The tickling machine known as the Man Handler. A twin sized bed designed by some mad artist. It massages then tickles with ever increasing intensity. Mechanical yet human like hands stroke my sides, my armpits, my ribs, my stomach and my navel. Every touch tickled, every stroke a sharp precise sensation like the tips of dry paint brushes. If I was a captured spy I would have told them everything. But all the unseen audience, the leering eyes wanted was a steady stream of giggles and...