I am Agewyn. The tickling machine known as the manhandler. It massages, then tickles in ever increasing intensity. A twin sized bed made by some mad artist. It was the most comfortable, luxurious bed and the worst level of hell. It's probes touched my sides, my armpits, my knees my ribs and my navel. Each touch tickled, each stroke a precise sensation like being swathed in satin, stroked by the tips of dry paint brushes. If I was a captured spy I would have told them everything, but all the...