"There might be something we can tickle him with," the blond told her friends. As I sat there panting, I hoped that they'd find the clutter in my closet and notice the stuff on my workbench. It may have been incredibly embarrassing, but I was enjoying it far too much to let embarrassment get in the way. Although I wouldn't tell them about the stuff until I thought for sure they wouldn't find it.
"Alright girls," their leader announced, "search!" They fanned out and looked around the entirety of my room, the closet being one of the first places they looked. Disregarding the pencils on my desk, a couple of girls made their way to my workbench. Two were digging in my closet, looking for anything that might have some effect on me. The rest took off into the rest of the house, widening their search to expand their arsenal.
It took them close to fifteen minutes, during which time some tickled me gently and briefly to take their mind of their search, and one even asked me if there was anything tickle around here. I didn't give a direct answer, but I hinted that deep in my closet 'there might be something'. Once everyone had returned they took a look at what they had: feathers - both quills and plumes - q-tips, electric toothbrushes, paint brushes, and even a feather duster that they pulled from somewhere. They also picked up one of my modified tools: a drill with the drill head replaced with a bunch of feathers. Altogether, a deadly collection.
"Good job," the brunette congratulated. "We're going to make this big boy laugh like a baby for us!" Evil grins spread across every little girl's face just then, each one grabbing a tool and heading for a part of my body. A paintbrushes were poised over my armpits and ribs, my belly got the duster, a toothbrush ready to enter my belly button, feathers for my sides and thighs and feet. It was truly a sight to behold, a gang of girls ready to tickle the living daylights out of me - and me eagerly awaiting it.
All at once, as if they'd planned it ahead of time, they started. Like before, there was no build up, just a full attack everywhere they could reach. The soft paintbrush bristles were maddening on my ribs and in the hollows of my armpits, where they swam around and tickled me insane. The duster breezed across my exposed belly and the toothbrush in my navel whirred ticklishly. Soft feathers teased my thighs, and hard quills gently scratched the bottoms of my feet.
This lasted for quite a while. I cannot remember how long they kept that up, but eventually they got bored of it. They gave me another break as they decided what to do.
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