Guilmon chuckles lightly as his gentle enemy plays between his plump toes, rolling back and forth. He reaches for the simple control panel, but recoils from the tickling. The feather inches into his instep and scrapes its tip along the painfully sensitive skin. Once again, he reaches for the panel and fails, collapsing into coos and giggles.
You take pity, knowing your turn could be next, and turn the machine all the way down. "I'll set the machine to where you want. How high do you want it to go?"
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