The tickling machine known as the Man Handler, a Twin sized bed designed by some mad artist, continued to torment me with its unrelenting combination of massages and tickles. It was the most comfortable and luxurious bed, but also the darkest level of hell. The mechanical yet human like hands stroked my sides, my armpits, my ribs, my stomach, and my navel with a sinister precision that made me squirm uncontrollably. Every touch felt like the tips of dry paint brushes, sending waves of...