The Hand

"The Hand," you say. After the feathering the Don gave your feet, you know how bad it tickles. Maybe her fingers won't be so bad... and maybe you'll get out of here alive.

She smiles evilly, and then takes out a small piece of cloth which she covers your eyes with. "My research shows that my vi- I mean patients are more responsive when they have absolutely NO idea where they will be attacked." Despite your protests, the blindfold remains, and then the silence starts. Your heart is racing. Where will she start?

Suddenly, you feel a single finger traveling down your abs. A smile creeps across your face, and you start to struggle against your bonds, even though you know its futile. After a few more seconds, all of the scientist's fingers are spiderwalking across your stomach. You burst into laughter, praying that she'll get the data she needs quickly.

"Aw, your tummy's ticklish!" she teases, tracing the edge of your belly button, forcing your body to buck and laugh harder. "Where does the boy want to be tickled next?"

Written by The Tickler

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