CHAPTER THIRTY THREE - ‘THE TRIAL, PART THREE’
CHALLENGE THREE
Timothée glugged down the pint of water all within seven seconds.
Some of it spilled past his lips and down his jaw, the pints contents quenching his thirst after two hours of constant tickle torture.
“You’re filming this one?” He asked, wiping his mouth clear of hydration, turning to Armie for an answer, his eyebrows raised in surprise.
Armie, still in his Adidas tracksuit, adjusted the standing tripod, positioning it on his bedroom floor at the end of his double bed.
Attached to the tripod was a camcorder, aimed directly at the mattress.
The bed had been stripped of all blankets and pillows.
On its middle sat another medium white box with the number ‘3’ etched into the middle of its lid in handwritten black ink.
“I suppose this is the moment where I find out if you really do trust me as much as you say you do,” Armie replied.
Tim ran his tongue over the roof of his mouth in thought.
He stood entirely naked, with only the pearl choker attached to his neck.
Armie had revealed a camera once before, way back at the start of The Agreement (authors note - see Chapter Nine)
Tim’s reaction back then was to ask for no camera, to worry about the footage leaking, to feel uncertain with what Armie might do with such content.
Those thoughts, those feelings, they didn’t enter Tim’s mind this time.
Tim nodded slowly, placing the empty pint glass over at Armie’s desk.
“The camera’s fine,” he confirmed, “As long as it’s just for you.”
Armie smiled.
He turned towards Tim, approaching him slowly, his index finger looping around the silver ring attached to Tim’s choker.
Armie pulled Tim gently towards him.
“It’s always just for me …”
Armie kissed Tim on the lips.
Tim closed his eyes, embracing the comfort before whatever hell Armie would inflict on him for the next two hours.
Armie whispered into Tim’s mouth, sliding his finger out from the silver ring.
"Lay down on the bed, on your back."
Tim turned towards the bed, planting one knee over its corner.
He couldn’t lay down fully without touching or moving the box.
“You open it this time,” Armie decided.
As Tim climbed onto the bed, Armie acknowledged the pinch, nail and grab marks decorating Tim’s back, sides, hip and waist.
He swallowed down guilt, relieved that he had planned the third and final challenge in The Trial to be less aggressive and more gentle.
Although, as Tim would soon discover, ‘more gentle’ would be far more torturous than he’d ever imagined ...
Tim sat in the cross legged position where he picked the lid off of the final box.
He retrieved a canister of shaving cream, an unopened bottle of baby oil and a single plastic disposable razor from inside, cradling the objects at his bare chest.
“Weird …” Tim instantly regretted his choice of word, his eyes widening as he shot a worried look towards Armie, “ … I, I don’t mean weird, I, I just mean … Some of it’s not what I expected.”
Armie chuckled, approaching the left corner of the bed.
He knelt down, pulling pre attached black rope from underneath.
Attached to the rope, a leather cuff.
“Don’t worry. I’m staying away from that beautiful head of air,” Armie stood, crawling to the right corner where he pulled out another pre tied length of rope, “But I will be shaving your armpits.”
Tim swallowed down as he watched Armie pull more rope from the top right and left corners of the bed.
He eyed the leather cuffs attached to their ends, the butterflies in his stomach returning at a rapid rate.
“Is, is that a thing?” Asked Tim.
Armie stood, dusting off his knees, holding his hands out for the box’s contents.
“On the bed, on your back …” he repeated.
Tim placed the shaver and shaving cream back into the box, handing the box to Armie.
“... Do this, do that …” he muttered with a smirk, laying down on his back, crossing his leg at the ankle.
He lifted his head, his eyes narrowing at the camera lens staring back at him at the end of the bed.
He adjusted his balls, tidied his hair, shook curls into position.
Armie, with box in hand, began to climb onto the bed also.
“You look perfect,” Armie confirmed, “And leave your hair alone. It’ll be drenched in sweat in the next twenty minutes anyway.”
Tim’s hands left his curls of hair as Armie positioned himself behind Tim.
He knelt down so that Tim’s head rested in his lap.
He placed the box over the pillow beside him.
“You devoured that pint of water pretty fast,” Armie acknowledged, “Before we start, do you need to use the—“
Tim shook his head.
“No,” he confirmed, “That was a one time thing.”
Armie nodded, “Excellent. Now, wrap your arms around my waist.”
Tim went to do so but paused before moving.
“Wait, where, where’s the egg timer?” He asked.
Armie picked the canister of shaving cream out of the box.
He then squirted a generous amount into his right palm.
“You destroyed it,” he replied, his blue eyes watching the cloud of white cream growing in his hand.
“Don’t you have another one? I thought, I thought there would be one for each—“
Armie began to smother shaving cream over each palm, spreading it’s consistency.
“Why is the timer so important to you, Timmy?”
Armie knew the answer - he just wanted to hear Tim say it out loud.
Tim began to wrap his arms around Armie’s waist.
He reached behind him, his left arm curling around Armie’s left side, his right arm curling around Armie’s right.
In this position, Tim had fully and willingly exposed his armpits.
“I… I’ve been, relying on it, I guess,” Tim hissed as Armie began to apply shaving cream to his left armpit, the cold chill of the application ticklish in itself, “To, to see h-how long is left, how much more I, I have to—“
Tim began to giggle as Armie rubbed shaving cream into the depths of his underarm, his fingers applying a devilish pressure for obvious reasons.
Tim began to kick his feet, his left arm tugging back towards himself in closure.
“No,” Armie ordered sternly, “Keep your arms wrapped around me, or else … ” he continued to apply the shaving cream.
Tim’s legs were now kicking out rampantly.
“I can’t!” He cried.
Armie pulled Tim’s arm back around his waist.
“… Yes you can …”
A beat of silence as Tim’s heels dug into the mattress.
He blew a curl of hair away from his face, focusing on keeping still as Armie began to smother more shaving cream into his right armpit.
Tim squeezed his eyes shut and widened his jaw into a manic grin.
“Fuck, alright, alright, alright!”
Armie massaged the shaving cream in gently, sliding his hands away from the delicate crevasses that made up Tim’s armpits.
Tim sighed in relief.
“Have we, have we started?” He asked, wishing the egg timer pieces downstairs would magically join back together and materialise at the end of the bed, beside the camera and tripod.
“We have not,” Armie confirmed, “This is just procedure.”
Tim made a ‘pfft’ noise with his lips.
“… ‘Procedure’… ” he scoffed, “… I’ve already figured you out,” he revealed.
Armie raised his eyebrows as he laid one hand over Tim’s left forearm, the other holding the shaver.
“Is that so?” Armie neared the shaver towards Tim’s left armpit, “Try and stay till. I don’t want to cut you.”
Tim eyed himself in the camera as Armie began to shave his left armpit, a job that wouldn’t take long due to his minimal amount of armpit hair.
“They’re going to be smooth as fuck,” Tim bit his upper lip, already concerned by how ticklish they would feel once fully shaved, “And then you’re gonna, you’re gonna … damn … This is gonna ruin me, I, I know it … ”
Tim’s gradual acceptance of his upcoming fate made Armie’s hard on press into the back of his lee’s head.
“No comment,” Armie licked his lips, shaving the last bits of Tim’s left armpit.
He tapped away the excess hair and cream from the shaver, sending the shaver gently into Tim’s right armpit.
“Are you gonna go anywhere else, for the two hours, or, or, or just my armp—“
“—It’s funny,” Armie slid the shaver slowly through the cream, taking Tim’s armpit hair along with it as he did so, “At the very start of The Trial, earlier this morning, you took a strong sense of pride in not asking questions, in not letting your curiosity get the better of you. Now all you do is ask, ask, ask …”
Armie used his free left hand to stroke Tim’s head of curls, “… Have I reverted you back to the unsure, naive Timothée that walked into my apartment three weeks ago?”
Tim bit his upper lip, his cock growing into a gentle stiffen as Armie’s fingers slid over his scalp.
“Yup,” Tim had no intention of hiding his thoughts and feelings, “This, this whole damn day so far has turned me into a fucking mess, I’m okay owning up to that …” he wobbled his knees nervously, “… Man, if this is gonna be what I think this is gonna be, I, I … You just better expect me to scream the walls down.”
Armie chuckled, sliding the shaver carefully away from Tim’s right underarm.
He shook away a chunk of hair and cream, the contents landing on the carpet with a plop.
“You’ve done that a dozen or so times already …” Armie reached into the box and pulled out the bottle of baby oil, “… And nobody has come to help you.”
Tim jolted as the liquid landed in gushing dribbles over his left armpit.
“Fuck! Armie, you, you always use a shit tonne of—“
“— Shh,” Armie hushed Tim, applying the same amount to Tim’s right armpit, his cock growing harder as he felt Tim’s arms curl tighter around his waist, “And don’t worry about the egg timer. Just keep your eye on you, on the camcorder. When I hit the record button, it’ll show us when the two hours are up.”
Tim narrowed his eyes in an attempt to locate the camcorder's timings on the small square screen four feet away from him.
“I, I can’t, I can’t make out—“
Armie began to clean away the remaining shaving cream from Tim’s underarms by rubbing the baby oil into his armpits, the liquid causing the cream to dissolve.
“—Then you’ll just have to trust me ..." Armie ran his palms over Tim’s chest and pecs, further rubbing in the baby oil, the shaving cream now fully removed from his body, “Because I can see the screen perfectly, and really, that’s all that matters …”
Tim twisted his body left to right, his arms sliding away from Armie’s waist where they wrapped around his own upper body.
“Fuck, that’s, that’s sooo fucking ticklish …”
Armie smirked, slipping away from Tim where he hopped off the bed, curling his hand around Tim’s left wrist.
“Yes. It’s … Probably the most ticklish your armpits will ever feel,” Armie began to tie Tim’s wrist to the cuff and rope attached to the top left corner of the bed, “This might even be the most intense two hours of your life …”
Tim closed his eyes, mouthing the words ‘holy shit’ under his breath, not intimidated by the casual bondage or relaxed setting, but also apprehensive towards the comfort that seemed to be masking what potentially could be his most intense session yet.
Where were the ball gags, the restrictive bondage devices, the contraptions, hairbrushes, stocks or string?
Tim refrained from giving Armie his right arm when Armie went to take a hold.
Armie paused, cocking an eyebrow at Tim.
“I, I know I’ve said this before,” Tim pleaded, “But, now more than ever … Please go a little easy on me?”
Armie curled his hand around Tim’s right wrist.
“You’re asking me to be gentle?”
Tim nodded just once.
“Yeah, exactly that, gentle. Be gentle …”
Armie tied Tim’s right hand to the right corner of the bed, “Alright, the prince asks, the prince gets …”
Tim watched Armie carefully as he tied his ankles to each lower corner of the bed.
He now lay bound and naked in the starfish position with only his pearl choker resting around his neck.
Armie reached over to the tripod and pressed the record button on the camera.
He watched the red light blink, ensuring that the camera had officially started filming.
Armie climbed back onto the bed and sat himself back behind Tim, in the knelt position, with Tim’s head in his lap.
Tim grunted as Armie picked up the baby oil and drenched Tim’s upper body in the shimmering liquid.
“Wait, what, seriously...?”
Armie grinned, the baby oil landing over Tim’s chest, neck, stomach and sides …
"I have you for only eight more days, Timmy. It's imperative that I make your already extremely ticklish body, just that more ticklish ..."
He shook the bottle’s contents over his shoulders, cock, hips and waist …
He then capped the baby oil and dropped it back into the box.
Tim looked down over his torso as droplets trickled down his ribcage, staining the mattress he lay on.
Armie began to massage the baby oil into Tim’s already writhing body.
“Stay still …” Armie ordered, but the more his fingers slid over Tim’s sides and waist, the more Tim squirmed.
“I, I seriously, seriously, seriously can’t!” Tim cried.
Tim lifted his head away from Armie’s lap, his face full of distress as Armie began to tickle the baby oil into Tim’s underarms.
“The third and final challenge in The Trial,” Armie declared, “A two hour finish with, quite clearly, a singular focus on your armpits …”
Tim spat out disbelief as he kicked his feet.
“… Just my armpits?” His eyes widened, “Wait, no, no, non, non stop, for, for the full two—“
“—Non stop,” Armie confirmed, “For the full two hours …” his erection grew as he continued to smother the baby oil into Tim’s skin, running his fingertips over Tim’s now rock hard nipples, “No gag, no safe word, no break … All you must do is not say the word ‘stop’ …”
Tim clenched his teeth, a distorted smile splayed across his face as he bent his knees, his heels pressing into the bed, his toes flexing out.
Tim’s protests came out in a deep, gravelly growl, “—No! No, no, noooooo... !"
Armie laughed in joyous entertainment as he began to draw his fingers closer towards Tim’s armpits.
“Oh yes, yes, yes!” His index fingers found their way into the silky soft, baby oil drenched depths that made up Tim’s now hairless underarms, “Just think, Timmy, how many times you’ve said the word ‘stop’ since signing The Agreement …”
Armie watched Tim’s arms flap beneath him, like some panicked baby bird about to be swallowed whole by a hungry eagle, “… Think about how many times you’ve said the word ‘stop’ since this morning …”
Tim groaned out a frustrated, “F-fuuuuuuuuck!”, his armpits now victim to Armie’s index fingers, index fingers that wiggled non stop, persistently, over the central pit of his underarms, “I fucking bet you’ve been keeping damn count you damn asshole!”
Armie sniggered, now all five fingers wiggling over the same spot in a slippery, constant application of mind numbing tickle torture.
“I’m not that insane,” Armie revealed, “Although I would take a guess at around one hundred times per session. So, it's safe to say I have zero doubt that this will be far more challenging than you think …”
Tim pressed his lips shut, his mind already wanting his mouth to naturally and automatically produce the word ‘stop’.
That’s what his core wanted, his very being’s desire …
For this to simply stop.
He had begged it and shouted it and cried it and screamed it hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of times within this building, desperately and reactively …
And now, for one hour and fifty four minutes, he must not even say the word once.
“What if I da-hah-hahamn say it?” Tim managed, through incessant giggling, “Wha-hahahat if I god da-a-amn say it—“
“—If you say it, I hand you to Miller for the whole evening,” Armie explained, “And he gets your soles, from the tips of your toes to the ends of your heels, with nothing but baby oil, a hair brush and a long, thin piece of string …” Armie watched Tim’s kicks grow more violent, the tone of his giggles sounding deeper.
Tim had already started to lose his breath.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he cried, “st, st, st —“ he bit his upper lip.
“—Oh, almost …” Armie teased.
Armie continued to gently stroke his fingers within the centre of Tim’s armpits, sending Tim into a downward spiral of uncontrollable delirium.
He had no intention of moving them away from their spot.
Tim had no choice but to endure the intensity, whilst all the while mentally focusing on refraining from saying the word ‘stop’, all too aware that a night with Miller on top of a day like today might just break him beyond description.
2 0 M I N U T E S I N
Armie’s fingers remained in the slippery crevasse of Tim’s underarms.
They slipped and grabbed, dug and wiggled, softer instead of harder.
This constant ordeal transformed Tim’s face from pale and energetic to bright red and swollen.
So far Tim had succeeded in not saying the forbidden word, although he did still have around another hour and forty minutes to go …
His head twisted over Armie’s lap, his neck stretching out to the right to try and knock Armie’s hand away from his armpit.
Whilst kicking his legs repeatedly, he shifted his neck over to the left in an attempt to do the same to Armie’s left hand.
Despite his trying, Armie’s hands remained where they were, his fingers too stubborn to consider exploring a different part of Tim’s body.
Tim took in a quick slice of air, all he could manage to currently do.
“Okay! Okayokayokayokayokayokay—” he heaved out the hysteria in the form of distorted, muddled giggles.
“—Please! Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease—” he coughed and spluttered, his face creased in anguish, his curls of hair jumping about at every shake of his head.
“—I can’t breathe, I can't breathe!” He gasped, “I, I fucking can’t take it--”
Armie kept a professional ear on Tim’s breathing and whilst he had noticed that Tim was very out of breath, he was not close to passing out or totally unable to breathe, as he stated.
Armie could make out by now, after all they had experienced, when Tim was bluffing and just wanted a break, or when he genuinely did have no breath left in his lungs.
The boy had tonnes left to give and Armie would know when would be best to take the tickling elsewhere.
So, he continued …
And by not allowing Tim a break, this made Tim tumble into deeper depths of disbelief, shock and inability to cope.
T H I R T Y N I N E M I N U T E S I N
Tim’s balls and cock flapped around his stomach as he kicked both legs repeatedly, both heels dragging constantly around the corners of the bed as he giggled and heaved into the bedroom's expanse of air, air that felt suffocatingly hot when actually it presented itself in a standard temperature.
Armie could feel Tim’s armpits warm up the more he tickled them.
They began to sweat, the moisture adding to the baby oil, the slippery friction increasing at every single wiggle.
“Come on come on come on pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease—” Tim had kept his eyes squeezed shut for the first thirty nine minutes, until Armie had decided to use his tongue to tickle Tim’s left armpit, where he then widened his eyes into a bulged, white-balled, maddened frenzy.
“—Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck-nonononono—“
heave
“Gitgitgitgit it out, man, get it the fuck ou-ahahahahaha-ouuuuuuuuut…” he strained.
Armie leaned his head down into Tim’s left pit and stretched out his tongue, wiggling the long, wet, fleshy muscle into the very centre of Tim’s underarm whilst tickling both pits at the same time, with all ten fingers.
More moisture, more ticklish friction, more sweat …
Sweat that now covered all of Tim’s face and hair, his neck and his chest, his skin now practically glowing.
All the while, the camera continued its record, filming Tim and capturing all of his reactions, every arch of his back, every distorted facial expression, every scream and shout and cry, every flap of his arms …
He had caught himself almost about to say the word ‘stop’ a dozen or so times over.
But the thought of being in Miller’s grasp for an entire evening made him push the word into the back of a mind already filled with alarm and panic.
He’d never do that, Tim managed to pluck a few tangible thoughts from hazed lunacy.
You can’t fail and find out.
Armie sent his tongue into Tim’s right pit once it had devoured his left, further transporting his ticklee into a dimension populated with blurred vision, ringing ears and a tightness at the sides of his head.
As the veins in his neck protruded, Tim felt his breath shorten to the point where his throat choked up.
His intakes of air were minimal, the back of his mouth bone dry, his eyes now full with tears thanks to how much the muscles in his face had strained.
In a flustered bounce, he began to buck over the bed, his head smacking repeatedly into Armie’s lap.
With minimal to no breath in his lungs, he struggled to formulate words, to fight back any further, to explain his concern.
He began to see stars, his head started to feel light.
All feelings Armie had planned for him to feel … All feelings Armie had been prepared to deal with.
Armie slowed his tickle down into a calm and gradual stroke.
His fingertips left Tim’s armpits and smoothed over his shoulders and chest, massaging his neck, pressing down over flesh soaked with perspiration.
Tim lifted his chest up and down at a rapid rate, his lips parted in shock, his eyes rolling back.
heave, heave, heave
Swallow.
heave, heave, heave
Cough, splutter, cough.
Armie squeezed Tim’s cheeks, lifting his head a little so his messed up face looked straight at the camera.
Tim looked back at himself on the tiny digital square screen - naked, wet, dishevelled and exhausted.
“Now, remember this moment, Timothée …” Armie sounded out of breath himself, “… The moment you were tickled beyond comprehension,” he almost dribbled as he spoke, “Will you ever forget this moment?”
Tim shook his head slowly, his wet curls of hair rubbing against Armie’s lap.
“Is this the biggest tickling of your life?” Armie asked.
Tim nodded, his head rubbing over Armie’s crotch, his mouth unable to produce words.
“Say it,” Armie warned, “Say it out loud, ‘this is the biggest tickling of my life’ …”
Tim breathed in, repeating Armie’s words in a croaky mumble, his voice filled with genuine certainty, “… This is the biggest t-tickling of, of my life …”
Armie sighed out satisfaction.
Despite all of the contraptions, the tools, the bondage, the moments at Tickle Fest …
… The areas explored, the attention to detail considered, the ways he had pushed Tim, the levels of hysteria he had implemented on his lee …
… This moment now, these ten fingers and one tongue over such a ticklish area of Tim’s baby oil soaked body, non stop, for what so far had only been forty minutes …
… This moment had been the moment where Tim had experienced tickling far beyond anything he had experienced before, above times with Armie he thought couldn’t be topped.
And we still have an hour and twenty minutes to go … Armie thought.
S I X T Y M I N U T E S I N
The camera continued to record Tim’s face as Armie’s fingers persisted in their relentless tickle, each fingertip repeatedly wiggling over the flesh that made up the hairless depths of each of Tim’s armpits.
Tim’s cheeks now glistened with perspiration, his eyes unable to open, his bushy brows raising up and creasing his forehead, where they would then flatten into a deep frown showcasing nothing but the inability to conceive his current situation.
Within his anguished expression, arms bound apart, pearl choker rubbing into his throat with every twist of his head … There was a grin.
The sort of grin that is so clenched that the teeth might soon break.
“… Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease–”
heave
–”fuckfuckfuckfucknononoIcanIcanIcanIcan’t …”
The sort of grin that is so manic, you wonder if the person behind it is still there.
“… Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckshhh-shh-shhhh--”
heave
“--shhhh-ssshhheeeetshitshitshit …”
The sort of grin that looks like a person is having fun, is laughing, is experiencing joy …
“… Ohcomeoncomeoncomeoncomeoncomeoncomeoncomeon … “
When in actuality, they are just victim to tickle torture.
“… St, st, st, st—"
Pure, visceral, undeniable tickle torture.
Armie trickled more baby oil over each of Tim’s pits, further transporting him into a dire, breathless state.
Nearly, he thought.
He tickled in the liquid, his fingers refusing to slip and slide elsewhere.
They wouldn’t touch his feet or go back to his toes, nor would they explore his taint or sides.
They would remain right in that swelteringly warm cavern of hypersensitivity, under each silky soft underarm, until the camcorder’s record timing went one second over one hundred and twenty minutes.
Or, menacingly, until Tim would say the word ‘stop’
S E V E N T Y E I G H T M I N U T E S I N
Timothée had started to manipulate the situation, in an attempt for Armie to end this.
If he couldn’t say the word itself, he would have to resort to mind games.
Amongst the panting, puffing and wheezing, during the failed attempts to bite at Armie’s hands or to pull his feet free of the ankle straps, Tim managed to get a few quickly spoken sentences out from behind lips cracked and broken.
heave, heave
“… This isn’t cool man this isn’t right …”
heave heave
“… This is too much man this isn’t fair …”
heave heave
“… This isn’t what we discussed man this is worse than ever …”
heave heave
" ... Come on Armie you've gone too far you've gone too far ..."
Another attempt at snapping sharp white teeth over Armie’s torturing fingers.
The more gentle they wiggled, the faster they moved, the more slippery it felt.
… Eight minutes, eighty one minutes, eighty two minutes, eighty three minutes …
“… I’ll fucking leave if you keep fucking doing this !! “
More painful giggles, the kind that came from the very depths of Tim’s stomach …
The sort that, by the time they made their way out of his mouth, sounded nothing like giggles at all.
“… Pleasest— st,st–pleasedontpleasedontpleasedontdothis …God almightypleasepleasepleasepleaseplease, pl, pl, ple, ple, plee--”
Tim shook his head from side to side, the back of his neck soaking Armie’s lap in sweat.
Armie, fully erect, his arousal hidden behind damp tracksuit bottoms, glanced up at the camera before proposing some form of relief.
“Okay, alright, seeing as you’re currently experiencing the biggest tickling of your life, I thought we could go over some other highlights,” Armie grinned into the camcorder lens, “I’ll ask you some questions and, the more you work at answering them the more I’ll work at considering giving you a break…”
Armie looked down at Tim’s drenched head of hair, “… Does that sound like a deal?”
All Tim could do was tighten that manic grin, squeeze his eyes shut harder and nod and nod and nod and n—
“I can’t hear you …” Armie pressed, fingers now drawing frantic circles over Tim’s delicate, fleshy pits.
Tim took in as much air as he could.
heave
“… Okayokayokayokayokay-okayokayokayokayokayokay, okayokayokayokatalrightalrightal,al,al,al—“
Armie’s legs had gone numb from his knelt position, but he didn’t care.
His wrists ached too, from the amount his fingers had wiggled over the same spot for such a duration of time …
He didn’t care too much about that either.
“Alright alright alright indeed …!” Armie cleared his throat as he watched Tim kick his legs for one thousandth time, “Now, to begin ... When has been … The worst time I have tickled your feet, over the past three weeks?”
In his tickle tortured delirium Tim thought back to the many times Armie had tickled his feet during The Agreement.
His mind travelled swiftly through hysterical moments, all whilst he endured a current moment of hysteria.
It landed in a singular scenario.
heave, heave, heave
Tim gave his reply in a wheeze.
“… The stocks, the stocks, the stocks …”
Tim turned his head to look down at Armie’s right hand as it continued to tickle into his baby oil soaked pit, his face creasing, his eyes widening, still unable to believe this was all actually happening, still wondering if it would ever end.
“Hmm,” Armie shot his eyes up to the ceiling, “I’ve tickled you a few times in stocks, you’ll have to be more preci—“
“—The feather, the feather, the feather—“ Tim could now only say a few words repeatedly, to get his communication across clearly.
Armie smiled as Tim fell back into stifled mania, “Ahhh yes, in my office, with the seagull feather. Goodness, that nib really did drive you berserk …”
Tim lifted his head, his watery eyes trying to take in the camcorder's tiny screen, his blurred vision unable to see how long was left.
“… Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck, comeonmancomeon--comeoncomeoncomeo–”
Armie expertly wiggled fingers across each of Tim’s armpits, a centimetre or so away from the spot he had lingered on for a while, so that Tim’s flesh never felt raw, therefore the young man never experienced pain, just constant, non stop tickling.
“How about … A time where I discovered an area you didn’t expect to be ticklish?”
Armie knew the answers to all of these questions, but seeing and hearing Tim simply try to answer them was all he needed to keep himself not only aroused, but entertained.
“… Between my, my …” Tim breathed in through flared nostrils, his wide eyes shooting from left to right in confused disturbance, “ … My thighs my, my fucking damn thighs--”
heave, heave, heave
Armie tutted, applying more baby oil to each armpit with one hand whilst the other hand continued its invasion.
Tim cried out an angered splutter as the cold liquid, a liquid that made all of this far much worse than he could ever describe, landed right in the centre of each pit.
“Say the area, Timmy,” Armie bit his lip, knowing full well he had pushed Tim the furthest he’d ever been pushed, “I want you to say it…”
Tim heaved in more air, able to say the area only once due to his levels of exhaustion.
“—Ta, ta, taint—” he coughed, head once again smashing into Armie’s left hand in an attempt to knock it away from his underarm.
Armie pursed his lips, “Yes, your taint. A moment I’ll never forget,” he glanced back down at Tim, “And this is the worst armpit tickling so far?”
Tim nodded fiercely in grimace, willing for this to end, his mind tortured by the inability to say the one word that his animalistic psyche felt so urged to say.
St …
St …
Sto …
Armie chuckled as Tim began to splutter.
“St … St … Pl … Plea … Pleh … Pleh ... Ple, ple, ple, p, p, pl …”
He then leant down to Tim’s right ear and whispered,
“Remember when you thought challenge one had been your most intense session yet?”
N I N E T Y M I N U T E S I N
Armie needed to stretch his fingers so, for only a moment, he took the attention away from the depths of Tim’s armpits and flexed his fingers out wide, sliding his palms over Tim’s chest and all the way down to his stomach.
For a moment, Armie led Tim into the belief he would be experiencing some form of break, after being made to verbalise answers to questions during such a physically demanding session.
Tim spoke out a relieved, “Thank you, thank you, oh god, thank you, thank you,” his mouth bubbling out saliva ...
... Before he scrunched up his stomach and wriggled around as if being electrocuted, just as Armie sent his attacks into Tim’s ribcage and waist.
In all the heightened frenzy of having his underarms tickled non stop for so long, Tim had almost forgotten about the other exposed, sensitive and on show areas of his body.
He bucked and bounced, writhed and kicked, punched and snapped, the bed shaking from left to right, droplets of sweat flicking out into the bedroom air, his bound spread eagle position always keeping him in place.
His manic laughter bellowed against the apartment windows, it deafened Armie’s ears and it left Tim’s swollen lips in a croak that suggested his throat might need more than just a pint of water when, and if, this would be done.
To Tim’s combined relief and despair, Armie’s touch returned to his armpits where more baby oil would be applied and more relentless finger stroking would take place.
“… Oh god pleasepleasepleaseplease this is fucking INSANE—canyoujust, st, st—“ Tim bit his upper lip so hard he nearly drew blood, “—why, why, wh-why you gotta be sss-so damn gentle?!”
Armie felt a satisfied smile splay across his face as he listened to Tim acknowledge the terror and impact of Armie’s chosen style of tickling.
“But, that’s what you asked me to do, Timmy …” Armie played dumb, “... You asked me to go gentle…” he lifted his shoulders in a casual shrug, “… You only have yourself to blame …”
Tim groaned and cussed, he spat and he yelled, he arched his spine and dug his heels into the mattress, pushing his weight back into Armie, forcing his head into Armie’s stomach, doing all he could to push his tickler away from him.
Without sound, an outsider would think Armie had a young man possessed, strapped to his bed, a body consumed by a satanic, uncontrollable rage …
Despite the attempted force, Armie remained knelt behind Tim’s shoulders, his fingers still inside Tim’s armpits.
Sweat blurred Tim’s vision, blood boiled his cheeks a vibrant red, the ticklishness within him tightened every muscle in his body, from his jaw down to his waist, past a flaccid and uninterested cock, all the way down to burning thighs and flexed out toes.
“You’re not going to say it, are you Tim?” Armie asked.
Tim shook his head, now laughing in pure delirium, unable to see, unable to breathe.
“Are you sure? You still have twenty eight minutes left …” Armie revealed.
Tim cried out in a high pitched squeal.
“Twenty eight?!”
His eyes wide, his tone full with disbelief, his mind unable to calculate or understand the timings surrounding his current circumstance.
Armie nodded slowly, his fingers continuing with their unpopular ‘gentle’ wiggling.
“You can’t take it any longer, can you Tim? Not one second more …”
Tim shook his head from side to side, his hips twisting, the glare in his eyes crazed and demonic.
“I can end this, before then,” Armie announced, “But if you won’t say ‘stop’, what will you do to make it stop?”
Armie wasn’t surprised when Tim gave absolutely no hesitation in his answer.
After all, this had been the most excruciatingly ticklish ordeal of his entire life.
“—ANYTHINGANYTHINGANYTHING I’LL FUCKING DO ANYTHINGMAN–ANYTHING—“
Armie dug his fingers in a little harder, abandoning the gentle tickles for now.
He violated that sensitive muscle right in the middle of Tim’s armpits, a space puddled with baby oil and sweat.
“Anything? Alright …” Armie wobbled along with the bed’s violent shake as he thought along calmly, “... Will you let me use the seagull feather on your soles again?”
Tim burned a furious stare into Armie’s right hand as his fingers wiggled deeper into his right pit.
“FUCK, yesyesyesyesyes-alrightalrightalright-dowhatyouwantdamndahahahahaamnnn–”
Armie tilted his head, “Excellent … Okay, how about … Will you let me tickle your lips, for thirty minutes non stop, with an electric toothbrush?”
Tim’s head twisted to his left armpit where his bloodshot eyes offered Armie’s left hand the same angered look.
“DO WHAT YOU WANT YOU MOTHER FUCKING ASS HOLE–”
Armie clenched his teeth and closed his eyes as Tim successfully grabbed at the side of Armie’s right hand with his teeth, biting down.
Armie spoke through clenched teeth.
“Will you forget the ten million dollars?” He asked suddenly, Tim’s teeth leaving his hand immediately.
Tim thrashed around, unable to take anymore.
His didn’t even want to think things over.
Or, it was more like he couldn’t think things over.
Decision making, understanding, weighing up options…
They were no longer things he had the capacity to do.
The past three weeks sank away like quick sand.
All he'd experienced, all he'd known.
This moment ending, right now, was all that mattered.
“—Yes,” Tim heaved breathlessly, his entire being completely and utterly owned by Armie, entirely giving in, submitting fully, “I’ll give it up I’ll give it up I’ll give it up I’ll give it up,” he puffed, “Anything, anything, anything to make this fucking--” Tim breathed in, shouting the loudest he’d shouted yet, “--ANTHING TO MAKE THIS STOP –”
Tim’s eyes widened.
“—fuck!” He panted, panic forming over his face.
Armie grinned in victory.
There it was.
The word.
The moment.
The moment where Tim had been pushed so far, that he had forgotten the rules, the reason why he had endured this torment for this long.
He had disregarded his situation, his meaning, his fight, not out of choice but because his mind had been shoved into a realm filled with absolute irrationality, frenzy and rage.
After over an hour and a half and ‘stop’ slipped out of his lips without him even realising his mouth had started to shape out the letter ’s’.
Armie’s fingers wiggled to a gradual halt, their tips now smoothing gently over Tim’s sweat soaked shoulders.
Armie could feel the heaviness of Tim’s weight over his lap as he sank into the mattress, his brain slowly coming to the realisation that he had failed, again, and that he would now be victim, once again, to Miller.
“… Holy, holy shhh-shh-shhit,” Tim mumbled breathlessly, “I got, I got, s-s-ssso, so, f-f-far, s, s—“
Armie took torturing fingers up Tim’s jaw and over his wet head of hair where he began to pull thick dark strands away from Tim’s face, slicking them back over his head.
“You did brilliantly, kid,” Armie leant down and kissed Tim on the cheek, “So brilliantly, that I’m considering a compromise …”
Tim swallowed down one, two, three dry bubbles of air, his chest never pausing to lift and lower, lift and lower, lift and lower …
He looked up at Armie, who presented a glowing expression full of positivity and aroused pleasure, the total opposite to the look of destruction currently saturating Tim’s face.
He said no words, unable to bring sentences from his thoughts to his mouth, simply staring at his tickler, waiting for information.
“Do another hour, with me now. Even though you have failed the challenge,” Armie explained, “We start a fresh, one hour, that's all. And you don’t have to see Miller,” he huffed, delivering the other side of the compromise, “Or you give in right now. We play by the rules. You said the word stop. You fucked it. I untie you, I put you in a cab, I send you to his apartment.”
Tim considered his choice.
Either stay strapped here for another length of time, pits tickled by Armie like they had been for the past hour and thirty two minutes … And then spend the rest of the evening free.
Or, stop this torment right this second, only to receive another bout of what could be far more horrendous tickling at the hands of a far more horrendous tickler…
Tim glanced up at Armie, his pearl choker bobbing over his throat as he delivered his answer in a breathless, croaky moan.
“Show me what you're made of, mother fucker …” he replied playfully, his eyes widening as he allowed himself to become consumed by the tickle torture, “Do your damn worst …”
And with that being said, Armie took baby oil stained fingertips and returned them to the very depths of Tim’s underarms where he finalised The Greatest Tickling of Timothée Chalamet’s Life for a further sixty minutes.
_______________________________________________________________________________
Within the final hour, Armie saw it.
The ancient, animalistic, ferocious look.
In the remaining fifty six minutes, Armie had moved away from behind Tim's shoulders and had instead positioned himself over Tim's waist, in the straddling position.
He rode Tim as if he were a bucking bronco, the boys hips lifting manically anytime Armie dug his fingers into his pits or sides.
Tim's laughter was constant, non stop, a beautiful sound full of hysteria and uncontrollable breathing.
His head peeled away from the pillow, his long, strained neck reaching out to Armie.
And that's when Armie witnessed it.
Tim's eyes ... Wide open and bloodshot.
His nostrils flared, his mouth mid scream, his cheeks shining with sweat.
As if in slow motion, Armie acknowledged 'it', the very second where the lee physically and mentally cannot take it anymore.
Under complete submission, bound and unable to do anything about it but succumb to the circumstance, be consumed by the tickle torture at hand.
The Trial had ruined Timmy, just like Tim had predicted.
And as Armie watched Tim's body fall back against the mattress in a tickled, delirious frenzy ...
Armie realised that after today, thins would never be the same.
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________
4.55 PM
Tim ended the session the way he had started it - by guzzling down a pint of water.
He sat in the middle of Armie’s sweat drenched bed, one hand in his lap, the other holding the glass to his lips, his limbs mostly un-tied except for his left ankle.
As Armie began to unbuckle the final strap, he took the third and final box and placed it beside Tim.
“Your reward is inside,” Armie freed Tim’s ankle and then made his way over to the camcorder, where he checked the recording.
He rewinded the footage, assessing Tim’s manic squirming in super fast motion, his erection twitching behind his tracksuit.
He then switched the camera off and placed it back on the tripod, perching himself down on the edge of the mattress beside Tim.
Tim peered into the box, wiping his jaw clear of perspiration and water.
“But, but I, I didn’t win. You did …” Tim pointed his index finger at his tickler, “… Again …” he said, defeatedly.
Armie shook his head, nudging the box closer to Tim with his knuckles.
“It’s just a game, kid.”
Tim blinked, unsure how to handle those words.
It's just a game.
Today was far more than just a game.
Today had been the most physically gruelling day of his life.
Today had made him want to leave.
Today had made him want to stay.
Today had made him understand things about himself he never thought he'd need or want to understand.
His physical endurance.
His level of ticklishness.
The amount he could sweat.
How tight his stomach could feel.
How toned he could look after simply laughing non stop.
Screaming non stop.
Shouting non stop giggling non stop crying non stop trying to breathe, non stop.
How, once the eight days were up, he'd never let one single person tickle him ever again.
Unless it were Armie ...
Tim pushed all over thinking aside and handed his glass to his tickler, sending his free hand inside the box.
Like the last session and the one before that, Tim pulled out a smaller white box wrapped in black ribbon.
He picked the ribbon apart, lifted away the lid and looked down at the item laying surrounded by black velvet lining.
The small, silver butt plug that Armie had shown Tim when introducing him to Sub Zero some time ago stared back up at Tim, its surface shining in the bedroom light.
“I would never have given you to Miller, by the way,” Armie stated, his tone quiet yet demanding.
Tim lifted the silver bullet shaped butt plug out of the box with his finger and thumb.
“I just knew a threat like that would be the only thing to make you want to keep going,” Armie continued his explanation, “To make you want to not say the word st—“
Armie’s eyes widened as Tim landed a kiss directly on his lips.
Both of their eyelids fell as the kiss continued silently within a room once filled with breathless panting and verbalised taunts.
Tim broke away, licking the salt off his lips soon after.
“Is this going to make me feel the opposite to how I’ve felt for the past, fuck, five hours …?” Asked Tim, his green eyes assessing the silver butt plug in his grasp.
Armie chuckled, wiping some of Tim’s kiss away from his lower lip.
“Yes,” Armie confirmed, “It’ll make you feel … Good, to say the least.”
Tim smirked, placing the butt plug back inside the box.
He then shot a curious glance over to Armie’s bedroom desk, where his newly attained credit card lay.
He fingered the pearl choker around his neck, his other hand smoothing over the shining silver that made up the butt plugs exterior.
Armie watched Tim try to figure everything out, allowing him a moment to piece his rewards together.
He then allowed him a break.
The boy has worked hard enough.
“Tomorrow, you’re going shopping. Just by yourself,” he placed a warm palm over Tim’s still sweaty right shoulder, “I’ve made the required arrangements for your favourite stores to be open, for you and for you only. I want you to pick an outfit, something you’d wear on the red carpet…”
Armie squeezed Tim’s shoulder, refilling him with comfort and reassurance, care and tenderness, all of the opposite things to the actions he’d implemented on him since the morning.
“I’m taking you out for dinner, a, a glorious, well earned treat. A night out …” Armie felt cautious about his next set of words, but he delivered them with confidence regardless, “… A date.”
Armie’s doubts on such an event were squashed as soon as Tim’s face exploded in a relieved smile.
“Holy shit,” Tim cupped his mouth, his eyes glancing from Armie to the credit card, from the credit card to Armie, “Where are we going? What time are we … Wait, I, I get to buy anything?”
Tim narrowed his eyes, a cautious tone drenching his voice as he glared up at Armie, “… Hold up. What’s the catch?”
Armie chuckled, his hand sliding away from Tim’s shoulder.
“You know me better than I think.”
Tim smirked, both young men locking eyes.
Armie pointed at the choker around Tim’s neck.
“You keep this on you …” he announced.
Tim frowned.
“That’s it? I mean, that’s fine. I already have a few outfits that would suit a pearl–”
Armie placed his index finger over Tim’s lips, silencing him.
Tim blinked.
Armie’s finger then trailed over Tim’s chest, down a stomach structured with burning abs where it finally landed on the tip of the butt plug.
“… And you keep this in you.”
Tim blinked again, this time faster.
He looked down at the silver bullet as Armie’s finger left his lips.
“For, f-for how long?” Tim asked.
Armie crawled towards Tim, one hand taking the reward box away from his lap, the other hand carefully manoeuvring him so that Tim lay over the bed, on his front.
Armie then took the butt plug out of the box.
He began to kiss Tim’s lower spine, the front of his right hand gently pressing at the inside of Tim’s thighs.
Tim parted his legs, his face rubbing into the mattress, his jaw stretching open in excitement.
“Don’t worry …” Armie whispered, taking the silver bullet, pressing its tip delicately against Tim’s hole, “… It’ll be for as long as I feel fit, not long enough to make you uncomfortable…”
Tim gasped, his eyes widening, his fingers curling around the damp, creased sheet covering the mattress both men lay over.
He moaned into his fists as Armie slid the butt plug into Tim, so that the space between Tim’s cheeks devoured the silver bullet all at once.
Tim arched his back, his eyes watering, his toes and fingers sparkling with static.
Armie kissed Tim’s thighs, he landed pecks on his waist, he turned Tim around so that he lay on his back.
“You didn’t see what else was inside the box …” Armie murmured into Tim’s neck.
Tim’s right hand clambered around for the box, finally discovering it a few inches away from his right leg.
As Armie devoured his jaw, Tim bit his lower lip and fingered for the next surprise.
He grabbed hold of a small remote, bringing it between he and Armie.
Armie smiled, nodding down at the tiny plastic device in Tim’s hand, speaking in a quiet mumble.
“Press the middle button …”
Tim did as he had been told.
Btzzzzzzz …
Tim closed his eyes, breathing in slowly, the silver bullet within him vibrating at a rapid rate.
He looked down below his waist as he watched his erection grow instantly, within seconds.
“How does it feel?” Armie asked, his eyes taking in Tim’s now solid girth.
Tim hissed, his hand reaching over Armie’s neck for support.
“It, it … It tickles …”
Armie felt Tim’s fingers claw into the back of his head.
“Too much?” He asked.
Tim shook his head quickly.
“No,” he said breathlessly, “I, I like it …”
Armie then took the remote from Tim, kissing his collarbone as afternoon rolled into early evening.
“You’re going to have quite the shopping experience, believe me …” he pressed the button again.
Bttzzzzz!
Tim shot a panicked look into the ceiling, both palms planting down behind him, his legs jolting out as Armie’s arms wrapped around his waist.
Armie spoke into the flesh of Tim’s throat.
“ … And don’t even get me started on dinner …”
Another kiss to the chest, a lick across Tim’s right nipple and then a final press of the button …
… The buzzing came to an end, much like The Trial had come to its final few seconds.
Leaving Armie standing, triumphant and in control, with Tim splayed out naked over a mattress saturated in exhaustion.
TCTLR continues in Chapter Thirty Two, ‘Straitjacket’.