The Tickle Table Challenge

DISCLAIMER: This story contains absolutely no sexual content whatsoever. If that is what you seek, please seek help instead. This story was not written by me, but by my friend Starwarrior. I am posting these stories here on his behalf.

Martin gulped nervously as he gazed at the carnival tent. The eleven year old was about to undertake the greatest challenge of his life. While visiting a Renaissance Fair he was about to enter into a contest of guesswork, deduction, and endurance. Try to escape the tickle table. Win and secure an all expenses paid vacation to a location of his choosing. Loose and be tickled silly. Many boys had tried and none yet had succeeded in doing anything beyond nearly dying of laughter.

He stepped into the tent and sat down on a hay bale. He reached down to untie his shoes and tugged them off. He pulled off his socks, balling them up and inserting them into his shoes, wiggling his toes as he felt the warm grass under his sensitive feet. He pulled his shirt up over his head and laid it next to his shoes as well. A warm breeze wafted through over his skin but he shivered at the thought of getting a tickle. But he was willing to give it his best for a shot at that grand prize.

Wearing just his blue drawstring shorts he stood up and walked over the prickly grass. Every little brush of the grass tingled upon his skin and he knew what a risk he was taking. There were a few spectators, including his family, sitting on the hay bales and they clapped as he stepped forward. He hopped up onto the table and stretched out as asked. Attendants gently took his hands and feet and guided them to the four ends of the table. As they took four sets of rope and looped it over each of his wrists and ankles, the rules were explained to him. There was a combination of levers to be activated by pulling at various ropes. Three of the levers would trigger a tickle machine, one would bring him closer to freedom, by freeing a limb, loosening the bond, or stopping a tickle. If he pulled every rope in the right order he would escape scot free and with a vacation. But there was also the very real chance he would be carried out, tickled half crazy.

He gulped when the attendants began tying knots about his wrists and ankles. They were clinched firm, but comfortable. The rope was then looped into the machine. He was now committed. No turning back. He had two ways out, with escape and prizes, or tickled senseless.

He laid still for a short while upon the wooden table and considered his options. It was hot inside the tent on that summer afternoon and sweat already began to glisten on his skin. He mentally psyched himself up for what he was about to do and thought long and hard about how to proceed.

Then, he tentatively pulled at his left ankle.

The rope gave a little under his tug, he could feel the resistance as it pulled against a gear. He continued to pull, more and more until his leg reached a 45 degree angle and his heel rested flat on the table. At that point he heard a click and the rope went taut. He relaxed his leg back onto the table. His heart began to beat a little fast with apprehension as he heard a series of whirs and clicks underneath. Springs, gears, and various medieval mechanics all clicked and cranked as the machine fulfilled whatever function he had just triggered.

And then there was a loud clunk. Martin realized with a sudden panic that his hands and feet no longer had any slack. He was stuck in place rather than being given any freedom. He heard a whizzing noise from underneath the table. He twisted his head from side to side until he could see, much to his horror, a pair of circular spinning brushes coming up each side of the table. He began to twist and squirm but there was no use. He was secured in place. The brushes spun devilishly into his bare armpits and Martin burst into high pitched boyish laughter. His voice squeaked and the table rattled as he twisted about. He pulled mightily at his wrists but there was no give. He laughed harder and harder. But very soon there was another clunk and Martin realized the ropes have slack again.

Martin continued to shake with laughter as the two soft brushes spun and traced agonizing little circles deep within the hollows of his armpits. The skin underneath the whirling little bristles slowly began to flush pink and all thoughts of a vacation faded from Martin’s mind. Now he was in the tickle zone and his only focus was simply trying to survive. Escaping from the bristles was his only goal now.

As he laughed he summoned his distracted mental faculties to consider his options. He had three choices to pick from to escape the ticklish device that held him tightly within it’s grip. His bindings had slackened. Although he desperately wanted to pull his arms down to defend his helpless armpits he made the conscious decision to try the second ankle bind instead. He pulled hard at his right ankle.

It gave under his tug and he pulled until it went taut. There was another click as another mechanism was activated. Martin could hears gears clicking and turning yet again and hoped against hope that he had chosen correctly. He rested his leg back on the table as the machinery underneath it continued to whir. The bristles in his armpits continued to drive him mad with laughter and tingles but he was forced to be patient as the machine fulfilled it’s function.

There was another thunk and Martin whimpered as the bindings drew taught. Another wrong answer! He was still stuck fast. From underneath his right foot he hear a loud, whiny, buzzing noise and wondered what new affliction was creeping toward the bottom of his bare foot. More brushes? Feathers? Even as he laughed from the armpit tickles he closed his eyes and wiggled his toes in dread anxiety at the next tickle about to befall him.

Suddenly there was a snapping noise and the tension on Martin’s right ankle grew slack. He opened his eyes and pulled at his right leg. It came away clean! Holding up his foot he could see the knot still fixed to his ankle and a small bit of rope dangling down from it, frayed at the end where it had been severed. Though he was laughing still he also managed a sigh of relief. One binding down!

There was another series of clicks and clanks as the machine went into it’s second cycle. Martin noticed a small button rise on the right side of the table, within reach of his heel. Now he had a new set of choices and hazards.

His armpits were still being tickled pink by the whizzing brushes, continuing their ticklish assault into the second cycle. The sensation was becoming increasingly maddening. And Martin continued to bubble with laughter, stamping his one free foot on the table.

Martin can pull at his left wrist, his right wrist, his left ankle, or he can hit the button with his right foot. Four new options, four new possibilities.

Martin shrieked and squealed within the confines of the hot tent. He thought he would die from all the tickles he was getting but he knew he had to keep a level head and think his way through the predicament. He decided to give the ankle lever another try. He pulled until he felt the click then let his leg flop back down as he hoped for the best. More whirs and clicks were heard from underneath the table.

Martin’s head swam a little as he was dizzy from laughter. The navel brush was absolutely killing him. He desperately wanted to wiggle away from the spinning brush teasing into his bellybutton knot but that dreadful feather that brushed gently up his lower back kept making him arch his tummy right into the bellybutton brush. And one brush continued to torment his armpit while the other teased his ribs.

There was the thunk. His arms and legs were held tight again. Suddenly the brushes aimed for his armpits stopped and retracted under the table. He sighed with generous relief that those devilish brushes had finally stopped. He wondered if one of his arms would pop free now. He could hear more clicking from behind his head.

Even while he had this relief his bellybutton continued to suffer from the brush that delved into it. Poor Martin could do nothing to wiggle free. That feather was driving him crazier than anything as it induced him to reflexively press right into that awful button brush! It used his own reflexes against him, making Martin’s own nervous system the device of his ticklish treatment.

And with another snap Martin discovered that he had merely traded one tickle for another. One of the circular armpit brushes re-emerged. Only this time it moved over his neck. With a whir it began to spin again and dropped down, It whispered over his neck, slipping up and down between his adam’s apple and chin. Martin squeaked and shook his head about. As the soft little bristles purred underneath his chin he cringed away, inadvertently leaning his head back. He mixed giggles with belly laughs as the sensation of navel and neck tickling fought for dominance. Two more brushes emerged at this point, each slightly wider than a pipe clearer. With Martin now leaning his head back, they dipped down and swirled into the boy’s nostrils.

Martin’s eyes watered even more than they had from laughter. While not as laugh inducing tickly as his previous treatment, the nostril and neck brushes were horribly irritating. He shook his head about as much as he could manage but the flexible nose brushes kept right up with him. Even if he escaped, he wondered if he would be sane when he finally did.

Martin’s poor nose felt like it would catch fire as the little brushes twirled about his nostrils. Tears of both laughter and irritation seeped from his eyes and he scrunched his face up to the best of his ability. No matter how he twisted his head about those evil little bristles kept delving into his nose. The brush under his chin contributed in chipping away at his small portion of remaining sanity. The awful bellybutton brush continued the work of reaping hysterical laughter from his frazzled nervous system. Tiny little bristles guided over that little knot at the bottom and whisked around the rim of his navel. His stomach bounced up and down, seeking some kind of relief from the ticklish attack.

Martin stamped his heel down on the button and hoped for freedom. The clicks and clanks began anew as the machine cycled and Martin squirmed about impatiently within the binding. His tickle crazed mind registered the machine’s turnover as taking forever. He stamped his foot on the button over and over, trying to make the process go faster. With a thunk he once again was stretched tight. He hoped against hope that survival was in his future.

Martin felt something stiff but fuzzy start tracing up and down the bottom of his left foot. He barked out even heavier laughter and began to tug frantically at his ankle. How much more tickling could he be expected to stand? Every switch he pulled only brought more laughter. He wiggled his little toes and pulled with all his might. He couldn’t take anymore!

SNAP! Suddenly Martin’s left leg flew back and he saw with a gasp of relief the frayed cut cord dangling from his ankle. He had made the right choice after all! With both feet free, Martin dug his toes into the table and tried desperately to twist away from the bellybutton torture. He was able to twist to the side just enough to push the brush out of his navel. It was a strain on his arms and legs and he couldn’t hold the posture for very long but as the machine cycled to it’s third stage and the second foot button was raised he relished every second of relief from those awful little bristles. Even as his nose continued to be tickled, just getting his navel away was a waterfall of relief.

When he toes felt like they were about to cramp he relaxed and flopped back onto the table. The button brush swirled back into place and once again shrieking hysterical laughter filled the air. He stamped both of his feet on the table enthusiastically, doing everything he could do block out the tickle sensation. If he could just free one arm he would be able to wiggle enough and move his arm to protect himself. He knew that any boy who could get three limbs free was almost certain to win. He had laughed more than he had ever laughed in his young life and was a little woozy from all the relentless tickling but he just had to make one more correct choice and he was home free.

There was a thunk and Martin’s restrains loosened.

Martin was weak from laughter. He wasn’t sure how long the challenge had been going on. The potential prize was a distant memory. At this point, it was all about getting loose. Martin sneezed mid squeal. The nose tickling was driving him completely bonkers. Now twist he could manage could get those bristles away from his nostrils. His tummy was sore from all of his laughter and the bellybutton brush continued to whiz relentlessly. His stomach pumped up and down to fuel his manic laughter. He once again dug his toes into the table to try to push away from the button brush but he didn’t have the strength. He was exhausted from all the tickling.

Martin pulled feebly at the right wrist mechanism. He pulled it taut and heard the click. He relaxed and let his arm slip back up into place. Once again Martin was made to wait for the machine’s cycle to start. He continued to laugh wildly but he did little else. He was too low on energy to give any thought to wiggling around.

There were clicks and clanks. A thunk as Martin felt his ties pull taut. And then a peculiar rattling sound. Martin looked up through his blurred vision to see six appendages come out from the sides of the table, three on each side. They were jointed and came to a slight point. They looked like spider legs. They raised up over the weary boy’s midriff.

And began to wiggle.

Martin panicked as he realized he had triggered a tickler. The wiggling legs began to drop down toward his stomach. The last of Martin’s energy went into a surge of adrenaline. His bare heels scrabbled at the table as he tried to squirm away from the machine’s reach. He twisted his hips frantically, looking for some way to escape the descending tickle prods. Closer and closer the wiggling appendages came. He pulled his knees up and tried to draw them up above his waist.

The six legs touched down halfway between his navel and his sides. The highest landed just below his ribs, the lowest were just above his waistline. The six legs had pointed tips that were coated in a kind of fuzzy material. They pressed gently into the boy’s abdomen and began to vibrate, poke, and wriggle into his skin.

Another piercing shriek filled the tent. A brush twirled into the very center of Martin’s sensitive bellybutton. Yet another ran circles under his chin. Two tiny brushes flitted within the laughing boy’s nostrils. And now six fuzzy tipped spider leg like devices buzzed into his stomach. Martin was beside himself with laughter. He was completely nuts. He pounded his heels onto the table and pulled desperately at his wrists. It was all so very ticklish. He could barely take it all in. He laughed and laughed and laughed.

Outside of the tent, carnival goers had periodically gazed at the tent which had been the source of so much laughter. But the wild laughter had gone suddenly quiet.

Martin opened his eyes. He realized he wasn’t laughing anymore. His hands were free. He shook his head to clear his mind and sweat flew about. Slowly he sat up on the now silent tickle table. He heard a sound of applause. He stood on wobbly legs and turned to see his family and the few spectators. They were smiling.

Martin had been tickled so hard and laughed so much that he had swooned briefly under the attack which immediately brought the game to a close. He had not managed to escape the tickle table. He learned that the proper combination was four activations of the right foot mechanism. A combo admittedly tricky on account of being deceptively simple enough that few would try it. He came further than any boy ever had though and for that got a nice little gift certificate.

He sat down on the hay bales to put his shoes and socks back on. He toweled the sweat from his face with his shirt before pulling it back on. It was the most exhausting intense experience he had ever had. When he stepped out from the tent and into the outside the breeze hit his face and although it was a hot summer day it felt delightfully cool after his adventure in the tickle tent.

“Was that you making all that racket?” Asked a lady managing a snack tent.

Martin grinned sheepishly.

The End