"...Elmo!" Bryan finishes with weak enthusiasm, although he's not really sure; he and Sara have been pushing the doll between them during the Sesame Street end credits, Bryan not keen on an Elmo that smells like Sara's funky roller blades and Sara only too happy to torment him with the malodorous red lump.
Oh. Emm. Gee. How did I know that some tickling freak would find this story?! Diapers, growth, shrinking, age regression... and this weirdo is in it for tickling. You can't even get here with a keyword search! Jack, I hate you! Tickling weirdo, I hate you!
"Ha ha ha! Ha ha ha!" Elmo squeals out, tummy crushed between the shoving siblings. "That tickles!"
"Quit it!" Bryan yells, pouty and in need of a nap. Sara's not in much of a better mood, because she knows how to read between the parentheses that sometimes accompany branch options. Trying to dispense with Elmo like he's a live grenade, she feels the doll's plush nap yield under her hand and split. Some gleefully dextrous thing pushes out from Elmo's innards and loops around her wrist. Sara sees that it's a Muppety, furry red tentacle before she screams with outrage.
How retarded is that? A tentacle inside a stuffed toy? No, great, a bunch of tentacles, please, so I guess Elmo swallowed the TARDIS or something to hold all of this in his guts. If I stay mad enough, it's not gonna tickle...
"Get off!" Sara shouts, trying to pull the Tickle Me Elmo-cum-tentacle factory...
Hee hee, "cum" isn't 13+, somebody ban this guy!
...from her arm, with absolutely no success. Snaking past her elbow, the tentacle zips straight for an armpit left exposed by Sara's stylin' blue thrift shop tanktop and gives her the butterflies with a single, purposeful stroke.
Hold on, I've read these things before and you're not even doing it right. What's your name... Jiminy?! Look, Jiminy Cricket, I'm supposed to 'suddenly get knocked out' and regain consciousness in a pair of stocks with someone leering evilly at me. Then I spew out three paragraphs of 'HAHAHA!'s and 'Sta-hahaha-hap it!'s and then you shift focus to another part of my body for three hours or some ridiculous amount of time that no one could stay ticklish for because they'd just get desensitized and bored. Hey, cred check... does anyone even know Jiminy, out there in the tickling weirdo ghetto? I think he's genre-bashing and not taking this satire business seriously! And I know for a fact 'cum' isn't a preposition, so ban Jiminy Potty Mouth, and I mean NOW!
Stomach churning with dreadful anticipation, Sara grits her teeth and awaits the worst. Bryan is speechless, his mouth a SpaghettiO of surprise, but he starts laughing at the same moment Sara does, realizing what's happening to his mean older sister.
"Tickle, tickle, tickle!" Elmo pipes up in synthesized falsetto, with just enough glitchy reverb to freak Sara out. "Sara's ticklish!"
"This is totally LAME," Sara shouts, before another fuzzy nudge in the old oxter...
The old what?! Jiminy's trying to get over with a dictionary, I swear! It's just pedantic naughtiness, someone please look these words up, 'K - then ban the freak!
...prompts one more reluctant and uncharacteristic cackle from the teenager. Once the introductory tentacle quits teasing and gets down to business, Sara's too overwhelmed to shriek in horror as the patient tentacles she saw earlier blossom out like something from a John Carpenter remake, wrapping her up with wriggly zeal.
"Get her, get her!" Bryan shouts, utterly devoid of brotherly compassion. It's fair that Elmo has his revenge, and Sara's only getting tickled. Bryan jumps off the couch as Sara futilely attempts to wrestle her way out of the skein of monstrous Muppet tendrils that are slowly binding her down even as they tickle whatever bits look promising.
I swear to Ga-hahahaha-hod, STAWP!! Sta-hahahaha-hap it, plea-heeheehee-HEEse, areyousatisfiedyet?!?!
Sara's tanktop is untucked and urged to reveal tummy, which gets mobbed posthaste. She tries squeezing her arms to her sides in defense of both ribs and armpits, but her wrists are pinioned to disallow what would only be an empty gesture, anyway. A suggestive ripple under rhinestone-studded denim...
HAHAHAHA - wait tentacles in my pants = 13+ rating totally blown - i'm free make him quit do it NOW
...only leads to an E-rated stroking of Sara's "kneepits" (which clinical term of popliteal fossae shall not be invoked here as a courtesy to the frantically squirming teen).
Yeah, thanks for not foisting that choker on us, you goober...
All motion ceases briefly, allowing Sara a chance to catch her breath...
[Huff, puff] Thanks, I think...
...and finally notice that the shoelaces she tied two chapters back are being slowly pulled taut til the knots pop...
That's sort of a midlevel cliché, but you're holding up the torture for this?
...and Sara's shoes are gently, firmly forfeited.
"Pew!" Bryan sings out at once, happy to mock the appearance of Sara's socked feet. Which really don't stink at present, but that's immaterial.
Weird, but gallant...
Just as Sara thinks she's got some "torturously slow yanking off of the socks to expose the feet one precious pink inch at a time" time to work with...
What? You're not going with that? Oh, come on, Jiminy, you poseur of a tickler!!
...she loses the socks at once and has all attention shift to her feet. It's Sara going tonic-clonic under perhaps a dozen fuzzy tentacles with a deflated husk of Elmo supported overhead. With a hint of malice in his plastic eyes, maybe.
HAx10², NOT THE FEET!!!
After a minute of this extremely thorough attention...
Which [gasp] feels like three hours, but is still chivalrously restrained, thx.
...Elmo spools his appendages up with a sort of zithering fuzz-squeal and plops back down on the couch. Anyone looking at Elmo would say that there could never possibly be tickling tentacles inside of his tummy and that Bryan must have somehow gotten the best of his bratty older sister, which turnabout the young miss was best served by.
Oh, please, like I'm not just gonna take it out on him now for payback...
Sara collects herself, freckles standing out on her cheeks as the blush of ticklish travail fades. Retucking her tanktop and straightening her pants, she dismisses the footwear as too much effort and sinks back into the couch cushions, a tickle-enfeebled heap.
OH, what's this? You're keeping me barefoot? I've got your number, Jiminy - you're a foot freak, too!
"Ha ha, Sara got tickled!" Bryan chants, staying out of reach.
"Oh, shut up, you little twerp," Sara says, nervously peeking over her toes to see what the next branches will put her through. "And bring me that thesaurus! That big red... yeah, that book, right there, bring it."
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