Hours of tickle

I can feel the heat building up inside this suffocating costume, made more intense by my helpless thrashing. The relentless tickling only adds to the unbearable discomfort, each touch of Mr. Jingles' phantom hands sending shivers down my spine. Tears stream down my cheeks as I squirm and twist, hoping to find some relief, but there's no escaping it. It's like I'm trapped in a nightmare, with no way out. The heat is making me dizzy, and the tickling is driving me to the brink of insanity.

"Please, make it stop," I whimper, my voice barely audible through the thick fabric. But of course, there's no one here to listen, no one here to save me from this torment.

I try to block out the incessant chatter of Mr. Jingles as I struggle to endure the sweltering heat and unrelenting tickling inside this ridiculous costume. His voice echoes inside my head, a constant reminder of my captivity.

"Tickle tickle tickle!" he giggles in an infuriatingly friendly tone. "Having fun yet, Felicia? Oh, I do hope you're enjoying your stay in the Care Bear Club!"

I grit my teeth, fighting back the urge to scream at him to shut up. But I know it's futile. He won't stop.

"Why so silent, Felicia?" he taunts, his voice dripping with mock concern. "Don't you want to play along? After all, you're here to learn how to be a better wife, aren't you?"

I clench my fists, my nails digging into the palms of my hands. I refuse to give him the satisfaction of a response. I refuse to let him break me, no matter how relentless his **** may be. But as his incessant chatter continues, my resolve begins to waver. How long can I hold out against this relentless onslaught? How long until I lose myself completely to this nightmare?

Between gasps for air amidst the tickling, I manage a thought, "What are you, Mr. Jingles? Why are you doing this to me?"

Mr. Jingles pauses momentarily, the tickling relenting just enough for me to catch my breath. "Oh, Felicia, Dylan never mentioned me?" he chimes in, his voice dripping with eerie familiarity. "I used to be your husband's imaginary friend when he was a child. But now, I'm here to help him... and to train you. Imagination and fantasy aren't so different, you see..."

My heart sinks as his words sink in, and one of the ghostly hands strokes its way up my sweating thigh. My husband's imaginary friend? It's impossible, absurd. But then again, so is everything else that's happening to me right now.

"You're training me to be his new friend?" I repeat, incredulous.

"Exactly!" Mr. Jingles exclaims, the tickling intensifying once more. "You see, your husband needs someone by his side, someone who understands him completely. And would do anything to satisfy his adult needs. And who better than his own wife? So, I'm here to help you become the perfect companion for him."

I shake my head in disbelief, the absurdity of it all crashing down on me like a tidal wave. Trapped in a suffocating costume, tormented by an imaginary friend turned **** master, all in the name of becoming the perfect wife for a man who no longer sees me as anything more than a toy. As the tickling resumes with renewed vigor, I can't help but wonder if there's any way to escape this madness. But for now, it seems I'm destined to endure this bizarre training regimen until my husband decides I've been "perfected" to his liking.