The Spy Who Tickled Me

Originally posted January 21, 2008

I introduce myself to my caller, and he tells me he'd rather call me Charlie than Charlotte. He says it'll be his nickname for me. I can't do anything but agree. He tells me his name is Mason. I don't care enough to give him a nickname.

We have a pleasant little chat, giving descriptions and all that good stuff. He seems like a nice enough guy, in his 40s and very jovial. He tells me that he's got a fantasy he'd like to play out with me, but he doesn't want me to be uncomfortable. He makes me promise that if at anytime I feel awkward or uncomfortable with his fantasy, I'll tell him, and we can stop. He tells me that if I'm able to play along, he'll return the favor and do something wonderful for me. I'm skeptical that he can do anything wonderful for me, and a little afraid of what his fantasy might be. He reiterates over and over that we'll stop if I don't feel right, and I can't imagine what he wants me to do.

“It's OK, Mason, I'm up for anything!” I assure him.

“Well, I have a little bit of a tickling fetish. I'd like to tickle you until you beg me to stop,” he says, a little hesitantly.

I laugh to myself, is that all?!

“That kinda sounds like fun,” I tell him, reassuringly.

“Really? It won't make you uncomfortable?”

“Not at all,” I say in all honesty, “Tell me about your fantasy.”

“OK, here's the scene. You're a spy, actually one of the top spies in the world, and it's been my mission to capture you, since you're rumored to be beyond capture. It's become a personal thing for me, you see, to catch the greatest spy in the world.”


“So, you've broken into my organization's headquarters with another spy and stolen some diskettes. Even though you're good at what you do, you set off the alarm. You run out, but not before burying the diskettes just outside the building. My men catch you and your partner, another female spy.”


“Now, you're both back at my compound and you're both naked and bound to wooden chairs, but you're not speaking. My interrogators are trying to get you to talk, but you won't, so they tell you their bringing me in. I'm good at interrogating spies, and you've heard of me, but you're not afraid, are you?”

“No, not at all.”

“Good. So, I separate you from your partner, and bring you into an empty room. You're bound to a chair, with your wrists tied together above your head, and you legs stretched out with your feet in wooden stocks.”


“I'm going to ask you questions, but you refuse to answer.”


“Tell me where the diskettes are, Charlie. It's no use being uncooperative, just tell us where you hid them and we'll spare you.” He's in character now, so he's trying to sound very stern and serious.

“Never!” I'm in character, too. I'm defiant and cocky.

"You must know my reputation," he says, "I won't stop until I break you."

I laugh, "And you know my reputation. You'll never break me."

“You're a tough one to crack aren't you? I'm tougher than you, though. You will tell me what I want to know.”

“I'll never talk. You'll just have to kill me.” Gritted teeth and everything! I'm such a good telephone actress.

“Silly girl! Don't you know your partner already broke, she talked, so you might as well give it up.” He says, mockingly.

“Do I look stupid to you?" I laugh, condescendingly, "I know she didn't talk, I'm not falling for your silly little cop games!”

“Oh, that was good!” He says, happily, breaking character, “You're good at this...Ok, so now I bring in my assistant, Helga. She's a big German girl and now you're a little afraid. You ask me what she's doing here.”

“Wha...what's she doing here? What are you guys going to do to me?!" I try to sound bewildered and nervous.

“Oh, Charlie, I have something special planned for you. I will break you,” he says, “Helga takes a stool and sits next to your feet...You said your partner would never speak, but you were so wrong Charlotte. She gave you up! She told me you were very very ticklish.”

“That bitch!”

“Oh yes. Helga takes a long ostrich feather and slides it up the bottom of your foot very slowly, and you laugh and laugh.”

I laugh, it's pretty genuine laughter, too, this whole situation is silly.

“Oh, that's good! You have a wonderful laugh,” he says, excitedly, “So, while you laugh, I want you to yell 'no, no, please stop!'”

I do.

“Helga sits up by your armpits, and she tickles you there while I work your feet. You can barely breathe you're laughing so hard.”

I laugh and beg him to stop. I gasp and tell him I can't breathe, "Please sir, make her stop tickling me!"

“Helga starts tickling up your thighs to your pussy, and you still laugh, but now it feels good, too.”

I try to laugh and moan at the same time.

“I order Helga to leave the room, and now you're afraid and want to know where she's going.”

“Wait, what's happening? No, don't leave! Don't leave me alone with him!!”

“I noticed you liked when Helga tickled your little pussy,” he says, quietly, “I sit in her place, and begin caressing your pussy gently, you start to give in to me, and I slip my fingers inside you, while I tickle your feet again. You're cumming and laughing, and begging me to stop...”

“Please stop, sir! Please, I can't take it anymore, I'll tell you anything you want to know!!”

“Tell me where the diskettes are!”

“They're about 15 paces outside the back door, buried to the left in that patch of grass there,” I say gasping as though I'm out of breath.

“Good girl,” he says, then he laughs, “But, you know, we already have the diskettes, Charlie.”

“What?!” I say, confused and angry.

“Yes, we found them shortly after you were captured.”

“So, what the fuck?! What was all this about, all this tickling with Helga?!” I'm outraged!

“No one's been able to capture you, Charlie. No one's been able to break you. I wanted to be the guy who got Charlie to talk.”

“You bastard,” I whisper. I love when my calls mimic horrible action flicks.

“Now you're mine, Charlie. For the next month, I'm going to try out all my fantastic tickle devices on you!”


He laughs again, and says, “That was really good, Charlie! You are so good at this.”

“Thank you,” I say, “that was fun.”

We've run out of time by now, but he calls me right back.

“I promised I'd pay you back,” he says, “So, since you made me feel so good, I'll make you feel good now.”

“Sounds good to me!” I say, enthusiastically.

He instructs me to lay back on my bed and touch myself while he describes making love to me. I click Stumble! while he describes making love to me, of course making the appropriate moaning sounds. And, of course, there's more tickling.

“I pull out a contraption of my own making to show to you. It's a motorized wheel, with ostrich feathers that go all the way around. It'll slide across from one foot to the other, just under your toes. It stops for about two seconds before reversing direction and going back the way it came. Back and forth like that, allowing you just enough time to catch your breath. I turn it on and let me hear you scream and laugh while you cum.”

It's difficult faking an orgasm while you laugh, but I'm pretty sure I pull it off as he compliments me again.

We lapse into conversation and he tells me how tickling was a legitimate torture method for women since it left no marks.

He tells me he wants me to tickle one of my friends and tell him about it the next time he calls. I tell him I will. He says that he'll show me how wonderfully ticklish electric toothbrushes can be, and he's show me next time.

“Electric toothbrushes?!” I exclaim, “They're ticklish?”

“Oh yes, the back of it against your toes, they're wonderful tickling tools. Coochie coochie coo!”

I laugh, “I have an electric toothbrush, I need to check this out!” I can't imagine it'd be ticklish, so I really do go grab mine.

His laughter subsides when he hears me switch my toothbrush on, “You're going to do this for me,” he asks.

“Yes, I want to see if it's ticklish.”

“Rest it lightly against your big toe,” he says, voice thick in anticipation.

I do.

"It is ticklish!" I exclaim, laughing my ass off.

“Oh my, Charlie, you're going to make me cum.”

“Good! Cum for me, Mason!” I shout in between giggles. I only touched my toe ever so briefly, but I leave the toothbrush on and continue laughing for his benefit.

Soon enough, I hear the unmistakable sounds of Mason shooting his load. I stop laughing, and he thanks me. He tells me I have an amazing laugh and that he'll be calling me again.

I've been complimented on my laugh a lot. People always tell me it's contagious, and when I worked an office job, I'd have coworkers joining in with me, even if they didn't know what I was laughing about. Former coworkers usually tell me that my laughter is what they miss around the office. And that's sorta nice. But, my laugh has never made anyone cum before. I'm not sure how I feel about that...