This fic includes characters from Joshua’s Worship, Timothée Chalamet’s Ticklish Last Resort and OBEY. It takes place two weeks after SQUEAL.
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S U B Z E R O
Miller curled his fingers around the handles of John’s wheelchair.
John sat slumped and wheezing with plastic wires plugged into his nose and an oxygen tank positioned between his slippered feet.
Miller wheeled John through the main hall of The House where they headed towards an elevator that lead to a space he and his kind referred to as ‘Sub Zero’ …
He rolled John in, pressed the down button and then stood in silence as the elevator doors slid shut and the elevator began its descent.
Only the sound of John’s struggled breathing could be heard as both founders of The House of White Feathers travelled deeper underground …
The lights of the elevator flickered as the steel box bobbed to a stop, arriving at the Sub Zero level.
The doors parted, revealing nothing but pitch black and a long line of light shining from the ceiling around thirty feet ahead.
Miller wheeled John into the darkness, where he confidently pushed his wheelchair over smooth flooring and complete emptiness; nothing in front of them, nothing around them, nothing behind them …
As the spotlight got closer, it’s bright white beam began to light up John and Miller, the glow now reflecting off of Miller’s glasses …
The spotlight shone down over a Tickle Chair.
Strapped to The Tickle Chair was a young man dressed in nothing but blue speedos, with a black hood over his head.
His toned, tanned bare feet were locked into stocks, his toes pinned back by string, his soles soaked in baby oil, prepared perfectly and ready to be explored …
His muscular body sat strapped to the top half of the chair, his arms pulled out to padded lengths either side, his biceps and wrists bound down by leather …
His armpit hair curled out from beneath the depths of his underarms; his neck looked thick and veiny, maybe from some shouting or protesting that no doubt took place during his capture …
His thighs were bulging, his calves athletic, and over his right bicep an Olympic logo tattoo informed Miller and John of the captee’s identity.
Miller smirked.
I heard he pissed himself during his last session.
I wonder if he’ll do it again, he thought.
The Subject grunted and groaned, breathing in and out quickly, his mouth clearly gagged by something behind the hood.
“Mpph … Mphh … Mphh …”
Attached to his chest with grey tape was a tape recorder wired to a black box that sat on the surface of a steel trolley positioned beside The Tickle Chair.
The back box consisted of a few buttons, some switches and a plastic dial with a hand that currently wobbled over the number twenty.
John’s glazed over, blood shot eyes shifted from left to right as he assessed the set up, his elderly face staring forwards at the meaty, youthful subject bound before him.
John then took his admiring gaze to a figure in the darkness so far not lit by the spotlight shining down over one of The House of White Feather’s latest ticklee’s …
“Step forwards, Peter …”
Peter slowly walked towards The Tickle Chair, the loafers on his feet clicking against the marble floor.
His handsome face, blonde hair and tall body were now illuminated in a soft glow.
He stood with his hands behind his back, dressed in a smart linen shirt and chinos.
John lifted his trembling right hand and pointed a wobbling finger at Peter.
“You’ve managed to kill two birds with one stone, young man …”
Peter nodded just once, smiling at his achievement.
“I did, Master. I have provided you with your personal request, as well as a huge financial gain,” Peter confirmed.
Miller raised his eyebrows.
His hands slid away from Johns wheelchair as he began to walk towards the glowing body bound to The Tickle Chair.
“You mean you located the perfect male specimen, the idea example of flawless, masculine beauty?” Miller asked, his index finger pressing against the arch of The Subject’s right foot, “That’s something John has asked for time and time again, but no matter how many men we’ve caught, not one of them has reached quintessential levels …”
John kept his eyes on Peter as the foot in the stock began to twitch, the breathing behind the hood speeding up …
“That’s correct,” Peter continued to look ahead, his hands still behind his back, his posture straight and smart like a soldier, “Whilst doing so, I’ve also found the opportunity to partner our time with him, with a very specific commission we’ve received … A very highly paid one …”
Miller took his index finger up the subjects toned calf, towards the blue elastic speedo concealing his squashed cock and big balls …
“I assume that’s why you’ve got him wired up to this …” Miller’s index finger left The squirming Subject where it pointed casually at the device on the surface of the trolley, “ … Stuff …”
Miller folded his arms, awaiting Peter’s explanation.
“That’s correct,” Peter repeated formally, “The Commissioner wanted us to capture, in audio, not on screen, one thing and one thing only …”
John couldn’t help but grin, fully aware of this commission, his sharp yellow teeth lining up in one gruesome, crooked display.
“… The Noise …” John almost dribbled as he spoke.
Miller crossed his arms over his chest.
“The Noise?” He turned to face Peter.
As Peter continued his explanation, The Subject began to panic, able to hear the three men around him discuss what they had planned …
“… Mmpph … Mpmmppphh … Mphhhh—”
“— The moment of complete and utter lunacy; the pitch of the tone, the shift in exasperation, the alarm, the volume, the visceral, animalistic instant the ticklee reaches the height of hysteria.”
Miller removed his glasses and began to clean them with the hem of his t-shirt.
“So that thing on his chest records what? Records his heart beat, the sounds from his throat, the—”
“—All of it,” Peter confirmed, “And the dial will confirm how highly charged his hysteria is, by pointing at various numbers from ten to ninety …” Peter remained still and facing The Tickle Chair, but his eyes shifted down to the black box’s surface, “As you can see, the dial currently sits at thirty, which means the subject his highly concerned… He plans on getting it to one hundred …”
Miller popped his glasses back over the tip of his nose.
“He …?”
John curled his wrinkled fingers around the wheels of his wheelchair as he rolled himself a few metres forwards.
“Step closer …” John ordered, “… Clown …”
A beat of silence …
Some muffled moans from The Subject …
And then …
“Ha …”
“Ha …”
“Ha …”
From the darkness and into the light stepped The Clown.
He wore a black boiler suit, laced up military boots and black leather gloves.
His face was hidden by a plastic clown mask consisting of a manic, sharp toothed grin, over accentuated wrinkles and a head of bright red fuzzy hair.
He too stood with his hands behind his back, The Tickle Chair now surrounded by The Clown, Peter, Miller and John …
“That sick bastard?” Miller thumbed The Clown whilst glancing down at John, “Who is it this time? Garfield? Prince William? Lemme guess, you finally persuaded Evans to—”
“—You know The Clown’s never reveal their identities, my boy …” John dabbed the corner of his mouth with a blood stained handkerchief, “… Now shut the fuck up and let Peter do the talking …”
Peter smirked as Miller lowered his head.
“As I was saying, he plans to get the dial to one hundred, securing the moment, The Noise, and therefore providing us with a payment from The Commissioner of just under one million dollars … Which will help fund the individual private jet tickets to Sweden, as well as my time with Orl …”
The Clown remained silent, tilting his head as he watched The Subject in The Tickle Chair began to pull forcefully at their wrist restraints.
“—Mphhh! Mphhhh! Mphhhh! …”
“Can I ask who commissioned this?” Miller cocked an eyebrow.
Peter lifted his shoulders and shook his head, still staring forwards, not once making eye contact with anyone in this giant expanse of darkness so far.
“That is undisclosed information.”
Miller clapped his hands together like an excited child looking at his Father for permission.
“Can I at least take off the hood?” He asked John.
John nodded slowly, his wheezing growing heavier now he had been out of bed for more than fifteen minutes.
Miller approached The Tickle Chair as Peter stepped back into the darkness, his tall frame now blanketed entirely by black.
Miller pinched the top of the hood and with one swift yank, he pulled the hood away from The Subjects head.
Tom Daley glared at Miller with a fierce scowl, his brown eyes wide open, a trickle of sweat rolling down the side of his head …
Stuffed into the depths of his mouth was a red ball gag, shoved so far in that a line of drool had started to hang from the bottom of his lip.
“MPPHHHH! MPHHHH! MPHHH! GRAGHHHPPPHHHHH!”
Tom yelled through his gag as he writhed in The Tickle Chair, pulling his arms and kicking his legs, all ten of his toes bound keeping his feet fixed still.
The chair wobbled from side to side under the beam of light, Tom’s athletic frame glowing in all of its agonisingly ticklish glory …
Miller folded the hood up neatly and then held it against his chest.
“He sure is beautiful … And from what I’ve been told, he’s ticklish as fuck and absolutely hates being tickled … But, I can’t help wonder why you didn’t just pick Holland for this,” Miller spoke at Daley but directed his words at John, “His body is beyond perfection and we’ve already learned his ticklish levels are passed lunacy—”
“—You’re to blame for that …” The Clown answered Miller’s query for him in a sinister, grainy tone, “You promised Holland’s next session would be a surprise, out of the blue, a random kidnapping … You scared him off, he’s been off the radar for months …”
Miller swallowed down concern as he turned to face John.
“Is this true?”
John glared at Miller with all of the energy he had left in his frail bones.
“He’s missing …” John snarled, “… We’ve got Garfield on it. But you fucked up, Miller. We don’t know when we’ll see Holland again. Now, take my back to my office, the thought of that alone is making me feel sick …”
Miller pinched his upper lip and squeezed his eyes shut.
As he wheeled John away from the light, back into the darkness and towards the elevator, all he could do was whisper out the word, “… Fuck.”
Only The Clown and Tom remained beneath the spotlight.
The elevators doors slid shut and both ticklee and tickler were left beside the steel trolley and surrounding area of black.
Tom groaned into his gag, arched his back and curled his balls into fists.
He began to hyperventilate, his nostrils flaring as he watched The Clown begin to remove his black leather gloves.
“Don’t worry, pretty boy…” The Clown reassured, “… This is going to be over before you know it …”
The Clown began to giggle, dropping the gloves to the floor, revealing manly hands and wiggling fingers.
“… Who am I kidding!” He declared gleefully, “This is going to go on for as long as I like!”
As Tom’s toes tried their hardest to scrunch up, The Clown’s index finger pointed at his right arch, where his attempts to capture The Noise would begin …
Tom began to shout through the gag the closer The Clown’s index finger neared the middle of the bottom of his right foot.
“… MMMMMMMMMPPPPH! MMMMMMMMMPHHH! MMMMMMMMPHHHH! …”
His shouts were high pitched, saturated in apprehension and doubt, but above all else … Fear.
Out of all the ticklee’s The Clown had dealt with, he had never seen one as scared as Tom Daley.
“You’re terrified, aren’t you, my precious little athlete …” The Clown teased.
Tom thrashed in his seat, his pinned back toes unable to curl or clench due to the tight string binding them back to the stocks.
“… MMMMMMMMMPPPPH! MMMMMMMMMPHHH! MMMMMMMMPHHHH! …”
He continued to watch The Clown’s index finger near the silky smooth, creamy soft landscape of his sole, where he felt certain he would unintentionally satisfy his captors in sending the dial from thirty to one hundred in seconds …
… However, The Clown paused entirely.
“ … MMMMMM—MPPHH—” Tom stopped screaming.
He gulped down hard, his sweating face following The Clown as he moved slowly to his left side.
“Do you know,” The Clown spoke casually, as if having a conversation with someone over coffee, “What the best thing about being in a room this size is?” The Clown asked Tom, whilst pinching the ball of his gag with his index finger and thumb.
Tom shook his head quickly, his eyebrows raised so high that uneven lines had creased across his forehead.
“It echos when you scream …”
The Clown picked the ball gag out of Tom’s mouth and removed the strap from his face.
Tom swallowed a gathering amount of saliva and sent his tongue across the top of his lips.
He opened his mouth, ready to start his begging, but before he could even verbalise the first, ‘Please, you don’t have to do this’ …
… The Clown sent both hands into Tom’s underarms.
“SURPRISE, BABY!”
Tom erupted into a convulsed state of maddened squirming, his muscular arms yanking at his wrist restraints as he jolted from left to right, The Tickle Chair lifting from the ground by a few inches with each fierce throw to each side.
“OOOOOOOHHHHH GOOOOOOODDDDDDDDDD—” Tom growled, with no laughter leaving his lips, just an uncontrollable grin decorating his lower face, his cheeks boiling read, his abs burning up already, “—OHHHHHH MY GOOOOOOOOOOODDDDDDD—” he repeated, shock overwhelming him, his body now thrashing from left to right so quickly he managed to action the move around thirteen times in less than ten seconds, shouting out the words, “OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD”, with each thrash …
Suddenly, The Clown stopped.
Tom’s ‘oh my gods’ still echoed out into the darkness surrounding them.
“See?” The Clown tilted his head, his fingertips still in the athletes underarms, “It’s a beautiful sound, isn’t it?”
The Clown peered over to the device on the trolley, the dial wobbling around the forty five mark, where it dropped down to thirty …
Tom panted into his chest, his shoulders dropping, his fists uncurling …
“You’re … You’re serious about this, aren’t you …” Tom acknowledged, “… You’re actually going to, to tickle me, till that thing reaches …”
The Clown’s fingers slid away from Tom’s armpits, causing the young man to shift in his seat.
“Yup, handsome buck … We’ve kidnapped you, and we’re going to tickle you, till we get what we want …” The Clown moved back to Tom’s feet, where he decided to explore all areas of the professional diver’s body from toe to head, “… Till that dial reaches one hundred …”
Tom suddenly threw his torso forwards, the straps pinning his arms to The Tickle Chair preventing him from reaching out to The Clown and attacking him with both fists.
The Clown jumped back, startled by Tom’s abrupt attempt at breaking free and fighting back.
Tom grunted, once again yanking at his wrist restraints, this time his left …
As The Clown stepped closer to Tom’s right foot, Tom looked at his left arm and focused on pulling it free, convinced his strong muscles would be able to either snap the buckles and metal hoops, or at least wriggle inches out from within the bondage itself …
“Come on, come on …” Tom urged, “… I can’t do this again, anything but tickling …” Tom winced, his entire focus taken away from his arm as The Clown dragged an index finger down the sole of his right foot, “AH!”
“Now, let’s see how ticklish these big, juicy, perfectly shaped size …” The Clown paused, his index finger resting over Tom’s right heel, “… Size…?” He lifted his plastic masked face up at Tom, awaiting for assistance in his own wording.
Tom sat back quietly, returning his torso to The Tickle Chair so that his shoulder blades pressed against the leather, his silence suggesting he wouldn’t be giving The Clown the answer he wanted, mostly out of boiling resentment.
The Clown took his index finger up Tom’s sole, away from his heel …
Tom threw himself forwards once again, this time the entire Tickle Chair rattling with his force …
“STOP!” Tom yelled in a demand, as if saying such a thing would actually make The Clown pause or at least consider …
The Clown continued to slide the index finger up Tom’s sole, over his arch …
“… What size, tickle toy? You may as well play along …”
Tom’s eyes widened in disbelief, “Ugghhhhhagggghhhhhhhh!” He groaned into his chest, sweat now forming over his upper lip …
“… My oh my, you really can’t take it, can you? You were right when you said, your feet are very, very ticklish! Come on, British meat, what size are th—”
“—ELEVEN!” Tom cried, before The Clown’s finger could reach his toes.
The Clown’s index finger lifted away from Tom’s foot.
“Eleven …” The Clown chuckled and danced on the spot, “… Such big feet, such big hands, for such a little guy …”
Tom tried to curl his toes but the string pinning them back allowed them to only stretch somewhat within their mini bondage; he remained pulled forwards, his muscles throbbing, his chest lifting and dropping, his body constantly on high alert …
Tom watched The Clown move to his right foot.
“I, I gave you people everything last time, I got tickled so hard I, I fucking pissed myself for fucks sake …” Tom pressed his lips shut, shame flushing his cheeks pink, “… Surely you’ve got all you need? Surely I don’t have to do this again?”
The Clown grinned behind his mask, loving how speechless and breathless Tom was already and he had barely gone to town just yet.
“I was in that audience, pretty boy. I remember smelling the piss myself,” The Clown knelt down so that Tom’s right foot was positioned just in front of his face, “The look on your face when you realised you were going to be tickled, non stop, by Four Masked Men was a sight I’ll never forget …” he began to use both hands to adjust Tom’s foot, so that it was snug and perfectly placed within the stock hole, his toes neatly looped through the toe ties, “… They’re very good at their job, pissy-pants …”
Once content with how Tom’s foot looked just inches away from him, The Clown took a few seconds to breathe in the young man’s moist, fleshy scent currently wafting from his sole before actioning a severe tickle attack across the bottoms of both feet at once; five fingernails to the left, five fingernails to the right …
“… Almost as good as me!” The Clown growled.
Tom’s back arched as he squeezed his eyes shut, his entire body thrashing in The Tickle Chair with such almighty force that the device he sat strapped to creaked and wobbled from side to side, his tanned, toned body shaping itself out in dire, desperate twists and turns, the madness and hysteria such intense tickling against the bottoms of his feet caused still successfully contained within his chest …
Tom bit his lower lip and heaved in, saliva bubbling around the corners of his mouth, his thighs clapping together as his fingers stretched out …
“OH GOD—” he blurted, “PLEASE, STOP—” he begged, “I’LL DO ANYTHING, ANYTHING YOU WANT—” he admitted.
“Tell me,” The Clown urged, still scratching away at Tom’s delicate, silky smooth and now rather sweaty size elevens, “What is it you said again? In that video, the one that made us hunt you down and capture you in the middle of the night, grab you by the ankles, pull you from your bed, string you up in your own home, hooded and gagged in front of your own husband …” The Clown scribbled across Tom’s arches, testing each area of his feet for a ‘sweet spot’ that would help tease the lunacy out of Tom’s body, “… You said one damn stupid thing, a thing that has ended up getting you into this fucked up, ticklish situa—”
“—ALRIGHT!” Tom cried, his butt now lifting off the seat of The Tickle Chair in a repetitive, demanding bounce, “ALRIGHT, ALRIGHT, ALRIGHT—” he really did think shouting out would make the tickling stop, surely they’d realise he didn’t enjoy this? “COME ON, LISTEN, I HATE THIS, I CAN’T TAKE IT, STOP, WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS, FOR GOD’S SAKE JUST LISTEN—”
The Clown giggled, shaking his head, his fingernails still scribbling and scratching and travelling across the bottoms of Tom’s feet from toe to heel, heel to toe, exploring areas such as the plump sides of his soles, his high diver-esque arches, the velvety soft pads …
“Oh I’m listening, you beautiful man! Listening and waiting for you to tell me what you said in the video! Tell me, Tommy! And then maybe I’ll stop …”
Tom continued to bounce on his butt, his inability to cope with such tickle torture across the soles of his feet presenting itself in the form of intense sweating and uncontrollable perspiration, a thick layer of shimmer now saturating his torso from the waist up, covering his abs and chest, his arms and neck, the majority of his face …
The Clown had never seen a ticklee sweat this much, this quickly, in all of his years as a tickler …
Even the soles of Tom’s feet were drenched, making The Clown’s tickle invasion over their ticklish landscape far easier to achieve due to the sweat working as a form of lube, therefore increasing the young man’s levels of hyper sensitivity.
Tom thrusted from side to side, only one chuckle leaving his mouth the closer The Clown got to his toes …
The Clown acknowledged this slip and decided to take all ten fingers around all ten toes, making the most of their bound, pinned back situation showing no mercy in the slightest …
“NO, NO, NO—” Tom’s torso stretched forward, his face awash with absolute shock as he watched The Clown’s fingers scribble between his toes, as if witnessing it right there in front of him in all of it’s realistic focus would make the whole thing easier to understand, when in actual fact it just made the entire ordeal that much more overwhelming, “—NO, NO, NO, NO, NO!”
“Tell me, Tommy boy,” The Clown could smell the stench of Tom’s body odour from where he knelt, “What did you say …”
Tom’s eyes shifted from one foot to the next and then back again as he recalled his own voice, on repeat, saying the words he had said during his last session with The Four Masked Men … Words he would now never forget.
“I’M EXTREMELY TICKLISH—” Tom cried, a tear rolling down his left cheek, “—When it gets to my underarms and my feet IT’S GOING TO BE INTERESTING!”
The Clown didn’t stop as he showcased no intention on even dropping down a gear; he scribbled and scribbled and scribbled, landing on an exceptionally ticklish area of Tom’s feet … His big toes.
Tickling those is what made Tom lose his shit; it’s what caused the young man to howl into the spotlight, his body thrashing and squirming harder than before, The Tickle Chair rocking from side to side, its nuts and bolts rattling with every strengthened jerk and forceful thrust …
“I SAID IT I SAID IT I SAID IT I SAID IT, STOP, STOP, STOP, STOP—”
Tom tried to pull his big toes away from The Clown but the toe ties and ankle stocks kept them in place, further maddening the twenty nine year old diver into realms of discomfort parallel to his experience with The Four Masked Men.
“I want you to say it again, don’t shout it this time, come on, Tom, you can do it …” The Clown teased.
Tom hissed and buried his face into his shoulder, his flared nostrils unintentionally breathing in the thick gushes of sweat now leaving his hairy armpits.
“Okay,” Tom whispered, dribble seeping from his mouth, “I’ve got it,” he muttered, sucking the saliva back in, “Stop,” he turned his head and glared at The Clown with a glare full with fury, “Stop, stop tickling me for a second, so I can say it properly…” he curled his balls into fists, “… Please …”
The Clown acknowledged the sense of urgency in Tom’s voice and decided to slow down the tickling, taking his scribbling nails away from Tom’s big toes where he instead began to stroke Tom’s buttery soles with his fingertips, still causing the young man’s feet to twitch from left to right.
Tom pressed his sweaty back against hot leather and focused on controlling his breathing; right now, he could barely formulate a proper sentence, due to how much his lungs burned, how tight his stomach felt, how dry his throat was …
Tom closed his eyes and opened his mouth.
“I said, I, I said, I’m, I’m extremely …” Tom swallowed down, really not wanting to say the word, but forced to say it anyway, “… Tic, ticklish …” he continued to scowl at The Clown, his fists clenched so tightly his own fingernails had started to dig into his palms, “… And when it comes, to, to my underarms and, and my f, f …” he squeezed his eyes shut as The Clown began to draw circles over each of his arches, causing him to shout out the word, “… FEET! …” The Clown slowed down again, taking his index fingers to Tom’s heels, “… Then it’s going to be very in, interesting … That’s, that’s what I, I said …”
The Clown’s fingers left Tom’s feet entirely.
He stood from his knelt position and wiped his sweaty hands over the chest of his boiler suit.
“And I betcha wish you never said it …” The Clown stepped away from The Tickle Chair as Tom collapsed into the device, his hands hanging limp from the wrist cuffs, his body shimmering with exhaustion under the spotlight, his face relaxing, until …
“… Now, let’s test those stinky pits of yours …”
‘No, no, no,” Tom huffed, his head following The Clown as the psychotic tickler began to stroll playfully away from Tom’s feet, towards his upper body, “Pl, pl, please, enough, this is NUTSTH,” he shouted, his lisp once again presenting itself loudly, clearly …
“It IS nuts, isn’t it, good-lookin’!” The Clown moved behind The Tickle Chair so that his horrific features peered over the left padded arm of the device, “And it’s about to get nuttier, I can tell you that!”
Tom began to pant; his heart beat racing, his neck thickening, his chin pressing down against the top of his chest as he shook his head from side to side, his blood shot brown eyes taking in the sight of The Clown’s hands as they appeared around each of his sides, his fingers wiggling, their tips nearing his pits …
“Fuck, fuck, fuck! FUCK! Please, no, don’t do this, anything but this, go back, back to my feet, my, my f, f, f — no — fuck — no — please, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, this, this can’t be, wow, you’re gonna do it, aren’t you, you can’t be serious, you can’t be serious, I’ll do anything, anything but this, do you wanna fuck me instead, how about that, how about we fuck, I can do any position, bend me any, any way you like, suck my fingers, suck my nipples, do anything, d, d, do anything but ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHGGGAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH—”
Tom’s babbled attempts at negotiating a different type of set up were crushed in The Clown’s dominant grasp when he tightened his hold over the boys underarms and ravaged their sweltering, moist depths with the vigorous strength of all ten of his fingers.
Tom’s face creased up into a scrunched display of undeniable ticklish agony, his laughter contained up until now.
“BAH—AHAHAHAHAHAAAAHHHHAHAHAHAH—AHAAHAHAHAHAHA—AAHAHAHAHAHAAAHAHAHA—STHHHHHHTOOOOOOOOOOOOOPPPPPPPP—” heave “—AHHHAAGAHHHAAGHAHAAHAHAHAHAAAHAAAHAHAAHA—” heave “AHAHAHAHAHAAAAHHHHAHAHAHAH—AHAAHAHAHAHAHA—AAHAHAHAHAHAAAHAHAHA—” heave “AHAHAHAHAHAAAAHHHHAHAHAHAH—AHAAHAHAHAHAHA—AAHAHAHAHAHAAAHAHAHA—”
He thrusted his toned physique agains The Tickle Chair in several heavy bucks, the leather of his arm and wrist restraints squeaking as he tried his hardest to pull his hands through the cuffs pinning him into place, his laughter non stop, breathless and uncontrollable until The Clown’s fingers slid away from his underarms and instead pressed gently against his ribcage.
Tom struggled to catch his breath; huffs and sighs, grunts and groans escaped his swollen lips as he jolted from side to side the more The Clown danced his fingers over his sides.
“That was brutal, wasn’t it, happy face?” The Clown teased, “I do like to keep my subjects on their pretty little toes … Sometimes I go hard, sometimes I go slow, you just never know with your best bestest buddy The Clown!”
Tom cringed at The Clowns language, twisting his face away in disgust as he felt more sweat trickle down the sides of his face.
“I, I, I told you, I’ll do anything, I’ll, I’ll shout as loud as you need me, I’ll act ticklish instead, if that’s what you want, you, you don’t have to actually tickle me to get a —” Tom once again found himself convulsing without his control, tickled without his consent, The Clown throwing his fingers back into Tom’s underarms ruthlessly, their tips forcing their way into the hairy caverns until they felt pure flesh and muscle beneath Tom’s skin, “AGH!—AGHHHHHAHAAHAHA!—AAAAAAGHHHH!—AGAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAA!—NO SERIOUSLY STOP I CAN’T BREATHE I CAN’T TAKE IT STOP—AGH! AGHHHAHAHAHAHAAA—OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD—AGHAHAHAGAHAHAHAHAGAHAHAHAGAHAHAHA—”
The Clown turned his neck to peer over at the dial wobbling over the surface of the box, the wire attached to the device shaking as Tom thrashed in The Tickle Chair, the sweat drenching his body surprisingly not causing the tape on his chest to peel off, therefore potentially causing the recorder to fall to the floor.
The dial pointed at seventy eight …
“Almost there, stud muffin’ …” The Clown squeezed his eyes shut behind his mask as he continued to infiltrate Tom’s underarms, “… I think these armpits of yours are ticklish as fuck, but we need more, baby boy …”
Tom cried out into the spotlight, “I CAN’T GIVE ANYMORE!” His head thrashing from side to side, his eyes wide open, unblinking, “I CAN’T TAKE ANYMORE!” He glared down at his left underarm, a mind numbing sensory overload perplexing the forefront of his mind, “I DON’T WANT TO DO THIS ANYMORE!”
To Tom’s bewilderment, The Clown actually stopped …
His fingers left Tom’s damp armpit hair and slid carefully away from his tanned torso.
Tom coughed and spluttered, jerking his head around in panic as he tried to make out where The Clown had gone to.
For now, only surrounding darkness and the beam of light were present …
“BOO!”
Tom jumped as The Clown appeared at his left side, with an electric toothbrush in hand.
“Did I scare ya, cutie patootie?”
Tom’s body deflated as he licked away sweat from his upper lip, “You’re, you’re fucking insane,” Tom decided, wiping away perspiration by rubbing his head over his shoulder, “I’m suing you all for this, this is kidnapping, abuse, tor, tor, tor—”
“—TORTURE?” The Clown bounced on the spot, “Yes! Correct! It’s tickle torture! And it’s fun, and playful, and a joy to watch and hear and see and be a part of!” He spoke with tones that went high and low, as if he were presenting at a Circus, or talking about a new attraction to a paying audience, “To touch a muscly, fine, handsome man like you, all tied up, all exposed, his sexy feet on show, his bulging arms pulled apart, his long, toned legs all splayed out—” The Clown placed a hand over his plastic mouth, “—Goodness me, I think I’ve got a hard on!”
Tom jumped once again in alarm as The Clown switched on the electric toothbrush.
Click! — Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz …
“For fucks sake!” Tom spat, “You better not touch me with that!” He eyed the electric toothbrush cautiously, “That’s not meant for tickling, that’s, that’s meant for—”
“—For brushing your teeth!” The Clown finished Tom’s jittered sentence for him, “And that’s exactly what I’m gonna do! Show us your gnashers, bubba bubba!”
Tom pressed his lips shut and turned his face away from The Clown.
“Oh, don’t be shy, I know you have pristine white teeth already but what harm is a little extra scrub scrub gonna do, huh?”
The Clown reached forward and grabbed Tom’s head, pulling it back and holding it against the head rest of The Tickle Chair.
“You… Se, seriously just want … To …” Tom spoke with his lips still pressed shut, “… Brush my teeth?” He had no idea what these people got off on.
The Clown nodded slowly, not speaking or offering a verbal reply, only the whizz of the electric toothbrush buzzing in the background …
Tom opened his mouth gradually, clamping his teeth together so that they displayed themselves in all of their pearly, glistening glory.
“There’s a good boy,” The Clown whispered, his grainy voice just about audible from behind his mask, “Now, the only problem is, I forgot my toothpaste …” The Clown began to aim the electric toothbrush at Tom’s teeth, “So, what we’ll need to do …” he then suddenly sent the electric toothbrush into Tom’s neck, “Is brush somewhere else!”
“AGH!” Tom pressed his jaw and chin into the electric toothbrush, a reaction he didn’t even have any control over, his brain just made him do it as soon as the vibrating bristles pressed against his collarbone, “SHIT—” Tom’s head threw itself in the opposite direction as The Clown, without warning, took the toothbrush in a sudden jump from one collarbone to the other, “—STOP, STOP, STOP!” Tom squealed.
The dial wobbled down from seventy to sixty …
The Clown took the electric toothbrush over Tom’s chest, past the tape recorder taped to his body, down his exceptional six pack and across his navel …
Tom bucked and bounced on the spot, gasping and giggling as the electric toothbrush reached his cock and balls, an area neatly contained by the elastic of his speedos.
“No, no, no—” Tom peered over his chest and tried to clamp his thighs together, “—Not my balls, not my fucking balls, not them, not those! I’ll piss myself again, I, I swear to god!”
The dial wobbled back to seventy …
The Clown provided no sinister sneers or taunting jibes as he kept the electric toothbrush buzzing in torturous, ticklish circles around Tom’s speedo covered bulge, whilst his other hand reached down into the left pocket of his boiler suit.
Tom’s eyes widened as The Clown produced a large silver pair of scissors.
“Fuck! What! What? Wait! Wait? Please! Please?” Tom felt his entire body shake with fear as the scissors neared his manhood, “No, what! Seriously, don’t, don’t do this, you sick wanker, you fucking sick—” he then jolted as the cold silver slid across his hip and carefully hooked underneath the band of the speedo …
Snip!
In one effortless cut, the speedos sprung apart, “No!” Allowing Tom’s surprisingly semi stiff cock to spring free, both of his big, hairless balls now landing between his thighs, over the leather of The Tickle Chair, “This is so embarrassing!” The pro diver admitted.
The Clown gathered the speedo material out from under Tom’s butt and threw it into the darkness.
Tom now sat naked, sweating, his body wriggling, his cheeks flushing pink, “Give those back!”
The Clown continued to buzz the electric toothbrush around Tom’s cock and balls as he wriggled on the spot, his grunts and groans now more desperate than ever.
“You enjoying this, hunk-a-spunk?” The Clown watched Tom’s cock thicken the more the electric toothbrush whizzed over it’s shape, “Maybe you’re a sick wanker too?” He jabbed.
Tom arched his back and lifted his butt from the chair, his fists clenched tightly, “No! It’s, it’s the v, v, vibrations,” he shuddered, “I, I can’t help it,” the young athlete felt keen to defend himself.
“Just be honest, peanut! Having your dick and balls tickled by an electric toothbrush turns you on!” The Clown buzzed the tickle tool between Tom’s thighs, nearing his taint, where The Subject then began to scream, “The evidence is right here in front of us! You almost have a full, veiny, bulging erection!”
Tom’s cries echoed through the giant expanse of space as he wriggled on the spot, the dial wobbling from seventy to eighty, from eighty to eighty five …
“AAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAGHHHHHHHHHHHHH NOTHERENOTHERENOTHERENOTHERE I CAN’T TAKE THAT—” Tom admitted, “OH GOD STOP STOP STOP STOP STOP STOP STOP STOP STOP STOP, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO—”
“—If I remember correctly from last time, your taint and ass is pretty damn ticklish, huh, splash splash?” The Clown asked, pressing the electric toothbrush further into Tom’s taint so that the bristles whizzed at a speedy rate across the delicately smooth, hyper sensitive space of flesh between his balls and butt hole.
Tom thrashed his head from left to right in a fierce shake, his entire body now glistening with sweat, from head to toe.
“You know something?” The Clown used his free hand to tickle Tom’s right foot, whilst his other hand controlled the toothbrush between Tom’s thighs, “They hired me today because I’m The House’s most intense tickler, the one who throws the rule book out the window, the one who cares less, who doesn’t have a life outside this duty, who lives, breathes, consumes themselves with tickle torture …”
Tom took worried glances towards The Clown in the form of shifting eyes, his pupils landing on the masked face before shooting back down to the tool buzzing beneath his balls, his cock unintentionally growing harder by the second with every whizz and vibration, “Yeah?” He said breathlessly, “S, so what?”
“Well,” The Clown looked into the darkness, “I hate to say it, for me, mostly because I hate to fail, but for you also because, ha, this is gonna be pure hell from now on …” The Clown raised his voice, as if calling out, “… I NEED BACK UP!”
Tom’s head twisted from left to right as high pitched bewilderment flooded his voice, “— NO, WAIT, WHAT DO YOU MEAN?”
Suddenly, footsteps …
Shuffling …
Amongst the electric toothbrushes buzzing there was the sound of swift walking, the opening and closing of doors, the clicking of heels against marble …
Out from the darkness and into the light appeared Andrew Garfield, who stood in a white t-shirt and jeans with his hands tucked casually into his jean pockets.
He wore no mask, unafraid of his kinks and desires being shown to a celebrity who could only dream of becoming as famous as he was …
Next stood Peter, this time no longer in his statuesque, formal stance … He presented himself ready and willing, his sleeves rolled up, a shark-like grin across his face …
Tom continued to wriggle and squirm as The Clown persisted in pressing the toothbrush against his taint, the mere suggestion of being gang tickled making the dial over on the metal trolley wobble from eighty five to ninety …
“No, pl, pl, pl, please! Not all of you at once, I, I can’t, pl, pl, please, I’ll scream the whole fucking place down! I’ll piss myself! I’ll, I’ll fucking kill you all I swear to god!”
Another masked deviant appeared next, stepping under the bright white beam, his body dressed in black from head to toe, a plain white oval mask strapped to his face …
Finally, Miller walked into the light, his arms folded across his chest, this time without John in his wheelchair beside him …
“… That’s exactly what we want you to do, kid,” Miller smirked.
Tom didn’t have a millisecond to attempt to bargain with his captors.
Like hungry hyenas to a helpless gazelle, all four additional ticklers joined The Clown in pouncing on Tom, all taking individual areas of his body that they had been silently noting as weak spots from behind the spotlight.
Andrew and Peter took a big toe each, where they consumed the chunky digit with their mouths and tongues …
They slurped, licked and sucked on Tom’s big toes whilst scribbling their fingernails over his soles, sending the twenty nine year old into unbearable tickle oblivion …
Tom wanted to throw his head back and bellow into the darkness, but another electric toothbrush landed around his neck, whizzing past his Adam’s apple, over his jaw, past his chin and onto his right collarbone.
The hand wrapped around this second toothbrush belonged to Miller, who used his free hand to dance it up and down Tom’s abs.
The Clown continued to tickle Tom’s taint, balls and cock with his own electric toothbrush, the young mans erection now throbbing in The Clown’s grasp as he held it like a gear stick, keeping it solid and upright, pointing his electric toothbrush now over the tip of Tom’s glistening manhood.
The Masked Tickler sent all ten of his fingers into Tom’s right armpit, burrowing his fingernails and tickling strength deep into the hairy, hot depths of Tom’s unbearably ticklish underarm …
Tickled by four ticklers, non stop, his body saturated in perspiration, his shouting, begging, crying and pleading going completely ignored no matter how hard he thrashed, no matter how hard he squirmed or jolted or thrusted or bounced or bucked …
The dial wobbled closer to one hundred as soon as ‘The Noise’ took place; a visceral scream and high pitched howl of laughter that caused Tom’s eyes to cross in the middle and for emotion to burst out of his nostrils and mouth in the form of saliva.
He pulled his torso forward as much as he could, overwhelmed by the tongues curling around his big toes, shocked by the amount of scribbling taking place over both of his soles, unable to stand two toothbrushes tickling him at the same time; one at his cock, the other whizzing around his neck … The pure force of chaos in one armpit …
His girlish scream and heavy, breathless laughter, a loud and animalistic, “—HELP! HELP MEEEEE! SOMEONE HELPPPPPP!—” Being the only words he could formulate were enough for the dial to reach one hundred and for the audio device attached to Tom’s chest to record such a noise.
“We got it,” Peter confirmed, his lips leaving Tom’s left big toe as Andrew continued to slurp.
Tom giggled breathlessly into his chest, broken and destroyed, blubbering and beyond confused as The Clown continued to buzz his electric toothbrush around the athletes twitching cock.
“I said we got it!” Peter yelled, his demanding shout mostly aimed at Miller, who had the authority to announce the end of Daleys tickle torture.
Miller switched off his electric toothbrush and clapped his hands just once.
Clap!
The Clown reluctantly took his electric toothbrush away from the base of Tom’s dick, lowering his head as he did so.
Bbbbbbzzzzzzzzz — click!
“Aw,” The Clown sighed, “He was just about to cum …” He stomped his booted feet, “… You always ruin my day!” He stropped.
Andrew’s lips left Tom’s sweaty big toe, where he wiped his mouth clear of dribble and eyed Tom’s decreasing erection.
“N, n, n, no I, I, I, I wasn’t,” Tom spat, adjusting himself in The Tickle Chair, “It was the, the v, v, v, vibrations,” he managed to say, his chest lifting and dropping, “N, n, nothing else …”
Miller watched the dial on the surface of the black box wobble away from one hundred where it rested at forty five.
Peter approached Tom and carefully peeled away the device from his chest, screwing up the tape and throwing it over his shoulder.
“You’re free to go, Daley …” Peter nudged the young man with the knuckles of his right hand, “… It’s safe to say, we’ll be seeing you around …”
The Clown continued to stomp his feet, folding his arms across his chest, huffing like a child who had just been told their fun time was over.
“Can’t we just give him a break? Five minutes? Then go back at it? I could’ve played with him all day!”
Peter looked at Miller and cocked an eyebrow.
Miller rolled his eyes, knowing how tough The Clown would make the atmosphere if he didn’t get what he wanted.
“Okay! Okay. Alright, you get another three hours with him … And it has to proceed in one of the smaller rooms, we need this one for Lo —”
“—THREE HOURS?!” Tom panted, his arms and legs kicking within The Tickle Chair as The Clown returned the ball gag to his mouth, “No! No more, please, oh god, oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, I did what you asked, I can’t take any—MPPHHH—”
The Clown wheeled Tom away from the spotlight, where his screams and gagged begging faded away into darkness, just like the shapes of his thrashing limbs as The Clown transported him to a more private space of The House, where three more hours of tickle torture would be inflicted on the British diver …
The Masked Tickler stepped away from the spotlight and into the shadows.
Andrew turned to Peter as Miller tucked his hands into his pockets and walked casually to the exit, leaving the spotlight also.
“Hey, man, you gotta tell me who The Commissioner was. That was one specifically devilish request …”
Peter placed his index finger over his lips as he pocketed the tape recorder , ready to post it to The Commissioner once he was back at his apartment.
“That’s for me to know, and for you to find out, Garfield …”
___________________
P E T E R ’ S A P A R T M E N T
Ping!
Ping!
Ping!
Peter stepped out of the shower, grabbing a nearby towel and wrapping it round his waist.
He glanced over at his iPhone, resting beside the sink.
Littering the screen were a dozen text messages and several missed calls.
Joshua: Why are you ignoring me?
Joshua: Have I done something wrong?
Joshua: 😔
Joshua: I need to see you.
Joshua: Peter, please, stop ghosting me man!
Joshua: Please?
Joshua: Don’t make me beg.
Peter picked up the phone and then laid it back down beside the sink, screen faced down.
He then walked towards his desk and took a seat, sealing the parcel containing the tape recorder that had successfully captured Tom Daley creating ‘The Noise’.
Peter began to write out the address over the parcels surface, an address ending in ‘New York City’ …
Once he had scribbled out the address, he wrote The Commissioner’s name at the top.
For The Attention Of:
Armie Hammer and Timothée Chalamet
‘CLOWN’ CONCLUDES IN THE SIXTH AND FINAL CHAPTER, COMING SOON …