One Direction Tickle Torture: Part 3

You approach the blonde, who looked paler than usual. You could have summed it down to the lighting, but you knew that wasn’t it; he was trembling slightly, his legs not exactly pressed together, but certainly closer than they had to be. “Niall,” you ask, once his ear plugs are out. “What’s wrong?”

“Don’t touch me,” he whimpers, and you can feel his fear from a foot away. He must be expecting you to be an old pedophile or something of sorts. You stand on your tiptoes and place your hand in his palm so he can feel that that’s not the case.

“I know it’s tough to believe me when you’re, eh, chained, but I’m not going to hurt you. Just tickle you.”

“Oh, thank god,” he sighs in relief, before stiffening. “Wait, what?!” You laugh and pat his cheek, setting the timer.

“Just don’t laugh, that’s all,” you say, before tipping his head back and slowly beginning to investigate his neck with the feather. He whimpers at the delicate touch, the tensing muscles in his neck giving you a gorgeous map of his sensitivity. You push his shoulders down with one hand and begin to tease where his neck meets his shoulders, watch as his head jerks from side to side as he tries to protect his sensitive skin. You smirk, listening to him choke out words. You press your lips against his neck, trying to shake off how hungry you’ve been for this moment, and blow a small raspberry against the pale skin.

“S-stop,” he gasps, his head hitting yours as he tries to move your lips away. You smirk and pull back, looking for a spot to strike next. You decide to work your way up, so you move to his feet, glancing at how tightly his legs are pressed together now. An idea pops up in your mind, but you decide to wait to ask until you know you can truly torture him. You bend down and pick up his foot. He lets out a whimper, stands on his toes to keep his legs as close as he can. By now, you know what’s going on, and you chuckle at his state, letting the feather tip slide down his sole. His breath hitches and he tries to pull his foot back, but you shake your head.

“You’ve got plenty of time left, Ni. Just focus all your attention on not laughing, and you’ll be okay. Every single little ounce of your focus.” He whimpers again as you flutter around his foot for a bit, before a devilish idea hits you. You flip the little torture tool over and lightly scratch at his heel with the sharp point, listening to his breathing turn heavy. “A lot more ticklish now, eh? Just concentrate on not laughing, you’ll be fine. Nothing else on your mind, anyway,” you tease, listening to his whimpers of protest. You bend his toes back and lightly scrape over every single nerve in his tiny digits, feeling him strain against your hand as he tries to pull his toes down to protect the sensitive skin around them.

You weave the feather between his delicate toes when you grunt at the sudden added weight in your arms. You glance up to see Niall’s right leg swung over his left in your arms. A small smirk forms on your lips, which grows bigger as you realize you now have both his feet. You wrap your arm around his ankles and speed your dull nails over his smooth arches. He squeaks and you hear the chains rattle as he bucks, trying to escape your deadly grasp, but you stay focused on your one task- more than you can say for him, and continue to explore every single inch of his feet, searching for sensitive spots to be used for another lad, until you decide to move on.

He sighs with relief when you let his legs drop, and they twist around each other as you had predicted. You shrug and decide to skip over his thighs for a bit, so you begin to work on his ribs with the point of the feather, making sure to stray to the sides so you can trick him into thinking you’re about to go up. He whimpers much more than usual- undoubtedly a combination of his increasing ticklishness and the severity of his little problem- and jerks back when you trail between his ribs. He may have put on a few pounds since day one, but his ribs still stick out- more severely so with his arms raised- which makes your task of finding the more sensitive skin much easier. You press your fingers into his ribs and wiggle, and he lets out a yelp.

Smirking, you trail down his sides- your fingertips on one side, the quill on the other- and he thrashes from side to side, a small hiccup like sound shaking his body. You pause for a moment as he shakes again, and a laugh escapes your lips. He’s got the hiccups! This is great! You begin to trail above his bellybutton, and he jumps with a hiccup, sending your fingers right into his sensitive innie. He yelps again as you lightly scratch around, getting a feel for his sensitive spots, before pulling out and twirling the feather tip inside. He squeals, and you swallow a laugh. “Sorry, must be tough not to laugh while you’ve got something tickling such a vulnerable part of you, and you’ve got the hiccups. One more problem and I think you would break.” He whines, and you smirk, leaning down to blow a small raspberry. A yelp escapes his lips and a hiccup forces a laugh out, as he shakes and squirms, his mind overloaded with signals. Pulling back, you ask, “Do you want me to get rid of your hiccups?” He nods desperately, and you grin, holding a water bottle to his lips. “Drink up.”

“N-no,” he whimpers, and you smirk, waiting for desperation to win over willpower. After a quick battle with himself, he drains half the bottle, wincing as the water slides down his throat.

“Now that you’ve got a half full bladder-“ He whimpers, his legs crossing tighter. “Let’s continue this, shall we?” He shakes his head desperately, and an evil smirk spreads over your lips. “I think I’ll move to your thighs now.” You unhinge his right leg from his left and chain it to Liam’s cuff, cuffing his left in his own restraint.

“No! Please! Stop,” he begs, his legs straining to press back together. You shake your head and kneel down, smirking slightly at the dark spot on his boxers. You squeeze the pressure points above his kneecaps, and he yelps, his arms jerking roughly as he tries to pull them down. You smirk and reach behind him, letting your fingers slide down his bum to the backs of his knees, where they slowly swirl around the sensitive flesh, subtly increasing in speed. He whimpers at first, but soon a stream of desperate sounds flood from his lips as the dark spot grows.

Your hands slide to his tense thighs, which tremble slightly as he fights to press them together. You begin to massage his thighs, and feel his strength slowly sap. He whimpers in protest, fighting to keep up the push, but slowly the tense lines fade. You wrap your arms around his left thigh and scratch a jagged line down the soft inner with the feather quill. He yelps and the lines of his muscles pop back into his legs. You let your other hand tease the back of his knee, nails scratching at the sensitive skin, until a trickle of something hits it. You pull back, wipe your hand on his boxers, and simply move to his other leg, repeating the process until he shakes.

“Done here,” you say, pulling back.

“S-so can you uncuff my legs,” Niall asks, and you laugh.

“Of course not! And why would it bother you if they were spread, you don’t have to pee.” He whimpers, too proud to mention the trickle that slid down his leg or that he really is about to burst. “Now, I think I missed some spots on your tummy, and then I’ll crack you.” You tug his boxers down until they barely hide what they’re supposed to hide, and press your hand against the newly revealed skin, feeling a slight throbbing. He whimpers in protest, yelps as your pressure increases. As if you never had felt his desperation, you take the feather and drag the soft tip above the line of his lowered boxers. He whimpers helplessly and squirms from side to side, and you can only imagine the sloshing inside of him at each movement. He yelps when the tip travels up that sensitive strip of skin below his bellybutton, so you brush a fingertip against it. He yelps once more, and you smirk, beginning to lightly tickle the new discovery, making him squeal and thrash. Bad move on his part, because he soon stops thrashing and the spot grows as he gasps often enough for it to be called laughing. But you let it go, because that’s not how you want to break him.

“Dehydrated,” you ask, just to bring water into his mind.

“Stop,” he pleads once more, and you laugh.

“You are just hilarious, Niall, but I shouldn’t be the one laughing right now.” You sent one last stroke to his happy trail before trailing your fingertips across his chest. He jolts at the touch, and a smirk settles on your lips as you begin to lightly tease his nipples. He yelps and jerks as ticklish sensations fill his brain, and your smirk deepens. Your knee bumps against his leg as you tickle him, and you can feel that he’s been losing control over the past few minutes.

“I think it’s about time to shatter you,” you say, and he gasps.

“No, no, please, I don’t want to…” He trails off and you press your knee against his leg, spreading him further. He groans in discomfort, and you ignore the warmth dripping down your leg from his, because you’re already preoccupied with making him squirm. You let the feather fall from your fingertips to the floor, because this is certainly not the time to try and make him last. “Please,” he whimpers, and you smirk, because that’s the last word he’ll say for a while. Understandably, anyway.

Your fingertips, starting at his elbows, slide down the soft undersides of his arms, stopping just before his hollows. The simple teasing is enough to break him into giggles of anticipation, so you tease him until he had officially began laughing. You move your leg away, because with each laugh he loses a bit more control, and finally you plunge into his underarms, fingers scribbling harshly over the infinitely sensitive skin. A high pitched scream that rivals those of the girls at the concert pierces your ears, but you continue happily, knowing he’s in much more agony than you.

Your nails speed over a particularly sensitive spot at the centers of his underarms, and with a final shriek, he falls into silent laughter, as his mates had before him. His arms have gone limp from exhaustion, his head has fallen back, and you know he’s finally given up fighting you. Sadistic power surges through you, and your deadly grin deepens as your fingers move too fast for you to see. You slide down to a notoriously ticklish spot at the very bottom of his armpits, but he can’t muster up the strength to scream.

For a solid block of time you watch the tears trickle down his cheeks, completely zoned out as you watch the blonde, until he manages to shriek again, snapping you back into reality, where the timer had already gone off. You glance down, and step back out of the puddle, giving him time to catch his breath. “So you’ve got a choice to make,” you say, once he’s stopped gasping for air. “Hazza or Lou?” His answer falls out easily, and you nod. “I’m taking your arms down, which means you’ll have to stand,” you tell him, unlocking the cuffs around his feet. His legs press together slightly, but this time it’s out of embarrassment, not desperation. “Lean on me so you don’t fall in your mess.” He whimpers again and sniffs. “It happens,” you add, trying to comfort the distraught boy. His weight on you makes it a bit hard to walk, but you manage to get him to the room. Slipping on your goggles, you see Liam and Zayn straining to see you in the dark. “I brought you a present,” you say, setting Niall down and cuffing his wrist to the wall. Liam’s eyes widen, somehow recognizing the blonde.

“Niall?” Niall whimpers and bursts into tears, and you leave them in each other’s company, making your way off to see the brunette.