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."

