Shem the Penman
Verified
- Joined
- Apr 3, 2001
- Messages
- 1,020
- Points
- 36
[This isn't mine. Zebra, down in the Requests forum, asked for it, so here it is. Unfortunately, the name of the original author is lost; can anyone supply it?]
I was walking along Madison one sunny, warm Saturday afternoon,
heading from town to my dorm, when I heard some girl-like noises from
the Tri-Delta house. The Tri-Delts----the "Rich Bitches" as we less
financially endowed students called them----lived in a beautiful
Victorianish style house, complete with pillars and other
embellishments, and on at least three acres of land. I cocked my head
to try and make out some of the noises. The all seemed to be coming
from one person, and sounded as though that person were in some sort
of trouble. I decided that it would be prudent to investigate and
started up the lawn towards the house.
I made it to the front door, and the cries were now intellible.
"Help....get me OUT of here......" I stopped for a second. That
sounded a lot like Becky Dalton. I entered the house cautiously,
shouting "It's me, Butch." Back in the mid 70's, life on campus was
a bit more relaxed than it is now, as everything unpleasant that one
could end up with from sexual activities could be cured by a shot of
penicillin or prevented by a pill. Therefore, hazing (the type of
stuff done in initiations, for punishment, or just for the heck of it)
was a bit more common than it is now. Not that the Tri-Delts would do
that to me---I knew most of them, and they knew my expertise in
tickling---but if they were laying a trap to catch some poor guy, they
wouldn't necessarilly know it was me, and I didn't want them to get
started.
The owner of the voice heard me and shouted "Buuuuuthch,
downstairs, pleeeeeease....I'm stuck!" Yep, that was Becky. "You
been stuck by half the guys on campus," I thought to myself with a
chuckle. I started downstairs. Becky was the very definition of the
word "Bitch." She came from a wealthy family--her father owned a
large accounting firm in the major city in the state-- and she never
let anybody forget it. No question, she was gorgeous. Long blonde
hair, hazel eyes, smooth, creamy milk-colored skin (tanned just enough
to give it a warm, dreamy look), and a body to kill for (one that she
kept that way by working out regularly), though, at 5-3, a bit shorter
than I personally cared for, but perfectly proportioned, well
endowed, with long, sleek legs (that she showed as much of as
possible). Her personality, however, lacked a bit of, shall we say,
concern for other humans. No, let's just say that she was stuckup as
heck and turned her nose up at everybody. She carried her self about
with that "I *AM* superior, and don't you ever forget it" attitude.
It wasn't unusual for her to say cold, uncaring things about some less
endowed girl, often when the person was present, that would leave the
latter in tears if she were there to hear it. I didn't like Becky
(very few people with anything besides humping on their minds did),
and she didn't like me. Generally, I just stayed away from her as
much as possible.
I arrived downstairs and was greeted at the base of the stairs by
the bottom two thirds of a girl. The girl was wearing a string bikini
top and hot pants (which, for those of you who aren't familiar with
the dress of that era, were shorts that, basically, had no leg
material). It didn't take much reasoning to figure out that this was
Becky. About two feet to the side was a basket of clothes, and next to
it was a small container of hair curlers. A few curlers lay strewn
about. I moved around the side of the staircase to take the situation
in. The staircase, an old but sturdy oaken job, had been panneled on
the sides. The only openings, not quite a foot in height, were at the
base of the stairs, on the bottom and between each step. Becky,
somehow or another, had managed to get herself wedged underneath the
bottom step.
"You okay?" I asked. "You hurt?"
"No, I'm not hurt, dammit, but get me OUT!" she barked.
"Ok, cool it," I replied. "How did you manage to get yourself in
there?"
"Never mind, just get me "OUT!" she ordered me.
Naturally, she wasn't going to tell me what to do. "Not till you
tell me how you got in there in the first place."
She muttered a few words that I won't repeat here, then sighed and
told me. She was carrying some clothes upstairs from the dryer, while
trying to balance the container of curlers on top. The container had
fallen off, scatterting the curlers, many of which ended up rolling
under the staircase. She had tried to reach them, couldn't, and tried
wedging herself in on her stomach, but couldn't make any progress that
way and next tried, and succeeded, in getting underneath on her back.
I walked over to a utility shelf and got a flashlight, then bent down
and shone it inside. I saw the problem. Becky was, to put it
politely, trapped by her endowment. Going in, the breasts had
yielded, as she was able to use her legs on the wall and a couple of
nearby pillars to add some force. Getting out was another matter, as
there was no base with which to push her way out with her arms, and
she wasn't strong enough to grab a stair and try to pull her way out.
I couldn't help myself, upon seeing her predicament, and I began
tittering, trying to control my laughter. This brought a few more
choice words from her, and I decided "The heck with her feelings" and
opened my mouth wide, threw my head back, and let loose with a loud
guffaw that lasted for a good three minutes and could have been heard
throughout the house, had anybody been home. Becky continued her
protests, but I was too busy enjoying myself with the idea of her
having gotten herself caught like this and was laughing heartily. It
had just tapered off with a cackle, when she screamed at me:
"GET ME THE ***FUCK*** OUT OF HERE!!!!!"
She was entirely too bossy for me. I asked her, mockingly, "You
don't think it's funny?"
"NO!!!!"
I had been admiring her the whole time I was there, and the thought
of tickling hadn't escaped my mind. I reached down and lightly
stroked her tummy with a fingertip. "You sure you don't think it's
funny?"
She squealed. "EEEEEEEIK! Hey, hee hee, don't!"
"Oh, then you *do* think it's funny," I told her, stroking the soft
skin just above her navel.
"EEEEEEEEEE...hee hee hee hee.....Don't do that!" she begged,
squirming about. "GET ME OUT OF HERE!"
"Okay, hang on," I said. Naturally, I had no intention of passing
up this golden opportunity, what with her stuck there and nobody else
in the house. "Be right back," I told her. I wandered around the
basement, closing the screened windows, then walked to the top of the
stairs and shut the basement door. I went back down, and looked for
something to use for tying purposes. I found several old bath towels,
knotted them together into two ropes,tied slipknots at one end of each
rope , and returned. All the while I was doing this, I was listening
to her alternately beg, order, complain, and ask what it was I was
doing. I paid no attention: she'd find out soon enough
.
I didn't see any problem in pulling her out, as I reasoned that if
the breasts would flatten towards her stomach, they would also flatten
towards her neck. But naturally, I wasn't going to do so just yet. I
tunred away from her so she couldn't see what I was doing until it was
too late, telling her, over her queries, to be patient. I fastened
the towel ropes to the pillars, that were conveniently spaced a few
feet apart, then, quickly as possible, slipped the knots around
Becky's ankles and tightened them. I finished by tightening the slack
so she couldn't wiggle inside the staircase.
"HEEEEEY!" she screeched. "What are you doing??!" Then, as she
realized, her eyes got big as pie tins. "NOOOOOOOO!" she
scream/begged" DON'T YOU DARRRRE TICKLE MEEEE!"
I knelt down beside her and stroked her tummy again. "Yeah? try
and stop me, heh heh."
"NOOOOOOOOOOO.... hee hee hee hee......EEEEEEEEEEEE!" She put her
arms through the opening between the first and second stairs and
strained to beat off my fingertip, but couldn't reach it. That gave
me an idea. I went back over to the towel supply, got a couple more
towels, and brought them back. Over her very colorful protests, I
attached them to the third stair, on opposite sides, and made
slipknots at the other ends for her wrists. Naturally she drew her
arms inside the staircase and refused to bring them back out.
"The longer you wait, hon, the longer it's going to last," I told
her, but she still refused. "Okay, then, I'll have to resort to your
worst weakness in the world." I moved down to her bound ankles and
removed her shoes and socks.
She immediately began begging, "No.....no no, Butch, not me feet,
Pleeeeeeeeease!...." Becky absolutely dreaded having her feet
tickled, the result of a sadistic older brother who concentrated on
that one place when she was a little girl, and having her feet tickled
drove her near insane with fear. Naturally, I didn't want to cause
her undue emotional anguish, but I wasn't going to let her know that,
and I doubted I'd have to work long before she'd agree to whatever I
asked.
I sat on a leg, took the foot firmly in hand and stroked the sole
softly. The response was total hysteria: "AAAAAAAAAAAHHHH
.....NOOOOOOOOOO... HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA ......OHHHHHH
GAWWWWWWWWD....HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAA"
"Gonna let me tie your wrists?" I asked, tickling her under her
toes.
"HAHAHHAHAHAHAHA....YEEEEHEEHEEHEEHEESSSSSS... BUT PLEEEEEHEEE HEE
EEE HEEEEZE......DOOOOHOHOHOHOHON'T TEEEEHEEHEEHEEKLE MY FEEEHEEE HEE
HEE HEE HEEEEEEEET!!!!"
I stopped and waited for her to comply with her end. She caught her
breath and looked at me with pleading eyes....."You promise not to
tickle my feet anymore? Pleeeease?"
This was a refreshing change from the snobbish, arrogant, snotty
Becky that we all knew and hated. "I promise," I told her, as I
didn't want to trigger an emotional problem from some embedded mental
block. "But you have to behave."
"I will I will I will..." she said quickly, poking her wrists out
between the second and third steps.. I slipped the knots around her
wrists. She could move her arms a bit and swing them and beat on the
staircase, but couldn't draw them back in to protect herself. And the
space between the first and second stairs was open for me to insert my
hands. It was perfect.
I went back down to her feet, which triggered several cries for
mercy and struggling with her legs. But I merely put her socks and
shoes back on for her, mostly to put her mind more to rest about me
deciding at some future point to tickle her feet again. She sighed as
I did so and actually thanked me when I finished. Becky Dalton
thanking me (or anybody, for that matter)!! Well, something new
happens everyday, and I was getting a year's supply of such this
particular day.
She quickly reverted to her old self, though. "I suppose," she
began, "that I'll have to put up with this while you satisfy your
perversions."
"Well, if tickling is a perversion, then you're right," I told her.
I got comfortable next to her, dug my fingers into her tummy, and
wiggled away merrily.
"EEEEEEEEEEEE....hee hee hee hee hee....EEEEEEEEEEE.....ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha..." she laughed, while wiggling her hips back and
forth, "Staaahaa ha haa haaaap!...hee hee hee hee hee......EEEEEEEEE!"
she beat hard on the staircase with her fists and tugged with her arms
and legs.
I examined the stairs, which, while being sturdy oak, still had the
possibility of splinters or bloody hands from her thrashing. I walked
over to the old laundry bundle (for the Salvation Army Drive, as some
of the Tri-Delts had some feelings for others) and looked about. Much
of the clothing here would be a welcome addition to many girls'
wardrobes, and didn't look all that worn, but I suppose that a rich
girl's idea of "worn" out differs from a poorer girl's definition."
After spending a bit of time in the lingerie section, I finally found
what I wanted--actually more than I wanted-- a nice thick pair of fur
lined leather gloves that were long enough to cover the wrists and
part of the upper arm. Maybe a bit big for her small hands, but they
would serve their purpose.
I returned and examined her hands and wrists for splinters or other
problems that might need attention, found none, and slipped the gloves
on, adjusting the loops to allow the gloves to pass underneath."There," I told her, "Beat to your heart's content."
Ignoring the reply, I sat back down, straddling her, and was about
to begin, when she interrupted me. "Butch, I hate being tickled," she
started, talking quickly, "so if you don't tickle me, we can do
anything else you want....." she let her voice trail off.
"No, thanks," I told her. "Have you ever really really been tickled
before?"
"Uhhhh....she began nervously...." except for by bastard brother,
not since I was a little girl...."
"Oh.... then you've probably forgotten all the different kinds of
tickles....." I giggled at her reply, parts of which aren't
printable, and continued. "So let's refresh your memory.....
I reached through the stairs and carefully untied the string in the
back and let it rest on the top of her bikini. I then dug my fingers
into the sides of her ribs and started wiggling. "Rib tickles!" I
said, teasingly.
She started giggling and thrashing her arms against the bonds that
held her helpless. "hee hee hee hee......OOOOOOOOOOOO.... hee hee hee
hee hee hee hee....BUUUUUTCH!!!... hee hee hee hee hee hee hee hee
....stop stop STOOOOOP!... hee hee hee hee hee hee hee........." She
tried wiggling underneath me, but I was firmly planted on top of her,
making movement difficult. I felt her squirming---there's nothing
quite like having a laughing, wiggling girl underneath you, you
know---beneath me, and watched the tummy ripple and wiggle as she
giggled and giggled. I felt the soft, smooth skin of her ribcage and
probed each rib lightly as I tickled. "Kootchie kootchie kootchie
koochie koooooooo" I said to her over and over.
"LET...hee hee hee hee...MEEEhee hee hee hee.....breeeeeath hee hee
hee hee hee....." she begged between giggles.
I stopped for a few seconds while she caught her breath and resumed
my attack on the front of her ribs, just below the breasts, tickling
her a little harder her. This broght a little different response...
"EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE.... HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA...." she
laughed hard, breasts jiggling from my wiggling of the ribs just
below, as well as from the laughing.
"Tickle tickle tickle tickle ribbies...." I told her playfully.
"NOOO HO HO HO HO HO......hee hee hee hee......DOHOHOHOHOHON'T
TICKLE...HA HA HA HA HA HA HA........MY TITS......HA HA HA HA HA
HA.....TOOOOOHOO HOO HOO HOO HOOOOOOOOO......"
I wasn't actually touching her breasts, but it dawned on me that the
hard wiggle tickling of her ribs was also, by making her breasts
wiggle, tickling the breasts as well. I couldn't resist. I stopped
for a moment. "Do you have ticklish boobies?" I taunted her.
"Don't you DARE find out!" she barked at me.
Bossy little bitch. "Well, hon, you aren't in a position to govern
that," I retorted.
"Don't call me 'hon,' you PERVERT!" she snapped.
"Oh, no?" I asked. I reached inside the stairs again, slid her
bikini top off far enough to expose the underside of her breasts,
listening to unprintables, noting that she didn't stuff (meaning
everything was natural, in case you didn't know), and tickled the soft
flesh of the undersides with light rapid finger strokes.
"AHHHHHHHHHH..... hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo.......no faaaaaaairrr ....
hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo...." she giggled helplessly. I noted that her
nipples hardened almost immediately, but I wasn't interested in that
at the moment. "Hooooo hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo......Butch, that
tickles meee hee hee hee...too hoo hoo hoo much.,....hee hee hee hoo
hoo....."
"Am I your 'hon'?" I asked her, playfully, still tickling the creamy
sensitive undersides with little finger tickles.
"Noooo. ho ho ho hooo hoo hee hee hee hee...." she giggled.
"Okay," I said, giggling..."Tickle tickle tickle tickle tickle
titties.....tickle tickle titties....."
"Hee hee hee hee hee....pleeeease....hee hee hee"
"Am I your 'hon'?"
"NOoooooo....hoo hoo hoo hoo heee hee hee heeeee
heeeeeee.....OKAAAAAAY....hee hee heeeeee....YEEEEEES!"
"I'm your 'hon'?" I continued teasing, while still tickling. "Are
you SURE I'm you 'hon'?"
'YEEEEEEEESS...hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo...."
I moved my attack around to the base of her breasts on the sides,
and wandered up to her underarms, scribbling my fingers in the
delicate hollows. "Tickle tickle tickle Becky?
"AAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRGGGGHHH.... HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA
HA HA HA HA HA........YOU PERVERT!!!....HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA...."
"I'm a what?" I asked, digging my fingers in harder.
"HA HA HA HA HA HA HA....I mean HON!!! AHHH HA HA HA HA HA HA
HA.....I CAN'T STAAAAAAND IT.....HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA.....HON!...HA
HA HA...HON HON HOOOOOOOOON... HA HA HA HA HA..."
I stopped to let her catch her breath, noting she was sweating
pretty profusely. I went to the old clothing supply and got another
towel (there must have been more than 30 of them there when I first
visited it, many of which were now in use), then returned and dried
her off from head to toe. Naturally she begged me to let her go, and
naturally, I wasn't near finished. I restraddled her, at the hips,
and smiled at her. "Hon," I started, "do you know what spider
fingers are?" She shook her head, and I continued, "I'll show you,
then...." I spread my fingers and lightly tap tickled her, walking
the fingers up and down, covering her tummy, sides, and ribs, and
reaching into the stair opening and spidering her underarms,
undersides of her breasts, ribs, and neck.
"EEEEEEEERRRRRRRGH.... hee hee hee hee hee......AAAAAAHHHH HA HA HA
HA HA HA...." she giggled and laughed and squealed and screamed,
depending on where the fingers were at the moment.
"Kitchie kitchie kitchie kitchiiiiiiiiiie," I teased her as my
fingers lightly touched every inch of her soft, smooth skin from her
waist up to her neck. "Ohhhh... kitchie kitchie kitchie kitchie..."
"NOOOOOOO.... HA HA HA HA HA.....hee hee hee hee hee hee...hoo hoo
hoo hoo hoo....ARRRRRRGH HA HA HA HA HA HA HA......" she changed from
one type of laugh to another as the fingers wandered about her
helpless body, tickling her in all different places. She began
thrashing as much as she could with her legs. I felt her abdomen
press hard against me as she tried to lift herself off of the floor.
her hands beat furiously against the stairs as she tried desperately
to get her mind off of the tickling fingers that were making her laugh
helplessly. I continued until I could see her getting too red in the
face and about to pass out.
I stopped and let her giggling subside, and let her take several
deep breaths. Her breathing, hoarse at first, gradually became more
regular. In a few minutes, she was fairly well recovered, but still
giggled a bit and whimpered. "Will you free me now?" she asked in a
very respectful voice.
"Not just yet, hon, this is too much fun," I told her. I kissed the
tip of my finger and placed it on her nose. Suprisingly, she reached
up and kissed my fingertip back. I looked at her intently, figuring
it was a ploy to get freed, but she surprised me again by saying,
"Okay, but let me catch my breath a little bit more often, pleeease,
and PLEEEEEASE don't tickle my FEEET!"
I looked at her. This wasn't the Becky I loved to hate. "You don't
mind the tickling anymore?"
"I mind it, but it would be better if I could catch my breath more
often." Her eyes brightened a bit, and she continued: "Besides,
there's one place that I actually enjoyed it."
<AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hey, I know it isn't as torturous as you'd like it,
but this is the way it really happened, so live with it. >
Her eyes widened as she realized she might have said something
wrong, but I just smiled at her. "And where was that?" I asked her,
putting my fingers inside the stair space and lightly stroking the
undersides of her breasts, "Here?"
"AHHHH...hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo....NOOOOO..... not there....
hoo hoo hoo hoo....."
I pulled my fingers out, disappointed. "Where, then?"
"Ummmm.......you won't torture me there for hours will you?"
"No, but for later on, assuming you behave yourself, that's where
I'll tickle you in the future." I told her.
"Ummm.....I really liked it, when you tickled the sides of my ribs
kinda lightly..." she said, blushing.
I reached under the staircase and softly stroked the sides of her
ribs... "Like this?"
"OHHHHHH....hee hee hee...NOOOOO....hee hee hee that's tooooooo
light... hee hee hee....."
I increased the pressure to light/medium wiggles, dancing my fingers
up and down. "Like this, hon?"
"Hee hee hee hee heeee.....yesssss.. hee hee hee hee hee......that's
how.....hee hee hee hee hee hee hee hee hee...."
I noticed that she didn't thrash as much and that her giggling was
calmer and more controlled, something I hadn't paid attention to
earlier. I kept it up for a minute or so, listening to her light
giggling, which was very very sweet to the ear, and finally stopped.
"I'll save that spot for some other time; I don't want to wear it
out," I told her. "Now, to continue---"
She interrupted me. "Aren't we done yet?"
"Not yet, hon, this is too golden an opportunity to pass up." I
replied. "But soon. Know what a zerbit is?"
I saw her shaking her head under the stairs. "I'll show you then, I
said with a giggle. She giggled, too and shook her head again, saying
"No no no no no no..." I knelt behind her, placed my lips on her
tummy and buzzed her with the lips. She squealed, and I told her,
"That is a zerbit!" I returned to zerbitting her, moving all around
her tummy, from just below the ribs to just above the shorts.
She squealed again, then giggled much the same way as a little girl
would... "EEEEEEEEEE hee hee hee hee hee.....butch.... hee hee hee
hee.....that tickles meeeeee.... hee hee hee hee hee hee....." I
switched buzzing with light peck kisses, licking, and soft nibbling,
tasting the delicious, silky smooth, creamy-white (possibly a tad
tanned) skin. She responded with more light-hearted giggling, but,
strangely, didn't do a lot of fighting. The giggling sounds, as
mentioned, were much the same as a very young girl would make when
tickled. It was heaven, licking and tasting her, feeling her tummy
quiver to my touch, feeling it shake and bounce as she giggled, and
listening to the sound of the giggling itself...."hee hee hee hee
hee.....pleeeeeeeeeeasse..... hee hee hee hee hee..... it tickles
meeeeeeeeee ....... hee hee hee hee hee hee hee heeeeeeee."
I looked up for a moment, and saw her head, laid back, eyes shut,
mouth opened, giggling helplessly at the tummy tickles. Her arms were
waving a bit, but not desperately. Her breasts were firm and the
nipples hard. I looked down at her crotch and, not surprisingly,
found it wet. This was turning her on. She stopped giggling a few
seconds after I stopped tickling, and looked at me. The earlier fear
in her eyes was replaced by a softer look; one that showed no fear,
one that was more in line with "Now what is this goof going to do?"
I didn't make her wait long. "Getting truned on by this?" I teased
her....
The fire returned to her eyes, as she thought I was taunting her,
but she looked at me and saw I wasn't being really malicious, but
merely playful. "A little bit." she replied.
One thing Becky was NOT was bashful about sex. She'd won a city
beauty contest once, and had, for a year, the title of "Miss
Metropolis" (name of city obviously withheld). The old joke that went
around the campus went like this:
Q: How do you get into Metropolis?
A: Feed her a few beers.
Anyway, I now grinned at her. I sat up, next to her, and lightly
traced a fingertip on the inside of a thigh.
She shivered, then giggled. "Hee hee hee...don't"
"Ticklish there?"
"VERRRRRY!" she replied emphatically.
She might as well have waved a red flag in front of a bull. I
immediately began scampering my fingertips up and down her inner
thighs, feeling the delicate flesh ripple under my touch.
She threw her head back and laughed hard, altenating screams and
beggings, "AHHHHH HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA
HA........EEEEEEEEEEEEEIIIIIIIKK!!!!...HA HA HA HA HA HA HA.......NO
NO NO NO NO NO NO......HA HA HA HA HA STAH HA HA HA HAAAAAP! .....I
CAN'T TAKE IT!!... HO HO HO HO HO HO HA HA HA HA HA HA HA....
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEIK..."
I noticed her getting wetter and wetter. Finally, after a minute or
so, I stopped. As she caught her breath she managed to say, "Ohhhh..
hee hee...that tickles too much...hee hee hee.....Ohhhhhhhhh"
"I know something that tickles more," I told her. Her eyes widened
with fear and she began struggling with her feet, but I calmed her
quickly, "No, not your feet, hon."
She sighed in relief, but then her face became a question mark.
"Then what, hon?" she asked
.
She'd called me "hon" without any prompting! What was the world
coming to? Then a thought crossed her mind, and her eyes narrowed,
though more playfully than nastilly. "You dont' mean *there* do
you?"
"Sort of there," I told her with a grin. "Want me to show you?"
"Uh, I don't have a choice, do I?" she asked, drily, waving her
bound wrists and wiggling her legs.
"Well, not really," I replied. I unzipped the hot pants and pulled
them as far down as I could, considering that her legs were spread.
"Pink panties with little blue polka dots?" I giggled.
"I hadn't planned on showing them off!" she replied a bit huffily.
"Oh, this Saturday is going to be different, eh?
"
She made a "Huh" noise (sort of a sharp intake of air) and made a
face at me. I gently pulled the panties down so that they just
barely covered the pubic area. Exposed now was the skin of her lower
abdomen and her hips. I giggled at her. "Did you know *this*
tickled?" I asked. I started lightly scribble tickling her abdomen
with the fingers on one hand, at the word *this*.
She gasped, but then started laughing almost immediately...."
ARRRRRRRGH.... HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA.... HEE HEE HEE HHEE HEE HEE
HEE....BUUUUTCH!!! HA HA HA HA HO HO HO HOO HOO HOOOOOO....YOU STOP
THAT!!....HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HAAAAAAAA...."
I wasn't about to stop it. I could feel the abdomen wiggling as she
giggled, and felt the sleek supple skin ripple as she giggled and
laughed helplessly. She'd tossed her head back, had her mouth wide
open, and was bawling heartily with laughter. The arms flailed wildly
and the fists beat on the stairs with a fierceness that made me gald
I'd put gloves on her. Her legs were thrashing and her hips were
bouncing about, but, of course, I followed her movements very well,
and she couldn't get any relief from the tickles. She was tossing her
head from side to side, hair swishing wildly.
"OOOOOOOOOOHHHH...HA HA HA HA HA HA HA.....BUTCH, PLEEEEEEEEEASE
....HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA..... I CAN'T *STAND* IT ANY LONGER......
HA HA HA HA HA HA HAHA HA......"
I stopped for a moment to let her breathe, but then continued my
assault. The area just above her sex seemed to draw the most laughter
and struggling from her (though the sides of her hips were a close
second), so I spent most of my time there. She started laughing hard
again. Then, on an impulse, I used my free hand to tickle the insides
of her thighs, just below the crotch.
The thrashing stopped, surprisingly, and the laughter lowered by an
octave or so, sort of an eartly laugh (I later heard basically the
same response duplicated by a female boss of mine---see my previous
story under the handle of TickleMonster). I soon figured out why.
Her hips started rocking slightly, her crotch got dripping wet, and I
could see her trying to press her bottom up against the fingers
tickling her legs. The hot pants she was wearing, as noted earlier,
had no leg material on them (they were just sort of an extended bikini
bottom). While tickling her abdomen, I reached up with the hand
tickling the thighs and lightly touched her between the legs, She
gasped between laughs and I could see what I thought was a
contraction. This poor girl (yeah, she was a snotty bitch, but at
them moment, I wasn't feeling that way towards her) who I was
torturing with tickles was also being tortured into a sexual frenzy.
I smiled, gave the matter a second or two thought, and decided.
"HA HA HA HA HA HA HA...........NO NO NO NO NO NO.... HA HA HA HA
HA...........<a short pause, as I started my new
'attack'>..OOOOOOOOOOOO....."
I had slid my finger inside her shorts, pulled the crotch of the
panties aside, and was now gently massaging her clitoris, which was
very red and swollen from the tickling sensations. At the same time,
though, I continued the assault on her abdomen, widening the area to
include the tummy below the navel. I spider fingered my fingertips
all over her tummy and lower abdomen.
"OOOOOOOOOOO...." she moaned.. "OOOOOOOEEEER" then as the tickles
took precedence., "Hee hee hee hee hee....OOOOOOOOOER.... hee hee hee
hee hee hee...OOOOOOOOER....YEEEEEEEESSSSS... hee hee hee.."
I pushed further inside with my hand, thrusting a couple of fingers
deep inside of her, using my thumb to massage her clit. I used my
other hand to lightly dance all over her abdomen, hips, tummy, and
ribs. "Getcha getcha getcha girl...." I said to her, over and over.
The fingers inside drove her over the edge, and it didn't take 10
seconds for her to start the first wave. I could feel her contracting
on my fingers, squeezing tight. She pressed her clitoris hard against
my thumb, and I responded by massaging it harder. She screamed,
giggled at the tickles, and then the orgasms came, one after another.
"AHHHHHHHHHHH......hee hee hee....EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEIK..... hee hee
hee hee....OOOOOOOOOOOEEER.....hee hee hee...OOOOOOOOER....."
And on and on. Every time I thought she was finished, another wave
would ensue. It must have lasted 15 minutes, the giggles becoming
fewer and fewer, and the moans and sighs more plentiful as she arched
herself as much as possible, rocked her hips and squeezed and squeezed
on my fingers. My hand was covered with her juices. I rode her
through wave after wave---at least a half dozen intense ones, and
several smaller ones. Finally, she was spent and laid there totally
exhausted and limp.
I untied her wrists and legs, and I went over to the wash basin,
taking one of the towels. I wet it, and returned, cleaned up the area
around her crotch as much as possible, slipped her bikini top back on
her, tying it behind her, then took hold of her legs and gently
pulled her out from under the staircase, pushing her breasts back to
avoid the scraping as much as possible. After some patient and gentle
tugging, I got her out. She was dripping with sweat. I took a clean
towel and dried the sweat away as much as possible. She laid there in
a dreamlike way, not moving much. I moved her away from the area,
put a couple of the clean towels under her head, took the other towels
and cleaned up what I hadn't gotten before from the area she had lain
in, and took them over to the washer, adding detergent and turning it
on.
I returned to her. She was still laying there, but her breathing
was a bit more normal, and the glazed look in her eyes had been
replaced by a more alert one. I took the rest of the towels and threw
them in the washer, then came back and started to pick her up.
She stopped me. "No, no, the curlers under the stairs."
This silly girl! I looked around, found a short dowel rod, and used
it to fetch the curlers from under the stairs (she hadn't thought of
doing that, obviously). I put them all in the container and put the
container on the basket of clothes. I then picked her up and carried
her upstairs to her room, laying her on her bed (first placing a towel
I'd brought with me under where her butt would end up). I gently
shucked her shorts and panties, laying them on the floor. I went to
the bathroom, got some kleenex,and returned. I wiped her crotch
fairly clean, then took the towel underneath her and her soiled
clothes downstairs to the washer, stopping on my way to flush the
kleenex down the toilet. I returned. She was still laying there, but
looked mostly recovered, and merly tired. I searched through her
drawers (she giggled as I examined this thing and that) and found a
pair of panties and another pair of hot pants. I took them over to
her and slid them on her, giggling at the fact that I hadn't bothered
to remove her shoes or socks during the whole process. She asked why
I was giggling, and I told her. She giggled, too, and asked me to
take her shoes off "So they don't dirty the bed." I did so. I sat on
the bed next to her and said, casually, "You know, being less endowed
in the bust area *DOES* have its advantages sometimes."
She made a face at me and pulled me down on the bed next to her,
wrapped her arms around me and hugged me tight. We went through the
usual nuzzling and cuddling that college aged couples go through,
lasting about five minutes, and she suggested I close (and lock) her
door. I did this. When I came back, she asked me to remove her socks
("They itch me"). I did so, and couldn't resist taking hold of a foot
and lightly tickling it.
She squealed, then giggled..."Hee hee hee hee....stop that, you!...
hee hee hee." She pulled a bit with her foot, but didn't look
unhappy, or struggle much.
"Doesn't that bug you anymore?"
"Not when you do it, cause I'm not afraid of you anymore," she
replied. I took her foot firmly in my hand and tickled it playfully.
"EEEEEEEE.. hee hee heee...now stop that, you!... hee hee hee hee hee
hee hee......no no no no... hee hee hee.." She squimred around on the
bed and tossed from side to side, and kicked lightly on my back with
her other foot, but basically showed no signs of fear or any real
desire to get away. I continued the foot tickle for about a minute,
then switched feet. She squealed, giggled, and 'begged' me to stop.
Finally, I had to let her rest. She pulled me on top of her, wrapped
her arms around me and we laid there for an hour or so (other girls
arrived home in the meantime, but we ignored them, and they knew
enough to realize that if her door was shut, she was busy), talking
about things. I would occasionally run my fingertips up and down the
sides of her ribs, and she would throw her head back and giggle
helplessly and wrap her arms around me tight. She surprised me as
being very unconceited and natural, The snobbishness was all a
front, there to mask her insecurities, which, as I found out as we
talked, were many and stemmed from her sadistic older brother (who was
much older and, thanfully, was out of the house be the time she ws
12), as well as from parents who gave her plenty of everything
...except love, attention and quality time. Such is life. We
spent the rest of the afternoon and much of the evening basically all
over each other, not coming up for air until about midnight. In
addition to being very ticklish (and now enjoying it), she was
surprsingly very affectionate (as well as being very good at other
things).
She leaned on me pretty heavily for the rest of the school year, and
we developed a relationship that seemed to lead towards a liefe-long
one, but then summer came and we more or less went our separate ways
(though I got the chance to get in a few more tickle sessions
thereafter). She found a very understanding young man, whom she
eventually married, and he managed to keep her from reverting back to
her snobbish former self. But I was happy to have done my part to
help her remove her false front and be herself. It was, I must say,
very enjoyable work.
I was walking along Madison one sunny, warm Saturday afternoon,
heading from town to my dorm, when I heard some girl-like noises from
the Tri-Delta house. The Tri-Delts----the "Rich Bitches" as we less
financially endowed students called them----lived in a beautiful
Victorianish style house, complete with pillars and other
embellishments, and on at least three acres of land. I cocked my head
to try and make out some of the noises. The all seemed to be coming
from one person, and sounded as though that person were in some sort
of trouble. I decided that it would be prudent to investigate and
started up the lawn towards the house.
I made it to the front door, and the cries were now intellible.
"Help....get me OUT of here......" I stopped for a second. That
sounded a lot like Becky Dalton. I entered the house cautiously,
shouting "It's me, Butch." Back in the mid 70's, life on campus was
a bit more relaxed than it is now, as everything unpleasant that one
could end up with from sexual activities could be cured by a shot of
penicillin or prevented by a pill. Therefore, hazing (the type of
stuff done in initiations, for punishment, or just for the heck of it)
was a bit more common than it is now. Not that the Tri-Delts would do
that to me---I knew most of them, and they knew my expertise in
tickling---but if they were laying a trap to catch some poor guy, they
wouldn't necessarilly know it was me, and I didn't want them to get
started.
The owner of the voice heard me and shouted "Buuuuuthch,
downstairs, pleeeeeease....I'm stuck!" Yep, that was Becky. "You
been stuck by half the guys on campus," I thought to myself with a
chuckle. I started downstairs. Becky was the very definition of the
word "Bitch." She came from a wealthy family--her father owned a
large accounting firm in the major city in the state-- and she never
let anybody forget it. No question, she was gorgeous. Long blonde
hair, hazel eyes, smooth, creamy milk-colored skin (tanned just enough
to give it a warm, dreamy look), and a body to kill for (one that she
kept that way by working out regularly), though, at 5-3, a bit shorter
than I personally cared for, but perfectly proportioned, well
endowed, with long, sleek legs (that she showed as much of as
possible). Her personality, however, lacked a bit of, shall we say,
concern for other humans. No, let's just say that she was stuckup as
heck and turned her nose up at everybody. She carried her self about
with that "I *AM* superior, and don't you ever forget it" attitude.
It wasn't unusual for her to say cold, uncaring things about some less
endowed girl, often when the person was present, that would leave the
latter in tears if she were there to hear it. I didn't like Becky
(very few people with anything besides humping on their minds did),
and she didn't like me. Generally, I just stayed away from her as
much as possible.
I arrived downstairs and was greeted at the base of the stairs by
the bottom two thirds of a girl. The girl was wearing a string bikini
top and hot pants (which, for those of you who aren't familiar with
the dress of that era, were shorts that, basically, had no leg
material). It didn't take much reasoning to figure out that this was
Becky. About two feet to the side was a basket of clothes, and next to
it was a small container of hair curlers. A few curlers lay strewn
about. I moved around the side of the staircase to take the situation
in. The staircase, an old but sturdy oaken job, had been panneled on
the sides. The only openings, not quite a foot in height, were at the
base of the stairs, on the bottom and between each step. Becky,
somehow or another, had managed to get herself wedged underneath the
bottom step.
"You okay?" I asked. "You hurt?"
"No, I'm not hurt, dammit, but get me OUT!" she barked.
"Ok, cool it," I replied. "How did you manage to get yourself in
there?"
"Never mind, just get me "OUT!" she ordered me.
Naturally, she wasn't going to tell me what to do. "Not till you
tell me how you got in there in the first place."
She muttered a few words that I won't repeat here, then sighed and
told me. She was carrying some clothes upstairs from the dryer, while
trying to balance the container of curlers on top. The container had
fallen off, scatterting the curlers, many of which ended up rolling
under the staircase. She had tried to reach them, couldn't, and tried
wedging herself in on her stomach, but couldn't make any progress that
way and next tried, and succeeded, in getting underneath on her back.
I walked over to a utility shelf and got a flashlight, then bent down
and shone it inside. I saw the problem. Becky was, to put it
politely, trapped by her endowment. Going in, the breasts had
yielded, as she was able to use her legs on the wall and a couple of
nearby pillars to add some force. Getting out was another matter, as
there was no base with which to push her way out with her arms, and
she wasn't strong enough to grab a stair and try to pull her way out.
I couldn't help myself, upon seeing her predicament, and I began
tittering, trying to control my laughter. This brought a few more
choice words from her, and I decided "The heck with her feelings" and
opened my mouth wide, threw my head back, and let loose with a loud
guffaw that lasted for a good three minutes and could have been heard
throughout the house, had anybody been home. Becky continued her
protests, but I was too busy enjoying myself with the idea of her
having gotten herself caught like this and was laughing heartily. It
had just tapered off with a cackle, when she screamed at me:
"GET ME THE ***FUCK*** OUT OF HERE!!!!!"
She was entirely too bossy for me. I asked her, mockingly, "You
don't think it's funny?"
"NO!!!!"
I had been admiring her the whole time I was there, and the thought
of tickling hadn't escaped my mind. I reached down and lightly
stroked her tummy with a fingertip. "You sure you don't think it's
funny?"
She squealed. "EEEEEEEIK! Hey, hee hee, don't!"
"Oh, then you *do* think it's funny," I told her, stroking the soft
skin just above her navel.
"EEEEEEEEEE...hee hee hee hee.....Don't do that!" she begged,
squirming about. "GET ME OUT OF HERE!"
"Okay, hang on," I said. Naturally, I had no intention of passing
up this golden opportunity, what with her stuck there and nobody else
in the house. "Be right back," I told her. I wandered around the
basement, closing the screened windows, then walked to the top of the
stairs and shut the basement door. I went back down, and looked for
something to use for tying purposes. I found several old bath towels,
knotted them together into two ropes,tied slipknots at one end of each
rope , and returned. All the while I was doing this, I was listening
to her alternately beg, order, complain, and ask what it was I was
doing. I paid no attention: she'd find out soon enough
.I didn't see any problem in pulling her out, as I reasoned that if
the breasts would flatten towards her stomach, they would also flatten
towards her neck. But naturally, I wasn't going to do so just yet. I
tunred away from her so she couldn't see what I was doing until it was
too late, telling her, over her queries, to be patient. I fastened
the towel ropes to the pillars, that were conveniently spaced a few
feet apart, then, quickly as possible, slipped the knots around
Becky's ankles and tightened them. I finished by tightening the slack
so she couldn't wiggle inside the staircase.
"HEEEEEY!" she screeched. "What are you doing??!" Then, as she
realized, her eyes got big as pie tins. "NOOOOOOOO!" she
scream/begged" DON'T YOU DARRRRE TICKLE MEEEE!"
I knelt down beside her and stroked her tummy again. "Yeah? try
and stop me, heh heh."
"NOOOOOOOOOOO.... hee hee hee hee......EEEEEEEEEEEE!" She put her
arms through the opening between the first and second stairs and
strained to beat off my fingertip, but couldn't reach it. That gave
me an idea. I went back over to the towel supply, got a couple more
towels, and brought them back. Over her very colorful protests, I
attached them to the third stair, on opposite sides, and made
slipknots at the other ends for her wrists. Naturally she drew her
arms inside the staircase and refused to bring them back out.
"The longer you wait, hon, the longer it's going to last," I told
her, but she still refused. "Okay, then, I'll have to resort to your
worst weakness in the world." I moved down to her bound ankles and
removed her shoes and socks.
She immediately began begging, "No.....no no, Butch, not me feet,
Pleeeeeeeeease!...." Becky absolutely dreaded having her feet
tickled, the result of a sadistic older brother who concentrated on
that one place when she was a little girl, and having her feet tickled
drove her near insane with fear. Naturally, I didn't want to cause
her undue emotional anguish, but I wasn't going to let her know that,
and I doubted I'd have to work long before she'd agree to whatever I
asked.
I sat on a leg, took the foot firmly in hand and stroked the sole
softly. The response was total hysteria: "AAAAAAAAAAAHHHH
.....NOOOOOOOOOO... HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA ......OHHHHHH
GAWWWWWWWWD....HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAA"
"Gonna let me tie your wrists?" I asked, tickling her under her
toes.
"HAHAHHAHAHAHAHA....YEEEEHEEHEEHEEHEESSSSSS... BUT PLEEEEEHEEE HEE
EEE HEEEEZE......DOOOOHOHOHOHOHON'T TEEEEHEEHEEHEEKLE MY FEEEHEEE HEE
HEE HEE HEEEEEEEET!!!!"
I stopped and waited for her to comply with her end. She caught her
breath and looked at me with pleading eyes....."You promise not to
tickle my feet anymore? Pleeeease?"
This was a refreshing change from the snobbish, arrogant, snotty
Becky that we all knew and hated. "I promise," I told her, as I
didn't want to trigger an emotional problem from some embedded mental
block. "But you have to behave."
"I will I will I will..." she said quickly, poking her wrists out
between the second and third steps.. I slipped the knots around her
wrists. She could move her arms a bit and swing them and beat on the
staircase, but couldn't draw them back in to protect herself. And the
space between the first and second stairs was open for me to insert my
hands. It was perfect.
I went back down to her feet, which triggered several cries for
mercy and struggling with her legs. But I merely put her socks and
shoes back on for her, mostly to put her mind more to rest about me
deciding at some future point to tickle her feet again. She sighed as
I did so and actually thanked me when I finished. Becky Dalton
thanking me (or anybody, for that matter)!! Well, something new
happens everyday, and I was getting a year's supply of such this
particular day.
She quickly reverted to her old self, though. "I suppose," she
began, "that I'll have to put up with this while you satisfy your
perversions."
"Well, if tickling is a perversion, then you're right," I told her.
I got comfortable next to her, dug my fingers into her tummy, and
wiggled away merrily.
"EEEEEEEEEEEE....hee hee hee hee hee....EEEEEEEEEEE.....ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha ha ha ha..." she laughed, while wiggling her hips back and
forth, "Staaahaa ha haa haaaap!...hee hee hee hee hee......EEEEEEEEE!"
she beat hard on the staircase with her fists and tugged with her arms
and legs.
I examined the stairs, which, while being sturdy oak, still had the
possibility of splinters or bloody hands from her thrashing. I walked
over to the old laundry bundle (for the Salvation Army Drive, as some
of the Tri-Delts had some feelings for others) and looked about. Much
of the clothing here would be a welcome addition to many girls'
wardrobes, and didn't look all that worn, but I suppose that a rich
girl's idea of "worn" out differs from a poorer girl's definition."
After spending a bit of time in the lingerie section, I finally found
what I wanted--actually more than I wanted-- a nice thick pair of fur
lined leather gloves that were long enough to cover the wrists and
part of the upper arm. Maybe a bit big for her small hands, but they
would serve their purpose.
I returned and examined her hands and wrists for splinters or other
problems that might need attention, found none, and slipped the gloves
on, adjusting the loops to allow the gloves to pass underneath."There," I told her, "Beat to your heart's content."
Ignoring the reply, I sat back down, straddling her, and was about
to begin, when she interrupted me. "Butch, I hate being tickled," she
started, talking quickly, "so if you don't tickle me, we can do
anything else you want....." she let her voice trail off.
"No, thanks," I told her. "Have you ever really really been tickled
before?"
"Uhhhh....she began nervously...." except for by bastard brother,
not since I was a little girl...."
"Oh.... then you've probably forgotten all the different kinds of
tickles....." I giggled at her reply, parts of which aren't
printable, and continued. "So let's refresh your memory.....
I reached through the stairs and carefully untied the string in the
back and let it rest on the top of her bikini. I then dug my fingers
into the sides of her ribs and started wiggling. "Rib tickles!" I
said, teasingly.
She started giggling and thrashing her arms against the bonds that
held her helpless. "hee hee hee hee......OOOOOOOOOOOO.... hee hee hee
hee hee hee hee....BUUUUUTCH!!!... hee hee hee hee hee hee hee hee
....stop stop STOOOOOP!... hee hee hee hee hee hee hee........." She
tried wiggling underneath me, but I was firmly planted on top of her,
making movement difficult. I felt her squirming---there's nothing
quite like having a laughing, wiggling girl underneath you, you
know---beneath me, and watched the tummy ripple and wiggle as she
giggled and giggled. I felt the soft, smooth skin of her ribcage and
probed each rib lightly as I tickled. "Kootchie kootchie kootchie
koochie koooooooo" I said to her over and over.
"LET...hee hee hee hee...MEEEhee hee hee hee.....breeeeeath hee hee
hee hee hee....." she begged between giggles.
I stopped for a few seconds while she caught her breath and resumed
my attack on the front of her ribs, just below the breasts, tickling
her a little harder her. This broght a little different response...
"EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE.... HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA...." she
laughed hard, breasts jiggling from my wiggling of the ribs just
below, as well as from the laughing.
"Tickle tickle tickle tickle ribbies...." I told her playfully.
"NOOO HO HO HO HO HO......hee hee hee hee......DOHOHOHOHOHON'T
TICKLE...HA HA HA HA HA HA HA........MY TITS......HA HA HA HA HA
HA.....TOOOOOHOO HOO HOO HOO HOOOOOOOOO......"
I wasn't actually touching her breasts, but it dawned on me that the
hard wiggle tickling of her ribs was also, by making her breasts
wiggle, tickling the breasts as well. I couldn't resist. I stopped
for a moment. "Do you have ticklish boobies?" I taunted her.
"Don't you DARE find out!" she barked at me.
Bossy little bitch. "Well, hon, you aren't in a position to govern
that," I retorted.
"Don't call me 'hon,' you PERVERT!" she snapped.
"Oh, no?" I asked. I reached inside the stairs again, slid her
bikini top off far enough to expose the underside of her breasts,
listening to unprintables, noting that she didn't stuff (meaning
everything was natural, in case you didn't know), and tickled the soft
flesh of the undersides with light rapid finger strokes.
"AHHHHHHHHHH..... hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo.......no faaaaaaairrr ....
hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo...." she giggled helplessly. I noted that her
nipples hardened almost immediately, but I wasn't interested in that
at the moment. "Hooooo hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo......Butch, that
tickles meee hee hee hee...too hoo hoo hoo much.,....hee hee hee hoo
hoo....."
"Am I your 'hon'?" I asked her, playfully, still tickling the creamy
sensitive undersides with little finger tickles.
"Noooo. ho ho ho hooo hoo hee hee hee hee...." she giggled.
"Okay," I said, giggling..."Tickle tickle tickle tickle tickle
titties.....tickle tickle titties....."
"Hee hee hee hee hee....pleeeease....hee hee hee"
"Am I your 'hon'?"
"NOoooooo....hoo hoo hoo hoo heee hee hee heeeee
heeeeeee.....OKAAAAAAY....hee hee heeeeee....YEEEEEES!"
"I'm your 'hon'?" I continued teasing, while still tickling. "Are
you SURE I'm you 'hon'?"
'YEEEEEEEESS...hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo...."
I moved my attack around to the base of her breasts on the sides,
and wandered up to her underarms, scribbling my fingers in the
delicate hollows. "Tickle tickle tickle Becky?
"AAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRGGGGHHH.... HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA
HA HA HA HA HA........YOU PERVERT!!!....HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA...."
"I'm a what?" I asked, digging my fingers in harder.
"HA HA HA HA HA HA HA....I mean HON!!! AHHH HA HA HA HA HA HA
HA.....I CAN'T STAAAAAAND IT.....HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA.....HON!...HA
HA HA...HON HON HOOOOOOOOON... HA HA HA HA HA..."
I stopped to let her catch her breath, noting she was sweating
pretty profusely. I went to the old clothing supply and got another
towel (there must have been more than 30 of them there when I first
visited it, many of which were now in use), then returned and dried
her off from head to toe. Naturally she begged me to let her go, and
naturally, I wasn't near finished. I restraddled her, at the hips,
and smiled at her. "Hon," I started, "do you know what spider
fingers are?" She shook her head, and I continued, "I'll show you,
then...." I spread my fingers and lightly tap tickled her, walking
the fingers up and down, covering her tummy, sides, and ribs, and
reaching into the stair opening and spidering her underarms,
undersides of her breasts, ribs, and neck.
"EEEEEEEERRRRRRRGH.... hee hee hee hee hee......AAAAAAHHHH HA HA HA
HA HA HA...." she giggled and laughed and squealed and screamed,
depending on where the fingers were at the moment.
"Kitchie kitchie kitchie kitchiiiiiiiiiie," I teased her as my
fingers lightly touched every inch of her soft, smooth skin from her
waist up to her neck. "Ohhhh... kitchie kitchie kitchie kitchie..."
"NOOOOOOO.... HA HA HA HA HA.....hee hee hee hee hee hee...hoo hoo
hoo hoo hoo....ARRRRRRGH HA HA HA HA HA HA HA......" she changed from
one type of laugh to another as the fingers wandered about her
helpless body, tickling her in all different places. She began
thrashing as much as she could with her legs. I felt her abdomen
press hard against me as she tried to lift herself off of the floor.
her hands beat furiously against the stairs as she tried desperately
to get her mind off of the tickling fingers that were making her laugh
helplessly. I continued until I could see her getting too red in the
face and about to pass out.
I stopped and let her giggling subside, and let her take several
deep breaths. Her breathing, hoarse at first, gradually became more
regular. In a few minutes, she was fairly well recovered, but still
giggled a bit and whimpered. "Will you free me now?" she asked in a
very respectful voice.
"Not just yet, hon, this is too much fun," I told her. I kissed the
tip of my finger and placed it on her nose. Suprisingly, she reached
up and kissed my fingertip back. I looked at her intently, figuring
it was a ploy to get freed, but she surprised me again by saying,
"Okay, but let me catch my breath a little bit more often, pleeease,
and PLEEEEEASE don't tickle my FEEET!"
I looked at her. This wasn't the Becky I loved to hate. "You don't
mind the tickling anymore?"
"I mind it, but it would be better if I could catch my breath more
often." Her eyes brightened a bit, and she continued: "Besides,
there's one place that I actually enjoyed it."
<AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hey, I know it isn't as torturous as you'd like it,
but this is the way it really happened, so live with it. >
Her eyes widened as she realized she might have said something
wrong, but I just smiled at her. "And where was that?" I asked her,
putting my fingers inside the stair space and lightly stroking the
undersides of her breasts, "Here?"
"AHHHH...hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo hoo....NOOOOO..... not there....
hoo hoo hoo hoo....."
I pulled my fingers out, disappointed. "Where, then?"
"Ummmm.......you won't torture me there for hours will you?"
"No, but for later on, assuming you behave yourself, that's where
I'll tickle you in the future." I told her.
"Ummm.....I really liked it, when you tickled the sides of my ribs
kinda lightly..." she said, blushing.
I reached under the staircase and softly stroked the sides of her
ribs... "Like this?"
"OHHHHHH....hee hee hee...NOOOOO....hee hee hee that's tooooooo
light... hee hee hee....."
I increased the pressure to light/medium wiggles, dancing my fingers
up and down. "Like this, hon?"
"Hee hee hee hee heeee.....yesssss.. hee hee hee hee hee......that's
how.....hee hee hee hee hee hee hee hee hee...."
I noticed that she didn't thrash as much and that her giggling was
calmer and more controlled, something I hadn't paid attention to
earlier. I kept it up for a minute or so, listening to her light
giggling, which was very very sweet to the ear, and finally stopped.
"I'll save that spot for some other time; I don't want to wear it
out," I told her. "Now, to continue---"
She interrupted me. "Aren't we done yet?"
"Not yet, hon, this is too golden an opportunity to pass up." I
replied. "But soon. Know what a zerbit is?"
I saw her shaking her head under the stairs. "I'll show you then, I
said with a giggle. She giggled, too and shook her head again, saying
"No no no no no no..." I knelt behind her, placed my lips on her
tummy and buzzed her with the lips. She squealed, and I told her,
"That is a zerbit!" I returned to zerbitting her, moving all around
her tummy, from just below the ribs to just above the shorts.
She squealed again, then giggled much the same way as a little girl
would... "EEEEEEEEEE hee hee hee hee hee.....butch.... hee hee hee
hee.....that tickles meeeeee.... hee hee hee hee hee hee....." I
switched buzzing with light peck kisses, licking, and soft nibbling,
tasting the delicious, silky smooth, creamy-white (possibly a tad
tanned) skin. She responded with more light-hearted giggling, but,
strangely, didn't do a lot of fighting. The giggling sounds, as
mentioned, were much the same as a very young girl would make when
tickled. It was heaven, licking and tasting her, feeling her tummy
quiver to my touch, feeling it shake and bounce as she giggled, and
listening to the sound of the giggling itself...."hee hee hee hee
hee.....pleeeeeeeeeeasse..... hee hee hee hee hee..... it tickles
meeeeeeeeee ....... hee hee hee hee hee hee hee heeeeeeee."
I looked up for a moment, and saw her head, laid back, eyes shut,
mouth opened, giggling helplessly at the tummy tickles. Her arms were
waving a bit, but not desperately. Her breasts were firm and the
nipples hard. I looked down at her crotch and, not surprisingly,
found it wet. This was turning her on. She stopped giggling a few
seconds after I stopped tickling, and looked at me. The earlier fear
in her eyes was replaced by a softer look; one that showed no fear,
one that was more in line with "Now what is this goof going to do?"
I didn't make her wait long. "Getting truned on by this?" I teased
her....
The fire returned to her eyes, as she thought I was taunting her,
but she looked at me and saw I wasn't being really malicious, but
merely playful. "A little bit." she replied.
One thing Becky was NOT was bashful about sex. She'd won a city
beauty contest once, and had, for a year, the title of "Miss
Metropolis" (name of city obviously withheld). The old joke that went
around the campus went like this:
Q: How do you get into Metropolis?
A: Feed her a few beers.
Anyway, I now grinned at her. I sat up, next to her, and lightly
traced a fingertip on the inside of a thigh.
She shivered, then giggled. "Hee hee hee...don't"
"Ticklish there?"
"VERRRRRY!" she replied emphatically.
She might as well have waved a red flag in front of a bull. I
immediately began scampering my fingertips up and down her inner
thighs, feeling the delicate flesh ripple under my touch.
She threw her head back and laughed hard, altenating screams and
beggings, "AHHHHH HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA
HA........EEEEEEEEEEEEEIIIIIIIKK!!!!...HA HA HA HA HA HA HA.......NO
NO NO NO NO NO NO......HA HA HA HA HA STAH HA HA HA HAAAAAP! .....I
CAN'T TAKE IT!!... HO HO HO HO HO HO HA HA HA HA HA HA HA....
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEIK..."
I noticed her getting wetter and wetter. Finally, after a minute or
so, I stopped. As she caught her breath she managed to say, "Ohhhh..
hee hee...that tickles too much...hee hee hee.....Ohhhhhhhhh"
"I know something that tickles more," I told her. Her eyes widened
with fear and she began struggling with her feet, but I calmed her
quickly, "No, not your feet, hon."
She sighed in relief, but then her face became a question mark.
"Then what, hon?" she asked
.
She'd called me "hon" without any prompting! What was the world
coming to? Then a thought crossed her mind, and her eyes narrowed,
though more playfully than nastilly. "You dont' mean *there* do
you?"
"Sort of there," I told her with a grin. "Want me to show you?"
"Uh, I don't have a choice, do I?" she asked, drily, waving her
bound wrists and wiggling her legs.
"Well, not really," I replied. I unzipped the hot pants and pulled
them as far down as I could, considering that her legs were spread.
"Pink panties with little blue polka dots?" I giggled.
"I hadn't planned on showing them off!" she replied a bit huffily.
"Oh, this Saturday is going to be different, eh?
"
She made a "Huh" noise (sort of a sharp intake of air) and made a
face at me. I gently pulled the panties down so that they just
barely covered the pubic area. Exposed now was the skin of her lower
abdomen and her hips. I giggled at her. "Did you know *this*
tickled?" I asked. I started lightly scribble tickling her abdomen
with the fingers on one hand, at the word *this*.
She gasped, but then started laughing almost immediately...."
ARRRRRRRGH.... HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA.... HEE HEE HEE HHEE HEE HEE
HEE....BUUUUTCH!!! HA HA HA HA HO HO HO HOO HOO HOOOOOO....YOU STOP
THAT!!....HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HAAAAAAAA...."
I wasn't about to stop it. I could feel the abdomen wiggling as she
giggled, and felt the sleek supple skin ripple as she giggled and
laughed helplessly. She'd tossed her head back, had her mouth wide
open, and was bawling heartily with laughter. The arms flailed wildly
and the fists beat on the stairs with a fierceness that made me gald
I'd put gloves on her. Her legs were thrashing and her hips were
bouncing about, but, of course, I followed her movements very well,
and she couldn't get any relief from the tickles. She was tossing her
head from side to side, hair swishing wildly.
"OOOOOOOOOOHHHH...HA HA HA HA HA HA HA.....BUTCH, PLEEEEEEEEEASE
....HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA..... I CAN'T *STAND* IT ANY LONGER......
HA HA HA HA HA HA HAHA HA......"
I stopped for a moment to let her breathe, but then continued my
assault. The area just above her sex seemed to draw the most laughter
and struggling from her (though the sides of her hips were a close
second), so I spent most of my time there. She started laughing hard
again. Then, on an impulse, I used my free hand to tickle the insides
of her thighs, just below the crotch.
The thrashing stopped, surprisingly, and the laughter lowered by an
octave or so, sort of an eartly laugh (I later heard basically the
same response duplicated by a female boss of mine---see my previous
story under the handle of TickleMonster). I soon figured out why.
Her hips started rocking slightly, her crotch got dripping wet, and I
could see her trying to press her bottom up against the fingers
tickling her legs. The hot pants she was wearing, as noted earlier,
had no leg material on them (they were just sort of an extended bikini
bottom). While tickling her abdomen, I reached up with the hand
tickling the thighs and lightly touched her between the legs, She
gasped between laughs and I could see what I thought was a
contraction. This poor girl (yeah, she was a snotty bitch, but at
them moment, I wasn't feeling that way towards her) who I was
torturing with tickles was also being tortured into a sexual frenzy.
I smiled, gave the matter a second or two thought, and decided.
"HA HA HA HA HA HA HA...........NO NO NO NO NO NO.... HA HA HA HA
HA...........<a short pause, as I started my new
'attack'>..OOOOOOOOOOOO....."
I had slid my finger inside her shorts, pulled the crotch of the
panties aside, and was now gently massaging her clitoris, which was
very red and swollen from the tickling sensations. At the same time,
though, I continued the assault on her abdomen, widening the area to
include the tummy below the navel. I spider fingered my fingertips
all over her tummy and lower abdomen.
"OOOOOOOOOOO...." she moaned.. "OOOOOOOEEEER" then as the tickles
took precedence., "Hee hee hee hee hee....OOOOOOOOOER.... hee hee hee
hee hee hee...OOOOOOOOER....YEEEEEEEESSSSS... hee hee hee.."
I pushed further inside with my hand, thrusting a couple of fingers
deep inside of her, using my thumb to massage her clit. I used my
other hand to lightly dance all over her abdomen, hips, tummy, and
ribs. "Getcha getcha getcha girl...." I said to her, over and over.
The fingers inside drove her over the edge, and it didn't take 10
seconds for her to start the first wave. I could feel her contracting
on my fingers, squeezing tight. She pressed her clitoris hard against
my thumb, and I responded by massaging it harder. She screamed,
giggled at the tickles, and then the orgasms came, one after another.
"AHHHHHHHHHHH......hee hee hee....EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEIK..... hee hee
hee hee....OOOOOOOOOOOEEER.....hee hee hee...OOOOOOOOER....."
And on and on. Every time I thought she was finished, another wave
would ensue. It must have lasted 15 minutes, the giggles becoming
fewer and fewer, and the moans and sighs more plentiful as she arched
herself as much as possible, rocked her hips and squeezed and squeezed
on my fingers. My hand was covered with her juices. I rode her
through wave after wave---at least a half dozen intense ones, and
several smaller ones. Finally, she was spent and laid there totally
exhausted and limp.
I untied her wrists and legs, and I went over to the wash basin,
taking one of the towels. I wet it, and returned, cleaned up the area
around her crotch as much as possible, slipped her bikini top back on
her, tying it behind her, then took hold of her legs and gently
pulled her out from under the staircase, pushing her breasts back to
avoid the scraping as much as possible. After some patient and gentle
tugging, I got her out. She was dripping with sweat. I took a clean
towel and dried the sweat away as much as possible. She laid there in
a dreamlike way, not moving much. I moved her away from the area,
put a couple of the clean towels under her head, took the other towels
and cleaned up what I hadn't gotten before from the area she had lain
in, and took them over to the washer, adding detergent and turning it
on.
I returned to her. She was still laying there, but her breathing
was a bit more normal, and the glazed look in her eyes had been
replaced by a more alert one. I took the rest of the towels and threw
them in the washer, then came back and started to pick her up.
She stopped me. "No, no, the curlers under the stairs."
This silly girl! I looked around, found a short dowel rod, and used
it to fetch the curlers from under the stairs (she hadn't thought of
doing that, obviously). I put them all in the container and put the
container on the basket of clothes. I then picked her up and carried
her upstairs to her room, laying her on her bed (first placing a towel
I'd brought with me under where her butt would end up). I gently
shucked her shorts and panties, laying them on the floor. I went to
the bathroom, got some kleenex,and returned. I wiped her crotch
fairly clean, then took the towel underneath her and her soiled
clothes downstairs to the washer, stopping on my way to flush the
kleenex down the toilet. I returned. She was still laying there, but
looked mostly recovered, and merly tired. I searched through her
drawers (she giggled as I examined this thing and that) and found a
pair of panties and another pair of hot pants. I took them over to
her and slid them on her, giggling at the fact that I hadn't bothered
to remove her shoes or socks during the whole process. She asked why
I was giggling, and I told her. She giggled, too, and asked me to
take her shoes off "So they don't dirty the bed." I did so. I sat on
the bed next to her and said, casually, "You know, being less endowed
in the bust area *DOES* have its advantages sometimes."
She made a face at me and pulled me down on the bed next to her,
wrapped her arms around me and hugged me tight. We went through the
usual nuzzling and cuddling that college aged couples go through,
lasting about five minutes, and she suggested I close (and lock) her
door. I did this. When I came back, she asked me to remove her socks
("They itch me"). I did so, and couldn't resist taking hold of a foot
and lightly tickling it.
She squealed, then giggled..."Hee hee hee hee....stop that, you!...
hee hee hee." She pulled a bit with her foot, but didn't look
unhappy, or struggle much.
"Doesn't that bug you anymore?"
"Not when you do it, cause I'm not afraid of you anymore," she
replied. I took her foot firmly in my hand and tickled it playfully.
"EEEEEEEE.. hee hee heee...now stop that, you!... hee hee hee hee hee
hee hee......no no no no... hee hee hee.." She squimred around on the
bed and tossed from side to side, and kicked lightly on my back with
her other foot, but basically showed no signs of fear or any real
desire to get away. I continued the foot tickle for about a minute,
then switched feet. She squealed, giggled, and 'begged' me to stop.
Finally, I had to let her rest. She pulled me on top of her, wrapped
her arms around me and we laid there for an hour or so (other girls
arrived home in the meantime, but we ignored them, and they knew
enough to realize that if her door was shut, she was busy), talking
about things. I would occasionally run my fingertips up and down the
sides of her ribs, and she would throw her head back and giggle
helplessly and wrap her arms around me tight. She surprised me as
being very unconceited and natural, The snobbishness was all a
front, there to mask her insecurities, which, as I found out as we
talked, were many and stemmed from her sadistic older brother (who was
much older and, thanfully, was out of the house be the time she ws
12), as well as from parents who gave her plenty of everything
...except love, attention and quality time. Such is life. We
spent the rest of the afternoon and much of the evening basically all
over each other, not coming up for air until about midnight. In
addition to being very ticklish (and now enjoying it), she was
surprsingly very affectionate (as well as being very good at other
things).
She leaned on me pretty heavily for the rest of the school year, and
we developed a relationship that seemed to lead towards a liefe-long
one, but then summer came and we more or less went our separate ways
(though I got the chance to get in a few more tickle sessions
thereafter). She found a very understanding young man, whom she
eventually married, and he managed to keep her from reverting back to
her snobbish former self. But I was happy to have done my part to
help her remove her false front and be herself. It was, I must say,
very enjoyable work.
