Being A Ticklish Babysitter (Part 1, SFW) (Patreon)

/Male Reader 

~~~

You need the money.

That’s all that goes through your mind as you walk up the neighbor's driveway.

You need the money and this should be easy enough.

You try to rationalize your trepidation away by objective observation.

Like, it’s not like it’s anything bad.

Admittedly, it is a little odd for a young man to answer the call for a babysitter, but the Scotts were family friends.

Anthony was your father’s old college roommate and Brittany takes pilates with your mother.

Or something like that.

You don’t really recall how, but you know the couples know each other well.

You remember going over to the Scott’s place much more when you were younger.

You played in their pool, swung on their swings, and even got you first splinter climbing their tree.

You look to the tree as you walk up their driveway, past their Lexus and Vet.

You know that it’s grown since you were little, but it still looked so much bigger back then.

You don’t know why you’re so nervous.

It’s a modest job with a family that you trust.

You know the kids fairly well.

Since growing up, you’ve still spent time over there, getting to know them as you had with the parents.

Darren is the younger of the two.

Growing up with him, he was really into a wide array of video games.

You had spent many hours playing games like Counter-Strike Online, Minecraft, Halo: Reach, and several others, sharing what you knew.

He seemed to enjoy that and would evidently always ask when you’d come back to play more.

Anna is the older child at around eleven or twelve.

You had not connected with her as much, but she was never the distant type.

Cordial and kind, Anna usually just kept to herself.

Still, a dreadful awkwardness comes over you as you know you’ll soon assume the role of ‘babysitter’ for the two.

You don’t know why Anna can’t just watch over them both while the parents are out.

Maybe the parents really don’t trust her.

Or maybe they’re just trying to do something nice for you, formulating this excuse to give you money without just giving you money.

And with college coming up, you really do need the money.

Regardless, it is slightly embarrassing, but you shake it off as you get closer to the house.

You walk up to the front door.

You see a wooden sign that says welcome with a bunny wearing a wide, cartoon smile.

Several potted plants sit out where the sun can reach them.

You catch your reflection in their glass porch door separating you from the front door.

You take a moment to fix your hair and straighten out your shirt.

You had dressed modestly for the job.

You know these aren’t your professional goals, by any means, but the couple is offering you the job, so you figured you’d look relatively nice.

But not too nice, still comfortable.

Khaki shots hug your hips and drape down to just above your knees.

A light blue button up covers the top half of your body.

Dark blue sneakers and black ankle socks keep your feet covered and warm.

You sigh deeply, checking your pocket for your phone to make sure that you still have it.

You find and press the glowing button for the doorbell.

Ding dong!

You stand back and wait.

You contemplate texting them to make sure that they know you’re there, but don’t want to be caught on your phone right away, so instead you stand back, your hands patting against your shorts.

Within seconds, the door begins to open.

“Hey, you made it!” says Mrs. Scott, welcoming you with a wide smile.

You smile back politely.

“Yeah, I got lost about two or three times on the way here, but I found it eventually,” you say.

The woman laughs.

“It’s almost like you haven’t made this walk a hundred times before,” she says.

The woman steps aside and lets you enter.

“Come in, I just finished baking cookies,” she says. “They’re still cooling, so just give them a minute.”

“No worries,” you reply.

You walk inside the house.

The air indeed smells of baked sweets.

The house is noticeably more clean than you had anticipated.

Mrs. Scott shuts the door behind you.

“Oh, if you don’t mind, you can just leave your shoes by the door,” she says.

You pause for a moment before nodding, taken slightly off guard by the suggestion.

“Oh, sure,” you say.

You slip your sneakers off and sit them next to several others in a row by the front door, thankful that you had changed into clean socks that morning.

You look around, expecting to see either of the kids chilling out on the couch.

You see pictures of them hanging in frames on the walls.

You realize how much time has passed since you last saw them.

The final years of high school had been particularly eventful, so your time available to come over and play had been effectively diminished.

Now that you're months away from moving, and given some time to come down from it all, you remember what you enjoyed most about their company.

"It's been a while, hasn't it?" Mrs. Scott asked, coming up close behind you.

"Yeah, I was just thinking about that," you answer.

"You've gotten so big," she says with a wide smile.

You chuckle.

"Yeah, well, you don't look any different than you did… how long has it been? Two? Three years?"

Mrs. Scott laughs.

"You're just a flatterer now, it seems," she says. "A real gentleman. A lady magnet."

"Yeah, not so much," you say. "Maybe later this year, after I get settled in."

"That's right, you're moving," Mrs. Scott asks, crossing her arms. "Our little man all grown up and going off to college."

"Heh, yep," you say. "Penn State, '27, hopefully."

"State, that's right," she says. "That's where your dad and Anthony went. Ask him anything, once he gets his ass down here. I'm sure he'll tell you all about it."

"Haha, hey, I'm in no hurry," you say.

You take note of what Mrs. Scott is wearing.

It's a nicer dress, nothing too formal, but certainly a piece that she saves for more special occasions.

Her hair and makeup had been dolled up to modest, yet noticeable, extents.

As a woman in her forties, she glowed with the charm and energy of someone much younger.

You think back to whether or not you had noticed this before, how beautiful she was even after having two children.

Maybe your type had been re-evaluated since turning eighteen and taking the first steps into real maturity.

Regardless, you know she’s happily married, and dared not even think about anything you know that you shouldn't.

"So, big plans tonight?" you ask.

"We’re meeting up with some friends for a little night away," Mrs. Scott says.

“Aww, that sounds like fun.”

“It will be,” she says. “We met them through a little social group that we found a couple months ago. They’re going to help us blow off some steam.”

You smirk as your mind goes to the obvious conclusions to such a claim, but instead of bringing it up, you scratch the side of your nose and look away.

"Well, I hope you both have a great time," you say. “Where is he?”

“Still getting ready,” Mrs. Scott says. “Weird that he’s the one who usually takes longer getting ready than me, huh?”

You laugh.

“He cares about looking good for your night out,” you say.

“That must be it,” she says with a smile.

You take another look around the living room.

A soft jingling chimes into the room from below.

Outside of the archway into the sun-drenched kitchen, two cats saunter into the room.

Both come up to you and stroke their bodies across your calves.

One is black with white around each of its paws while the other is calico with tan and orange spots.

“Oh, hello,” you say. “I don’t remember these guys.”

“Yeah, we got Sadie for Anna on her tenth birthday,” Mrs. Scott explains.

“Sadie?”

“The spotted one,” Mrs. Scott says. She reaches down to pet Sadie before picking up the other.

She cradles it in her arms and brings it in closer to you.

“And Tam here we got shortly after because Darren wanted his own,” she continues. “His sister had one, so he had to have one.”

You laugh.

“That’s sweet,” you say. “So that’s Tam?”

“Tambourine, but we call him Tam for short,” Mrs. Scott says. “We picked him up with that little bell collar and Darren said that he sounds like a tambourine.”

“Aww, that’s cute,” you say.

Sadie keeps rubbing up against your calves while Tam stares at you from Mrs. Scott’s arms.

You reach out to scratch between his ears.

Both cats appear to purr loudly in your presence.

“Friendly little guy, huh?” you ask.

“They both are,” Mrs. Scott says. “They used to be pretty skittish around strangers, but we trained them to be more approachable. Now they love meeting new people.”

You smile as Tam wiggles his little head against your fingers.

Mrs. Scott groans slightly before putting him down.

“Heavier than they look, though,” she says.

“Too many treats?” you ask.

“Something like that,” she says.

Mrs. Scott checks her dress for cat hair while both hurry over to the stairs, mewing and playing with one another.

You watch them scamper off up to the second floor, Tam’s bell jingling freely.

“And the kids are up in their rooms, I assume,” you say.

“Yep, they know you’re coming by,” Mrs. Scott says. “I think they’re very excited to see you again.”

“Well, I’m excited to see them too,” you say.

You walk up to the bottom of the stairs and try to listen in.

You can hear faint commotion, perhaps a bit of laughing, but anything that comes out of the closed rooms upstairs is nothing but muffled noise from your angle.

“They’re probably playing or something,” Mrs. Scott says, checking her earrings in a mirror.

You turn back toward her.

“Together?”

“Mhmm,” she says. “They’re actually really good together. I was always worried that they’d be like siblings who hate each other, but that really doesn’t seem to be the case. Not yet, at least.”

“That’s good,” you say.

A door from a back hallway opens.

You turn to see Mr. Scott enter into the room.

He had always been a relatively stoic, firm man, but as you see his smile upon finding his wife, it appears to be that he had loosened up slightly over the years.

“Alright, all cleaned up,” Mr. Scott says.

He is a conventionally attractive man.

A strong jaw and welcoming demeanor sits on top of a sturdy build, towering at least a head over you.

He turns to face you with a smile.

“Hey!” he says.

Before you can reply, Mr. Scott comes in with a hug.

He wraps his thick, immovable arms around up, squeezing in a way that it seems he can’t avoid.

You chuckle and hug back.

You’re welcomed with a burning musk of cologne, the kind you’re certain your own father would wear.

“Hey, Mr. Scott!” you say, matching his enthusiasm. “How have you been?”

He lets go of you.

A large hand raises to ruffle your hair a bit.

“Oh you know, nights at the office never seem to end,” Mr. Scott says today.

“Not until today though, right?” Mrs. Scott asks.

“You bet,” he says with a hearty chuckle. “I’ve been looking forward to this for a while.”

Both wear wide smiles, their expressions genuine and relieved as if they had just stepped out of a hot tub.

You smile along with them.

“Well, glad that I can come by to help with that.”

“Oh you are, scamp,” Mr. Scott says. “How’s college life been treating you? Remember, you’re there to study, no matter how fine the girls are.”

“O-oh, well, I haven’t exactly started yet,” you say.

Mr. Scott slaps his forehead.

“That’s right, what are you now?” he asks.

“Just turned eighteen about a month ago,” you say. “I’ll be moving out that way in July and officially start in August.”

“Right, right, that’s so awesome, scamp,” he says, his deep voice booming through the living room.

“Yeah, I’m excited,” you say.

“I bet,” Mrs. Scott adds.

She turns to her husband, her hands shifting the lapel of his suit.

“Honey, we better get going,” she says.

“Right,” he says.

Mrs. Scott looks back at you.

She smiles.

“So, I’ve already placed an order for a pizza to be delivered,” she says. “Feel free to help yourself to anything in the kitchen. I also left the money on the counter, enough for tonight, for food, and plus a little extra for your trouble.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble,” you say. “Really, thank you for all this.”

“No, no, thank you,” she says. “We really appreciate you doing this.”

“Of course, glad I can come by again,” you say.

“Aww, sweetie, you’re always welcome over,” she says.

She and Mr. Scott begin gathering their things.

Mrs. Scott throws the strap of her purse up on her shoulder while Mr. Scott pulls a coat off of a rack by the door.

“We shouldn’t be out too late, but we really don’t know for sure,” Mr. Scott says.

“We’ll try to not, though,” Mrs. Scott adds. “We’ll text you about what time we’ll be heading back later, when we have a better idea.”

“Please don’t worry about it,” you say, shaking them off with a smile. “Really, I don’t mind hanging out as long as you want me to. Just have a great time and don’t worry about anything else.”

The couple laughs.

“We’ll remember you said that,” Mr. Scott says.

“I mean it,” you say. “Have a wonderful time.”

“Oh, we will,” Mrs. Scott says.

She too slips on a coat over her dress.

She leans in to grab you for a hug.

“Goodnight, love,” she says.

You hug back.

She squeezes before letting go.

“Thanks again,” Mr. Scott adds.

“No worries,” you say.

You wave them both out the door.

You watch them for a moment as they make their way to Mr. Scott’s candy red Vet.

You close the door behind them, giving the lock a reliable twist.

A sudden wave of responsibility comes over you.

It’s just you in the house with their children.

You know they can likely just take care of themselves, what with being older than you were when your parents first let you stay in the house alone.

This calms your nerves a bit, but you still feel obligated to make sure they’re okay.

You turn to the stairs and start making your way up.

Framed pictures of the family line the wall as you ascend.

The stairs seemed so much taller when you were a kid coming over to play.

Mr. and Mrs. Scott looked after you all the time.

Mrs. Scot baked you cookies nearly every time you went over.

She baked every birthday cake too from 1 to 15.

Mr. Scott would take you fishing out on his boat every summer.

When you’d come over, the three of you would play games, watch movies, all sorts of cool stuff.

It was like having an extra set of parents, but cool ones that didn’t punish you for the occasional bad grade in school.

One thing you remember quite clearly from coming over so much was tickling.

So often, when you'd be over at the Scott's, you'd be caught between them in fun little tickle games or situations compromised by your own highly ticklish senses.

Mr. Scott would wrap your ankles up beneath his arm and unleash his fingers on your bare soles.

Mrs. Scott would come up behind you and surprise your armpits with sudden bouts of scribbling from her nails.

One would pin your arms back or sit on your ankles while the other would release their fingers, feathers, brushes, anything else they would have on them at the time on your ticklish figure for minutes at a time.

You would squeal.

You would shriek.

You would squirm and buck and scream with the loudest fits of laughter of your life.

But through it all, no matter how bad it would get, you remember smiling.

Each little tickle game or prank became a fond memory of your time with the Scotts.

Even now, many years later, you still think back to those times, those little instances of being tickled by the Scotts.

The memories bring smiles to your faces.

Sometimes you can even feel the tingling against your skin, leaving you wondering just how long it had been since you were last tickled.

You reach the top of the stairs.

You sigh, your memories cast back to those days.

You can even hear the echoing giggles of your own laughter playing in the back of your mind.

But as you come closer to the first bedroom on the right side of the upstairs hall, you start to hear them more vividly.

It doesn’t take long for you to realize that the laughter you hear is coming from inside the room.

It’s constant, light, and playful, not unlike the kind you had grown so familiar with from your youth.

You put your ear to the door.

“Stahahahaaap! Mmmheeehehee!” a small female voice rings out in muffled bursts.

“Heehee, nuh uh!” you hear a boy say.

You conclude that it’s Derrick, unless there’s someone else over you’re not familiar with.

And that the laughter must belong to Anna.

You chuckle.

You raise your knuckles up to the door and give it a little tap.

“Hey guys,” you say, your voice not carrying far, even from outside in the hallway.

You figure they can’t hear you, so you try again.

“Guys?” you say.

The laughter continues.

It squeals through pleading phrases.

It keeps going even after you give them a moment to respond.

You take the door handle in your hand.

You give it a little twist and slowly push the door open.

The laughter booms out through the open crack.

A slight heat caresses your face even before you enter.

You push the door open further.

You timidly steal the full view of Anna’s room, hesitant about not having been invited inside.

The room is more or less how you would expect of a girl her age.

Pink covers nearly most of nearly every visible angle.

Small stuffed animals sit across any surface that they can accommodate.

The floor is cloaked with stray articles of clothing, school supplies, makeup containers, and more beyond your care to observe.

Your attention is drawn immediately to the girl’s bed, a small twin by the far wall.

Atop it, Anna lays face down, squirming and yelling with wild, shrieking laughter.

She wears jean shorts and a pink tank top.

Small, purple ankle socks kick against the bed spread.

Above them, a tight coil of linen rope binds her legs together at the calves.

Her laughter bursts through the room, her hands slapping against the bed.

Darren straddles over her hips in cargo shorts and a black Star Wars tee shirt.

His hands stay locked onto the girl’s sides.

He laughs as they squeeze a flurry of tickles against the girl’s twisting figure.

“Geeeheheheeet aaahahahahaaoff!!” Anna says through her laughter.

“No way, not until…” Darren says.

He stops upon noticing you enter the room.

A wider smile comes across his face.

His hands stop their ticklish attack against the girl’s sides.

Anna slumps against the bed and pants.

She too turns to you entering the room.

You sheepishly raise a hand to wave.

“Hey guys,” you say.

Darren hops down.

He calls your name, runs up to you, and tackles you with a big hug.

“You’re here!” he says.

You chuckle and hug the boy back.

“Hehe, yeah, I’m back,” you say.

You turn to Anna.

You see how closely she resembles her mother in terms of facial structure and eye shape.

She reaches down to address the rope keeping her legs tied together.

“Hey, can you get this off?” Anna asks. “He won’t untie me.”

“Why not?” you ask, coming closer to the bed.

“‘Cus we’re just playing,” Darren says.

“Why are you all tied up like that anyway?” you ask.

Anna looks away.

She swallows and averts her eyes.

“‘Cus that’s how we play,” Darren says with enthusiasm.

“Wha-n-no!” Anna adds.

You chuckle.

“Clearly,” you say.

“O-only sometimes…,” Anna says.

Her voice trails as she goes quiet.

“It’s so I can tickle her better,” Darren says. “You know, without her kicking me.”

“I’ll still kick you,” Anna says.

“Where’d you get the rope anyway?” you ask.

“Mom and dad lent it to us,” Darren says. “For playing.”

“Darren, shut up,” Anna says.

“You use it to tickle each other?” you ask.

“Mhmm!” Darren says with a hearty nod. “They taught us how to use it.”

You turn back to Anna.

“But you get him back though, right?”

Anna smirks slightly.

She raises her hand to push back a strand of chestnut blonde hair.

“I mean… yeah…”

“Well then, this seems fair to me,” you say.

“What? No! Get me out!” Anna says.

Darren chuckles and runs back over to the bed.

“Come on, let’s tickle her together!” he says.

You laugh.

“I dunno, seems kind of mean,” you say.

“Nuh uh, my friends and I do it all the time,” Darren says. “She can take it.”

“You suck so much!” Anna says. “Get me out!”

Darren follows by twisting Anna back over onto her stomach.

He hops back on top of her, his weight pinning her face down on the bed.

Anna reaches to try and knock the boy off, slight nervous giggles slipping through her fussing.

“No more!” Anna says.

“You’ve gone through worse,” Darren says with a chuckle.

He turns back to you.

“Come on, you can get her feet!” the boy says with the energy of a child trying to drag you onto a roller coaster.

“No! Please!” Anna pleads. “Don’t tickle my feet!”

“Heh heh, she always says that,” Darren says.

You watch the scene unfold for a second.

You contemplate taking the more mature option and breaking up the ordeal right away.

But the playtime between siblings does seem more like rambunctious fun than actual bullying.

No matter how angry Anna seems with her words, her voice comes across with a slight twinkle of innocent fun.

“I’m going to get you so bad for this!” Anna says.

Darren scoffs and decides to shut his sister up by immediately launching into a new fit of tickles.

“Oh yeah? I’d like to see you try,” he says as his hands return to her sides.

Anna yelps into a new fit of laughter, her body clenching and twisting once again against her bed.

“Eeeeekkkhheehehehhahahahahahahaaa!!” Anna laughs.

She bucks and squirms with a fit of ticklish giggles.

Darren laughs along with her, playfully digging his fingers into his sister’s sides.

She reaches for him, trying to push or knock the boy off, but all she can do is endure the tickles waged against her.

“Geeeehheheheheeeet aahahahahaaaaaoff!!” Anna squeaks through her laughter.

You watch the two kids play in their own cute little way.

It brings you back to your own days growing up with the Scotts.

Did the parents teach them how to play like this?

Or was this more nature, a fun little impulse imprinted on the family?

Either way, something about tickling still being alive in the Scott household warms your heart a little.

You come closer to the pair on the bed.

“Come on, get her!” Darren calls over to you.

Anna continues to laugh.

She throws her head side to side, her face becoming red and hair fraying in stray strands.

“Looks like fun,” you say, maintaining a sense of maturity through being nonchalant on the matter.

You come closer.

You look down to Anna’s feet flopping at the bottom of the bed, bound together by an impressive use of rope.

Her light purple ankle socks bunch right beneath where her toes curl.

You stand by them and give her soles a passive little brush from your knuckle.

Anna shrieks once, slightly louder, before falling back into a regular stream of ticklish laughter.

“Eeeeekkhheheheeeheaha! Nahahahaoo!” the girl cries.

Darren laughs even harder, pausing only briefly to look back at what you’re doing.

“Get her good!” he says.

You smirk and lean into the situation.

Your fingers stroke against the soft, warm sole of her socked foot.

You give both delicate little strokes and skitters, careful not to push the girl too far.

Even so, with just that alone, Anna seems to explode with laughter and more violent wiggles.

“NEEEEEEHHHHAHAHHhahahaaaa!!” she shrieks.

She continues to fight back and try to knock her brother off of her hips.

Her cheeks glow a bright shade of red as she squeals with laughter.

Darren just keeps on chuckling and digging his fingers into her sides.

“Hehehe! Yeah, like that!” he cheers.

You know you’re not doing much, but the girl’s reactions are quite amusing.

You snicker and give each sole a little scribbling of your fingertips.

“You sure she’s going to be okay?” you have to ask loudly over Anna’s laughter.

“Oh yeah, mom and dad do so much worse to us both,” the boy says cheerfully.

You shoot him a puzzled look while your fingers keep brushing against Anna’s squirming soles.

“Eeeeekkkhhehhhahahahahaaaaa! Stahahahahap!!” she begs.

Darren rocks back and forth against her swinging hips.

“Nuh uh, we’re going to tickle you til you pass out,” he says, his fingers pinching and scribbling against her sides and ribs.

Her arms flail back to try and reach the boy, but he evades every desperate swing.

He looks back to you, glee sparkling in his eyes.

“Right?” he asks. “Take off her socks, you’ll tickle her more that way!”

“Nope,” you say, pulling your hand back. “Nuh uh, let’s give her a little break, huh?”

Darren gives you a disappointed look.

He huffs and reluctantly stops.

Anna slumps heavily against the bed, her mouth agape and wheezing for air.

Her hair splays across her pillow in a tangled mess.

Sweat clings to her cheeks and forehead.

“B-but… mom and dad let us…” Darren says, still straddling her waist.

“Nope, that’s not going to work on me,” you say. “Come on, let’s get her untied and let her up.”

Darren grumbles a bit.

He hops down and goes down to his sister’s ankles.

“No tickling,” you say, keeping watch. “Just untie her.”

Darren pouts a little, but does manage to loosen the rope around her ankles and calves without sneaking in another tickle.

Once freed, Anna sits up on her bed.

She holds her head a little and reaches down to rub her calves.

“You okay?” you ask.

She pauses before answering, her cheeks still bright red.

“Y-yeah…”

“See?” Darren says. “She’s fine.”

“I’m still going to get you back, you little punk,” Anna says.

Darren grins and laughs, scurrying out of the room at the threat.

You can’t help but feel slightly awkward in this girl’s room alone with her with their parents away, so you inch toward the door.

“Sorry I came in without asking,” you say. “I just heard everything and…”

“It’s okay,” Anna says quickly.

She looks away slightly, hiding her face.

“Plus that wasn’t, like, super bad,” she says. “Like he said, I’ve dealt with worse from mom and dad, plus Darren and his friends when they come over.”

Anna shrugs.

“Well, I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” you say. “We’ll be out there. You can take it easy, come join us, or just stay up here all night. Whatever you want to do. Pizza’s coming… at some point.”

“Thanks,” Anna says. “Don’t think I won’t get you back either.”

A slight twinkle in her voice catches your ear.

She brushes her hair out of her face, still blushing and looking away.

“But I need to get cleaned up and changed,” she says.

You go even closer to the door.

“Hey, whatever you got to do,” you say. “Just know that the invitation’s there if you want to come out and play games or watch movies or something.”

Before Anna can say anything else, you turn and slip through the door to her bedroom, making sure it closes completely behind you.

You huff a small sigh.

You look toward Darren’s open bedroom before you hear commotion happening downstairs.

You head down the stairs to see the boy setting up his Xbox.

“Hey, you gonna play a bit?” you ask.

“Yeah, now that you’re here,” the boy says. “Come on, play with me.”

“You’re not tired from all that?” you ask.

Darren shakes his head.

“Nuh uh, never!” he says.

You shrug and look at the clock.

The night’s still pretty early.

You see on the television Darren booting up a Counter Strike lobby.

“Alright, little man,” you say. “Gotten any better?”

“Mhmm!” he says.

He takes his controller and slides one to you.

You both play a few games.

You stick mostly to team battles, each one comparing your KDRs and favorite shots.

You find yourself having a genuinely good time, more than you would with any of your try-hard gamer friends.

After about half an hour, Anna comes down the stairs.

She had put her hair back in a ponytail and slipped into a cute pastel pink pajama set.

“Hey, care to join us?” you ask upon her entering the room.

“Nah, I’ll just watch,” she says.

She plops down on the loveseat and crosses her legs beneath her on the cushion.

She appears unfazed by the tickling that had just occurred.

She smiles sweetly, wearing an expression of content as she watches you and her brother take on team after team in simulated warfare.

“Oh, headshot!” Darren says boisterously.

The two of you are actually pretty vocal while you play.

You give each other locations where enemies may be hiding and orders where to go to strategize ambushes.

Anna watches and occasionally points out where she sees enemies hiding in tough spots.

About an hour passes in total of you and Darren playing with Anna closely observing.

When the doorbell rings, you rise to your feet midgame.

“Pizza’s here,” you say. “Anna, tagging you in.”

“Okay,” she says, taking your controller.

As the two siblings play, you rush off to the kitchen to get the money for the food.

You pay and tip the driver as much as you can, dipping into your own wallet for an extra five dollar bill.

The kids stop playing after that game, enthused by the smell of pizza.

“I assume your parents knew what to order,” you say, carrying the boxes to the kitchen. “I didn’t really check.”

You set the boxes on the kitchen counter.

You open one of the boxes and turn to the kids gathering plates.

“So, which one of you likes anchovies?” you ask.

Darren’s expression melts for a moment.

“What?” he asks.

Anna gives him a playful nudge.

“He’s kidding, dumb butt,” she says.

“Oh, haha,” Darren brushes it off.

You take a step back and let the kids get to the food first.

You all end up taking your plates of pizza to the living room and eating off of the coffee table.

You take the time to engage them in conversation.

“So, Darren, how’s school?” you ask.

“Stupid,” Darren says, his mouth crammed full. “Teachers are dumb and boring.”

You laugh.

“Yeah, well, school gets better later on,” you say.

“You’re going to college though,” Anna says. “Mom told us.”

“I am,” you say. “I’m actually looking forward to it.”

“I bet,” Anna says. “I hear you can do all kinds of cool things like get whatever you want for lunch and be able to decide when you want to go to class.”

“Never!” Darren cheers.

You laugh again and dab your lips with a napkin.

“I mean, that’s the gist of it,” you say. “How are you liking school, Anna?”

“It’s okay,” Anna says. “Mostly just because of friends.”

“Friends do make or break the whole experience,” you say.

Both of the kids slowly open up more about their experiences, most of which are quite relevant and familiar to you having just graduated high school.

Darren talks about how he and his friends will sometimes get together for football and soccer games after school until everyone’s parents get there to pick them up.

Anna goes on about the individual classes she’s taking and how much she enjoys them, ranging from somewhat to not at all.

You share some of your experiences from high school.

The kids listen along and engage you with questions.

Darren gets up occasionally to grab another slice of pizza from the kitchen. Anna pulls out her phone to share with you pictures of her friends and little stories about each of them.

The evening continues like this until you and the kids are left relatively stuffed.

You all had picked at most of the pizza, leaving only a few slices and some crust behind.

You clean up what little mess they had made as the kids chat to each other in the living room.

Coming back in from the kitchen, you look at the clock.

Still somewhat early, especially for a weekend.

You smile at the two sitting on the couch together.

“Alright, so, what do you guys want to do now?” you ask. “We have more games, shows, movies… whatever you guys are up to.”

The two snicker.

They side-eye one another.

You give each a coy, questioning look.

“What?” you ask.

“We were hoping to play another game,” Anna says.

“Cool,” you say. “I’m down for whatever. What are you thinking? Mario Kart? Party? Maybe Smash?”

“No, not a video game,” Darren says.

“No?” you ask. “Tabletop? I’m down, what do you guys have?”

The two laugh.

“No!” Darren says again.

“We were hoping to play another game with you,” Anna says. “Something we play here all the time.”

“Oh okay,” you say. “What is it?”

Before either could answer, Darren hops down from the couch and runs into the kitchen.

He drags a dining room chair into the room, setting it down in the middle.

“Sit,” Anna says.

You chuckle nervously.

“Sit?” you ask.

“Mhmm, right there,” Anna says.

Darren storms upstairs, his socked feet thundering with each lunging step.

You hear his door open and shut before he starts running back down.

“Be careful,” you say, taking a seat in the chair.

It seems to be made of sturdy wood, with armrests nicely tucked at your sides.

Darren runs back into the room.

His face is red, his smile wide and giddy.

He holds more coils of rope in his hands, bringing them over to you.

“Oh no, no, no, what are you doing with that?” you ask.

Darren and Anna appear almost encouraged by the sight of the ropes.

“We’re going to tie you up and see how long it takes for you to get out,” Anna says.

“You’re going to tie me?” you ask.

Before you can receive a follow-up answer, or better explanation, Darren proceeds to begin lacing one strand of rope around your ankle.

He binds it to the corresponding chair leg, tightly binding and knotting the loop.

You give a small, nervous laugh.

H-hey,” you say. “You guys do this a lot?”

“Yeah huh!” Darren says. “All the time!”

“Hm, okay,” you say.

You check the knot that Darren left you in on the one leg.

You squirm a little, expecting it to already start loosening.

You expect more to have to play up the act, to pretend to struggle to get out more than you’ll actually have to, all in an effort to play up the illusion.

It’s an odd choice of game for sure, but you go along with it, finding the setup relatively harmless.

“Not yet, you have to be still in this part,” Anna says.

She takes a strand of rope in her arms while Darren begins binding your other ankle to the other chair leg.

You chuckle and sigh.

“Alright,” you say.

Anna smiles and starts lacing another strand of rope around your wrist.

She ties it to the same armrest on the chair, tightening the knot with a surprising amount of efficiency.

You stare down at the knot she uses, never having seen one so intricate in person.

“You guys really know what you’re doing, huh?” you ask.

The kids snicker.

Anna works to bind your other wrist to the other armrest.

Darren laces the last strand of rope around your waist, running it around the back of the chair.

“No moving until we tell you,” Anna says.

“Alright, alright,” you say.

You feel the tightness of the bind Darren uses to force your seat down against the chair.

It wouldn’t be enough to simply squirm your way to a win, but it doesn’t feel like you have many options with which to work.

When both kids finish tying you to the chair, they stand back and look you over.

“Alright, I think we’re good,” Anna says.

Darren nods.

“Mhmm!” he says.

You stare back at both.

“Okay, so I just try to get out?” you ask.

“Yep!” Anna says. “But there’s something else that we forgot to mention about the game.”

“What’s that?” you ask.

The two kids giggle.

Anna answers by raising her hands and wiggling her fingers in the air.

You already begin to squirm in the seat, wiggling to instinctively get away.

“N-no, no please don’t…” you say.

You see the glint in her eyes, in both of their eyes, and feel instantly brought back to all the times that the Scotts threatened you with tickles.

No matter how excited such promises had you in the past, you’re left with more anxiety and nervousness in the moment, staring back at the kids that had gotten you tied to the chair.

“Heehee! Get him!” Darren yells.

Before you can really begin to react, Darren lunges in your direction.

He plunges his hands into the pockets of your underarms.

His fingers start viciously scribbling.

A sudden jolt surges through your body.

You yelp and jump a little before being immersed in a fit of ticklish giggles.

“Ahhheheeheheeheheeheehaha!” Heheheheeey!” you laugh.

You feel the familiarity in the ticklish tingles coursing through your body.

Even as little as the kid can do, you find yourself surprised as to how ticklish you still are.

You can’t recall exactly the last time you were really tickled, but you know it’s been a while, nearly long enough to forget what the sensation truly feels like.

You laugh and giggle and squirm in your seat.

Your arms instinctively pull to try and bat away the kid’s tickling fingers, but the ropes around your wrists are tied effectively enough to keep that from happening right away.

After a couple of seconds you expect the boy to stop.

He doesn’t.

He chuckles and continues to gleefully scribble his fingers against your sensitive armpits.

His sister merely stands back to watch and laugh.

“Heehee, get him good!” Anna cheers her brother on.

Darren situates his position to offer the most comfortable advantage.

His hands remain tucked away beneath your arms.

His fingers scurry and scribble into a frenzy against your pits.

They scrape and scratch and explore all over both plush pits of absolute ticklishness.

“Gaaahahahheheheheeeheee!! Okahahahaayyy! Okahahahay!!” you say, hoping to end the game through forfeit.

But the game continues.

“Nuh uh, you have to get out,” Anna reminds you.

You shake your head.

Giggles and embarrassing squeals slip through your lips.

You don’t recall being so ticklish.

Or at least you had expected to lose your ticklishness with age.

But being stuck there, tied to the chair and having your ticklishness exposed for the kids you’ve been entrusted with, you’re instantly informed that you are still just as ticklish as you were when you were their age.

“Haaaahahahaheee! I give!! Aahahahahehehe! I give!” you cry out.

Both kids shake their heads.

“Nope, you have to get out to stop it,” Darren says. “That’s the rules.”

Anna circles around you, vanishing from your sight.

However, through Darren’s expression looking back at her, you’re only briefly clued into her own ticklish intentions.

Before you can really settle into the constant scribbling of your underarms, Anna’s hands circle around.

They latch onto your sides and begin violently squeezing both at the same time.

You let out a reserved shriek of laughter.

The chair creaks as your back arches against it, your body twitching and wiggling in your binds.

“Naaaahahhahhhehehehhaahahahaa!! No faahhahahahaair!!” you shout.

Anna giggles, her hands repeatedly squeezing against your sides.

“Heehee, told you I’d get you back,” Anna says.

Her ruthless, ticklish touch sends jolts through your entire body with every squeeze.

You buck against the chair.

Your arms and legs pull at the ropes, yet never seem to loosen the expertly crafted ties.

The shame of being so humiliated and reduced by some kids washes over you in humid waves.

Still, you can only laugh.

“Neeehhhahahahahaaa!! Stahahahap!! Knahahahack it aahahahahaoff!” you shout.

“Nuh uh, not until you get out,” Darren says.

Neither of the kids tire of tickling you.

If anything, your explosive reactions only encourage them to push you further and further.

“Coochie coochie coo!” Anna chants playfully.

Her hands knead and claw up and down your sides.

They reach up to your ribs where her fingers play and scribble carefully around each.

The longer you remain in this ticklish fit, the worse it seems to become.

Helplessness makes itself shamefully apparent.

You’re supposed to be the caretaker, the older boy who can make sure the kids are safe for the evening, and here you are taken down by some ropes and innocent tickles.

Darren laughs inches from your face as his hands dig more and more into your sensitive pits.

You can hear Anna’s giggles behind you as her own touch ruthlessly attacks your sensitive sides and ribs.

You twist and squeal, your face turning a deep shade of red from minutes of constant, ticklish laughter.

“Staahahahahahaaaaap!! I cahahahahaan’t!!” you say.

You can’t believe you’re starting to admit defeat.

You thought that you’d be able to best their ties, that you would have to play up being helpless before breaking out of their ropes.

But as you flail and squirm in place, your body fighting to ward off the ticklish sensations leaving you hopeless with laughter, you know that you’re not pretending, that the ties they have you in are effective enough to keep you even in your most desperate of reactions.

Both continue to tickle you until your chest begins to ache and you’re gasping for air.

Eventually, however, Anna stops and she has her brother do the same.

They watch and giggle and taunt your disposition, even as you sit there, sweating and gasping for air.

“Uh oh, is someone ticklish?” Anna asks teasingly.

Darren laughs.

“Yeah, yeah, let’s keep going!” he says.

Tiredly, you shake your head.

“N-no, okay, just… let me go, okay?” you say. “You win, I can’t get out.”

“Nope, that’s not the game,” Anna says. “It only ends when you get out.”

“Okay, but seriously… I can’t…” you say, panting for air.

Sweat clings to your rose-shaded cheeks.

Damp strands of hair cling to your forehead.

“Aww, that’s too bad,” Anna says facetiously.

The two kids giggle as they look at you.

“Going back?” Darren asks.

“Yes, but carefully this time,” Anna says.

You look at them both.

“What do you mean?” you ask.

They don’t answer.

Instead, they snicker and each take a side of the chair that you’re attached to.

“One, two, three!” both say together.

Both kids begin tipping the chair backward.

Panic sets in.

Your eyes widen as you’re reminded of your helplessness in the situation.

“Whoa! Hey!” you say. “Seriously, guys, this isn’t funny!”

The kids slowly and carefully lower you back.

You’re sure that they will drop you at some point and brace yourself for the impact.

However, as the back of the chair lowers against the floor, you feel yourself unclenching, if only for a moment.

You look up at the ceiling.

Blades on a wooden fan circle around a lighting fixture.

Cobwebs cling to the top corners of the room.

You swallow as you also get a look of both kids staring down at you on the floor.

“Okay, seriously, you need to let me out,” you say, trying to retain authority.

Both kids giggle and shake their heads.

“Nope, we’re still playing,” Darren says.

Excitedly, he scurries to the bottom half of the chair.

Anna smiles at you and joins him soon after.

“Uh oh, a ticklish someone is still all tied up,” Anna says with a little giggle.

“Yep!” Darren says. “And now we can get these feet!”

“No, guys, seriously!” you say. “Seriously, don’t tickle my fe-eeehhhhhhahhahahahahahaahaaaaa!!!”

Before you can even finish begging, a burst of tickles begins flooding in through your socked soles.

You throw your head back and laugh.

Your arms and legs keep pulling at the ropes with little to no progress on loosening the knots.

Both Darren and Anna kneel down at the bottom of the chair, gleefully scribbling their fingers against your feet.

“Tickle, tickle, tickle!” Darren says.

The boy releases all ten fingers against one foot.

He manages to keep up with the way it flails, leaving you unable to avoid the constant stream of tickles.

“Gaaaaahahahahahahahhaahahaa! Staahahahahahahahaap!!” you shriek with laughter.

Both find your reactions encouraging enough to push their efforts more.

Anna finds herself a comfortable position and also runs ten scratching nails across your sole and at the base of your toes.

She pushes your foot back far enough to severely limit its intrinsic squirming.

“Oh no, is the big, strong, college boy ticklish on his feet too?” Anna teases.

The two tease with phrases and their own joyous laughter.

You tug and twist and writhe against the floor as all you can do is laugh and endure the ticklish playtime.

“Neeeehhhhahahahhahahahaaaa!! I caaahahahahahahaan’t!!” you laugh.

You bellow genuine laughter, at one point assuming that you may even have to play that up too.

But their tickling, much like their efficiency in tying knots, is far more effective than you would have guessed.

Their fingers dance and scratch all over both of your soles.

They slip effortlessly across your socks, the tickles that slip through still far more intense than expected.

They giggle as their skittering fingers reach all over each of your soles.

They leave no spot untouched for little more than a second.

The ticklish sensations flood through you, leaving you bucking pitifully against the floor.

You try desperately to slip from the ropes.

You pull and wiggle anyway you can, but are left simply a victim to the kids’ genius ingenuity and their own ticklish whims.

“Let’s see how ticklish he is without socks!” Anna says loudly enough for you to hear.

Darren quickly agrees with her and eagerly tears away your clean, black ankle socks to reveal the ticklish bare foot beneath.

You try to grasp onto it with your toes, but can do next to nothing to stop either sock from being pulled off completely.

“Heehee, uh oh!” Darren says with giddy, boyish laughter.

You open your mouth to beg, but can barely get a sound out before the tickles return in a much more feverish intensity, limiting your voice to only laughter.

“Noooooaaaaaaaahhhahahahahaaaa!!! Oh gaaahahhahahahahaaaa!!” you cry out.

The boy’s energetic touch ravishes your soft, bare sole with a careless onslaught of tickles.

They’re careless and a little sloppier than Anna’s, but his ruthlessness makes his tickles just as effective.

Darren giggles as he tickles.

Anna takes her time in pulling off your sock.

She lifts the elastic edge to just above your heel.

Her shallow nails caress the delicate, pink bulb of your heel, concentrating her tickles on that spot alone.

“Coochie coochie coo!” Anna repeats.

You hate how much her teases work on your senses, almost as much as the shame you feel for being so trapped and ticklish in the first place.

It all seems so childish, and yet here you are reliving the time you spent being tickled as an actual child.

“Staaaaahhhahahahahahaaaaaap!!! Plehehehasasaeee!!” you beg through teary-eyed laughter.

Darren continues his tickle technique of trying to attack as much of your foot as he can at one time.

Anna takes her time and lifts up more of your sock.

She scratches her nails up and down your creamy white arch, letting each new moment of your tickle torture be its own relatively unique experience.

“Staaaaahahahahahhahahahaaap!! I caahahahahan’t tahahahake it!!!”

It’s all the same though, humiliating tickles that seem to compound and worsen by the minute.

Every moment makes you feel less and less significant, almost to the point of being brought back to their age.

Anna continues by popping off your sock entirely.

Her fingers find your toes and start to dig into them.

They scratch at the bubbly pads of your toes and the humid pockets beneath them.

“Gaaaahhhhhahahahaha!!! Nahahahahahaaaat there!!!”

Your head falls back.

Your cheeks burn with blush

Your jaw and chest and stomach ache with the constant streams of laughter.

You feel every stroke of their fingers against your bare feet.

You feel them scratching at every single ticklish nerve within.

You buck and thrash and pull at the ropes holding you, still making little to no leeway in getting free.

The chair creaks, but not nearly as loud as your laughter filling the room.

“Hehehe! Tickle, tickle, tickle!” Darren chants.

“I wonder if he’ll still be here when mom and dad get home!” Anna adds.

“Oh, they’ll get him good!” Darren says. “I hope he never gets out!”

The children play with you like a newly unwrapped Christmas present.

To them, you are nothing more than a toy, each ticklish nerve a candy to be devoured over and over again.

They continue running their fingers all over your feet, traveling up and down from your heel to the base of your toes.

After a while, however, they stop once again.

You’re sure, even in your exhaustion, that it is not due to mercy.

If anything, the only mercy you feel you’ll get from them is just general boredom to your suffering, but even that feels like hopeful naivety.

When they stop, you take the moment to catch your breath.

You know not when they’ll start up again, so you suck down as much air as you can, while you can.

You lay your head back.

Your eyes close in rest.

You can still feel the residual tingles masking your soles.

You hardly notice Anna getting up off the floor and rushing up the stairs.

You heave and sigh and shake your head.

“Please… just let me out…” you manage to say after a few gracious seconds of recovery.

Darren childishly shakes his head.

“Nope, Anna’s going to get stuff,” he says, as if I’m still engaging him in some kind of innocent playtime.

“Stuff?” I ask. “What kind of stuff?”

Anna flies down the stairs carrying a bag in her hand.

“Hehe, yay!” Darren says.

Anna brings the bag back down to the bottom of the chair.

She places it slightly out of view for you, no matter how far you try to crane your neck.

“Lookie, I found our toys,” she says.

You swallow nervously.

“Please… just let me out…” you say. “I’m not mad. Really. I won’t even say anything to your parents…”

“It’s okay, they play like this with us all the time,” Darren says.

He rustles through the bag, pulling out a few items at a time.

“You still need to get out,” Anna says.

She too reaches into the bag.

She pulls something out and keeps it hidden behind her back as she walks up to your top half.

She kneels beside you, looking down at you with a wide grin.

She reveals what’s in her hand by pulling it out and waving it in front of you.

A long, white feather caresses against your shirt.

You watch where it goes, almost distracted from Anna unbuttoning your shirt to reveal your belly underneath.

“N-no, seriously… I can’t take any more…”

“Hehe, it’s okay,” Anna says. “You’ll be fine!”

You remember hearing that a lot as a kid over at the Scott’s house and you remember being fine every time, no matter how bad it got.

You remember always leaving with a smile, having enjoyed their ticklish antics despite how bad it got.

You start to huff the girl off with a cocky smile, but you’re interrupted by a new fit of giggles coming spilling out of your mouth.

“Whaaahheheheeheeeeehehehe!” you squeal.

Darren, sitting down at your feet, grabs one and strokes it swiftly with another feather.

He swipes it up and down while holding your foot relatively steady with his other hand.

The tickles come much lighter and more manageable, yet just as gnawing constant.

Anna adds to the sensations, however, by lowering her own feather to your stomach.

“Aaaaahhheheheheeheheehe!! Ohh gahahaha!” you laugh, your head falling back and jaw dropping.

“Tickle tickle ticklish boy,” Anna says, giggling along with your laughter.

She strokes the plume end of the feather across the surface of your belly in a circle.

She finds certain spots and fluffs the feather against them, riddling your midsection with concentrated bursts of tickles.

Darren chuckles along as he continues brushing his own feather up and down your soles, switching periodically from one to the other.

“Geeeehhhehehehahhahahahaaaa! Aahhhhehee it tickles so mahahahach!” you say.

The kids take a gleeful pleasure in running the feathers all across your ticklish spots.

Anna traces her feather across the edges of your belly.

She drags it against your sides back up to your ribs.

Anna carefully runs it over the delicate ridges, tickling with an approach that seems far too deliberate.

“You still have to get out, unless you wanna be in there all night,” Anna says.

She fluffs the feather back down to your belly.

She leaves no squirming inch of your midsection untouched by the ticklish plume.

Your body twists against the floor.

You continue to pull at the coiled ropes as you’re further reduced with ticklish laughter.

Tears trickle from your eyes.

Your cheeks glow bright red.

You feel just as helpless to the tickles of the kids as you had to those of the parents many years ago.

You laugh and laugh until your quivering, ticklish belly starts to ache more.

“Neeehhhhahahahahaaaaa! Stahahahahaaaap!” you say.

Surprisingly, the tickles do cease for a moment.

The moment, however, is barely long enough to suck down a full breath, let alone catch yours all together.

Darren’s feather vanishes from your foot.

And what replaces it causes a massive shriek of laughter to come bursting from your lips.

“GAAAAHHHHHHHHHHhahahahaaaaaa!!” your voice fills the room in explosive, ticklish laughter.

Anna looks back to see Darren holding one of your feet steady while he viciously scrubs at your blushing pink sole with a thick, sturdy hair brush.

The brush is wide with many hardened bristles that scrap against your highly sensitive and ticklish foot.

Both kids cheer at the increase of intensity.

You can barely comprehend much of anything beyond the tickles that pour in from your sole.

Each merciless pass of the bristles scraps many small, plastic bulbs across your foot, reaching nearly every single ticklish nerve within.

“FAAAHHHaahhahahahaaa!! Staaaahahahahahahahahaaaap!!!” you scream with laughter.

Darren laughs along with your ticklish reactions.

Both of the kids do.

You buck and scream and pull as hard as you can against the ropes.

You pay little mind to even breaking the chair to which you are attached, but even that doesn’t seem possible.

You rock side to side, screaming and shrieking as Darren switches the brush from one foot to the next as the shades of each sole get turned into bright, blushing shades of pink.

Anna laughs along with Darren.

She uses her free hand to scribble wildly at your sides and ribs while the feather strokes around your belly and dips into your navel.

More explosions of tickles surge through your body, rocketing from your throat in deep, untamed laughter.

“GAAAHHAHHAHAHAHAHAAAA!!! LET ME OUTAAAHAHAHHAAAA!!”

Both kids tease as they tickle, adamant about continuing the game.

“Nope, you gotta get out,” Darren says, working up a sweat of his own as he scrubs at your sole.

“Or else mom and dad will find you here and tickle you so much more!” Anna promises.

She twirls the feather in your navel.

Her fingers pluck and count at your ribs.

Your body burns with ache.

The constant surges of laughter leave you shaking and rocking side to side.

Fatigue leaves you less and less able to work toward freeing yourself.

Slowly, your constitution resigns to the ticklish fate, left with enough expose to warrant such a surrender.

Still. You laugh.

You can only laugh.

Flashes of being so vulnerable and ticklish keep coming back to you, faced with being the playtime victim of Mr. and Mrs. Scott themselves.

“NAAAHAHAHHAHAHHAHAAAAAA!! STAHAHAHHAHAHAP!!!”

Your head pounds.

The tickles flood through your body.

They conquer your senses.

They control your movements.

They render you unable to do anything but laugh and endure.

Darren runs the bristles of the brush through your toes.

Anna twirls the feather inside of your belly button.

Each little tickle comes worse than the last, chipping away at your energy and mental fortitude.

And all at the hands of kids at play.

You wonder how you’re able to even be taken down to such a level, all with tickles.

You’re left able to further contemplate your situation when both kids finally pull their toys away from your body.

You pant.

You wheeze.

Finally able to breathe normally, you gasp.

Your body tiredly slumps back against the chair.

Your eyes close.

Your sweaty hair clings to your skin.

You can barely form words for several long minutes of recovery.

You can only breathe.

Eventually, you start to recuperate and speak again.

“P-please… le-let’s be done…”

The kids don’t say anything.

They snicker and move around you as if being sneaky.

Your head swims.

You work up the means of opening your eyes and looking around the room.

The bag that they had brought down had been thrown to the side.

More feathers and brushes poke out of several pockets.

You catch Anna shifting the coffee table closer, lining it up with the bottom of the chair.

“Wh-what… what are you… doing?” you ask tiredly.

“Oh nothing…” Anna says coyly.

Darren comes back into the room, having left at some point for the kitchen.

He brings something up to his sister.

“Will this work?” he asks quietly.

“Oh yeah, that’s worked before,” Anna says.

“Wh-what… works…?” you ask.

“Coconut oil,” Anna says. “It’s good for you.”

“Wha-what?” you ask. “Why?”

“Well, it’s good for them too,” she says. “And they love it!”

“It’s their favorite treat!” Darren adds.

“What does…?” you ask. “Who?”

The kids giggle.

They each stand just outside of your view.

“What’s happening?” you ask.

You’re answered with a slightly cooled substance being slathered onto your soles.

“Wha!” you shriek. “Heeheheheeey! No more! Heheeheheee!”

“Oh, I think we’re done for the night,” Anna says.

“Heehee yeah, this is what happens when you lose!” Darren adds.

“What happens?!” you ask.

You shift anxiously in the chair, finding slight bursts of energy and nervousness enough to begin resisting again.

The kids continue to lather your soles in the oil.

The substance slips down and all over your soles and toes, leaving a heavy oily residue against each.

“You’ll see,” Anna says.

After several long, ticklish seconds of applying the oil, both kids stand back.

They wipe their hands on a towel brought in from the kitchen and smirk.

You look up to their smiles.

In them, you begin to recall something else that the Scott’s would do to entertain you, another means of enacting ticklish playtime.

As the memories begin to come back, a small chime jingles in the distance.

Your eyes widen.

Your head shakes.

“No, no… please… just get me out… don’t…”

The kids laugh.

“‘Don’t’ what?” Darren asks.

“Mmm, sounds like you know,” Anna says. “Well then, you better take this time to get out. Otherwise… Sadie! Tam! Come get your treat!”

Within seconds, both cats hurry into the room.

You watch as they immediately sniff out the coconut oil and rush to it.

You rock back and forth.

You struggle in your binds, using what little time and energy you have left to hopefully slip out.

But even still, the ties are far too effective at keeping you in the chair.

“I can’t get out!” you beg. “Please, I’m serious!”

You hear the thud of paws as the cats jump up onto the table perfectly positioned at the bottom of the chair for them to reach their treat.

Darren and Anna stand back to watch.

“Well then, looks like you’re just gonna have to be tickled all night long!” Anna says.

She and Darren laugh.

The cats approach your feet, still tied to the legs of the chair.

You shift as much as you can in place to try and break free, or at least to try and scare them away.

But the cats approach unfazed, as if familiar with the situation.

They each stop just outside of one of your brightly blushing soles, glistening with the oily delight.

You squirm and brace yourself for what’s to come.

You vaguely recall the sensations brought on by the setup at hand, but even as they begin, you cannot recall any tickling coming as consistently explosive as they are.

“NAAAAAHAHAHHAHHAHAHHAHAAAA!!!!!” you erupt with ticklish laughter as the cats begin lapping at your soles.

Their rasping little tongues dart and scrape across your soles, following them perfectly as they squirm in place.

Both cats stand and follow your feet with their noses, determined to lick at the oily treat as quickly as they can.

Their licks send flurries of tickles ravishing through your feet.

They burst up through your body, leaving you laughing and writhing in a feeble disposition of total helplessness.

“GAAAAHAHHAHHAHAHAHAA! MAHAHHAAKE THEM STAHAHAHAHAP!!!”

Both of the kids laugh as they watch.

“Aww, look at Sadie go!” Anna says. “Go, Sadie, go!”

“Tam’s gonna finish his first though!” Darren adds.

The cats lick in consistent bursts, their tongues stroking all over your soles.

They lap at your heel and bury more licks against your instep.

They lick around the sides and at every angle they can find.

They spend a considerable amount of tickle reaching all of the plush, tender nooks of your toes where much of the oil began to gather.

Their tongues slip effortlessly against the oil, scraping quickly between and underneath each highly sensitive digit.

“FAAAAHHAHHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAAAA!! I CAHAHAHAHHAHAAN’T!!!”

You rock more against the chair.

Your arms strain in trying to get out of their ropes.

Your head falls back in bellowing wild fits of laughter.

Tears run down your burning cheeks.

Your body is filled with raspy tickles shooting up from both of your trapped, helpless soles.

Both Anna and Darren watch and laugh at your amusing display.

“Aww, I think they really like him!” Darren says.

“Heehee, yeah, they’re only this friendly with people they really like,” Anna says.

The cats carry on, unbothered by your erratic thrashing and peaking volume.

They lick away without a single care to the ticklish turmoil each pass of their tongue adds to your feet.

The tickles penetrate your mind as much as they do your body.

Even as it reaches unbearable levels, something about it makes you feel almost grateful.

It’s as if you’re returning to those memories in real time.

It’s as if you’re younger again and reliving the days you spent being tickled in the Scott’s house.

Even in the gasping hysteria, there’s something comfortably familiar about it.

You can’t pull yourself free.

You can’t escape.

You can’t even reason with the cats for mercy.

You can only laugh.

Laugh and endure as the tickles take control of your senses.

Just as the cats continue licking, the kids continue taunting.

Your head begins to swim.

Your arms and legs start to grow numb.

Your breath escapes you.

True fatigue sets in, with the cats licking at your feet right up to the final moments.

Before the mercy of faint takes over, and you’re lost to the echoes of your own laughter, you hear a voice.

A distant voice.

You recognize it as the warm and soothing tone of Mrs. Scott, with all the tenderness that she’s always shared with you.

You hear her words caress against your ear.

“Welcome back, dear,” she whispers.

Immediately after, faint sets in, cradling you into a peaceful sleep.

The rest period for an even longer night to come.

~~~

To be continued…