After the ordeal with the bees, young Shannon laid in her bed the entire next day. By Sunday morning she was awakened early with the sound of her door being unlocked. Aunt Helen peeked in and Shannon pulled the covers up to her neck with a start. Aunt Helen said two sentences and walked away.
"Get up and get dressed. We're going to church."
This took the girl quite by surprise since she was usually locked in her room until noon every Sunday. Maybe, she thought, they are starting to trust her. Although she was a prisoner in the house of her Aunt and Uncle, she was thrilled at the thought of actually going out with them to church.
She searched her closet for the perfect outfit to wear to church on a warm day in late Spring. There were lots of dresses and they were all flowery and feminine. Unfortunately, they were all sleeveless and she wasn't sure that it was appropriate to bare her arms in a house of God. She put on the prettiest dress and pulled her long, waist-length, straight hair back and tied it back with a band. Then she sat on the bed and slipped her delicate feet into a pair of conservative pumps that her Aunt had bought her a few months back.
Shannon walked to the door and felt the knob. It turned. She was relieved as she stepped out into the cinnamon scented hallway and went out into the kitchen where her Aunt was dressed in her Sunday best.
"Where's Uncle Hank?" the girl asked.
"We'll meet him there."
"Is this all right?" Shannon asked, indicating her dress.
"Perfect."
When Shannon walked with her Aunt out of the white picket gate, the teenager felt that she was stepping into another world. Just one week before, she had tried to escape at night and was picked up by the Sheriff.
It was late and very dark out on the country road. There were no lights or signs to show Shannon which way to go. Earlier, she had managed to pry open her window and, after grabbing a few clothes, climbed to freedom. Her Aunt and Uncle had inflicted such continuous and relentless tickling on her that the young girl felt that she was some sort of prisoner of war. From the time she was a little girl, her sadistic Aunt and Uncle tickled the extremely ticklish girl beyond her physical limits. In the past, she was able to return to her mother and father, but now they were her foster parents and she was legally bound to stay under their care until the time she turned 18.
Running from the farmhouse was scary and exhilarating. She wandered up Route 30, thumb extended, heading for any sign of 'normal' human comfort. Her heart began to pound and her eyes lit with excitement when the patrol car pulled up next to her.
"Where ya headed?" asked the Sheriff with a smile.
"I am so glad to see you. I've been held prisoner by my Aunt and Uncle."
"Do say?" the sheriff said with a smile. His eyes began to look the pretty girl up and down. She stood there holding her clothes against her body and turned her feet in slightly, knees together.
The sheriff reached over and opened the passenger side of the patrol car. "Get in."
Shannon jumped into the car and it sped down the road.
Soon she saw a small building in the distance, lights shining from open windows. As they neared the place she saw that it was the station house and she breathed a sigh of relief.
The Sheriff opened the door for her and led her to the station house.
Once inside, she was led to a room and told to sit while he looked into the matter. She sat on a couch and began to bite her nails.
Time passed and the teenager grew sleepy. It was the first chance she had to relax without the fear of being awakened in the middle of the night and tickled. She began to dose.
When Shannon opened her eyes, the sight made her stomach turn. The Sheriff, Uncle Hank and Aunt Helen were staring at her, smiling.
Shannon panicked, pulling her knees up to her chin and began to climb, backwards, up the back of the couch. The adults slowly approached her.
"You have been a very, very bad girl," Aunt Helen said, accentuating the word "very". Her Aunt and Uncle stepped to her right and left and took hold of her wrists that she had buried under her pile of clothes that was held like a life preserver against her breast. They pulled her wrists out, extending her arms to each side. She fought but they were very strong. The Sheriff stepped forward to help by holding both of Shannon's delicate wrists with each of his hands. The Aunt and Uncle had some soft ropes and lashed them quickly around her wrists, pulling them hard to make sure her arms were out to each side so she could not pull them down no matter how hard she might have tried. Once she was secured in that way, Uncle Hank and the Sheriff grabbed her knees as she began kicking and screaming while Aunt Helen lashed the rope around her ankles as if she were in a rodeo. The fighting and kicking caused Shannon's shoes to slip off her feet and her toes wriggled wildly. The Sheriff noticed her toenail polish, burgundy red. He liked dark toenail polish on a girl. He thought it accentuated their pretty feet.
When they were through tying up poor Shannon they stepped back and wiped the sweat from their faces.
"She's a real fighter," the Sheriff commented.
"Told ya," said Uncle Hank.
"Yeah, but she's really really ticklish," Aunt Helen added with a smile as she wiped the beads of sweat from her upper lip.
"Please don't do anything to me," Shannon pleaded through her tears. "I'm sorry. I'm SORRY!"
"Too late for that," Uncle Hank said as he approached the girl.
"Watch this," he said turning to the Sheriff who was looking at Shannon with obvious lust in his eyes.
Uncle Hank sat on the couch next to Shannon's right, outstretched arm and lifted up his forefinger. "Watch my finger," Uncle Hank said to the girl as she began to breathe heavily. She clamped her eyes shut, trying to prepare herself.
"WATCH IT!!!" he shouted and her eyes popped open and she gazed at his finger as he slowly began to wiggle it. Then he slowly moved it towards her shoulder, urging her to continue watching. He wiggled it as it dipped below the shoulder and he brought it to her right armpit. The armpit was, as always, very smooth without a speck of hair. Uncle Hank's finger, still wriggling, and much to Shannon's horror, began to graze lightly over the very soft surface of Shannon's underarm. The sensation was immediate and intense. She couldn't help but to close her eyes tightly. She tried with all her might to fend off the sensation of intense tickling on her underarm but it took only 5 seconds of Uncle Hanks single finger tickling the sensitive skin under her arm to cause her to break out into a burst of laughter.
"See that?" Uncle Hank said as he looked at the Sheriff but continued tickling her underarm.
"Unbelievable," said the Sheriff in obvious delight.
"Now look it with all my fingers," said the sadistic Uncle.
He unfolded the middle finger and let the two fingers graze her extremely ticklish underarm. Shannon began to tug desperately at the ropes and laugh louder. Then he unfolded the rest of his fingers and let his hand play like the legs of a horse, galloping in the smooth hollow of her armpit.
Shannon was squealing in tickled laughter, tugging and writhing her body up off the couch, yet bound by hand and foot.
Aunt Helen sat on the teenager's left and slipped her long, skinny fingers into Shannon's left armpit, tickling the pretty girl. The combined tickling under her arms was absolute torture for Shannon. She screamed and tugged and twisted, eyes clamped shut. Aunt Helen tickled down her side and probed at the ribs which could be felt easily through the thin, cotton fabric of her sleeveless dress. Shannon squealed and tried to shift away but Helen squeezed and pinched the thin frame of Shannon saying "Kitchee kitchee kitchee. Oh I just love tickling pretty young girls. Ain't nothin' better."
Uncle Hank reached down and clamped Shannon's lower ribs hitting a very ticklish spot yet also delighting at how sexy it felt to hold her there. Helen followed suit and the two adults were busy squeezing her lower ribs causing Shannon to scream and pull up at her body as hard as she could. Her laughter was a mixture of squeals, screams and the sound of giggles that could easily have come from a girl half her age.
"Tickle ickle ickle ickle ickle...." the two adults repeated as they scurried their wriggling and probing fingers all over her belly and lower ribs. If possible, the words that her Aunt and Uncle repeated made Shannon feel all the more helpless and even more ticklish! Aunt Helen scurried her fingers over her middle ribs, then slow walked them up toward the girl's left underarm. The teenager squealed and laughed hysterically, trying to pull her body out of range as the tiny touches tickled her body.
The evil Aunt lifted her one finger up and brought it to Shannon's face, then started singing as she made her index finger move up and down.
"Where is pointer, where is pointer, here I am, here I am...".
Uncle Hank stopped tickling to watch the show and poor Shannon was in tears.
"How are you today, Sir...". She tickled into Shannon's right underarm. "Very well, I thank you....". She sung as her wicked finger tickled Shannon's left armpit. The teenager giggled helplessly at the intense tickling touch.
Then Uncle Hank joined the song. "Run a-way. Run a-way...", he sang as the fingers of both of his hands tickled wildly on Shannon's torso, kneading into her ribs, waist and belly. Their niece screamed a blood curdling scream as the two adults tickled her wildly.
Finally, the Sheriff stepped in. He had been watching this 'show' the whole time and getting very aroused at the sight of this gorgeous, teenaged girl being tickled so intensively by her wicked Aunt and Uncle. He bent down and reached towards her feet but noticed that Shannon had slumped into the couch.
"Damn!" he said. "That girl done passed out!"
"Yeah, well, we'll give her a little rest," said Aunt Helen. "Got any tea around here?"
Shannon walked slowly with Aunt Helen towards the doors of the small church. The memory of the event was still heavy on her mind. She knew that there was no chance of escape from this small town as long as the Sheriff was the Sheriff.
She noticed all the children walking with their parents and missed her own. Shannon wanted to call out and beg for anyone's help but was fearful and trusted no one. They walked to the front and sat down on a wooden pew. No sign of Uncle Hank.
The teenager sat quietly and looked across the isle at another girl who seemed like a little angel. The girl sat, head down, two little gloved hands folded in her lap. The girl was also wearing a flowery, sleeveless dress so Shannon didn't feel too exposed in the church. Then she looked up and noticed that most of the girls her age wore sleeveless dresses. Perhaps this is a very liberal church, thought Shannon.
There was a buzz of quiet voices and the sound of wooden pews squeaking from the weight of a full congregation. Shannon looked across the isle again and saw that the young girl looked like she was in some sort of distress. Looking down, the sight she beheld made her gasp. There was a small boy under the pew. Perhaps he had been sitting behind the young girl. The boy had removed one shoe and was tickling the young girl's stockinged foot. She tried to jerk it away but the boy kept reaching for her ankle and pulling her foot back. Again, he tickled the girl and she let out a slight squeal. Her mother scolded the girl quietly but harshly and the young boy was pulled off the floor by his mother.
Aunt Helen looked back at that mother and the mother waved to her saying in a loud whisper, "Morning, Helen."
"Morning, Mary," Aunt Helen said with a wiggling finger wave.
Shannon looked over at the young girl. She couldn't have been more than 12. She watched her bend down and put the slip-on shoe back on her stockinged foot. Shannon's mind went back to that night at the Sheriff's station.
She remembered waking from her brief slumber and realized that she had passed out. She felt fingers tickling her underarms and tried to pull her arms down. It was impossible since she was tied very tightly. Then she noticed the three adults sipping tea. No one had tickled her but she believed that she still felt fingers scurrying on her smooth armpits. Her ribs and sides ached.
"Well, well," said the Sheriff. "Time for those feet of yours."
"No, Please!!!" begged Shannon. "Don't tickle my feet. Please!"
"Are they real ticklish?" the Sheriff asked, delighted.
Shannon wiggled her toes and tried the ropes but they too, had been tight very tightly around her ankles.
"As I said before," continued the Sheriff as he knelt on the floor by her feet. "I love that dark toenail polish. You have such pretty feet. They look real soft and sensitive."
Shannon realized the nakedness of her bare feet and they felt slightly cool to her. Then her body experienced a shock as the familiar sensation of tickling was felt on her feet right on the soft soles. The Sheriff was amazed at how soft her soles were and tickled her with the index finger of both hands.
"Tickle tickle tickle," he said. "This is the way Popeye tickles. You like Popeye? Just a cootchie cootchie coo....". He was tickling the balls of her feet with just one finger in each hand. Shannon threw her head back and tried to buck away but was bound very tightly. All she could do was let out a squeal and a scream. The scream relaxed into a stream of cute giggles as she whipped her hair back and forth. Her ponytail was like a cat-'o-nine-tails as it hit the wall behind her with a splat each time.
"Cootchie cootchie coo," the Sheriff continued as he tickled with just those two torturous fingers. "This is how ya tickle a young girl. Doesn't take much to get her laughing." Shannon's feet squirmed and twisted but she couldn't moved them very much at all. After Aunt Helen had lashed them with rope, the Sheriff had tied the ends down to the floor. There was a metal ring on the floor, probably for tying down criminals.
I"m not a criminal, Shannon thought for a brief moment until she felt a new sensation on her bare soles. The Sheriff was tickling with all five fingers of both hands. He tickled from her heel up to the base of her toes and back again. This proved more than the young girl could take. She screamed, "No no no noooo!!!!!!" and burst into a hysterical fit of laughter. Shannon was extremely ticklish on the bottoms of her feet and this large man was obviously getting off on her plight. She hated him but could do nothing but laugh. She tried not to but the laughter was an entity unto itself and came out of her like a tidal wave.
The man tickled around to the tops of her feet and her toes wiggled wildly. He was get intensely aroused and stared at the painted toes transfixed. His wriggling never stopped. The fingers scurried like spider's legs around and around her bare feet, then up the backs of her legs to tickle behind her knees.
Shannon tried to lift her body off the couch but was unable to. She tried and tried to hold in the laughter but it continued to erupt. She was hopelessly ticklish and it was torture.
"Hank," the Sheriff called out, briefly ceasing the tickling. Shannon was relieved. She felt faint and her hands felt tingly. This is how she felt right before she passed out before.
"Yah!" called her Uncle.
"Get me the brush."
Shannon stared at her Uncle who lazily went into the Sheriff's desk drawer and pulled out a round, flat brush with very stiff bristles. He walked over to Shannon, smiling.
"How ya doing, Missy?" he asked.
"Please, Uncle Hank," Shannon began to say as calmly as sweetly as she could muster. "I promise I won't try and run away again. I learned my lesson. Please let me go home now."
Uncle Hank just chuckled and stuck his index finger into the hollow of her left armpit and tickled the poor girl.
"Tickle tickle," was all he had to say. Shannon screeched and giggled. It was a one second explosion of her senses. Even though she had been tickled and tortured by her Aunt and Uncle so many times, it wasn't until this moment that she realized how intensely ticklish she really was. It was a never-ending explosion of sensation that she could never get used to. It continued to tickle and torture her without the feelings of waning.
The Sheriff took the brush and stared for several seconds at the delicate pink creases of her soft, bare soles. He knew that they were about to receive a stimulus that they had never felt before. The brush was raised and placed on the bottoms of Shannon's soft feet. Then the Sheriff began to brush up and down.
Shannon was in no way prepared for the sensation that ensued. Her feet felt a hundred times more ticklish. She couldn't explain nor had any time too. It wasn't until she thought about it, sitting in that church pew, that she realized the intensity of the tickling on the bottoms of her feet. The brush was wide enough to create tickling on both feet at once and Shannon screamed as she had never screamed before. Aunt Helen and Uncle Hank were absolutely delighted. They gave the Sheriff the 'thumbs up'. Meanwhile the Sheriff continued to moved the tickling device up and down her feet, scraping the highly ticklish surface and causing Shannon to squeal in hysterical laughter. The laughter rose and rose and rose as if she were experiencing an orgasm. She couldn't take it and screamed for mercy. Mercy wasn't an option, but nature spared her and soon her body was limp once more.
Her memory was still foggy after that. Somehow, she found herself home again and in her own bed. She panicked for a moment, jerking her feet under her body, then realized that she was alone.
She fell asleep quietly whispering, "I wish I weren't ticklish. I wish, I wish, I wish...".
There was a sound of footsteps and Shannon looked up from the pew. The preacher took his place in front of the congregation.
Oh my God, Shannon thought. The preacher is Uncle Hank!