Overnight Tickles (FF/M) (Patreon)

{All characters are 18+}

Anthony walked up a set of wooden porch stairs, facing the door to the night he would never forget. A pair of scuffed Reeboks shuffled beneath him. He dragged a suitcase behind him, small enough to be a carry-on while big enough to be a pain to haul around. Fortunately, his walk was not far. His neighbor, Mrs. Catherine Holiday, was a woman just slightly older than his mother. She lived only two houses down from him and had for most of his life. The walk to her lot, however, was just as long as the trip up to her house from the main road. The house was elaborate and secluded beside a pond that smelt of rain and lavender moss year round. Anthony's trek there was one that he had made many times growing up. Mrs. Holiday was a friend of the family since he was a little boy. The two had grown close over the years, bonding over the occasional weekend while his parents would leave for business.

The boy had passed Mrs. Holiday’s car along with another that he had not recognized parked in the driveway. Such mysteries weighed on his mind like a feather riding a summer breeze. Anthony looked it over quickly while holding his hand up to block the setting sun from his eyes. He hauled his suitcase up the porch stairs. His reflection in the glass of the front door mirrored his approach. His shaggy brown hair had been tossed by the wind. He opted for a comfortable t-shirt and cargo shorts that morning. One of his sneakers had loosened the lace into a pair of carelessly splaying strings. Anthony, in his youthful laissez-faire fashion, thought little of his appearance beyond comfort. He reached out to press his thumb against the glowing doorbell button. Before he could, the door began to open.

“Anthony, my boy,” said Mrs. Holiday, behind the protective glass door. Her smile was familiar and welcoming. Anthony returned the gesture with a humble wave.

“Hello, Mrs. Holiday,” he said. “Hope I’m not too early.”

“Oh, not at all, not at all,” said Mrs. Holiday. She opened the door and led the boy inside. “Come in. Come in.”

“Thank you,” Anthony said. He lifted the suitcase up to avoid scuffing. Anthony stepped across the threshold and was immediately met with a warm and cozy embrace of atmosphere. The inside was toasty. The scent of cookies and pine played with his senses. The house was always so immaculately clean. Anthony had heard in passing of Mrs. Holiday hiring a young neighborhood boy to keep it tidy though never seemed to catch him around. He carried his suitcase through the door and set it down beside himself. Mrs. Holiday closed the door behind him. Her eyes tasted the boy with a lingering glance, a candy to be savored.

"My dear, mind leaving your shoes by the door?" Mrs. Holiday said. A sudden flutter brushed against Anthony's heart.

"S-sure," he said. Anthony kicked off his sneakers and left them by the door, where he had parked his suitcase. Mrs. Holiday pulled the boy in for a tender hug.

"Ohhh, so glad that you could come stay with me again," she said, swaying him in the embrace. "It's been so long. I was starting to think you had forgotten about me."

"Ohhh no, how could I?" Anthony asked. He hugged her back for as long as she let him. Mrs. Holiday pulled back after a lingering moment, her lips pulled up in a grin. Mrs. Holiday was certainly an older woman but still retained a youthful energy to her demeanor. She was always a kind woman who managed to age well.

"Not after all the fun you used to have over here," she said. "I was worried you had outgrown it." Anthony chuckled. He looked down and away to hide the heat rushing to his face.

"N-no," Anthony said. "I… I wouldn't say that…" Mrs. Holiday reached up to stroke the boy’s arm.

“Well, that’s good to hear,” she said. “You can leave the suitcase there for now. I have a guest over who really wants to see you.”

“Me?” Anthony asked. Mrs. Holiday turned without an answer. Anthony stood his suitcase up by his shoes and followed her into the living room.

Mrs. Holiday stepped aside, approaching the room to allow Anthony in first. He looked up and across the living room to see an old teacher of his from elementary school. He almost failed to recognize her right away after so many years. Mrs. Gloria Faye sat in a plush loveseat facing the hallway in which Mrs. Holiday walked Anthony. She was a stoic woman, accentuated with a ridged black and white scheme to her clothes. Her hair was a snowy gray, though she was no older than Mrs. Holiday herself. Anthony remembered her being quiet and reserved from having her as a teacher as a little boy. Kind enough to smile and congratulate the ones who overperformed but stern enough to scold and punish in front of the whole class. Anthony was never a student to step out of line, but remembered feeling extra cautious when in her presence. Mrs. Faye smiled up at him, a steaming cup of black coffee set on a coaster before her.

“Anthony,” Mrs. Faye said. The name flowed musically from her lips. Anthony paused. He had expected her to have forgotten him after all the time that had passed. A shift in anticipated tone left him briefly stunned. He smiled and came closer.

“Mrs. Faye,” Anthony said. Mrs. Faye stood. A dimpled smile rested across her lips. She came up to Anthony with her arms out. He met her hug, finding her shorter than he remembered but still about his height. Anthony was taken back by her apparent shift in character.

“Oh, you’ve gotten so big,” Mrs. Faye said. Anthony laughed.

“Yeah, well, that was bound to happen eventually,” he said. Mrs. Faye laughed and pulled back, looking him over.

“Such a handsome young man too,” Mrs. Faye added. “You always were a looker.”

“Isn’t he?” Mrs. Holiday asked, coming in behind Anthony.

“Heh, I don’t know about that,” he said, giving a soft chuckle.

“Of course he is,” Mrs. Faye said. “Come, sit. Tell me all about what you’ve been up to since fifth grade.”

Anthony sat down next to Mrs. Faye, filling her in on all that had been happening in his life over the years. He talked about school, friends that he had made, and hobbies that he had taken up. He told stories about family trips, described his favorite shows, and even showed off pictures of the dog his family had adopted a year prior on his phone. Mrs. Holiday served tea, coffee, and cookies over discussions. Anthony asked what Mrs. Faye had been up to and how she and Mrs. Holiday knew each other. Mrs. Faye was still teaching at the same school and really enjoying her position as a tenured educator. She and Mrs. Holiday had met many years prior, before Mrs. Faye had Anthony in her class, at a wine tasting event in Napa where they bonded over drinks and many other mutual interests. By the time Anthony was working on his fourth cookie, Mrs. Holiday concluded a story about her and Mrs. Faye being several days delayed in Sacramento to change the subject.

“Well, I was telling Gloria all about what you’d come over to do way back when,” said Mrs. Holiday. A lump got caught in Anthony’s throat. His chest felt light and hollow. He shifted in his seat a little.

“O-oh… well, that was… nothing, it was just…” Anthony stuttered, looking down.

“He was so cute,” Mrs. Holiday told Mrs. Faye, ignoring the obvious fluster rushing through Anthony. “He knew all about my little hobby after finding a trunk of my things. You know, my special ties and cuffs. And so he wanted to know more and I showed him.”

“Ah, yes, I do remember that,” said Mrs. Faye. “You always did have a knack for holding squirmy things down.” The women cackled a little over Anthony’s burning cheeks, who laughed to try and blend in.

“He’d come over all the time after that asking me to tie him up, wouldn’t you, dear?” Mrs. Holiday asked. Anthony’s breathing had become staggered. Sweat began to form across the back of his neck. He kept his gaze down and resigned to the shame.

“I… y-yeah…” Anthony said.

“Aww, that’s so cute,” said Mrs. Faye.

“It’s nothing, j-just something that I used to do,” said Anthony.

“But there’s nothing wrong with that,” said Mrs. Faye. She placed a hand on Anthony’s knee and petted it gently.

“Not at all,” said Mrs. Holiday. Anthony looked up. “You should have seen him, Gloria. The way that I’d have him all spread out. Sometimes I’d tie him up and leave him for hours, all helpless and waiting for me to free him.”

“That all sounds like so much fun,” said Mrs. Faye.

“It was,” said Mrs. Holiday. She turned to look at Anthony. “Wasn’t it?” Anthony swallowed. His fingers twiddled and fidgeted in his lap.

“Y… mmmm… y-yeah,” he admitted. Mrs. Holiday shook her head and leaned in toward him.

“You know, it’s really nothing to be embarrassed about,” said Mrs. Holiday.

“Of course not,” said Mrs. Faye. Her hand continued to pet his knee and thigh. Anthony sighed easily. The tension in his neck and shoulders began to release its grip. His nerves started to calm with a long, pregnant pause.

“Y-yeah,” Anthony said after a while. “I guess not.”

“See?” Mrs. Holiday said with a calming grin. “Nothing wrong. Not even if you wanted to play like that again while you’re here this weekend.” Anthony crossed one foot shyly over the other. He scratched the side of his cheek nervously, fidgeting in his seat.

“W-well…” Anthony said. His voice shrunk in his mouth. His eyes fell to the Persian rug that veiled the floor. “I-I mean… I didn’t think you’d have company, so…”

“Oh, I’m sure that’s not an issue,” Mrs. Holiday said. She turned back toward Mrs. Faye. “Would it be?”

“Of course not,” Mrs. Faye said cheerfully.

“I think Gloria would just love to see how you’d like to play over here,” Mrs. Holiday continued. “She seems to have been quite taken with the idea.”

“Oh my, yes,” Mrs. Faye said. Her voice had risen to match a piqued level of investment. Anthony felt both pairs of eyes on him. “If you would be okay with showing me, that is.” Anthony thought for a moment. He breathed deeply and looked up, finding comfort in how soft and kind the women were being.

“Well, I was… kind of… hoping we would this weekend,” Anthony said.

“Then that makes two of us,” Mrs. Holiday said. She stood and started cleaning up the coffee table of empty mugs and plates with only cookie crumbs left. Mrs. Faye’s stern, resting expression had started to brighten. “Tell you what. I’m going to clean up here. Why don’t you take your bag up to the guest room and wait there. Maybe pull out your favorites of my toys and we’ll be right behind you.” Mrs. Faye was already up by the time Mrs. Holiday finished speaking, both women looking down at Anthony.

“O-Okay!” Anthony said, bounding to his feet. A youthful energy and almost childlike excitement in the things he enjoyed was the charm many people found so appealing about Anthony. He hurried over to the front door to collect his bag. His socked feet thumped quickly up the stairs to the guest room that he always took whenever he stayed over.

The room was decorated with the near-flashy elegance of any high-end guest bedroom. A dresser, likely from when Mrs. Holiday was Anthony’s age, rested many times repainted and repaired against one wall beneath a mirror with an ornate wooden frame. The closet was open, in which many empty hangers hung neatly in a row. The room was furnished with small accents of flair and familiarity. Stuffed animals, likely untouched for decades beyond passive cleaning, sat along a wall shelf above the closet. Unused candles in their original glass jars gave color to the eggshell pasted dresser. Mrs. Holiday had long since resigned the room to Anthony’s stays, hanging up his pictures and framed school accolades on the walls. In the center of the room sat a bed far larger than Anthony’s own. It was properly made and hosted an almost absurd amount of pillows against the headboard.

Anthony entered to the scent of clean linens and potpourri. He had never stayed in a hotel as nice as how Mrs. Holiday always seemed to make his room. He walked in, carrying the suitcase so as to keep the dirty wheels off of the carpet, and set it down next to the closet. Anthony breathed deeply, still calming his nerves. He looked back to the bed. Anthony knew just where to search. Eagerly, the boy dropped to the floor, his stomach pressed against the warm, plush carpet. He looked under the bed and pulled out a large black trunk. It had always been a heavy mass for him to maneuver, but it certainly got easier to do so with age. The trunk was old and had a latch with which to lock it, but Mrs. Holiday never seemed bothered with locking it. Anthony opened the lid and looked inside. There, he saw Mrs. Holiday’s collection of bondage material. He never thought more of the assortment than as a hobby that he and Mrs. Holiday both shared. He looked down fondly at the items that she had amassed over the years. Rolls of bondage tape were wrapped up and stacked neatly on top of one another. Ropes and chains were properly coiled. Mrs. Holiday even had a modest assortment of blindfolds and gags, but never had she used any of that on him. He loved the feeling of being bound and helpless, all tied up and vulnerable. Just seeing the items fluffed his enthusiasm. Anthony spent a moment looking over the options before pulling out four pairs of leather cuffs and another four black leather belts. He tossed them all onto the bed.

“Good choice,” Mrs. Holiday said, standing in the doorway. Anthony looked up. His shock was brief, quickly giving away to another shy smile.

“Y-you don’t mind, right?” Anthony asked. Mrs. Holiday chuckled.

“Oh sweetie, I’d love nothing more than to have you all tied up just like I used to,” she said. Anthony looked at the items he had pulled out.

“And Mrs. Faye?”

“Are you okay with showing her?” Mrs. Holiday asked. Anthony thought for a second. The potential for humiliation was not lost on him, but a rising part of him started to get excited for the additional attention.

“I think so,” Anthony said. “Could be fun, if she’s okay with it.”

“I think she’s more than okay with it,” Mrs. Holiday said. Mrs. Holiday walked into the room. Moments later, Mrs. Faye joined them. She too looked over the items that Anthony had selected.

“Oh, very nice,” Mrs. Faya said. Anthony smiled.

“I… I didn’t know you’d also like these sorts of things,” Anthony said.

“But of course,” said Mrs. Faye. “Catherine here always did have fun tastes.” Anthony nodded in agreement.

“Would you like to go ahead and get started?” Mrs. Holiday asked. Anthony stood. He scratched the back of his head nervously, his eyes shifting between the cuffs and the women watching him.

“I… well… s-sure, we can,” Anthony said. The smiles of his hosts widened.

“Excellent,” Mrs. Holiday said. “You’re such a sweet boy, always up for a good time.”

“So eager,” said Mrs. Faye. “It’s really quite adorable.” Mrs. Holiday walked up to the bed and took the cuffs and straps, setting them on a nearby lounge chair in the corner of the room.

“But, before we do anything, Anthony here will need to get comfortable,” said Mrs. Holiday. Anthony looked over to her, a warm glow returning to his cheeks. “You may be here a while after all. That’s the plan, is it not?”

“N-no, yeah,” said Anthony. He shyly glanced back over to Mrs. Faye, watching him closely. “I guess so.”

“It’s only to make you comfortable, sweetie,” said Mrs. Holiday. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” Anthony nodded again, steadying his nerves.

“Right,” he said. Anthony took a deep breath and pinched the bottom of his t-shirt. He lifted his shirt above his head and dropped it on the floor. He felt the eyes of his family friend along with his old elementary school teacher watching him undress. They seemed unfazed by the sight of his shirtless body, save for the slight grins they wore while spectating. Anthony started loosening his shorts when he looked passively at them both. He began to speak, but failed to find the words to say to match his conflicting thoughts.

“It’s okay, sweetie,” said Mrs. Holiday. “You can keep them on if you’d like.” Anthony thought for a minute before he slowly started to pull them down. He gauged their reactions. He knew Mrs. Holiday would have no reservations about him going down to his boxers, but was surprised when Mrs. Faye behaved with similar complacency. She smiled sweetly at the boy stepping out of his fallen shorts. Despite still wearing his boxers and socks, a wash of being completely exposed came over Anthony, like prepping for physical exams at the doctor’s office. He covered up the front part of his boxers with his hands as he stood, looking back and forth between the women.

“So cute,” said Mrs. Faye. “Such a handsome boy you’ve become.” Anthony looked down and smirked.

“Thank you,” he said.

“But you always were a handsome thing,” Mrs. Faye continued.

“That’s right,” said Mrs. Holiday. “Now, go ahead and lie down on the bed so we can get you all fixed in.” Anthony tried to hide his giddiness as effectively as he did his blush. Mrs. Holiday and Mrs. Faye watched him climb up onto the bed and position himself in the center. Anthony raised his arms and spread his legs with each pointed to a different corner of the bed. “Ah, the usual, huh?” Anthony looked back at her and smiled.

“Yes, please, Mrs. Holiday,” Anthony said sweetly. “Just for a little bit. It doesn’t have to be long.”

“Oh, sweetie, let me worry about how long it’ll be,” said Mrs. Holiday. She took the leather cuffs and buckled them firmly onto Anthony, starting with his left wrist and ankle. Mrs. Faye worked on cuffing Anthony’s right side as she quickly learned how to latch them onto both mirrored areas. The women tightened the cuffs onto the boy, keeping him from being able to slide out. The leather cuffs were then attached to the bed frame at each corner. They adjusted the connecting chains to be of optimal length; tight enough to keep him from moving but not so much so that it becomes uncomfortable. Before long, Anthony was spread out for the women. He pulled at each appendage, unable to move any of them beyond twisting a little side to side.

“There we are,” said Mrs. Faye. She gazed over her work, standing next to the bed. “Awww, look at him all spread out. So cute.”

“Isn’t he?” Mrs. Holiday asked. She stroked Anthony’s shaggy hair. “How’s that feel, cutie?” Anthony smiled. It was just as he remembered, just as tight and comfortable as Mrs. Holiday knew how to bind him. His heart started to race, being so tied up and helpless. He smiled and breathed heavily.

“G-great,” he said. “Th-thank you.”

“Ah, but we’re not done, are we?” Mrs. Holiday asked rhetorically. She picked up the additional straps that Anthony had pulled out. She turned back to Mrs. Faye, who stood by Anthony’s side to watch. “These are a little tricky.” Mrs. Holiday wrapped one of the straps around his elbow and fed it down over the edge of the bed to attach it also to the bed frame. As she stood, Anthony tried to bend his arm. What little wiggle room he had before was taken from him, as the straps kept him from moving the arm a single inch in any direction.

“You’ve done this before, I see,” Mrs. Faye said. Mrs. Holiday chuckled as she worked on Anthony’s neighboring thigh.

“Once or twice,” she said with a grin. Her approach was nuanced and experienced. Her touch was gentle. One by one, she added the remaining straps to both thighs and the other elbow, leaving Anthony stretched out across the bed. He pulled at each, unable to free himself or move in a way that would offer him even a momentary change in position. His arms and legs were bound stretched out, his body a perfect X. Mrs. Holiday and Mrs. Faye watched the boy struggle, endeared by his fruitless attempts. “There we go.”

“Looks good,” Mrs. Faye said. She shot Anthony a slight smirk. “I can see why this became a hobby for you two.”

“Yeah, he’s a good little trooper, aren’t you, sweetie?” Mrs. Holiday asked. Anthony’s heart was pounding in his chest. His face burned with a bright flush. He looked up at both women staring down at him with adoring eyes. A quivering smile came across the boy’s soft, olive lips.

“Y-yes,” Anthony said, his voice quiet and higher in pitch than usual. Mrs. Faye continued to stroke his hair while Mrs. Holiday ran her hand over the boy’s thigh.

“Good,” Mrs. Holiday said. “Comfortable?”

“Yes, Mrs. Holiday.”

“That’s good,” she said. She looked up to the closed window, darkened by nightfall. “Then I suppose we should leave you to sleep this way.” Anthony’s eyes widened. Mrs. Faye gave a delicate chuckle.

“W-wait…,” Anthony started.

“It is late and I’m sure you’ve had a long walk getting here,” said Mrs. Faye. “You deserve a rest.”

“I’d say so,” said Mrs. Holiday. Anthony tried to interject, but the women continued to talk over him. “It has been a long day. I know I’m worn out.”

“Me too,” said Mrs. Faye. She feigned a yawn through a sly smirk. Mrs. Holiday bent down and kissed Anthony on the forehead. The boy silently looked back. He had only opposed for a moment before surrendering to the circumstance.

“This is what we’d do, isn’t it, Anthony?” Mrs. Holiday asked. “Getting you all tied up and leaving you for the night.” Anthony’s chest rose and fell heavily. His lips curled. The shade of his ears began to match that of his cheeks.

“Y-yes ma’am,” he said.

“Good then,” Mrs. Holiday said. Her tone was as calm and natural as ever. She reached down to a small night light plugged into an outlet by the door and turned it on. “Then we’ll see you in the morning. Goodnight.” Anthony looked up to catch both women stepping toward the door. He started to object, but stopped himself, riding out the rush. Mrs. Faye shot him a playful look as she turned to leave.

“So cute,” she said. With that, Mrs. Faye switched off the light and shut the door behind her, leaving Anthony in the quiet solitude of his binding. He laid breathing steadily. He closed his eyes, enjoying the complete and total helplessness up until the moment where his excitement subsided just long enough for him to fall asleep.

Before Anthony’s eyes could flutter open hours later, giggles were pouring from his lips. Sweet dreams faded to the sensation of a soft feather brushing against his bare sole. It dusted playfully up the arch, every pass teasing with careful precision. Anthony giggled louder the more he started to wake. His arms pulled against the cuffs still latched onto his wrists, leaving his body twisting feebly against the bed. His legs pulled just as uselessly. The leather cuffs holding him down jerked hard against the bed frame. The sharp clink of the chains snapping tight came as sudden reminders of Anthony’s purely helpless disposition.

“My, my, he’s awake,” said the airy voice of Mrs. Faye. Anthony’s eyes started to open. The full picture of the scene came to him in waves as he woke from his slumber. His eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room, broken through only by the dim night light still shining by the door. All the while, the feathery tickles never ceased their gentle caress against his delicate, pink sole.

“And well rested, I hope,” said Mrs. Holiday, just as softly and teasingly as the feather. Anthony looked up to see Mrs. Faye sitting on the bed next to him, looming over his nearly naked body. Her smile was soothing, yet devious. She sat and casually caressed his stomach with one hand. Her fingertips brushed tender strokes across his skin, feeling the smoothness throughout. Below, Mrs. Holiday kept the boy squirming and giggling by feathering his foot. She had rolled his sock up half way, exposing his heel and arch while keeping the toes hidden behind a protective bunch of fabric. Anthony waved the foot and curled his toes, but nothing he could do evaded the mischievous tickles. To his surprise, the young boy was far too ticklish, a quality that seemed to delight his caretakers.

“Whahahahat ahahare you do-aaahahahaha-ing?!” Anthony squealed through his laughter.

“Just trying something new,” said Mrs. Holiday, stroking the feather side to side across the highly reactive sole. “And fun.”

“Thought we’d take advantage of having you all tied up,” Mrs. Faye said. Her nails tapped against his slender tummy. “You couldn’t expect us to have an adorable boy all tied up in the house and not play with him. And I said ‘I wonder if he’s ticklish’.” Anthony continued to laugh as Mrs. Holiday lifted more of his sock, feathering right at the base of his toes.

“And I’d say so,” said Mrs. Holiday, chuckling slightly. “This was a good idea, Gloria. I should have been doing this the whole time.” Anthony had never been so vulnerable while being tickled before. He knew from passing experience how ticklish he was, but something about being unable to move in anyway that would protect him made the boy feel exponentially more sensitive. Mrs. Faye’s nail began circling his navel. His tummy pulsed and wiggled as his laughter grew deeper. Each swipe of the feather against his young sole sent surges of tickles through his body, leaving him a giggling, squirming mess.

“Naaahaahahahaha!” Anthony’s laughter rang out. “Daaahahahahaaan’t tickle meeheheheheheee!!”

“Aww, what’s the matter?” Mrs. Faye asked. “Is our helpless boy too ticklish to handle a little fun?” More of her fingernails joined her efforts to start delicately gliding across his belly. The tickles flooding Anthony’s body steadily intensified. He tried to pull at his arms and legs only to find them just as immobile as they had been before he fell asleep. His body fought to shield itself, but could do nothing to fight back. The total vulnerability to the tickles seemed to make them worse, surprising Anthony with a new level of ticklish he never knew he had.

“That’s just too bad,” said Mrs. Holiday. “Because Gloria and I are already having so much fun and we have all weekend to have even more. Now let’s see those adorable little toes.” Mrs. Holiday pinched the tip of Anthony’s sock and plucked it off of his foot like a petal from a flower. Anthony felt a rush of cool air greet his bare toes, all dancing and wiggling before Mrs. Holiday’s gleeful eyes. He looked up as best as he could, his eyes already starting to water. He shook his head.

“Pleheheheasee! Dahahan’t tickle my toes!!” Anthony pleaded. Mrs. Holiday smirked. She grasped the boy’s foot with a soft, yet firm grip, further immobilizing the flailing sole. She waved the feather in the air just over his foot. Anthony's eyes widened. His pleading had turned half-heartened, diluted with a boyish giddiness.

“Oh, but I think I should,” said Mrs. Holiday. “And I think I will because there’s nothing you can do to stop me.” Before Anthony could react further, the many playful fibers of the feather stroked all the way down his sole, starting at the tips of his toes down to his heel. A squealing shriek escaped through his laughter. Anthony’s head thrashed side to side as the plume made full passes up and down his bare, defenseless foot.

“Ohhhh, such an adorable little laugh,” said Mrs. Faye. She was still only casually toying with his belly, watching it bounce with each fit of laughter. “It’s going to be so much fun listening to it all weekend long.” Anthony’s helplessness was not lost on him. His inability to protect himself was reminded with each innate tug at the cuffs and each subsequent clang of the binds holding him down.

“All weekend long,” Mrs. Holiday reverberated. “We have you right here to play with all we want. You’re not going anywhere.” Mrs. Holiday swished the feather faster the more she teased. Both women watched Anthony’s feeble pulling and listened closely to the desperation that grew in his laughter. The feather painted tickles all over his foot. The plume raced down his creamy white arch to pick at his heel. It swiped across and through his toes, making tickly passes underneath and in between each one. Mrs. Holiday held Anthony’s struggling foot steady in her other hand. She watched as she played his incredibly sensitive nerves like an instrument, making music with his laughter.

“Nnnnaaaaaaahahahahahahah!!! Staahahahahahaaap!!” Anthony shouted.

“Tickle, tickle, tickle,” Mrs. Faye teased close to his ear. “Our little tickle toy.” She brought both sets of nails up to his ribs, lightly tapping on each. His midsection was fully splayed out. Her voice was melodic as she teased. Anthony twisted and laughed harder beneath her. Tears beaded in the corners of his eyes. The boy’s chest and jaw started to ache. Mrs. Faye danced her fingers up and down his ribs. She pinched his sides and kept Anthony bellowing hsi sweet, precious laughter.

“Aww, sweetie, this is nothing compared to what we have planned,” said Mrs. Holiday. Down at his feet, she reached over to pinch the tip of Anthony’s other sock. Slowly, she lifted it off of his foot like raising the curtain on a show. Anthony shook his head, still begging through his laughter.

“Naahahahahahaaaooo!! Staaahahahahappp tickling meeheheheeee!!” Anthony shouted. The women could only laugh, encouraged by his frail pleas for mercy.

“Oh, we will,” said Mrs. Holiday. “After we untie you maybe in a few days.” She dropped the feather to the floor and positioned herself more in between both of his bare, ticklish feet. She placed one hand against the sole of each and touched her long, manicured nails against the plush, sensitive skin. Anthony barely had time to gasp before Mrs. Holiday launched into a wild scribbling against both feet at once. Anthony shrieked into another fury of laughter. His cries and hysteria had gotten deeper and fuller, filling the room with the song of his torment. Mrs. Faye laughed along with him.

“Oh my, now that’s the ticklish boy I want to hear,” she said. She too began ravishing his midsection with her own mad scratching. Her nails glided over his ribs and sides and belly like children running through a playground. Anthony fought and struggled against the cuffs holding him down. Tears began to stream down his cheeks. He gasped and continued to plead, though the rush of being tickled so helplessly was quickly becoming a new thrill for him.

“Be as loud as you want to, sweetie,” said Mrs. Holiday. “No one can hear you out here but us.” Her nails sent flurries of tickles up from his trapped, bare feet. They tapped and scratched away at his toes. They mimicked his movements well enough to keep up with his weak flailing. No matter how he managed to move his feet, Anthony could not escape the tickles that spidered across them. His upper half was much less fortunate, unable to move at all away from Mrs. Faye’s devious tactics. She focused both hands on Anthony’s tummy, alternating between kneading into the skin and skittering her nails across it, leaving Anthony shrieking as his body floods with unbearable waves of tickles.

“AAAAHHHHHHHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAA!!!! NNNEEEEAAHAHAHAHHAAA!!” Anthony screamed, his voice reaching new heights and volumes. The boy’s cries for mercy had begun to subside, resigning himself to the acknowledgment that there would be none.

“Coochie coochie coo,” Mrs. Faye teased. Their playful laughter was enough to sell their sadistic intentions, but the added phrases really helped push Anthony to the edge. Her nails explored his skin with devilish scribbles. They scratched and teased all the way up to his armpits, digging into Anthony’s stretched, plush hollows. His hips bucked and twisted, the bed thumping against the wall. He screamed with a more anguished cry of ticklish laughter the moment both of his pits became Mrs. Faye’s point of attack. The woman smirked and giggled, delighted in her discovery. “Ohhh, I think I found a sweet spot.”

“Sounds like it,” said Mrs. Holiday, still giving Anthony’s feet a full tickle treatment. Her nails scraped wildly against his soles, tracing his arches up and down with slow, methodical passes. She raced them up to his toes. Anthony continued to shriek and howl with laughter as Mrs. Holiday’s fingertips played his toes like an instrument, keeping up well with their wiggling and digging underneath. “Aww, who’s my ticklish boy?”

“AAAAHHAHAHAHAHHAHAAA!!! NNNAAHAHAHAHAHAAAAA!!!” Anthony squealed. Mrs. Faye explored all of Anthony’s tender midsection. She kneaded into his belly and pinched his sides and danced her nails across his ribs. She found the loudest reactions to come from tickling the boy’s exposed pit, however. Her fingers dug and scribbled against it, the soft, plush mound quite enjoyable and easy to tickle. The women taunted and teased. They emphasized his helplessness and sensitivity with giggles and baby-talk. The tickles came flooding from both ends. Mrs. Faye raked and scribbled her nails hard against his pits. Mrs. Holiday’s own fingertips danced freely over his bare feet. Anthony howled with boyish laughter, desperate cries for no one to hear but his captors.

When the tickles finally came to a stop, Anthony was left gasping for air against the bed. The boy’s face glowed red. His naked chest gleamed and heaved. Mrs. Faye smiled down at him. Her eyes shimmered with intrigue. Her smile was the same satisfied look she would give to her students who scored perfect test scores. Mrs. Holiday rose from the foot of the bed. Her fingertips tasted the boy’s trembling thigh as she came up his body. Anthony’s gulps for air steadily became heavy wheezes through the momentary relief. Mrs. Faye stroked the boy's hair, matting against his sweaty forehead. His chest rose and fell. His lips wore a tired smile between two blushing cheeks. His eyes were unfocused though shimmered amorously.

“You doing okay, sweetie?” Mrs. Holiday asked. She sat next to the heaving captive, across from her friend on his other side. Anthony took a moment to answer.

“Y-y-yeah…” he said through heavy panting.

“That’s good,” said Mrs. Faye. “Because I don’t think either of us want to stop now.” Mrs. Faye flashed Anthony an eager grin as her hands came back down to him. His wide eyes watched her nails touch down against his belly again. Anthony jolted into a soft squeak. He giggled and squirmed as much as he was able to as Mrs. Faye scribbled the area lightly.

“Heehee, no way,” said Mrs. Holiday. “You’re not going anywhere, little tickle toy.” Her nails found Anthony by the ribs. Five skittering fingers danced across each one. Anthony shrieked and filled the room with his boyish laughter once more.

“Eeeeeaaaahhhahahahahaahaaa!!!” Anthony laughed. His torso twisted slightly between the two women delighting over his pitiful cries. His skin was slick with sweat, making the soft scrying all the more devastating to the senses. Mrs. Holiday and Mrs. Faye smiled and chuckled at his completely helpless reactions. Mrs. Faye was quick to add five more scribbling nails to claw against his tender armpit. Anthony’s laughter exploded, finding the same volume as before.

“Tickle, tickle, little Anthony,” she said through a sly grin. “Look at you, all tied up for us to tickle for as long as we want.”

“That’s right, you’re all ours,” said Mrs. Holiday, her cadence high and patronizing. “No one is coming to save you from the tickle, tickle, tickles!” Mrs. Holiday accentuated her point by wildly scratching her other five nails against Anthony’s belly, right around his navel. Anthony erupted with laughter. His body twisted and bucked as much as it could, but nothing he could do could save himself from the devious tickles.

“NNNNAAAAAAHHHHHAHAHAHAAAHAAA!!! STTAAHAHAHAHA!!!” Anthony shrieked. His toes curled. His hands grasped at nothing. His desperate cries only seemed to entice the women further.

“Aww, look at him having fun with us,” Mrs. Holiday said. She chuckled and continued scribbling across the ribs on her side. She dipped one scratching nail into his belly button, causing a shrill screech to escape his lips.

“He’s just the cutest little tickle toy ever,” Mrs. Faye said. She reached over the boy and began scratching both sets of nails into both of Anthony’s armpits. He let out a piercing scream, his senses tormented by the constant stream of ever-increasing tickles. His armpits proved to be especially sensitive, made only worse by the slickness within them. Anthony’s face darkened. A new volume of crying laughter came spilling out of his mouth.

“AAAAHHHAHAHAHAHAHHAAAA!!! NNAAAHHAHAAH!!!” Anthony bellowed. His back arched. His chest ached. The two women exchanged a glance of surprise.

“Oh, sweet spot indeed,” Mrs. Holiday said.

“I found my new favorite way to tickle,” said Mrs. Faye. “I think I’m going to be here a while.”

“Please be,” said Mrs. Holiday. “He’s here for you to tickle for as long as you like. I’ll have to try out his pits when you’re done.” The women laughed over Anthony’s hysterical cries. His Holiday switched to pinching both of Anthony’s sides. Her fingers kneaded quickly, clawing at the tender areas. A flurry of rapid tickles caught the boy in a violent current of laughter. He gasped and screamed and cried through his ticklish mania.

“AAAAHHHAHAHAHAAAHAA!!! SSSHHHTTAAAHAHAHA!!!” Anthony’s body pulled instinctively at the binds. His mind faded out everything not the storm of tickles that raged through his slender frame. The women reduced the boy to a pitiful state of laughter and desperation. Minute by minute, Anthony endured the torture to his captors’ delight, and even slightly his own.

“Well, well, what’s this now?” Mrs. Holiday asked. She pulled away as Mrs. Faye slowed her clawing against his pits. Both women looked down Anthony’s body. Mrs. Holiday smirked as she came across a noticeable lift in his boxers. Anthony blushed deeply, still giggling and squirming.

“Aww, is someone having a little too much fun?” Mrs. Faye teased. Mrs. Holiday reached down. Her hand caressed Anthony’s bulge, watching it twitch and waft in place.

“That’s okay,” Mrs. Holiday said sweetly. “And perfectly natural. Here.” With a delicate pinch, Mrs. Holiday parted the flap on the front of Anthony’s boxers. He gasped as she freed him from his cotton confinement. He stood tall and stiff, blushing eagerly.

“Whhaaahahaaa… whaahahaat aaahahare you…” Anthony started. He paused. Anthony could no longer fight against the truth of how it all made him feel. The bondage. The vulnerability. The humiliation. The tickling. It all burned through him, pulsing his senses with wave after wave of needful sensations. Mrs. Holiday smirked and stroked a single nail down the length of Anthony’s exposed member. Her jerked and moaned through his giggles, his eyes wide as they fell on her grin.

“Aww, is someone ticklish there too?” Mrs. Faye taunted. She kept a steady, teasing pace against his pits. Mrs. Holiday rose to fetch the feather she had used on his feet. She brought it back and sat next to Anthony’s hips.

“This does give me a fun idea,” Mrs. Holiday said. She chuckled. Her hand lowered the plume end of the feather to graze against Amthony’s bared cock. The fluffy fibers kissed it gently. Anthony whined into a louder series of laughter, one with a more heated energy.

“Neeeeeaaahhhhhhahahahahaaa!!!!” Anthony cackled.

“Aww, such a ticklish little cutie,” said Mrs. Faye. “We’re all going to have so much fun all weekend long.” Slowly, with absolute precision, the feather brushed up and down the side of Anthony’s twitching cock. The delicate fibers tickled as much as they pleased, leaving him laughing as hard as he moaned. Mrs. Holiday watched it closely. She brushed each sensitive side with the plume. The lightest touches from it caused Anthony to howl with laughter and buck his hips. It blushed, the head a deepening shade of pink.

“Keep it up and he might just explode,” said Mrs. Faye, watching the show.

“That’s the idea,” Mrs. Holiday responded. Her other hand drifted over to his belly. She spidered her nails across a wide radius around his belly button. Mrs. Faye followed by scribbling her nails faster into his pits. She dug and clawed at the slick, delicate hollows, abandoning reservation for mutual satisfaction. Mrs. Faye pushed even herself in tickling the poor, trapped boy just to see how much he could take. Anthony’s voice broke into a high scream. The flurry of tickles against his pits sent his body squirming and pulling violently.

“AAAAHHHHHHHHEEEHHAHAHAHA!!! MMMMAAAAHHH!!!” Anthony cried out in ticklish laughter. His cock bounded side to side against the feather as his hips twisted. Mrs. Holiday kept a gentle stroke locked onto it. It pulsed and burned. Every swipe of the feather built on a trembling pressure rising within him. Each flick against the tip sent a jolt through his whole body. He screamed and moaned, his body begging where his mouth could only laugh.

“Such an adorable little tickle toy, aren’t you Anthony?” Mrs. Holiday asked. As his member trembled with need, his mind could only focus on the tickles tormenting his body. Mrs. Holiday’s other hand skittered her nails all over his quaking belly, stopping only every now and then to scratch a single one into his navel. Mrs. Faye waged an unrestrained ticklish assault into his pits. With his arms stretched out and bound in place, the woman had full access to each sensitive armpit and exploited every ticklish inch many times over.

“Are you going to show us just how much you like being all tied up and tickled?” the school teacher asked. Both women giggled playfully. Anthony’s expressions darkened with his hysteria. Sweat glistened his skin. The pressure within him continued to press harder and harder with each tickle torturing his senses. His hips bucked. His cock trembled stiff. The feather teased it from the base to the tip and back down again. Over and over it stoked the fires raging inside of him. Anthony started to gasp more and more. His hands clenched. His body shook. Each swipe worsened the pressure more than the last until Anthony’s body could no longer hold it in.

“AAAAAHHAHAHAHAHAAH!!!! MMMMOOOOHHHHHHAAHAHAAAHHH!!!” Anthony moaned through his laughter. As the feather flicked off of the tip once more, Anthony’s member erupted like a geyser. His mouth dropped open in a deep moan while his muscles clenched. His milky seed burst upward. It glazed the feather and the front half of his boxers, shooting and seeping out in short, bursting waves. Anthony’s orgasm lasted longer as he moaned and shivered through it. Mrs. Faye pulled back, letting the boy ride it out undisturbed.

“Looks like someone had a lot of fun with us tonight,” she said. Anthony panted. His eyes blinked sleepily. His mind had gone blank, vacant of anything beyond the sensations. Mrs. Faye stroked his hair out of his burning, damp face. “Such a cutie.”

“Isn’t he, though?” Mrs. Holiday asked. She pulled back and patted Anthony’s thigh. “You did good. Did you have fun?” Anthony fought too hard catching his breath to speak, but he managed a tired smile and nod. “That’s good.” Mrs. Holiday stood up, followed by Mrs. Faye. Both women looked down at their exhausted captive. “Because this is how you’ll be all weekend long.”

“Wh… wh…wh-aa…” Anthony panted. Mrs. Holiday and Mrs. Faye bent down to place two pecking kisses on his cheeks. Anthony watched both turn and make their way to the door.

“Goodnight, Anthony,” said Mrs. Faye. “I’m glad we can catch up like this. See you in the morning.” Anthony stuttered through his breath, his heart beating faster. Mrs. Holiday turned back to him before leaving, giving him the familiar and welcoming smile.

“Get some rest, sweetie,” she said, her hand on the doorknob. “You’re going to need it.”