Tracys armpit tickling

Lotti thought she had learned her lesson after her last encounter with the dreaded stretching rack. But fate had other plans.

This time, she was caught off guard—ambushed by her mischievous friends and dragged into the dungeon-like playroom. Before she could even protest, she was strapped onto the rack once more, her wrists and ankles secured tightly. The wooden frame creaked as it stretched her limbs just enough to leave her completely vulnerable.

“Not again!” Lotti whined, already giggling in anticipation.

Her tormentor, a sly grin on their face, held up a feather in one hand and a soft-bristled brush in the other. “Oh, Lotti… you didn’t *really* think you’d escape forever, did you?”

The first touch was the worst—or maybe the best, depending on who you asked. The feather glided up her sensitive sides, making her squeal and jerk against the restraints. “Ah! No fair! Hahahaha!”

But the real torture came when the brush found the arches of her feet. Slow, deliberate strokes sent her into hysterics, her laughter echoing off the stone walls. She kicked as much as the ropes allowed, but it was useless.

“Plehehease! I—I can’t take it! Hahahahaha!”

Her friends only laughed, switching between her belly, ribs, and feet, never giving her a moment’s rest. By the time they finally stopped, Lotti was a gasping, giggling wreck.

“Still think you can escape next time?” they teased.

Lotti, still catching her breath, could only groan. “I… I’ll get you back for this!”

But deep down, she knew—she’d be back on that rack sooner or later.