CHAPTER THIRTY - ‘THE TRIAL, PART ONE’
Twenty one days into The Agreement …
… Nine days left.
Armie pressed up against Tim’s back, kissing his neck as he peered over his shoulder.
“Ready for your next session?” He asked.
Tim smiled, using one hand to hold a frying pan whilst the other scrambled eggs with a wooden spoon.
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” he replied.
Armie stood in a black Adidas tracksuit, white pumps, his hair un-styled, messy and blonde.
He took two plates containing a slice of toast each over to the kitchen island and hopped onto a stool.
Timothée wore an oversized grey sweater, white Nike socks and denim dungarees.
He strolled over to Armie with frying pan and spoon in hand, brushing egg neatly onto Armie’s slice of toast so that the scrambled chunks covered its entire surface in a generous pile.
“You’re not going in for details?” Armie tilted his head, his eyes never leaving the breakfast Tim had just made for him, “By the way, this looks delicious.”
Tim sat down on the stool opposite Armie and applied the remaining amount of egg over his own slice of toast.
“Thanks … I can't cook much but I, I can scramble,” he nodded with a grin, picking up his slice of toast and taking a large bite, “Mmmmm,” he spoke with his mouthful, hiding the contents with the back of his hand, “Sho good …”
Armie chuckled.
He took a bite out of his own slice of toast, his eyes falling shut seconds after.
Armie finished eating before providing his review.
“Timmy … This might be the best scrambled egg I’ve ever had.”
Tim lifted his shoulders casually, taking another bite.
“One of my many talents.”
Armie swallowed down his breakfast, taking a small sip from his glass of orange juice.
Tim’s reluctance to ask further questions about the day ahead bothered him.
Where was the curiosity?
The concern, the apprehension, the need to know more, to understand how far he may or may not be pushed?
Where did that boy go?
Armie spoke his conclusion out loud.
“You’re not afraid anymore, are you?”
Tim gulped down some egg, slowly placing his slice of toast down on the plate.
His thick eyebrows burrowed into a deep frown.
“It’s … Not that I’m not afraid,” he spoke quietly, as if discovering these feelings for the first time, feelings that might not have been realised if it weren’t for Armie’s nudge, “I, I just trust you, more than ever. And I trusted you pretty hard before, so, y’know that’s uh, that’s saying something.”
Armie nodded in understanding.
He took another bite, some scrambled egg falling onto his lap, his mind content with Tim’s response, so much so that he had no need to enquire further.
Still chewing down on his breakfast, Armie lifted himself inches above his stool, reached into his back pocket where he then produced a white coloured envelope.
He handed it to Tim.
Tim left a corner of toast between his thumb and index finger, his other hand reaching across the table.
Before Tim could take hold of the envelope, Armie flicked it back.
He said no words, his narrowed stare doing the communicating for him.
Tim eyed the envelope and then Armie.
“… Please?” His tone arrived drenched in uncertainty.
Armie maintained his pause.
Tim nodded just once, “Please,” he repeated, this time with a deeper voice filled with confidence.
Armie returned the envelope to Tim.
Tim took it from Armie’s grasp, careful not to snatch.
On the front of the envelope a ’T.C’ had been handwritten in black ink.
At the back of the envelope a black wax stamp in the shape of a feather sealed the entire thing together.
Tim raised his eyebrows, impressed by the envelope's quality.
He opened it up, pulling out a white sheet of paper folded in two.
Tim threw the final corner of toast into his mouth, chewing down hard as he unfolded the paper.
Tim’s eyes read wording written in Armie’s exquisite handwriting.
He then spoke the content out loud.
“… The Trial … Three challenges, three positions, three areas, three potential rewards …” he smirked, clearing his throat, speaking out the final line at the bottom of the sheet, “… All within three hours …”
Armie wiped his palms clear of crumbs, a smile decorating a mouth still chewing down breakfast.
“And it begins right now,” Armie announced.
Tim’s eyes widened.
“Wait, now? Wait, wait, wait—“ he flapped the sheet of paper nervously, “—What are the rewards? What are the areas …?” He narrowed his eyes, biting down over his lower lip, “What, what are the positions … Damn ... Three hours?”
Armie held back laughter with the front of his hand.
“… There’s that familiar concern I’ve missed …” he then slid off his stool, holding his right hand out to his lee, “… Come on, Timmy. Let’s get you set up.”
CHALLENGE ONE
To Tim’s surprise Armie didn’t lead him to Sub Zero.
Instead they travelled back into the basement, a basement that had been the setting for Timothée’s first major armpit tickling session as well as his first edging.
Tim stood surrounded by the familiar humidity; the flickering candle light, the open brick walls covered in cobwebs, the wooden pillars and beams, the dusty floor …
He swallowed down butterflies as his eyes landed on a plain white mattress lying on the ground.
Beside that; a wooden chair and a medium sized white, square box.
Armie folded his arms, nodding at Tim, allowing him the chance to investigate.
Tim approached the mattress, chair and box, kneeling down over the box’s lid.
A black feather had been illustrated on its centre and underneath the feather the number ‘1’ had been etched in the same handwriting as the wording on the letter.
“Did you make this?” Tim asked, turning his head to face Armie, “Can I open it?”
Armie shook his head slowly.
“The most important part of The Trial is the element of surprise. With each challenge there will be a box, with each challenge you will not discover the box’s contents until I use them on you,” Armie placed his hands behind his back, “With each challenge there will be a potential reward … With each challenge, you’ll arrive unknowing on what will be taking place.”
Tim stood slowly, swallowing down a bubble of anxiety.
“Say ‘with each challenge' again …”
Armie couldn’t help but break his stern exterior, laughing at Tim’s attempt to not take this too seriously.
Tim smiled playfully, getting back to his feet.
Armie clapped his hands once.
“Alright. Lay down on the mattress. The hour begins as soon as you’re bound.”
Tim cleared his throat, asserting himself into the situation, his right hand unbuckling the left strap of his dungaree whilst his left hand went to unhook his sock.
Armie placed his palm over Tim’s shoulder.
“No. Stay dressed.”
Tim raised his eyebrows, his hands now dangling by his sides.
“But, it’s, it’s so warm down here. I’m gonna—“
“—You’re going to sweat, yes,” Armie’s hand slid off Tim’s shoulder, his index finger shaping out a strong point to the mattress, “In fact, you’ll sweat today more than you’ve ever done in your entire life. Now please, lay down.”
Tim shook some curls of hair away from his eyes, his tongue running over the roof of his mouth.
“Holy shit,” he whispered.
Tim stepped onto the mattress and did as requested, choosing to lay on his front - an act now seemingly engraved in his subconscious as the right thing to do.
Armie smirked, acknowledging how achieved it felt to not need to position Tim himself.
He then picked up the box, pulling the chair to the end of the mattress where Tim’s feet currently lay crossed at the ankle.
Tim could hear Armie lift the box’s lid, his hands rifling through the equipment inside.
“Lift your head,” Armie ordered.
Tim folded his arms, lifting his head as asked.
He flinched as a thick leather collar made its way around his neck, swallowing down behind the strap now snug over his Adam’s apple.
Armie tightened the buckle at the back, securing the collar in place.
Attached to the collar was a leather leash.
Armie pulled at the leash gently, just enough to lift Tim’s upper torso away from the mattress.
Tim winced, his head turning around to face Armie.
“Not h-holding back on that element of surprise …” he noted.
Armie smiled, “When have I ever?” He then lessened his pull, allowing Tim to lay back down on his front.
Tim rested his chin over the tops of his hands, now feeling the warmth of Armie’s fingers curling around his socked ankles.
Armie took Tim’s feet away from the mattress, lifting them upward so that Tim’s knee’s bent.
He kept them neatly positioned together.
“Stay still,” he advised.
Armie then took each of Tim’s hands and positioned them behind his back.
From out of the box Armie produced a long length of black rope where he then began to tie Tim’s wrists to his ankles, binding him into a hog tied position.
As Armie secured knots and wrapped up excess rope, Tim found his nervous mind getting the better of him.
He wondered what area would be first, what this challenge would consist of …
He knew Armie wanted to inflict pain on him, instead of just tickling …
When will that happen? He thought.
Hasn't it all been hardcore enough?
He wondered if something like that would even still take place, after growing so close.
Tim went to open his mouth, to ask a wave of questions that would help cure his anxiety, but he maintained a forced silence.
It felt important to him to appear ready, confident and sure, just like he had been in the kitchen just fifteen minutes ago.
Tim blinked as Armie placed an egg timer on the basement floor, a few inches away from his face.
The timer had been set at one hour and had already started its tick.
Armie placed the box down beside his chair, taking a seat, his hands holding onto the rope binding Tim in a hogtie.
He then yanked Tim towards him in a huff, until Tim’s feet could be positioned neatly between Armie’s thighs.
From here, Armie had a perfect view of Tim’s socked soles, his fully dressed body, as well as the dog collar strapped around his neck.
Armie laid the leash carefully over one knee, its presence and meaning simply here for aesthetic purposes, for now anyway.
Tim curled his fingers around the rope binding his wrists, as if holding onto the handlebars of a rollercoaster about to start.
“So, Timothée, tell me … Where do you think the focus area of this challenge will be?” Armie asked.
Tim moved his head so that his lips faced to the side, his cheek squashed flat against the mattress.
“I’m, I’m going with … My, my feet …”
Tim jolted as Armie’s fingertips began to stroke soles covered by white cotton.
Tim squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his teeth in a frustrated grin.
“What makes you say that?” Armie felt his erection stiffen as Tim’s feet tried to cross over one another in an attempt to conceal their ticklish landscape.
“Well, you’re, you’re t-tickling them r-right, right now, so …” Tim giggled as he spoke.
Armie smirked, “That’s true,” he took index fingers over Tim’s soles, dragging them from his socked toes down to his heels, “But that’s mostly because I just can’t help myself …”
Tim wriggled his hips, laughter making its way out of his mouth.
“Yup, I, I gathered!”
He inhaled a deep chunk of warm basement air through his nose as Armie’s touch left his feet.
Tim exhaled slowly, listening to Armie’s hands rifling back inside the box.
He twisted his head from side to side, thoroughly disliking the fact he couldn’t see what Armie was up to.
“Can’t you, can’t you at least talk me through what you’re doing?” Tim asked.
Armie responded with a blunt, “No,” his right hand now holding a large, sharp pair of silver scissors.
Tim gasped as the scissors slid across the sole of his right foot, the blade expertly and cautiously cutting through the cotton of the sock like a knife gliding through butter.
Tim felt a mixture of dread and relief as Armie snipped away at his socks, his bare soles greeting much needed air whilst also reluctantly revealing themselves to Armie’s tickling fingers.
Armie gathered up the excess sock material now hanging around each of Tim’s feet and tucked it into the rope binding his ankles together.
Tim huffed as he endured a bead of sweat trickling down the side of his head.
The mugginess of the air, the flickering of candle light, the heaviness of his denim dungarees and the thickness of his sweater all added to the overwhelming feeling of stuffiness …
… And tied up, to top it all off, like a damn piece of meat.
Tim’s toes curled as Armie’s right index finger began to draw circles over the silky smooth section of his right arch.
“Fuck,” Tim hissed, “Wait, wait, uh, gimme a sec I, I, I, I nee—“
“—You need to do what?” Armie’s erection grew beneath his tracksuit the more Tim’s feet squirmed between his thighs, “You peed before breakfast, so you can’t use that as an excuse …”
Tim groaned into the mattress as Armie’s fingers now scratched into both heels.
“Al, al, alright, man, come on, fuck—“
Armie chuckled.
“… ‘Alright man, come on, fuck?’ … Timmy, we’ve only just started…”
Tim glared at the egg timer as it tickticktickticktickticked away.
Fifty five minutes left.
Jesus.
To Tim’s relief Armie paused, standing up for just a few seconds where he pulled his tracksuit bottoms down to his ankles.
Armie sat back down, pulling Tim’s feet closer between his thighs, his erection now bobbing freely above each of Tim’s bound, bare soles.
Armie pressed his hard on down over Tim’s feet, its muscular length rubbing over their sensitive landscape.
Tim moved his feet around Armie’s hard on, further increasing his tickler’s arousal.
Armie caught Tim’s feet by snatching hold of each of his big toes.
“Ah!” Tim yelped.
Armie then used his free hand to reach back into the box.
Tim clenched his teeth as he felt Armie apply what felt like an elastic band around each of his big toes, connecting them together firmly.
“Ooft,” Armie stroked his jaw in achievement, “That's tight. They’re going nowhere …”
Tim stretched out his fingers, his head twisting from left to right over the mattress, his feet wanting to pull apart …
“Fuck!” He laughed, overwhelmed by just how restricted his movement was, “No, fuck, damn —“
Armie continued to explore the box’s contents, speaking casually.
“You were wrong, by the way,” Armie declared, “I won’t be focusing on your feet, for the remaining fifty minutes … Any other guesses?”
Tim pressed his lips together as baby oil trickled down over his toes.
He expected to feel the liquid land over the rest of his feet, however it just continued to pour over each lengthy, fleshy toe until Tim had to ask Armie to stop.
“Alright, come on, man that’s, that’s enough damn baby oi—”
Armie shook his head.
“—Oh, I’ll say when it’s enough…” he reminded, drenching Tim’s toes in more silky liquid, the shining ooze invading their delicate in-betweens.
Armie placed the bottle of baby oil on the mattress, to the left of Tim’s hip.
“You, you need air con down here …” Tim gulped down a chunk of dry atmosphere, “... You can afford it.”
Armie planted both hands over each of Tim’s soles.
“... Silence ... ” he demanded.
Tim bit his upper lip.
“Now, your first challenge is simple,” Armie delivered the information calmly, carefully, clearly, “Do not use your safe word. If you can successfully achieve that within the remainder of the session, you would have completed the first part of The Trial …”
Tim wiggled his toes, their entire individual shape coated in oil.
Pfft, he thought.
I’ve already done that before.
I can take this.
“What … What if I fail?” He asked, feeling rather confident that he wouldn't but curious about the consequences if he did.
Armie paused, for dramatic effect.
“…”
A muffled beep from unassuming traffic above and outside, Tim’s breathing, the gentle tickticktickticktick …
“If you fail, an additional hour is added to the next challenge.”
Tim gulped, nodding quickly.
“Are you ready?” Armie asked.
Tim nodded once again, this time faster.
Armie lifted his head, his eyes narrowing at the egg timer.
“How long till it rings?” He asked.
Tim craned his neck so that he could assess the egg timer’s remaining tick.
“Uh, forty … Forty eight minutes …”
Armie tightened his legs together, catching Tim’s feet in a neatly placed position where they sat snug and toe tied between Armie’s thighs.
“No more time to waste,” he then began to massage the baby oil into Tim’s toes ...
______________________________________________________
Seven minutes had passed.
Tim arched his back immediately as droplets of sweat began to appear above his upper lip.
His feet wanted to wriggle around but they couldn’t - they were trapped too tightly, the tops of them unintentionally rubbing against Armie’s balls as they squirmed.
Tim stretched his jaw open wide, expecting Armies touch to leave his toes and explore the rest of his feet, however they seemed to just stay there …
In, around, under, over and between his toes, constantly, non stop …
… Tim began to lose his breath.
His hysteria started with coughs and splutters but then it transformed into heavy, hearty giggles that had no choice but to leave his throat in a manic explosion.
“… Oh-oh-oh-oh-ho-ho-h-h-ho man, oh fu-huh-huh-huh-haha-haha-haha-aahaha-hucckkk, fu-huhuha-hahah-hahah-hahack …!”
Armie’s persistent scratch continued, journeying from big toe to index, to third and then to fourth, around the pinkie and back to the big toe again.
“Have you guessed the area yet, Timmy?”
Tim heaved in a dry slab of air.
“… My to-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oes my da-ah-ah-ah-ah-ahaham to-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-hahaha-hoes…!”
Armie grinned, his tickle now focusing on just Tim’s index toes, both at the same time, repeatedly.
“That’s correct, your toes - one of the most ticklish areas of your body. It’s safe to say that I won’t be making these challenges … Easy …”
Tim’s face boiled red, his eyes squeezed shut, his chest thumped over the mattress as Armie then decided to infiltrate all ten of his baby oil soaked toes with the power of all ten fingers.
“You see, Tim … You have ticklish feet, that goes without saying,” Armie spoke in a calm tone, his still, physical being the total opposite to Tim’s sweaty, dishevelled form below, “But your toes are distinguishably sensitive, highly reactive, a total weakness for sure …”
Tim had no choice but to let Armie constantly tickle his toes, his writhing and squirming creating a thick layer of sweat over the bottom of his back, across his forehead, deep within his armpits.
He wished he’d dressed in a t-shirt and shorts, he wished he hadn’t gone for comfort, he wished Armie hadn’t made the apartment so cold that he had decided to style himself with layers …
He wished, he wished, he wished …
He then realised that having the apartment so cold was all part of the plan.
“… Fu-huh-huh-huh-h-h-h-hucking six ste-eh-eh-eh-eps a-he-hahaha-ahaahead,” Tim heaved his thoughts out loud in the form of verbal laughter.
Armie’s erection began to produce pre come in the form of a thick, singular drop, a drop that left the tip of Armie’s cock and landed on Tim’s toes where it mixed in with the baby oil currently being scratched into their wriggling lengths.
“They’re so soft,” Armie admired, “So delicate, so long, so untouched until you had met me …” Armie admired, “I love how when they curl out, they just open up more vulnerable flesh to explore, more sensitive stretch to devour …”
With that information, Tim scrunched his toes up as hard as he could but Armie just pulled them back open where he would go at it again, harder, faster, with additional strength.
Tim’s giggles had now turned into desperate, breathless laughter, his mouth mumbling out begs, pleas and stops.
The focus on such a high sensitive area, non stop, already started to prove far more challenging than Tim could’ve imagined.
“Please!” Tim cried, “Please …”
huff, huff
“… Just, just give me a, a s—second— a second!–“
Armie acknowledged the grainy tone in Tim’s voice, allowing the basement to fill only with the sound of Tim’s breathless panting and the tickticktickticktick of the egg timer as Armie momentarily paused.
From where he sat Armie could see Tim’s curls of hair now wet with sweat.
He must really be suffering under those dungaree’s … Armie thought
Ticktickticktickticktickticktick …
Tim’s eyes bulged towards the egg timer where his blurred vision took in a sight that told him he still had thirty minutes left.
Armie rifled through the box with one hand whilst the other stroked Tim’s twitching soles teasingly.
From out of the box Armie revealed an electric toothbrush.
He gave Tim only one single minute of relief before switching the electric toothbrush on, its now whizzing tip slowly approaching each of Tim’s big toes.
Tim breathed in and out, in and out, refilling his lungs with air …
He then suddenly threw his face into the mattress as the toothbrush landed over both of his big toes at the same time, its scratching bristles rotating at a violent speed over the sleek, plump, glossy digits.
“Damn, fuck, holy shit!” Tim heaved out into the basement, his gravelled voice echoing through the humid atmosphere, his hot breath shifting cobwebs and dust with its volume.
“Please, enough with the damn toes, enough with the da-AMN TOES MAN COME ON–”
As Armie took in the damp sweat stain gathering around the back of Tim’s sweater he smiled in achievement, knowing that he had already broken Timmy by just focusing on one area, constantly, non stop and with minimal break.
New York.
He’ll say it at any moment, Armie thought.
Tim laughed maniacally into the side of a mattress now creased with his weight, his body pushing out hysteria only to then heave it back in for another distressed expel that would take place seconds after.
The laughter sounded long and exhausting - when Armie thought he’d eventually stop to take a breath, he simply didn’t.
He continued to laugh and laugh and laugh, where Armie would then hear a beat of silence and then a huge intake of air - and then the process of uncontrollable laughter would just repeat itself.
Armie made sure to keep an ear on Tim’s breathing, especially now that the electric toothbrush had started to make its way around the length of Tim’s hyper sensitive index toe, a toe that stood out as far more ticklish than the others.
He’s always been stubborn, Armie thought.
Foolish, foolish boy …
He’d rather pass out than say his safe word …
If you keep going like this, you might be able to make him do both …
Armie persisted around Tim’s left index toe, refusing to stray.
The electric toothbrush whizzed up and down its length, around its tip, it circled its base.
Tim’s surrounding toes curled and clenched, but Armie used his other hand to keep the index toe in position, the toothbrush relentless in its application.
Tim’s index toe had never received such attention, such torture, such aggressive, constant touch.
Armie intended to stay on this spot for five minutes, but he sadistically decided on ten.
Such an act had now made Tim replace laughter with constant, despairing begging.
“… Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease …”
heave
“… Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease …”
heave
“… Stopstopstopstopstopstopsto …”
heave
“… Stopstopstopstopstopstopsto …”
heave
“... gosomewhereelsegosomewhereelsegosomewhereelse …”
heave
Armie slid the toothbrush away from Tim’s index toe, switching it off.
Tim slumped into the mattress, his toes scrunching up tightly, hiding their ticklishness as soon as he had the chance.
He coughed, spluttered and cursed in his shoulder, his face now entirely coated in sweat.
Armie could see the egg timer clearly from here but he continued to force Tim to work.
“Time please, kid …”
Tim closed his eyes, focusing on refilling his lungs with air.
“… Just … Just a … Gimme, gimme a, a min, minu …”
Armie pulled gently on the leash, increasing the pull gradually until Tim’s chest peeled away from the surface of the mattress.
“Ughh-aghh –” Tim gagged, his back arching, the muscles in his stomach stretching, “--Fft, no, don’t, don’t do that …” he winced.
“… Time … Please … Kid …” Armie repeated himself.
Tim’s eyes rolled down to the egg timer.
“Fifteen minutes!” He spat, “Fifteen god damn minutes!”
Armie let go of the leash, allowing Tim’s chest to fall back down over the mattress in a gentle bounce.
“You’re doing good, Timothee …”
Tim nodded slowly, his eyes closing once again, his sweater clinging to his shoulders, the straps of his dungarees now all twisted up.
His right arm had gone into a cramp, his left shoulder throbbing.
He so desperately wanted to have his wrists disconnected from his ankles, the collar removed from his neck, his toes avoided from this moment on …
Tim opened his eyes, sniffing up some excess snot, his mind willing this final part of the first challenge to be over.
If this first one is this bad, what the fuck will the next one be like? He thought to himself.
Tim’s toes curled as even more baby oil landed over their lengths.
“… Fuck, really?” Tim mumbled into the mattress as the baby oil continued it’s overly generous drench, “No way, man, not more damn oil …”
Armie smiled sadistically as he rifled through the box, retrieving the final tool for the session.
“Fuck indeed …”
Tim then jolted as he felt a thin length of string slid between his second and third toe.
“ … NO —“ Tim growled, “—No, no, no — n-not that, not the, not the fucking string, no … No … No .. NOT THAT, NOTTHATNOTTHATNOTTHAT…” Tim then began to scream in a high pitch, visceral cry, his head shaking into a distorted and constant twist “… NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NOO, NOOOOOOOooooooooooooOOOOO—“
Armie smirked, using the most powerful tool he could use on Tim’s toes, a tool used by Miller at Tickle Fest to break Tim in a way Tim didn’t think he could be broken.
The string manoeuvred it’s way through each of Tim’s toes, where Armie hooked and pulled it over and around each flexing, squirming, plump muscle, only to slide it back towards him in a torturous yank.
Using both hands, Armie see-sawed the string between each of Tim’s index toes for sometimes five, six, seven minutes at a time, sending Tim into a dribbled state of uncontrollable mania, his laughter now so loud that Armie wondered if the unsuspecting public walking the streets above and outside might hear …
Tim tried to clench up his toes to catch the string - the tighter the clench, the bigger the chance he’d pause the tickle torture - but Armie’s pull was too strong and Tim’s toes were growing too weak.
“—Ffft—fu-huh-huh-huhahahah-ahahaha-huhuhahaha-hahaaack, da-ahahaha-ahahaha-aahahamn, ho-oh-oh-oh-oh-ohly shhhh—“
heave, heave, heave
“—sh-sh-sh-ehehe-eeeet, no, no, NO, NO, NOOOO-OOOOHHHHHAAAAAAA—“
huff, huff, huff, huff
“--pleasepleasepleaseplease just ticklesomewhereelse ticklesomewherelese ple, ple, ple, ple–”
“--I’m not going to tickle somewhere else, Tim. Just your toes. Want it to stop? Just say it. Say your safe word and it’ll all be over.”
Armie entwined the string between and around all of Tim’s ten toes, see-sawing it from left to right, left to right, left to right as the surrounding candles continued their flicker, “Come on, give in, you know you want to …”
Tim buried his face into the mattress, biting down over its cotton surface, a surface now drenched from the sweat leaving Tim’s face.
“FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, PLEASE, pleasepleaseplease, stopstopstop—“
Tim couldn’t control his reactions, anger now starting to overwhelm him.
“—Fuck you, fuck you, fuck youuuuu-ahh-ahahahaha-ahahha pleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease give me a sec come on come on come o—“
Tim’s muffled cries saturated the mattress as Armie continued with the string's brutal drag …
… Left to right, left to right, left to right …
Non-stop, without breaks, each toe explored without mercy for ten constant minutes, the string sending Tim into an oblivion he stood so far away from just over an hour ago, beside a hob stirring up scrambled eggs in the peaceful quiet of Armie’s kitchen one floor above.
I can’t.
Get me the fuck out of this, Tim thought.
I can’t.
I can’t deal.
“... I can’t take it I can’t take it I can’t take it I can’t take it …”
heave, heave, heave
New York.
End it —
“—Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease,” Tim begged, “Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck I’m so hot, fuck damndamndamndamndamn—“ he heaved and heaved and heaved, “Gimme a sec, a sec, just a damn, a damn, a damn second—“
… Left to right, left to right, left to right …
… Tickticktickticktickticktickticktick …
Tim glared at the egg timer.
You’re not gonna make it.
… Left to right, left to right, left to right …
… Tickticktickticktickticktickticktick …
Two minutes …
“It’s here,” Armie declared in joyous celebration, “… Right here, that’s what drives you insane…” Armie dragged the string around Tim’s index toe once again.
“Alrightalrightalrightalright—“ he heaved and heaved and heaved again, “—Okayokayokayokayokayokayokay—“
Tim’s eyes bulged so white and wide at the egg timer that he felt surprised it didn’t explode right there on the spot.
One minute …
Tim’s index toe endured sixty seconds of non stop string tickling, where the string entwined around each of his other nine toes also, pulled left to right in a see saw drag that made the sixty seconds feel more like eternity.
Tickticktickticktickticktick – click! – Riiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnggggggg!
The egg timer rattled over the concrete floor of the basement, ringing loudly into Tim’s ears, its announcement of the end of the session echoing out throughout the boiling hot atmosphere.
Tim laughed madly in relief, however his moment of happiness only lasted a few seconds when he realised that Armie didn’t stop with the string.
“Wha–”
The string continued as Armie cackled.
Tim twisted into himself, his head turning over his shoulder to fiercely glance at Armie.
“NO, STOP, ARMIE FUCK, THIS ISN’T FAIR COME ON, COME ON FUCK, PLEASE–”
Left to right, left to right, left to right …
Riiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnngggggggg!
Tim bucked and bounced over the mattress, spitting irritation, rage and fury out into the basement’s suffocating air.
“FUCK, NO, WHAT ARE YOU DOING? WHAT ARE YOU DOING? COME ON, WHAT ARE YOU—“
Armie stopped.
Tim deflated over the mattress, all air leaving his lungs in a steady, long, well earned moan.
Armie slid the string away from Tim’s toes for one last time, causing Tim’s feet to twitch violently.
Tim hissed, twisting his head over his shoulder once again to offer Armie a narrowed eyed stare filled with warning, a look that said, ‘if you fucking carry on, there will be consequences’.
Armie held his hands up in surrender, stretching out his fingers, the string falling over his cock.
He could easily go on all day with Tim’s toes, however he had another two areas to explore.
He once again practised taming the monster, the demon inside that wanted to push on, to violate Tim’s toes for a further three hours …
Stop.
Stop.
… Stop.
With reluctance, he removed the elastic band, separating Tim’s feet from each other.
Tim sighed, his throat dry, his hair wet, his skin beneath his sweater and dungarees drenched in perspiration.
“Fuck, fuck …” he coughed, “… Thank god, thank fucking god …”
Armie gently stroked Tim’s soles with his fingers, his hard on still bobbing above them, its tip presenting the urge to release all over them …
… Another time.
“Well done, Timmy … Challenge completed. Now for your reward …”
Tim felt his ankles and wrists detach from each other as Armie used the silver scissors to cut the rope.
Armie stood, pulling up his tracksuit bottoms, hiding his hard on for now.
Tim’s feet fell over the mattress, his toes still soaked in baby oil.
He rolled over to his back, laying out in the starfish position, panting and staring up into the darkness of the basement's beam-riddled ceiling.
“You’re … You’re a f, f, fucker …” Tim declared, his right hand pointing at Armie.
Armie pulled out another small white box from inside the one containing all of the tools and rope just used to tickle torture Tim’s toes.
This box’s lid had a black bow tied to the top.
He knelt down on the mattress beside Tim where he began to tidy up his lee’s sweat soaked hair, tucking some curls behind his ears.
“Sit up, kid,” Armie whispered.
Tim sat up, straining as he did so, his hands clawing at the collar around his neck, readjusting it into a more comfortable position.
Armie handed the smaller box to Tim.
Tim wiped some sweat away from his nose, taking the box, hesitating before opening it up.
Armie acknowledged the pause, his right hand resting on Tim’s shoulder.
“That was a lot, huh, kid? You alright?”
Tim nodded slowly, his eyes staring down at the ‘reward’ in his hands.
“I’ve … My, my feet … My, my toes ... They’ve never been tickled like that before…” Tim put the box down, his hands pulling his dungaree straps away from his body, “… I’m sorry, I gotta get naked, I’m too damn hot …”
Armie nodded in understanding, already knowing which point he’d ask Tim to stop undressing.
Tim stood, kicking and shaking away rope still loosely attached to his hands and feet.
He then pulled away the cut apart remains of his socks, yanking his dungarees down to his ankles, stepping out of them with a sigh of relief.
His legs were soaked with sweat, the heat of the basement being a form of torture in itself.
Tim went to remove his sweater but Armie held up his right hand.
“That’s enough.”
Tim stopped, dropping his arms in a defeated dangle.
“But I, I … I …”
Armie nodded at the reward, “… Open it up.”
Tim sat back down on his knees, now wearing just his underwear and sweatshirt.
He picked up the box and pulled away its lid.
Inside, on the box’s black velvet interior, a white credit card lay by itself.
Tim held the credit card closer to his face, the basement's candle lit setting making it tricky to read the name on the card.
“… Mr Timothée Hal Chalamet … “ Tim read aloud with a croaky voice, “ … Centurion account …” his eyes widened, “… Wait, is this … Is this my …”
Armie shook his head.
“No, it’s not your ten million dollars. It is, however, the account it’ll land in …” Armie shuffled up closer to Tim, kissing him on the forehead, the salt from the boy's sweat pressing against his lips, “See, all of this, all you’ve endured … The end product is starting to become a reality.”
Tim rubbed his thumb over his name inscribed in silver letters of the square shape of plastic.
It slid over the numbers that made up the account details, the expiry date, and the smoothness of its surface.
“For now,” Armie continued, “There is still a substantial amount on there, for you and you only. An amount with a specific use, a use I’ll reveal at the end of The Trial …”
Armie stood, holding his right hand out to Tim, “Come on, let’s get you set up for challenge number two …”
Tim looked at the credit card and then at Armie’s hand.
He paused, considering if he could even handle a second challenge, after the first being so intense.
The credit card in his palm, the promise of financial security now ever more real …
It made Timmy grab Armie’s hand harder than ever …
Where he was pulled to his feet and led towards Sub Zero.
TCTLR continues in Chapter Thirty Two - ‘The Trial, Part Two’