’s soles, tickling them relentlessly, non stop and without mercy.
“Brother,” William warned, “The Coronation is tomorrow … That means we need to be on a flight in ten hours …” he took his fingernails down to the sides of Harry’s oil soaked feet, a spot he knew he wouldn’t be able to handle, “… You either deal with this for all that time, or you just agree to join me by Father’s side, for one last t—”
“—FUCK YOU, WILLIAM!” Harry growled, panic now completely taking over his existence, “Once I’m out of here I’m gonna —HAHAHAHA!— I’m gonna ruin you — AGHHHH! AGHHHH STOP! — You’re going to pay for this, you little shit—”
Harry twisted his entire upper body into a furious scrunch, his fingers flexing out, his face saturated with rage as he tried to look past The Masked Tickler and down towards his brother as he howled out hysteria whilst trying to show William how serious he was.
William avoided his brothers gaze, taking his fingernails up and down Harry’s soles from heel to toe, toe to heel, heel to toe …
The Masked Tickler buzzed his electric toothbrush down to the behinds of Harry’s knees, causing The Prince to scream and shout in protest.
“What looks like the most ticklish part of his feet?” The Masked Tickler called down to William, “Find that, and we succeed, I can already feel him breaking …”
“I’M NOT BREAKING, DAMNIT!” Harry yelled, his body writhing underneath The Masked Tickler’s straddle, “I’LL NEVER BREAK, I’LL NEVER BREAK!”
William eyed his brothers soles and took his gaze across their landscape.
His pinky toes looked exceptionally soft and plump, the meaning of the word ticklish, if there was one …
“I’ve found it!” William declared.
“There are more tools in there,” The Masked Tickler nodded down to his gym bag.
William shuffled across as Harry continued to laugh hysterically at the electric toothbrush between his thighs.
William yanked out a second electric toothbrush.
Click!
BZZZZZZZ!
He then sent it down to Harry’s left little toe, transforming The Prince from a babbling, crying mess into a insanity riddled shambles that began to moan and groan in dire distress.
His toes curled and flexed, his little toe wiggling away from the electric toothbrush the best it could.
“OH, OH STOP, OH GOD, NO, NOT THERE, NOT THERE, ANYWHERE BUT THERE OHHH GOD, I’M, I’M, I’M …”
“You’re what …?” William asked.
The Masked Tickler grinned.
“He’s —”
“—I’LL DO IT! I’LL DO IT! I’LL DO IT!” Harry whined, his eyes filled with tears, “I CAN’T TAKE THIS, I’M, I’M PISSING MYSELF, GUYS, GUYS, GUUUUUUUUUUUYYYYYYYYS!”
The Masked Tickler chuckled as he looked down at Harry’s butt.
The electric toothbrush forced into such a sensitive area had made Harry release his bladder …
The warmth The Masked Tickler had felt was nothing to do with body heat, but instead a hot gathering of moisture released from Harry’s cock.
William burst into laughter as he watched Harry’s trousers darken in colour around his thighs.
“He wet himself!” William hid his face with his hands, “I can’t believe it! This is absolute gold …! Ahh Masked Tickler, you’re bloody brilliant at your job!”
Harry huffed and panted as he planted his face into the pillow, sighing in relief as he pissed into the bed, his toes curling out a direly ticklish sensation still itching across them, thanks to William’s fingers.
“I’ll do it …” Harry mumbled into the squishyness of the cotton, “… I’ll do it …”
Suddenly, William’s fingers and The Masked Tickler’s toothbrush returned to their spots …
Back to the middle of Harry’s piss-stained thighs, back to his oil-soaked soles …
Harry twisted in alarm, trying to turn his body around to face his captors.
“I SAID I’LL DO IT!” He screamed, “PLEASE, PLEASE STOP, I SAID I’LL GO, I SAID I’LL GO!”
William shrugged, “Oh, we know …” he reached into The Masked Tickler’s gym bag where he picked out a large hairbrush, “Like I said, our flight isn’t until another ten hours … We’ve got some time to kill …”
As he began to rub the hairbrush over the soles of his brothers feet, Harry howled and screamed with manic ferocity …
… As The Masked Tickler looked down at Prince William and thought to himself …
He has no idea …
No idea that within these ten hours …
… I’ll be making sure Harry gets his revenge.
