I have sold myself to her for a week. I know what it will be like. Tickling, so much tickling. She knows how to get me too. She knows where I'm not tickish and where I am. She knows the very worst place and how to get me. We sit in her parlor drinking tea. 'Now the rules are simple,' she says, 'You will be well fed and have 10 hours most nights to rest yourself. You may wear what you wish below the waist. Pants, what ever. Shoes too, as your feet are of little use to me. From the waist up, you shall wear nothing. Not top, not bra. Nothing. Your upper body is bare to me at all times. Understood?' I nod. 'Good. Also, you must submit to me at my whims. There are certain stations all around the house where you will find restraints in the walls or hanging from the ceiling. Anytime you see me, you are to go to one of these stations and raise your arms above your head so that I can see all of you, especially your underarms. If I choose to use you, I will then place you in the restraints. At those times, I will tickle you for as long as I wish. You have no say. Do you agree to this?' Again, I nod. 'Good. Various tools for tickling are always on hand. I will use what I wish, when I wish. Again, you have no say. Some things will tickle more than others. They are for me to choose and you to endure. Again, do you agree?' Again still, I nod. 'Understand that I am frequently without mercy. I may start to tickle you in the early morning and continue late into the evening. I may also use certain things to enhance the sensitivity of your skin and body, or to keep you conscious. At times, there may be myself and/or friends of mine using you for our pleasure. You agree to all of my terms?' I again nod. 'Good. Now, remove your shirt and take the position.' Fear sets in. I'm not ready for this. I stand and drop my shirt to the floor. I raise my arms up over my head, slowly. I stand while she looks and my naked torso and armpits. So here I stand, naked from the waist up. My arms are extended above my head and bound at the wrists to a cable from the ceiling. My tormentor eyes me, already planning the paths that she will take on my exposed skin. I want to call the whole thing off. I am much too ticklish to give myself up as a tickle slave to a woman who is the most obsessed tickler I can imagine. She knows that my upper body is extremely ticklish, that is why she has me wearing nothing on top. So that all that skin is at her disposal. Besides, the upper body is her favorite. Its what she loves to tickle and is very good at it. She picks up a peacock feather and runs it over her fingers and palm of her hand. I can almost feel that feather on my skin. I love the creaminess of your skin. She tells me. And how sensitive and ticklish it is all over. I could just tickle you non-stop. Especially those underarms of yours. Your pits are the most ticklish I have ever tickled. It gives me great joy to do so. I try to focus on the incredible amount of money this woman is paying me to be her tickle slave for a week. One weekmore money that I could make in almost a year. If I survive it. Oh lord, how will I stand it when she does tickle my underarms. The rest of my body is ticklish enough, but my underarms are excruciating. What was I thinking to agree to this? I watch as she rises from the sofa and approaches me. She is wearing a long, red dress trimmed in soft feathers. She always wears feathers of some sort. As she raises her hands to me those feathers brush the skin just below my underarms and I shiver. I draw in a sharp breath when she places all ten of her nails in those hollows. I brace myselfand nothing comes. She laughs. I think that I prefer to have you on my tickle table. I will unbind you. You will follow me, but you will keep your arms folded behind your head. I dont want you to forget for even a second what is about to happen to you. She unbinds me and I follow her as she commanded. We get to the table and I lay on my back. I raise my arms over my head and she places my wrists side by side and straps them down. She also straps my ankles down. She then pushes a hidden button. My body is stretched tight. Another button I s pushed and my back is slightly arched, making my ribs stick out. She then binds my arms at the elbows and puts a thin cord around my hips to keep me from flopping around. I raise my head as much as I can to see what she is doing next as she lays out an array of tickle tools on a dental-type tray. She leans over me and starts to trace her fingers along my ribs, one by one. I hold back a giggle so she starts to massage those same ribs. The giggles escape me. She runs her long nails over my tummy and up and down my sides. Then she digs into my ribs and tummy. Shocked laughter comes from me. She finds all of the weak spots by my hips and in my ribs. I try to move to escape her nimble fingers, but cant. Finally, she tires and I lay and breathe hard from what she just put me through, knowing more is coming. She leans over me again and smiles. She shows me two soft, fine feathers. Oh, no! Not these. She knows how they tickle. She runs them over the insides of my forearms moving down, down to the bare skin of my underarms. She runs the feathers over and over my exposed armpits, sometimes making zs back and forth, sometimes swirls, sometimes just up and down. It tickles so badly. I wish I could bring my arms down, but all I can do is laugh and laugh. No! Stop! I cry out when I can. Too late for that my tickle slave. She says. She drops the feathers and without giving me a break, applies her nails to my pits, running all ten together over and over the sensitive skin, then letting all ten fingers play individually. Her long nails are more than I can take and I scream and laugh at the same time. She goes on and on as my voice becomes hoarse from screaming. I cant stand this. I cant even stand play tickling and never on my underarms. Suddenly, she stops. Probably before I pass out. Not bad for a test drive. She says. She leans forward again and strokes my sides and underarms. This is going to be such a glorious week. I know it will be hell for me.