Featherscape
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I Found A Cursed Tickling Video
🕑 Added 2023-05-27 01:51:14 +0000 UTC‘Freelancing wasn't exactly what I had in mind when I started scouting for video editorial positions. My goal had been to get in good with an actual production company and was willing to tackle most any genre to get there. Commercial, independent, big, small, it didn't matter. I applied to schools, marketing firms, hell I even dropped off my reel and resume to local access studios. It was an exhausting process, one that I was prepared to take on, but I had no idea how long or how arduous of a task it would be. It was in those months that I considered actually listening to my parents and going back to school. In hindsight, that's exactly what I should have done.
I only got into taking temp positions to make ends meet. It got so frequent that I thought of even starting my own little agency, but I didn't need a bigger money pit than my own need to eat. But I was fine. I was able to do what it was that I enjoyed, something in which I had found real interest and talent. Sure it was just video editing, but I liked observing raw footage, seeing the truth of what artists wanted to show, and working with clients in shaping it into something unique. That's perhaps a more romantic description of what most would probably find really boring and tedious, but that was just my point of view on the matter.
I had taken many small jobs over the years. Little commercials, short indie films, projects with which to fill my reel and resume, but certainly nothing on a national scale. They all ranged from mindless day jobs to projects that I actually found real passion in along the way. For the most part, I enjoyed all that I got to do. There was nothing about my work that made me regret taking any job. Not until the one, the last job I would ever do.
Feather Bed Productions was a company that I had never heard of before. I figured they were small, new, eager to get into whatever medium they were trying to crack into. They had an open position as a film editor, in an office not far from where I was, so I jumped on it. I applied before I took the time to look them up. When I did, I was surprised to see that they primarily focused on tickle videos, videos of just people tickling other people in various ways I guess for the tickle fetish audience. I can’t say that I was a part of said audience, but I was at least aware of such things. The material seemed easy enough, the content didn’t bother me, and the edits that had been made to the films that were up on their site were pretty cut-and-dry. Nothing crazy, no effects. Just a splash card and a couple of long shots at different angles for about twenty minutes at a time. Easy peasy.
They reached out shortly after I applied. They interviewed me online and it was all pretty standard fare. The guy that runs the business, Giles, was a smiley, positive man. My own perceptions of anything related to adult entertainment left me picturing middle aged, hairy, bald guys in tacky gold chains, for whatever reason, but Giles was nothing like that. Clean, neat, and professional. He also seemed pretty excited to have me on board. I was offered the job pretty much at the end of the interview. He wanted to fill the position as soon as possible in order to fill some deadlines that he was already behind on. I was eager for the work so I thought nothing of it.
I was in the office the following Monday. I got to meet Giles in person, along with several other members of his very limited team. He had one guy as the primary camera operator, a girl on sound, and several models that day coming in for a shoot. I was happy to see such a small team. It gave me the feeling of the operation being done more personally, nothing that I would feel lost in, you know? Plus it was nice seeing the girls so comfortable to be doing the shoots with as few other people involved as possible. Or maybe that was me projecting my own perspective into the matter. Either way, despite not being a tickle fetishist like I was sure most of them were, I was thrilled to get started.
Giles gave me a short tour of the facility. It was not anything too large or fancy, but they certainly made the space home. Of course they had their studio and assets. Lots of bedroom scenes and bondage furniture. Lighting and sound equipment sat in clusters that I’m sure were organized in some way that I just didn’t recognize. Costumes hung on racks all clumped together. Most of the equipment I saw walking through was fairly standard. It was nothing I hadn’t seen from other production companies, surprisingly enough.
I was led to the editing booth to start working. It was a small room, relatively empty aside from the computer, desk, and chair. The setup was nice, however. They had Autodesk Smoke already booted up for me. With a few more familiarities done and out of the way, I was good to get started on the projects Giles had lined up for me to start on.
There were three videos specifically he wanted done by the end of the week, at the latest. With each having to be around fourteen minutes cut down from about twenty six minutes to a half hour of footage, there was virtually nothing stopping me from finishing all that day. The first video was a pretty run-of-the-mill for what I expected tickle videos to be. With no narrative to follow, it was basically just a man tickling a girl bound to a steel-frame bed. She was stretched out with sturdy looking cuffs and wearing only a pair of bra and panties. There was little excess dialogue, only her screaming and laughing. There were also only a few angles from which to splice footage. It was hard to tell which angles would be best for which shots, but I had gone in having done a little research as to what the best tickle videos looked for, so I think I picked it up pretty quickly.
After finishing putting together the shots with the production’s splash logo and credits, I went onto the second video. It was more of a roleplay scenario. A female cop was tickling the feet of a female suspect in a robbery. I sat through the cringey dialogue and low production value, making notes and putting things together as best as I could. I managed to make it coherent, at least, but there was little I could do about the cheap camera work and audio. Fortunately though, the whole roleplay section took up only about four minutes of the video. The rest was where all the action took place. I simply followed along with the methods I used in the previous one. I inserted in those brief sections of dialogue throughout until both actresses all but abandoned the premise about halfway through.
As I studied the video several times over, I started to see the appeal in it. There was something exciting and even erotic about the exchanges. However, even when watching through the videos, I couldn’t shake the dreary sense of empathy I experienced from the constant, and at times lengthy, stretches of tickling. It made me think back to being younger and being the regular tickle target of my brothers and friends. I had always been notably ticklish. It usually only took just a few brief swipes or squeezes for me to keel over laughing. For some primal, sadistic reason, this often made people just want to tickle me more, to push just how much I could take at a time. Most of these moments ended with me screaming or gasping for air, a state which never took me very long to reach. Watching the videos, I could only sit and shudder at the idea of being tickled like they were for even a minute, let alone a full half-hour session like those girls went through.
I shook away the sinking hesitation and put the finishing touches on the second video. A couple of hours in and I was already doing really well, or at least I thought that I was. I was quite suspicious at working as quickly as I was, feeling like I was missing something somewhere, but I figured I could just fix the mistakes as they would be noted to me later. I loaded up the third video on the list. This one took a strong shift away from the format so far. It was a POV video, one that’s supposed to involve the audience in on the experience. Strange, but so less so than any of the other stuff I had watched to that point.
What was especially odd was the direction of it all. Now, I’m no director, but you kind of have to have an eye for setup and shot composition to do what I do, something directors also need to have. This video, however, was different. It was a straight on shot of a younger man. He was moderately good looking, simply sitting in a chair looking in the direction of the camera. Already breaking the uncanny mold of making the viewer intimately uncomfortable. But soon after the video started, he began to start wiggling in place. He was just sitting in a simple desk chair, but he was just squirming in place. Before long after that, he began to giggle. A look of unease came over his face as his giggles quickly became deep, full laughs. He laughed like how the ticklish subjects did in all the videos, forced and with a slight air of panic in his voice.
His eyes were largely fixed on the camera the entire time. Every now and then, he would close them for a few moments, but he would always open them to a look of desperation. He would just be there sitting, squirming, and laughing the same ticklish laugh as all the rest while staring into the camera. It was as if someone off screen were tickling him to get the reactions. The POV videos I had seen were all from the point of view of the ticklee, not the tickler like this one was. It was an odd creative decision, but aside from the haunting expression of helplessness on the guy’s face, I guess I could see the value in a video like that.
As it went on, his reactions became more and more pronounced. They were exaggerated, his laughter growing increasingly violent and gasping. His face was red, tears trickling down his cheeks. He looked no different from all the other models that surrendered themselves over to be to tickled in their videos. His, however, went on. It was much longer than the rest at about forty five minutes. The shot was uncut. I didn’t know what they wanted me to do with it. There were no other cuts or angles or anything else to work with in the file. It was just a near hour of him pantomiming being tickled by someone off screen.
By the end of it, the guy was screaming. It was hard to tell that he was even acting. At least somewhat hard, it was just as difficult to believe that anyone could be that ticklish. I figured, maybe under the right circumstances, that I would be, but his performance was just so hauntingly honest. While I had started to see the eroticism in all the other stuff, there was something about the third video that left me confused and disconnected. I tried to brush it off as just an experimental piece, maybe something that real sadistic ticklers would get a kick out of, but I knew even that was reaching for an explanation where there otherwise was none. The man just kept squirming as if he was tied to the chair and screaming with laughter like his whole body was being tormented by the same tickles all the others went through.
The video finished without resolution. The footage just cut out at some arbitrary moment in his obvious hysterical agony. There didn’t seem to be anything else to work with, nothing else about the video to really put through the editing process. I noted it to go over with Giles once I was prepared to hand everything over. Getting all three videos finished only took me about five hours. I breathed a relieved sigh when it was all over. Not that it was a hard job, probably one of the easiest jobs I had ever taken, but it certainly was a change in what I was used to. Thinking about being in, or out, of the shoes of those poor models getting tickled just made me tremble. My shone shivered just thinking about being in their position. I mean, I guess they did sign up for it, but still. I could never do what they do.
After I finished, I sat there, watching the saving bar tick the little bar along one pixel at a time. I pulled out my phone to text Giles, letting him know that I was done and that I had questions about some of the videos I had worked on. It was only sitting there, staring back at the computer screen, did I start getting bored waiting through the process. I started browsing through the files of other videos that they had slated. Most were labeled by just a few letters and numbers. I sure it meant something to whoever loaded the footage, but just looking at it, it was all Greek to me.
I loaded up a few just to observe what all had been done before. What I found was mostly tickle videos, with a few splash logo animations scattered throughout. The tickle videos were all pretty standard, I assumed. I came across videos of all sorts of male and female, tickler and ticklee combinations. I saw more POV videos with ticklers that kept the audience engaged with their own light, ASMR-style ‘kitchy kitchy koos’ and hand motions and whatnot. I saw group sessions, more roleplay focused videos with more interrogations and ‘prisoner torture’. I saw demonstrations of how to use different tickle tools and was quite amazed at the creativity behind what people could turn into a weapon of tickling.
I did eventually come across one that was labeled differently. It was one of the oldest files that they had, at well over five years older than the next oldest. It was also named with a more recognizable title. The file was named ‘You.mts’. As I waited for Giles to text me back, I curiously clicked on it. The player loaded and, after a few longer seconds of getting the actual playback up, the video began.
It started on the face of a woman. Much like the last model, she too was facing the camera. She wore a warm expression as the film rolled on her purposefully addressing the viewer.
“Hey there,” she said. “I bet you weren’t expecting me.” It was an odd way to start, but I quickly picked up on this being another POV video, be it for tickling or for some other purpose. It all started off innocently enough. The woman was pretty, her voice was soothing, and she recited her lines with a naturalistic, organic approach. Plus, she was right. I was not expecting her, but then again, I was beginning to rely less and less on expectations at that point.
“Sorry it has to happen this way,” the woman continued, as if acting out this role play with the audience, the explicit equivalent of Dora the Explorer. “But our clients pay us for some of the best material around and we’ve found a really easy way to get it.” Part of the framing reminded me of the previous video, as if ‘You.mts’ was the other side of it. But ‘You’ was a much older file, so I started to figure that they would just have models come in and react, be it for content or some weird audition process to be able to capture the best actors to recreate the tickling experience. That’s what I figured.
“So, yeah, it had to come down to this little trap,” the woman went on. “Again, sorry we didn’t tell you sooner, but we prefer the reactions we get to be as true as we can make them. You’ll understand soon enough.” My stomach started to churn. The woman’s eyes sparkled in a strange, mischievous way. It was very personal, as if she were looking at me directly. I drifted the mouse over to skip ahead in the video, but the cursor icon was frozen in place. I shifted the mouse around quickly, but nothing I did made the arrow move. I pressed the space key to pause the video, but that too wouldn’t take. I slammed it hard. Nothing. I pressed other keys, inputting commands to close the program all together. Still nothing. I tried to access the toolbar or simply shit the entire computer down from the buttons given to me. Nothing happened. All the while, the woman was just staring back at me. The video was still running, and she herself would blink and shift around, but she was just there, silently observing from the playback.
“Aww, sweetie,” she said. Her heart skipped. My blood ran cold as a shiner shot down my spine. “You can’t get out of this. You’re trapped, silly. You’re not going anywhere.” I shook my head. I turned away and pushed myself up from the chair. Or at least, that’s what I tried to do. My body jerked. The chair shook beneath me, cut abruptly short as if attached to the floor. Likewise, I could barely push myself up from the seat before finding myself unable to move but so much. It felt as though there were belts latching my body to the chair in several places. I couldn’t raise my hips up off the seat or my back away from the support behind me. I could barely lean forward. I started to panic. I thrust out my arm to try and just turn off the monitor, but I quickly found both stuck to the armrests as if by sturdy, shallow cuffs.
“Comfortable?” the woman said. She giggled. “I hope so. You’re going to help me out today, and you’ll be here a while.” The more that I thrashed trying to pull myself up off of the chair, the more I discovered myself stuck in place. I could hardly raise my legs, the bottoms of my shoes stuck to the floor beneath me. I shivered. Panic began to set in. My heart started to race as I shook and fought back against the odd, binding phenomenon.
“Help!” I screamed. I screamed and screamed and kept screaming, assuming that someone would hear me and come running. The walls were not thick nor was the door locked, or so I also assumed, but it was there that I was still abandoning my own expectations of reality.
“Oh sweetie, there’s no one coming to help,” the woman said, staring back at me with a look of amused adoration. “You can scream and scream all you want to, but this was always part of the plan. I wouldn’t use too much of that voice if I were you though. Oh, that reminds me. I almost forgot, silly me.” A second window popped up in the corner of the screen just as a red light atop the monitor turned on. It was me. It was a live recording of me in the moment, staring back at the computer with a confused look of horror. My eyes were wide. I only then realized how much color had drained from my face. I had already begun to sweat. Logic was all but escaping me. I tried to shake my head, but I could barely even do that.
“Wha… what…?” I started to ask. The woman giggled again.
“You look very nice today,” she answered. “Quite fitting for my newest tickle toy. Doesn’t that sound like fun?” I swallowed. I was still convinced that it couldn’t have been happening. Being stuck to the chair by nothing. Being talked to through the playback. I was dreaming. I knew I had to be. Still, dreaming or not, I knew I didn’t want to be involved with anything to do with being a ‘tickle toy’.
“Don’t… do this…” I muttered, steadily giving belief over to the supernatural circumstance. I saw myself in the playback. I could see my lips moving and head shifting as minimally as I could move it. I was kept in frame, however, unable to go beyond the edges of the screen. I studied myself in real time, a pale expression smeared across my face. The woman giggled again.
“Now then, how do we want to start?” she asked, ignoring my obvious aversion. She spoke sweetly with a slight mischievous undertone. Staring into the camera, she raised her hands to show off a set of long black nails tipping each of her fingers. She scribbled them in the air. The rising tension and anxiety had me squirming already. I didn’t know what would happen next, exactly, but as I could only sit there and watch this whatever unfold, I could just about feel the nails on my skin. It was the kind of sensation akin to feeling crawling when looking at bugs, but far more pronounced. I swallowed and continued to pull at my own body, trying to force myself up out of the chair anyway that I could.
“How about we start from the top down?” the woman asked. She grinned and leaned in closer. “I see those underarms are just begging to be tickled. Why don’t we find out just how ticklish they are?”
I still didn’t know what to expect. I was expecting it all to still be some dream. Maybe I had fallen asleep at the desk without knowing it. As outlandish as it sounded in the moment, it was far more rational than fully accepting the paranormal understanding of the situation. As much as I fought doing so, what came next was undeniably true. The woman kept her hands up and in frame. She scribbled her fingers in the air, wearing a devilish grin. A sudden jolt caught me in my seat. A quick, stroking sensation began stirring beneath my arms. The phenomenon with the skittering bugs grew even more prominent, concentrating on one singular spot. I began squirming, swaying uncomfortably side to side. My frantic breaths began puffing from my lips in short bursts, quickly becoming a fit of nervous giggles.
“Wha-ahahaheehehe…” I started to laugh. Dread and confusion commanded my mind. I stared back at the woman, still looking at me through the camera and wriggling her nails perfectly in frame. Somehow, beyond anything that I could explain, I felt it. Each little flail of her fingers, I felt against my bare skin. It left me wriggling more and more. Before long, I could no longer deny the ticklishness of the tingles that were being projected on my body. I laughed with stunted breaths. I shook my head and continued fighting to just get up from the chair, at the very least.
“Awww, someone’s getting a little giggly, I see,” the woman teased. Her voice was raised to be tauntingly patronizing. She followed through with her observation by continuing to wiggle her fingers in the air in the typical tickling motions and repeatedly reciting teasing phrases. “Coochie coochie coo!” Being teased like that added a whole new variable of degradation to the experience. In an instant, I was twelve years old again, being held down and tickled by my Aunt Rosa again until I’m reduced to squealing and screaming with laughter. The video hadn’t gotten me there yet, but as I had seen of the others, and as ticklish as I knew I was, I knew it wouldn’t take me long to get there. I could only hope that someone else in the office would hear me and come running to help somehow.
“Neeehhhehehehehehehhaha! Gahhaha knahahahack it off!” I shouted. The phantom flicks of her nails were centered on my armpits. I could feel each brushing against my skin as if digging from underneath my clothes. Despite not having them exposed in any way, the tickling reached every little spot. My arms were still pinned down against the rests of the chair, but the ticklish skittering came in flurries as if my arms were pulled up and splayed like they would be in so many other tickling videos. No matter how I moved or how hard I tried to do so, I remained there, stuck to that seat and in that position, perfectly in frame for the camera to capture all of my reactions.
“Tickle, tickle, tickle,” the woman said. She repeated the phrase over and over again, her fingers still wiggling in the air. “Someone has some ticklish pits. What about these ribs here?” Without moving her hands much at all, working under the subtle implication of readjusting the focus of her tickling, I felt the nails of the woman slide down from my pits. They danced toward my ribs and started to count each with ticklish, teasing pinches. I shrieked and jumped in place. I tried instinctively to shake off the tickles by swinging my chest side to side, but nothing I did deterred the phantom tickles from skittering up and down the delicate sides of my torso.
“Gaaaaeeeeehhhhheheheheheeehee! Stahahahap!” I shouted. I didn’t even know who I was begging to, I just wanted it to stop. The situation itself was humiliating enough, but the tickling was starting to weigh on my senses. It riddles through my body like dozens of scratching marks pelting me every second. The ghostly touches scour down my body. They meticulously dance across my ribs, making me squirm and laugh with ticklish abandon. I knew I could only take so much. I had dealt with longer bouts of tickling before, but not since childhood and no longer than only about ten seconds. I was well into the minutes since the ordeal started and every passing second, the tickles fed into one another, coming harder and more potent than before.
“Coochie coochie coo!” the woman said. “Awww, my little tickle toy. You’re not going anywhere.” The longer the second tracker ticked away, the more apparent it became that she was talking to me through whatever forces were in play that allowed her to do so. Her nails raked against my ribs. They slide up and down the ridges. They scratched away in between. The tickles took their time wherever they went, unable to be deflected by anything that I could do. I laughed. The tickles filled my senses and I laughed. All I could do was squirm to pitiful degrees and laugh forced, desperate, squealing laughter.
“Stahahahahap!! Ohhhh gaahahahahaad!!” I begged through my laughter. The tickles came light, granted, but the longer they persisted, the more the sensations compiled onto one another, seemingly duplicating against my more receptive nerves. I squirmed more, I laughed louder, and yet it was all contained within the parameters of the frame, keeping me locked in place just enough to record the entire ordeal. Eventually, my chest and jaw began to ache. Never had I been tickled for that long before. I could still see the digital clock sitting in the bottom corner of the screen, tucked away with the date and the wifi strength.
“Oh, I could just keep doing this all day, new tickle toy,” the woman said with an air of condescension. She flipped her long, dark hair pompously out of her face. Her eyes sparkled a bright shade of green. Her fingers stopped scratching at the air the very moment that I felt the relief of the tickles vanishing from my skin. I could finally breathe again. I looked at myself on the screen. My face had gotten bright red. My hair was a mess and tears had left streaks down my cheeks. I heaved deep breaths, not knowing just how out of breath I had become during the ordeal. I wanted to wipe my face, or to at least brush a bit of hair out of my eyes, but my body was still relatively frozen in place for whatever reason.
“Now then,” the woman continued playfully. She looked down out of frame and lifted a long, white feather. She ran her fingers across the delicate, fluffy fibers of the plume as she spoke. “Lookie at what I have here. I think someone wants to feel this all over their tummy.” It was difficult for me to gauge just how much anything would tickle from description alone, but I knew instinctively that none of the stimulation would be easily endured after a short while. The woman grinned and pointed the feather at the camera, her eyes still fixed on me. “Awww, look at you loving being my new tickle toy! Let’s see just how much Mr. Feather here will make you squeal.” She waved the feather at the camera like writing with it across the air. She resumed with an onslaught of ‘kitchy kitchy coos’ as the ticklish sensations picked up again, this time against my stomach.
“Nyaaaahhahahahaheehee!!” I yelped. I jumped and jerked slightly in my seat, my hips wriggling anxiously, trying to get away. Still, the tickles came unimpeded by clothes or logistics. It was just a direct assault of my senses through the screen, the same unexplainable force that left me invisibly bound to the chair. I felt the texture of the feather brush against my belly. The tickles that it forced through me were far more effective than I had expected. I was giggling restlessly for a few moments until I was belting wild laughter. The feather brushing against my belly was a tickle that I had never felt before, and yet the feather proved to be just as good a tickle tool as all the cartoons growing up made it out to be.
“Awww, does someone have a ticklish little tummy?” The woman’s baby talk was strangely hypnotic. It broke me down further, emphasizing the helplessness of my situation and somehow making the tickles far more destructive to my psyche. I thrashed in the chair. I wafted side to side, back and forth, any way that I could move to somehow free my body from the seat. Nothing worked. I was trapped in the frame with the camera capturing every laugh, plea, scream, and pitiful shriek. I quickly gave in to the tickles, letting my laughter flow as loudly and unrestrained as came naturally in hopes that I would still be saved by someone who could hear me from outside the room.
“Faaaahahahahahahahaaaaa!” I shrieked and surrendered to the laughter. The feather painted tickles all throughout my midsection. The woman moved it with minimal degrees in the frame, but I managed to feel the ticklish brushing all over. It scoured across my stomach, the feather flicking and gliding against my bare skin with devilish abandon to my cries for help. I was still holding onto the disbelief that anything like that could be happening at all, but the longer it went, the more I began accepting the harsh and strange reality, unable to fight the very real feelings coursing through my skin.
“That’s right, you love being my new tickle toy, don’t you?” the woman continued to taunt. “Well get comfortable, because we’re going to be here for a long, long time. Tickle, tickle, tickle!” I didn’t want to believe her. I was struggling to hold onto the rationality that I would have to be crazy to believe her. But the evidence was stacked against me. I begged through my laughter. I pleaded with the woman in the video, thinking that maybe I had the means of stopping it through active engagement. But the tickles just kept coming. The feather fluttered against my belly, sending hellish tickles soaring through my senses.
“Gaahahhahaha!! Staahahahap!! Plehehehhahahse!!” Tears trickled down my cheeks. Each little tickle came more challenging than the last. The tickles of the feather followed the movements on the screen perfectly. The plume glided around my tummy. It slipped around to my sides and even dug into my navel. I shrieked and yelped and twitched restlessly with every little swipe. I could only laugh. I watched myself in the video fall deeper and deeper into red-faced hysteria. I wanted to cover my face. I wanted to hide. Being tickled like that was bad enough, but having it somehow captured and recorded was an entirely new layer of embarrassment.
“Coochie coochie coo!” the woman returned to repeating. The feather gave light, plucking strokes, but the constant exposure to its fluttery swishes against my skin made each one tickle more than the last. There was little else I could do than endure the tickles and squeal for help. After a while of sitting there with no one coming to help me, the realization that no one very well would be coming by anytime soon left me buried beneath waves of dread. The tickles flooded through my skin. They commanded my worthless flailing, leaving me uselessly squirming and begging virtually no one for a release from the ethereal sensations.
“Such an adorable ticklish cutie,” the woman said. I had no idea what was allowing the video to take control of me so well, but she continued speaking as if reading off of the most vague, generic script to fit with any narrative. Her eyes continued to sparkle, however. Her smile was never wavering. She always seemed to be looking at me. Not ‘me’ the audience, but me personally. Her stare, intimately unflinching, bore through the frame and into me, not unlike the tickles themselves. She waved the feather all over the frame. Each little swish plucked at my skin. Unfortunately, I was still just as ticklish as I remembered being growing up, and the strange woman in the video seemed to know it. The feather played with my nerves. The tickles surged through with each little swipe.
“Gaaahahahahahahaaa! Staahahahap!” I squealed and flailed and pitifully endured the ghostly tickles scouring my body. I barely noticed when the woman finally put the feather down and out of frame. The residual tickles left me giggling some time after they had stopped. Even then, I was left gasping and wheezing, sweat having begun trickling down my neck. My eyes fluttered sleepily. I stared back at the screen, averting my gaze from the one that I knew was still staring in my direction. The woman giggled, keeping the ordeal flowing.
“You know, I haven’t gotten down to those feet of yours yet,” she said casually. A chill ran through my body. I swallowed and shook my head. I remembered well just how ticklish my feet had been from my younger days, and if how ticklish I still was was any indication, I knew I wouldn’t be able to stand whatever it was that she had planned.
“N-no… no please, n-not that…” I said through heavy breaths. She merely grinned. There were elements to her reactions that felt scripted and universally responsive, but there were others that came across as directly linked to my own.
“And I just happen to have another tool here with me,” she said. Her tone was still light and condescending. She held up a cute little blue and white Sonicare electric toothbrush. The handle was slim for what it was while the head was thicker with a more rounded brush. She switched it on. A violent humming sounded through the capture, drowning out a good portion of her sound. A dense dread flushed through me. My eyes widened. My throat ran dry. I squirmed more in my seat, finding a reserve of energy to spend trying to get away again.
“N-no… no, help! Somebody help me!’ I screamed as loudly as I could. I heard no footsteps or chatter from the other side of the door. What I did hear, however, was the woman giggling as she watched.
“Aww, sweetie, there’s no one coming,” she said. I looked back. Even in my own image plastered in the corner of the screen, I could see just how colorless my face had become. “You’re ours now. And you’re way too ticklish to just let go so soon.” She waved the brush in the frame. I had no idea what was coming. I knew what she was planning, and it didn’t matter that she was just a video capture or that I was still wearing socks and shoes on this side of the monitor, but while staring back at the brush I still had no idea what sensations to prepare for. However I ended up doing so, nothing I could have done would have fully braced me for what was going to happen.
“Whhhaaaaaaaaahahhahahahahahahahaaaaa!!” My body surged and bucked against the seat. The woman pushed the brush forward and, at the exact same moment, I felt the spinning bristles make contact with my foot. A sudden burst of tickles bloomed out from the center of my left arch. My body jerked back. My seat rose briefly out of the chair. My legs retracted slightly, enough to pull my knees closer to my chest, but useless in any attempt to push myself fully up from where I was sat and kept. The spinning bristles of the brush pushed against my bare sole, buried beneath my sock and shoe. The tool made tickles unlike anything I could have expected and far more intense than any I had ever felt before on my foot.
“Tickle, tickle, tickle,” the woman began teasing once more. “I love having a helpless pair of feet to just tickle, tickle, tickle all I want!” As she moved the brush all over the frame, so as the feather, I could feel it tracing all over my helpless, ticklish sole. No matter how I moved or squirmed, the tickles were locked in place. There was nothing I could do to avoid them. I screamed with laughter. Nothing was reserved or forced. I was legitimately losing myself to this otherworldly ticklish hysteria. Flashes of those other ticklish souls from the videos popped into my memory. I remembered how they gave into the laughter, breaking character and fully surrendering to the whirlwind of the moment. I remember only imagining and dreading thinking about what that would be like. I could only focus on the memories for so long, however, before the tickles commanded my attention back into the highly manic present.
“Naaaaahahahahahahahaaaoooo!!! Pleheheheeassssee stahahahahap!!!” I continued to beg. That was all I could do; beg and laugh. The brush remained firmly against my sole. It traced all over, slowly devouring the ticklish nerves that had remained untouched for many, many years. The harsh bristles circulated against my heel. They scrubbed up and down my tender arch. They pressed against the base of my toes. I yelped and jerked in my seat. Tears were streaking my cheeks. My face was deep red. I was quickly losing breath. I was still frozen to the chair, only able to move so much that I could remain in frame and thus have my reactions able to be properly recorded. I was steadily losing myself. The tickles, just the concentrated tickles of the brush ravishing the one foot, left me shrieking and squealing with laughter that hadn’t graced my lips in years.
“Such a ticklish little tootsie,” the woman said. “I wonder how my little friend here will like those ticklish little toesies as well.” I barely had time to both register what she said and shake my head in response before a new wave of tickles crashed through my senses. The projected brush pushed into my toes. I screamed upon feeling those same bristles hum and scrub against them. No matter how I moved or how tightly I pinched them down, the sensations of the brush continued unfazed by my efforts.
“NAAAAAHHHHHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHAH!!! NAHHAHAAT THERE!!!” I shouted, throwing my head side to side. The ravishing bristles explored against my bare toes. Commanding total freedom over the area, the brush shifted easily between each. The brush spun mercilessly against each pad. It dug down into the delicate webbing in between. I felt the device vibrating and the brush spinning ruthlessly against each toe stem, gradually moving from one to the other. I howled and thrashed in the chair. Laughter escaped my mouth harder than it ever had before. I cried and pulled and begged incoherently through my laughter. Every second came with a blinding surge of tickles beyond anything that I was capable of withstanding, and yet I could only sit there and take it to the melody of the woman’s teasing phrases and the vicious humming of the brush’s motor.
“Awwww, your laugh is so cute,” she said. “I could just listen to it all day long!” The brush roared in the playback. Every moment of its ruthless abrasion raged from one toe to the next. The tickles were heavily concentrated, focusing only on the small, unassuming spots, but the seconds ticked away with an intensity I had never known before. The brush scrubbed all over each individual digit. Before I knew it, it was already working on the other foot, reintroducing me to the newly evoked waves of tickles.
“GAAAHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAAA!!! STATAHAHAHP!! PLEEEAEAAAAHAHHAHSE!!” I screamed. The shame was as dense as the heat circulating the room. The tickles were ridiculing my senses, all the way down to my composure as an adult. The term ‘toy’ was not off from how reduced I felt in the situation. I could only sit there and take the humiliating way that the strange video chose to play with my body. There was virtually nothing that I could do to stop it, a conclusion that became more and more clear the longer the video went on. Through teary eyes, I could still keep track of how far along the video was, thankfully. I laughed and panted and wheezed for air while simply waiting for the ordeal to come to a natural conclusion.
“Well, I think I’ve made my point,” the woman said. I could barely hear her over the groaning of my own relieved wheezing once she turned the brush off. I saw I only had a few seconds left in the video. I was hopeful for her just closing it out with some response to what all just happened, maybe some cliffhanger phrase to keep up the ‘kidnapper’ role or whatever she was trying to go for. At that point, I had lost all connection with the video, or even what all I was even doing there. I just wanted it to end. I wanted the video to finally end so that I could somehow finally stand up, run out, and forget the entire ordeal. I could still feel the tingling of the tickles residing all over my body. The feather stayed in my mind. The fingers across my pits and ribs were all too real. The brush on my feet was just about too much for me to handle. I sat and watched the small, red time bar while panting, not even paying attention to what she was saying. It was then that I heard an extra layer to the audio.
“Hey there,” the woman said again. “I bet you weren’t expecting me.” I looked back up to see that another window had popped up on screen. It was the video again, playing from the beginning. I shook my head. I pushed at my arms and legs, trying to jolt myself up and out of the chair. My body jerked against the seat. It rocked back down, my arms and legs still stuck in place, as was my face still in frame.
“N-no… no!” I shouted. “Oh god, please no!” Sweat dripped down my face, the room baking my trapped self. I thrashed against whatever binds were keeping me attached to the seat. I screamed with a hoarse voice, just wanting someone to come by and turn the damn thing off. The video played as normal once more, with only slight differences coming in the form of graphical glitches. Before long, the woman was already holding up her hands. Her fingernails scratched at the nail, as they had before. To a palpable wave of dread that tore through me, the tickles started up again against my pits.
“Naaaahhhhhhhahahahahahahaaaooooo!! Plehehehaaase!! I caaahahahahahahan’t!!” I broke into tired laughter. The sensations all came back just like before. Phantom nails teased against my pits. They tickled and scraped and stayed in constant contact with them no matter how my body was able to writhe in place. My own face was still in the corner of the screen, having my ticklish turmoil recorded. I was far too exhausted to hold back my laughter. My chest and jaw ached. I didn’t know how I was going to get through another run of the video. Through my laughter, however, I heard a distinct skip in the playback.
“That’s right, you love being my new tickle toy, don’t you?” I heard the woman say. The tickles around my pits, and the corresponding audio didn’t stop, but a new window popped up into frame, already about halfway through the full runtime. In it, she already had the feather in hand. It began, once again, tracing around my stomach. I jumped and yelped into a new fit of laughter, dealing with both sources of tickles at once.
“GAAAAHHHHHHAHAHAHAHHA!!! STAAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAP!!!” It was all I could do, thrash and scream with laughter. The woman’s duplicated voice continued to tease with a murmur of ‘tickle, tickle, tickle’s. I could feel the feather and her fingers on my body at the same time. My hips swiveled. My frantic, thunderous laughter filled the room. The tickles poured through my body from several directions, leaving me even fewer means of trying to get ahead of them. The trial only grew worse when I heard her voice again.
“I love having a helpless pair of feet to just tickle, tickle, tickle all I want!” The brush returned as a new window popped open. The rumbling toothbrush scrubbed at my sole with its mercilessly spinning bristles. My legs jolted upward, but once again, no matter what I did, my body remained perfectly available for all the tickles. Only then they began assaulting me all at once and I was left just as helpless to accept it as before.
“NAAAAHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHAHHAA!!! STAAAHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!!!” I screamed and screamed until my laughter was reduced to mad fits between wheezing gasps. The videos continued to duplicate. The seconds ticked away and the videos started up again and again and again. The screen was filled with windows and shortly thereafter, my body was covered with surging tickles. Dozens of feathers flocked to my belly all at once. My soles and toes were covered by more and more of the ravishing brushes until there was no inch left untainted at any given time. Hundreds of nails scribbled and scratched at my pits and ribs. The tickles overcame me. They filled my senses, my thoughts, my very person until I was left only a shrieking, gasping vessel for tickles.
“Coochie coochie coo!” the woman repeated over and over again, on top of her own voice. “Tickle tickle tickle!”
The video just kept multiplying on screen. The tickles compounded over and over again through means beyond my own understanding. For hours, I sat there, being reduced by tickles into this quivering mass of nerves. I cried, I screamed, I lost all sense of self. I was only a toy. There was nothing I could do. I could only take it. I could only sit there, trapped eternally in this ticklish prison, and laugh like a good little tickle toy.’
Thank you so much for buying my video and supporting us here at Feather Bed Productions! My name is Sam and this is my very first shoot as the newest ‘unsuspecting model’. I am so happy to be a part of the wonderful family of creators here at FBP. You can also check out my other videos from this shoot like Hours 2 through 5. Hours 9 through 14 are where they really let me have it though! Or you can show your support by checking out the Twitch livestream of how I’m still doing every Thursday from 14:00 to 21:00 EST. And remember, no matter how much I scream and cry, no matter how convincing I sound, there’s no need to worry. I am (still) loving this!
Comments
Russell Miller
Ok😁
Featherscape
It's just a character for the story, no one specific
Russell Miller
Is this one of your characters or just someone in general...
Featherscape
It's more a POV story for a first person character
Russell Miller
So is this a pov story for the reader or is it a pov story of someone else??
