The amount of work I did on this story was rather more than a normal "edit" of Feline's original draft, but something less than a full "re-write." TICKLE TRAINING by Feline and C. Lakewood Sara was vegetating after a long day, when the phone rang. "Do you still have an up-to-date first aid license?" "What? Mary?" "Yes, it's me, silly. Who else is going to be ringing you at this time of night? Your boyfriend?" With a groan, Sara replied, "Look, can we just drop that subject for now?" Mary was a good friend, but seemed to feel it was her duty to interfere in Sara's life -- lately to find Sara a boyfriend. She meant well, but, after three disastrous blind dates, Sara had had to explain that she wanted someone a bit more evolved than a sex-obsessed moron. Mary's subsequent, semi-serious offer to get her a date with a "liberated" woman from her office had not been amusing. Sara was not feeling up for more debate on the topic. "If you insist. But I still think you would benefit from a man in your life." "What about my first aid license?" Sara asked in a tired voice. "Is it current? Are you still qualified to provide emergency first aid?" "Yes, my job, you know. They pay me a bonus to keep it current, so I do. But why?" "I need a favour. You know I coach the school soccer team?" "You mean you turn up and lust after the boys," teased Sara. "Exactly." Sara could clearly hear the laughter in Mary's voice. "Well, I need someone else to turn up and lust after them next week." "You are joking, aren't you?" asked Sara. "I know nothing about the game, and I've never coached anything before." Mary explained that the school simply needed someone present with a first aid qualification, otherwise they weren't insured, and the boys couldn't practice. It was all just pro forma anyway, since the players were all 18 years old and didn't need any real coaching, just practice time. In the end Sara agreed to try it, just to help out Mary, who said she really needed the favour. "Oh, one last thing, I might need you to do this for a few weeks." "What!" Sara exclaimed. "Didn't I say? I am trying out as coach for the boys swimming team, and, if I get the job, I need someone to coach the soccer team until a full-time replacement can be found." "Maybe...," Sara replied before hanging up. Not really knowing what else to wear, Sara eventually settled on her trainers and an old tracksuit. She hadn't worn it in years, and when she put it on, she suddenly remembered why. It was slightly too small for her, and seemed far too figure-hugging for her tastes. But, it was that or Mary's suggestion of a micro-mini skirt, like they had to wear back at school for netball. ****************************** As she stood at the edge of the playing field, watching all the young, fit boys jogging towards her, she was struck by their outfits. Instead of the heavy and shapeless sports tops she remembered from her days at school, they were all wearing skin tight t-shirts. Half the boys were in white, and half in blue. Looking at their trim young bodies, she started to wonder what exactly Mary used to do, and what had she let herself in for. It wasn't just the way they were dressed, but also the way they were looking at her. She had few illusions about her looks. She was, admittedly, no fabulous beauty -- though not a hag, either. At 31, she hadn't started to fade yet -- well, not much, anyway. She had an okay body, long dark hair that men always seemed to like, and a face that was normally described as "cute." Now, though, instead of being eyed up and compared to younger and prettier types, she was the sole focus of all those glances. With a sudden insight she realised that, to them, she was a fantasy, forbidden fruit. Mary was always going on about it, about how boys of this age had a thing for older, "experienced" women, and how toy boys were such a refreshing change. She had always thought Mary was joking, but suddenly she wasn't so sure. As they jogged past her, out into the middle of the playing field, trying to look without seeming to, Sara found herself smiling. They were so innocent-seeming, so unlike the men she normally met. They were far too young for her, but still, the effect she had on them was very nice, and surely it wouldn't hurt to pose a little for them. Over the next half hour, the boys seemed to spend nearly as much time looking at her as they did playing football. While she pretended not to notice, she also took every opportunity to bend over or around, so as to present to as many boys as possible a lovely view of either her bottom or her chest. Suddenly one of the boys illegally tackled the one with the ball right in front of Sara, almost as if he were showing off for her. However, she was not at all pleased, since the tackled boy had gone down very hard. Mindful of the fact that she was supposed to be responsible for the safety of these boys, Sara rushed over to the fallen lad. However, as she gently held onto his sides and helped him stand up, she noticed that he was blushing bright red. Not being sure what to make of this, Sara simply ignored it and fussed about the boy. Since he was more than a dozen years younger than her, she didn't see him as a young man, and simply treated him as a little boy instead. Sara was surprised by the angry way he shook himself free of her. And, when she asked if he was okay, he bluntly said, "I'm fine; it was nothing," as he turned away from her. She didn't really like this response. So, saying, "I am supposed to make sure nothing happens to any of you," she reached out and grabbed his sides. She had simply intended to turn him around and lecture him, but as her fingers dug into his flanks, he started to writhe, giggle, and shout. Even as she realised that he was very ticklish, and that she was in fact tickling him, her fingers seemed to take on a life of their own, running up and down his flanks, tickling for all they were worth. Caught up in the moment, she ignored all of his cries as he begged her to stop. She stopped tickling him only when he collapsed onto the ground, all curled up like a ball, struggling to protect himself from her questing fingers. As she stood and looked around, her flush of excitement and pleasure faded. The other boys were standing around in a loose group, watching her intently. Their expressions were hard to read, but they had an ominous air about them. Suddenly they no longer looked like little boys, and Sara realised that the shortest of them was as tall as she was. Moreover, they were all fit and well-muscled. Unsure of herself, or of what had come over her, she took a hesitant half step backwards, away from the boy at her feet. This seemed to be the signal the boys had been waiting for. Slowly at first, the group started to move towards her. Becoming more unsure by the moment, Sara turned and began walking quickly towards the edge of the playing field and the place where she had left her car. No one said anything, but suddenly the boys were running after her. The first boy caught up with her in seconds, and, as he came up beside her, he reached out. She shrieked, and turned to run up the length of the playing field. No longer thinking of getting to the safety of her car, now she was just trying to escape somehow from the boys behind her. Once more, it was only moments before the boys caught up with her. This time they circled her, crowding in. Sara was beginning to panic. She tried to break free of the circle, but the boys pressed in tightly, giving her no room to manoeuvre. Suddenly there were hands all over, more hands than she could count, all grabbing and prodding at her, exploring her body with no regard for her modesty or privacy. She opened her mouth to shout, to beg them to release her, but, instead, she began laughing uncontrollably. Between gasps for breath and howls of laughter, Sara managed to wheeze, "Oh, my god, no, please don't...." Her words had no effect, but, as her legs started to give way, she found herself looking up into a circle of grinning boys, all leaning in, with their hands reaching towards her. She tried to curl up as she hit the ground, to hide and protect herself, but it was not to be. The boys seemed to have a single purpose now, and strong powerful hands grabbed her arms and legs, pulling them out straight. In moments, she was lying on her back, with several boys crouching on each arm and leg. She felt totally exposed in front of their grinning faces and was terrified. The tickling had mercifully lessened slightly as they had spread her out, but, now that she was pinned, it started again with renewed vigor. But this wasn't all. Several hands were caressing her chest, feeling over her breasts, and drifting down the sides of her breasts to tickle at her ribs. In between her legs, some fingers were testing the ticklishness of her inner thighs, while other fingers danced across her pussy. It was the hands at her feet that terrified her the most, though. Through the mass of sensations coursing through her body, she could feel her trainers being tugged off her feet, exposing her white socks -- which were quickly pulled off, too. Sara managed to scream, "NO," between the gales of laughter that were being forced out of her. The boys gave no sign they heard her, and hands attacked the soles of her feet, tickling them all over. As this new assault took off, one lone hand worked its way inside of the waistband of her trousers and caressed her pussy through her knickers. This intrusion was occasionally repeated during the next ten minutes, but Sara hardly noticed. Her world had been reduced to the merciless, endless tickling and to her struggles to snatch enough air into her tortured lungs to breathe. Suddenly a new and terrible sensation intruded upon Sara's consciousness. Her bladder was bursting! "No, oh god, no, this cannot be happening to me," she thought as she tried to hold onto it. Terror at the thought of the shame and humiliation of peeing herself in front of all these boys lent her new strength. She even managed to gasp out the words "stop pee self." However, she wasn't sure if anyone could have understood her, the way the laughing kept jostling the words. She held out for what seemed like an eternity, praying that the tickling would stop. In the end, however, she was no longer able to hold on, and a hot stream of pee suddenly burst out of her, splashing all over the hand of one of the boys who happened to be feeling her knickers at the time. The tickling suddenly stopped as the large wet spot slowly spread out over her crotch. Because of her wide-spread legs, it was obvious to everyone just what had happened. As if this was not enough, the leader of the boys cried out, in an indignant tone, "She pissed herself all over my hand." Blushing bright red and wishing the ground would simply open up and swallow her, Sara slowly curled up, lying on her side. As she was burying her face and her shame in her arms, she felt a wet hand being wiped dry on her trouser leg. As a single, silent tear of embarrassment and shame started to roll down her cheek, Sara simply lay there, waiting for her tormentors to move on and leave her alone. Even this small comfort was to be denied her. The lead boy said, ominously, "If you are going to pee on me, I am going to pee on you." And she felt a hot stream of liquid splash down onto her back. Hardly believing what was happening, she lay perfectly still, waiting for this new indignity to pass. Suddenly, with a sob, Sara realised that she was being pissed on by more than one boy! Over the next several minutes, she was soaked from head to toe. Finally, though, it was over, and she could hear whispered voices off to one side. Slowly lifting her head to look about, she could see the boys huddled together a few feet away, deep in conversation. She considered simply lying where she was until they had gone, but, with a shudder, she realised they might not be finished. So she slowly got to her feet, intending to leave as quickly and quietly as possible. As she finished standing up, the boys turned and approached her. Sara shrank back slightly as they gathered around, but they were suddenly different, hesitant. Not one of them was really looking at her. Hands reached out, gently guiding her towards the changing rooms at the side of the playing field. She tried to shake them off, tried to turn to collect her missing shoes. However, for all their sudden change in mood, the boys were insistent that she should go with them. Closing her eyes, and with a sigh of resignation, Sara gave in and let them lead her towards whatever new terror they had planned. She was astonished when they brought her into the boys' changing rooms. The place itself didn't surprise her, for she had already seen where they were herding her. But she didn't expect to find a steaming hot shower ready and waiting. Still without a single word, they led her into the shower, and, once she was positioned right under the jet of water, they started to lift her tracksuit top off of her. Whereas before, out on the playing field, they had been firm, almost violent, now they were hesitant, gentle, almost shy. With a wry smile, she suddenly realised they reminded her of her first boyfriend; he hadn't known how to undress a woman either. The comparison made her tremble. What was she thinking? None of her boyfriends had ever treated her like this. With a sniff, she reached out and pulled her sodden tracksuit top over her head in one smooth movement. After what she had just been through, the embarrassment of being seen naked by all of these boys (which would normally have been overwhelming) seemed totally inconsequential. So, her mind made up, she quickly stripped off the rest of her clothes. For a couple of minutes, she simply stood there with her eyes closed, letting the hot water run down over her and wash away the urine stink. Suddenly she detected a pleasant scent of flowers; it was her shampoo. One of the boys must have retrieved it from the neighbouring changing room. Opening her eyes, she saw the leader of the boys standing in front of her. He was still in his football kit, soaked by the shower, and holding out her shampoo to her. The spectacle of all the boys standing around under the running water, fully dressed and soaking wet, made her smile. She accepted the shampoo from the boy, and, as she took it, all of the boys started to file out, leaving just her and the leader alone. He was looking down at the shampoo bottle, apparently unable to take his eyes off of it. Suddenly he looked up and said to her, "Sorry. We are sorry about all of this. Please don't tell anyone, please?" With that, he turned and left, leaving her all alone in the large and strangely lonely shower. Sara took her time showering and washing her hair. By the time she was finished -- and sure that all of the smell had been washed off -- the changing room was quite empty. The boys had laid out her towel and a clean tracksuit for her. As she got dressed, she noticed that the clothes must belong to one of the boys, since they were a couple of sizes too large for her. Also, there was no underwear. Still without spotting a single one of the boys, she gathered up her purse, car keys, and shampoo. Keeping a careful lookout for the boys, she slowly made her way back to her car. ****************************** The following day, Sara still hadn't decided what to do about the boys, when, late in the afternoon, Mary turned up at her door unannounced. "What on earth did you get up to yesterday with those boys?" Mary asked, almost as soon as Sara had opened the door. "Oh, and they asked me to give you this," she said, as she held out a carrier bag. "It seems to be your clothes, even your underwear and trainers, all freshly washed. The boys said it got very muddy yesterday during practice." Sara was silent. She opened the bag and looked into it. The clothes had even been ironed, by the looks of it. "Also, I did get the job coaching the swimming team, so the boys asked me if they could have you to coach them again next week," Mary announced, with an odd tone in her voice. Seeing that Sara wasn't about to say anything, she turned and headed back out the door. "Must dash, got a thousand things to do. You know it's strange, really. It has been dry all week, and there isn't any mud within a couple of miles of the playing fields." With that, Mary shut the door and was gone. As Sara sat back down and continued to look into the bag, she started to wonder if she still had that school netball outfit, and if it would still almost fit her.... FOR A SEQUEL TO THIS STORY, READ "THE BIG GAME."