Sta.sh
Camp Wichikitchikoochi
By Dorain
This story is a work of fiction. The events portrayed may or may not have happened. There is no sexual or erotic content in this story whatsoever. Any similarity between the characters and any person, living or dead, or existing characters is coincidental and unintentional. The author does not support the maltreatment of anyone, at any time, for any reason (and most especially children) in any way. Dorain © 2015.
Jerry tried to bolt out of his cabin, but Raymond was hot on his heels. The gravel path toward the camp’s fire square was rough on his bare feet, but the twelve-year-old kept running. Not fast enough, though. 16-year-old Raymond scooped him off his feet, tucked him under his arm and marched back to the cabin. The other twelve-year-old boys in the cabin groaned in disappointment when they saw Jerry carried in like a little pig to the slaughter. Of the ten boys Raymond was responsible for, eight of them were flaked out on their bunks, exhausted. Raymond had given them “the treatment” first. Noah had managed to scramble underneath his corner bunk, so the black-haired teenage camp counselor went after red-headed Jerry first. When Jerry had feinted left, and then bolted for the door, the other kids thought he might escape and bring help, but that hope was dashed as the red-haired boy was stuffed into his sleeping bag. Raymond’s strong, youthful abs flexed as he cocooned the slender lad.
Raymond then sat on Jerry on his bed, and reached down to unzip the bottom of the younger boy’s sleeping bag as he straddled Jerry’s legs.
“No-no-no-noo!” Jerry pleaded, his green eyes pleading with the teen. It wasn’t that he disliked what was going to happen, but facing it every single night of the six-week summer camp was wearying.
The red-headed twelve-year-old screamed with agonized glee as Raymond’s fingers began a dance of death on his pale soles. He knew better than to hold in his laughter; it would just make him more exhausted as the counselor coaxed sweet, boyish laughter from him. No matter how he squirmed his feet and clenched his toes, Raymond had an uncanny skill for getting between the younger boy’s toes, sparking jags of ticklish sensations that shot up his legs, along his back, only to erupt as hysterical screams of laughter.
Unlike the other cabins at the camp, Cabin 5 was behind a screen of trees and bushes, so the raucous hilarity blaring from the cabin went unheard by the rest of the camp. Raymond was free to torture his charges to his heart’s content. Doubly so, he was the camp director’s golden boy, and the elderly man refused to believe that Raymond’s tickling sprees were anything more than boyish hijinks. That left Raymond’s young campers plumb out of luck.
... or so they thought. Unknown to any of the boys in Cabin 5, a blonde teenager was hiding in the bushes, peering into the cabin, watching as Jerry’s feet were ravaged by his counselor’s fingernails. The tall blonde winced sympathetically as the tortured boy’s voice cracked in the midst of his laughter and went silent.
About the time that Raymond had completely exhausted Jerry, he turned to trying to capture the one holdout in the cabin. The teen tried to nab Noah’s bare feet as he kicked from under the corner bunk. The eleven-year-old squealed when Raymond managed to snare his ankle and started pulling him out from his hiding place.
“No, no, no, no! Not me!” he cried as first his slightly pudgy bare stomach and wide chest, then his tousled head appeared.
His arms were up over his head as he tried to hold onto the bed frame for dear life, but that proved to be a tactical mistake. Raymond’s fingers dove for the blonde boy’s open armpits and wiggled on the soft flesh there.
Noah yelped and started laughing.
“No! It tickles!” he cried as his arms snapped down to his sides, trapping Raymond’s hand in his armpits.
“Good! Then I’m doing it right!” Raymond chortled as his trapped fingers wiggled in the youngster’s armpits.
Poor Noah was in a dilemma. Every instinct told him to keep his arms down to protect his armpits, but that very action was keeping his tormentor’s fingers locked into tickling position. The poor lad squealed and laughed wildly, his feet kicking against the wooden floor in desperation.
After ticking the hapless boy until he transitioned to silent laughter, Raymond pulled his hands out of Noah’s armpits, and scooped up his feet instead.
“N-NO!” was all that Noah could say before laughter erupted from him again.
The counselor’s fingers skittered over his bare soles, evoking screams and giggles.
Noah’s feet were a joy to tickle. They had just enough puppy fat that the veins and bones were hidden without his feet looking chubby. And oh, were they sensitive! His toes clenched and spread in reaction to his counselor’s fingers; hopelessly lost in the tickling onslaught/
Some of the boys tried wearing socks to bed, for protection, but Raymond seemed to see that as a personal challenge, and he would whip off the boys’ socks and tickle them all the harder and longer.
Finally, Raymond seemed to have had his fill. Releasing poor Noah’s feet, he grabbed the boy under the arms, getting a tired giggle, and dropped the boy lightly into his bunk.
“That should help you guys sleep,” the sixteen-year-old said. Indeed, a couple of the boys he had tickled first were already sound asleep.
Raymond covered up the sleepers, and caringly helped the others to their bunks. For all that he was a tickle monster, no one could say that he didn’t care about his young charges. During the day, he was the “bestest” counselor in the camp; loved by every single camper, especially for his brief tickling games that he would play with homesick kids to cheer them up. But only the ten campers in his cabin knew about his nocturnal tickle onslaughts.
With his campers sleeping, Raymond headed out to socialize with the other counselors. The blonde figure that had been watching him faded back into the shadows.
The next day, while the campers were off on a canoe day trip, the teenage counselors got together to enjoy some time free of their charges. Raymond was in just his bathing suit and sandals because he intended to cool off in the lake before dinnertime. As he leaned against the railing of Cabin One, the blonde teen who had been observing him last night approached.
“Hey, Anson,” Raymond greeted the boy. “Enjoying the break from the rug rats?”
“Yeah, I wanted to talk to you about your kids. Can we go to your cabin?” the blonde boy responded.
His mild expression suggested an amiable chat about the foibles of his kids, so Raymond shrugged and followed Anson. He didn’t notice that the other male counselors had left their conversations and were following the two teens at a distance.
“So who’s done what now?” Raymond asked when they reached Cabin 5.
“This place gets pretty rowdy around lights-out time,” Anson stated as he placed a hand on Raymond’s back and directed him into the building.
“Heh. Yeah. They’re a crazy bunch,” Raymond chuckled.
“We hear you’re the one who’s driving them crazy,” Anson said, his expression unreadable.
Raymond took a step back, becoming nervous.
“Ticklish bunch, aren’t they?” the blonde teenager said. The other male counselors filed into the cabin behind him.
“Um, yeah...,” Raymond said, backing up to his bunk.
He looked at the wicked smiles on the other teenager’s faces; a smile that now spread across Anson’s face as well.
“Think of this as revenge for the little squirts,” the ringleader of the group said.
Raymond tried to bolt for the door, but the other teens caught him. Ropes were produced from behind backs and from hip pouches. The dark-haired boy struggled to no avail as he was forced down on his bed. His arms and legs were grabbed and pulled out taught, then secured to the bedposts. He tugged at the restraints, but it was futile. He was secured and escape was impossible.
“C’mon, guys! It was all in fun, right?” Raymond said, his voice rising in pitch a bit in his nervousness. Dressed in just a bathing suit, he was completely vulnerable to whatever the other boys wanted to do to him.
The counselors stood in a ring around him, grinning down at him.
“Yeah, it’s all in fun!” Anson said as he lowered his hands toward Raymond’s bare belly.
Raymond sucked in his stomach to avoid contact. He had been painfully ticklish up until he was twelve, when his dad stopped randomly tickling him to death. He hoped desperately that he was over the worst of his ticklishness, because he knew that karma was about to visit him — in the form of five grinning tormentors.
Anson’s fingers touched Raymond’s stomach and wiggled. It was like ten livewires were attached to his stomach, pumping pure ticklish sensations into him. He snorted and snerked, hoping to hold his laugher in, but two of the other boys decided at that point to attack his open armpits. Raymond exploded in a scream, and laughed his head off.
“Nah-ha-ha! Na-Na-NA-HA-HA-HA!! S-Stop!!” he cried.
“I bet you heard a lot of that from your campers, Ray-man,” Anson chuckled as his fingers found their way down to the teenage boy’s navel, and below it, finding even more ticklish skin for his fingers to ravage.
As the fingers possessed his armpits, Raymond shrieked with uncontrollable laughter. Even with nearly all of his body being tickled mercilessly by rambunctious teenagers, the fingers in his armpits were unquestionably the worst. His mind locked on the sensations flowing from his armpits as those ticklish impulses were fed and amplified by the tickling of his belly/
Raymond’s stomach pumped like a bellows, sucking in air and then blasting it out as embarrassingly-shrill laughter. The sixteen-year-old felt like his head was going to explode from all the tickling, and yet, there were two more counselor boys who were positioning themselves to join in. One of them positioned himself at the foot of the bed, and quickly yanked off one of Raymond’s sandals.
Poor Raymond felt like he was going to explode as that boy started scribbling both hands on that bare sole. He shrieked so loud that he was sure that the campers on the other side of the lake could have heard him. His laughter started becoming hysterical; he couldn’t even verbalize pleas for mercy.
“Now you know how your campers feel,” said Mason, the last counselor. He was a shortish, brown-haired teen with his hair in a care-free natural wave. His eyes always seemed to sparkle with mischief, even though the boy himself was usually quite well behaved.
Raymond’s bathing suit left his thighs bare, and Mason started his attack by squeezing those thighs. The captive youth lurched so hard that the ropes holding him creaked, but when Mason began lightly stroking the tender skin on Raymond’s inner thighs, the poor teen started making sounds that almost sounded inhuman. A mix of laughter and begging flowed from Raymond’s rasping throat, but his tormentors showed him no mercy.
The teen had started sweating from the exertion of trying to get free, making the fingers slide quicker over his skin, stepping up his torture another notch. There was no clock in the cabin, so the poor tickled teen had no idea how long it had been, but it felt like hours and hours.
The muscular boy at his feet kept tickling his bare sole with one hand, as he grasped the bottom of Raymond’s last sandal and started slowly sliding it off his right foot. Raymond was going berserk as that last piece of protection was slowly stripped away. It seemed like an eternity, but at the same time, it happened far too quickly. Soon, his foot was bared and helpless. The boy took hold of Raymond’s toes with one hand and held them back, stretching his sole taut. With his other hand, he started scratching up and down the captive boy’s sole.
Raymond closed his eyes as tears trickled down the sides of his face, and he just laughed and laughed for all he was worth. He was in ticklish overload, but the tickling of his armpits was definitely the worst. It was like the fingers were sparking flames of ticklishness in his sparely-haired hollows. That fire burned itself to his brain where it set his whole mind afire. Despite the sum of the tickling all over his body, he felt that he could have withstood it if only those fingers would leave his armpits alone! The two torturers were playing his armpits like a fine guitar, strumming ticklish sensations from the sensitive skin.
He was lost in a timeless ticklish hell, but only an hour passed before his tormentors showed him mercy. He wondered if this was what it was really like when he tormented his campers. Still, he realized that his charges had only one person tickling him, while Raymond had five torturers.
When the tickling stopped, Raymond’s chest was pumping like a bellows to fill his lungs with air again. The lingering phantom tickles kept him shuddering ticklishly for several minutes longer, but finally he was able to relax.
“I think he’s done, guys,” Anson declared as the boys cheered and high-fived each other.
“I worked up an appetite,” said Mason. “Let’s hit the Mess Hall!”
The boys filled out, laughing as they reminisced over their favourite reactions from Raymond, when the tied teen called out.
“Hey! Let me go!”
Anson called back. “Nah, maybe later!” as the five boys disappeared from Raymond’s sight.
Raymond was left all alone, still helpless, dressed only in his short bathing suit. He tried to get himself free, but to no avail, as the afternoon waned into evening. He was no closer to getting free when he heard the chattering and laughter of young boys. His campers were returning!
Jerry stopped dead in the doorway and stared, causing the campers following him to bump into him.
“Woah, Raymond. What happened?” Jerry asked as he slowly walked into the cabin, looking around nervously.
The twelve-year-old was worried that this was some sort of trap for the first boy to go help him, and that hapless child would end up tied up himself, and tickled to oblivion. But it quickly became clear that Raymond was well and truly bound helplessly.
“The other counselors pranked me,” Raymond said. “Here, get me loose!”
Jerry looked at his counselor, laid out helpless in front of him, and a smile came over his face as he slowly shook his head no.
“No way, Ray!”
Raymond’s eyes opened wide as the ten boys encircled him, all of them but Noah grinning at him. Noah still looked confused.
“Oh, Raymond, Raymond, Raymond! Are you... ticklish?” Jerry gloated.
Noah’s eyes opened wide as it dawned on him what all the other boys had realized. This was an unexpected chance for revenge!
“No! No! You wouldn’t! I’ll tickle you all to death if you do!” Raymond threatened in a high-pitched voice. His fear gave lie to his menacing exclamation, though.
“You’ll do that anyway,” declared a boy with long brown hair that cascaded over his shoulders. He had a look of hungry anticipation as he eyed his counselor’s bare feet.
Raymond could only get out a terrified eep before his campers were all over him. Jerry and the boy with the long brown hair each took one of the sixteen-year-old’s bare feet. Their technique was clumsy at first, but as they continued, enthusiasm made up for lack of skill. Little fingers dancing over his arches and among his toes sent Raymond into wild laughter.
Noah and a boy with spiky blonde hair moved to either side of the bed and quickly inserted their fingers into the older boy’s armpits and started wiggling. They stroked in and out of the hollows, tripping every single ticklish nerve ending. Noah giggled in glee, watching how his former tormentor wiggled and squealed at the invasion of his underarms. It took little skill to evoke unbearable ticklishness from his underarms, and it seemed that his nerve endings were still primed from the earlier onslaught. Noah and the blonde boy were driving Raymond out of his mind. The small blonde especially seemed to find the very spots that Raymond feared being tickled the most, causing the counselor no end of suffering. He wished he could crawl out of his skin. He wouldn’t even seek to get revenge on this little scamps so long as his punishment ended!
Eight hands playfully fought for ticklish spots on his chest, ribs, stomach and flanks, making the counselor squeal like a girl in anguish. One blonde boy started squeezing his thighs above his knees. Raymond bucked in response. The final boy was missing at first — not that Raymond was in a state where he could keep track, but the scrub-headed boy eventually dashed out of the counselor’s little alcove in the cabin, holding The Terminator.
The Terminator was a large, pointed white and red feather that Raymond used to great effect on his helpless campers. He’d talk in a silly Austrian accent as he slipped the feather between the tiny toes of the twelve-year-old he was currently torturing, quoting lines from the famous actor’s movies as he drove his victim insane.
Now Raymond was suffering the attention of The Terminator. The scrub-headed boy started tickling Raymond’s nose and ears, making the teenager sputter and squirm his head about. Eventually, the boy got bored, and drilled the tip of the feather into the older boy’s shallow navel. Added to the mass sum of all the other tickling, that feather was like a tickle-drill right into his spinal cord, causing Raymond to struggle and laugh without even being consciously aware of it.
When the boy finally got tired of his former-tormentor’s reactions, he stopped, and strolled down to Raymond’s feet. The teenage boy had just enough presence of mind to shake his head no — words were far beyond him by this point. But the youngster showed no mercy. Raymond finally felt what it was like to have that wicked feather dragged between his flailing toes. It was the intensity of a saw slicing into his foot, but ticklishness instead of pain.
The boys of Cabin 5 gleefully tickle-tortured their counselor until Raymond’s exhausted struggles managed to break the rope on his right wrist. Desperately, he fanned his free arm at the boys, and they squealed in alarm, scattering about the cabin.
Raymond panted for breath; it had been hours of tickling for him, and he was shattered. Finally, he managed to reach over and untie his other arm. None of the cowering boys moved to interfere. After struggling for fifteen minutes to undo the tight knots holding his legs, Raymond looked up. Only Jerry was still in the cabin; the others had retreated to parts unknown.
The redheaded boy gave a nervous smile as he hid ineffectively behind a bed post. Raymond got up and slowly lumbered over toward the youngster.
“Payback is a bitch, huh?” Jerry said timidly, cowering as his former victim moved beside him. The wane smile on the redhead’s face suggested that he was still revelling in the prank he and his friends had played on their cabin leader, but the smile faded as the teen got closer.
Raymond’s arm shot out, around the back of the boy’s neck, as he pulled the youth’s slender body to him. Jerry winced, but Raymond just tousled his red hair.
“Yeah, you guys got me good,” the cabin leader said amicably.
Jerry relaxed and grinned up at the older boy.
“But your feet are mine tonight!” Raymond said in a scary voice.
Jerry giggled and squirmed out of his grasp.
“You’ll have to catch me first!” he yelled as he ran out of the cabin. He paused long enough to waggle his bottom saucily at the counselor, before running away, giggling, to meet with his friends.
Raymond chucked and sat down on the bed that had been his torture rack all day. He got the point of the double revenge against him, and he resolved that he was going to only tickle his campers sparingly, and desist on the boys who seemed genuinely distressed by it.
That night, before lights out, Cabin 5 was the source of much ticklish laughter, but the high-pitched children’s laughter was interspersed with the hearty ticklish laughter of a teenager. The boys of Cabin 5 no longer feared the evening hours; their counselor had joined with them as an equal participant, taking his turn as the tickle toy amid those of his charges.
The End
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He looks veeeeerry ticklish 
