She ran into the hallway. Tears were streaming down her face because of the way her husband continued to belittle her need to truly feel love. He gave her what he thought she wanted: self-propelled vacuums, microwave/convection ovens that cleaned themselves, state-of-the-art minivans lifetime memberships to all of the fitness clubs in the city. He continued to sit dumbfounded at his computer or at the hunting club where he spent most of his time. What else could he do? What more did she want from him? He was at the last straw after years of the silence and distance. She was at the same place in her own life.
That was the moment she ran out. She wasn’t leaving for good. She would only be gone for hours at a time. There was a friend on the other side of town who gave her everything she needed. He listened. He wiped her tears. He held her hand and calmed her spirit. He … understood.
She drove away. This was the last time in her mind she would endure more of the suburban prison cell. The other side of town was the same type of neighborhood, yet her friend lived alone. He waited for her … and only her. He desired to be more for her and her children. That was, unfortunately, not possible.
He was as close a friend to her as he could be. She decided it was best to try to stay with her husband and make the best way for her children she could. They were her life in that house. It was no longer a home. Still, she couldn’t take her children away because the emotional damage to her kids might have been irreparable. Damage to her children was something she just could not risk.
She visited her friend three or four times a week. She would sit with her friend for hours on end. Her husband didn’t care. As long as she was out of the house, he had peace and no arguing or deafening silence.
Knowing what to expect, he brought the tissue box out. They sat in the living room while she poured her heart out. She sat with legs crossed and shoes off. He sat next to her, staring intently into her sad gaze. She talked. He listened. She cried. He cried. She felt his hand on hers. The other dried the tear-stained face. He kissed her cheek. “I understand”. “I’m sorry”. “I’m here”. “I love you”.
Fairly soon, she was done with what had to be said. Exhausted, she wasn’t ready to leave yet. He knew very well the other reason she’d come to him. Her friend was also an inventor. There was a special machine created ... for no one else but her. He turned the lights down and waited for her to undress. She was about to slip into what called “the carpet”.
She came out from behind the partition without any clothes on, yet covered in a thin nylon body suit. It was a long form-fitting stocking. Aware of her modesty and honoring her character, he turned his eyes and waited for her to slip into place. When she gave him notice, he walked over to her with a sheet to keep her covered while he closed the machine’s top. Arms were comfortably above her head, yet she could not move them. As the cover neared its final destination, he gently pulled the sheet out. With the cover closed, the rest of her body was comfortable yet immobile as her arms were. Her head was the only part of her that was exposed to the outside.
He reached down and ever so gently kissed her forehead. He kissed her, inch by inch, around her face until their lips met at last in one momentous, moderately long passionate touch.
He turned to her whispering softly in her ear. “Are you ready?” She nodded. She always knew what to expect, yet she was never prepared for her responses.
There were four keys that operated parts of this machine. The first key sent a yelp from her throat. Light fingers stroked her sides and drew circles around her bellybutton. The yelp turned to giggles then quickly to laughter as he adjusted the intensity to gather the most response from her. Shortly afterwards, a black button sent stiff feathers to her behind and the back of her thighs. Even though she knew the sequence of events, she was continually surprised by each and every move. Her laughter started as giggles then turned hard, almost guttural. Never did she plead with him to stop, for she knew he would in a second if she desired it. This was her freedom.
The second key brought tickling sensations to her feet. Every inch was covered from the moist tongue that forced its way between her toes to the multiple fingers probing and stroking the balls of her feet. An accompanying red button brought the sensation of lips encircling her kneecaps and moving back and forth as if to massage them lightly. At the same time, more fingers crossed back and forth around the backs of her knees. She began laughing so hard there was only the sound of silence. She was in a strong sensory overload, she couldn't stand it. But how she wanted it all the more. And there was more to come.
The third key sent two small blades that cut a slit in the material covering her underarms. The blades retracted then were replaced by a lone finger soaked in cooking oil. The sensation of the oil dripping down sent her eyes bulging in expectation. The fingers began to slide up and down the hollows in her underarms, sending shockwaves through her entire body. She didn’t just endure the tickling. She enjoyed it. She loved being tickled. She craved it as much as she craved her friend as a way of escaping the place she was in. Tears of joy rolled down her sweat-drenched face as she laughed hysterically.
The final key sent three long, stiff feathers to the right, left and center of her womanhood. Each one began to follow a programmed path. There was already preparation inside her from the previous touching and stroking. The cover surrounding her breasts began to vibrate which added to her pleasure. He lifted two small openings that covered her buxom nipples. He took a feather boa and slowly ran the feathers across her nipples. Her mind raced to keep up with her bodies reactions and her hearts desires. He walked to her and kissed her intently and continually until the rush of emotions brought her to that point of total and overwhelming completion and satisfaction. He was always tempted to open the box and tickle more, but he knew that would be out of bounds. This time, she asked him to. His fingers ran across her armpits and breasts while he kissed her. She was a hilarious combination of laugh-out-loud guffaws and deep, subtle moans ... not knowing where one started and the other ended.
He carried her to the bedroom, where she would rest until she could gather strength enough to go home. He knew she would be back until, one day, they could be together forever. Until that time, he was content to provide a momentary distraction. It was enough for him. It meant a lifetime to her. The carpet was always safe.
That was the moment she ran out. She wasn’t leaving for good. She would only be gone for hours at a time. There was a friend on the other side of town who gave her everything she needed. He listened. He wiped her tears. He held her hand and calmed her spirit. He … understood.
She drove away. This was the last time in her mind she would endure more of the suburban prison cell. The other side of town was the same type of neighborhood, yet her friend lived alone. He waited for her … and only her. He desired to be more for her and her children. That was, unfortunately, not possible.
He was as close a friend to her as he could be. She decided it was best to try to stay with her husband and make the best way for her children she could. They were her life in that house. It was no longer a home. Still, she couldn’t take her children away because the emotional damage to her kids might have been irreparable. Damage to her children was something she just could not risk.
She visited her friend three or four times a week. She would sit with her friend for hours on end. Her husband didn’t care. As long as she was out of the house, he had peace and no arguing or deafening silence.
Knowing what to expect, he brought the tissue box out. They sat in the living room while she poured her heart out. She sat with legs crossed and shoes off. He sat next to her, staring intently into her sad gaze. She talked. He listened. She cried. He cried. She felt his hand on hers. The other dried the tear-stained face. He kissed her cheek. “I understand”. “I’m sorry”. “I’m here”. “I love you”.
Fairly soon, she was done with what had to be said. Exhausted, she wasn’t ready to leave yet. He knew very well the other reason she’d come to him. Her friend was also an inventor. There was a special machine created ... for no one else but her. He turned the lights down and waited for her to undress. She was about to slip into what called “the carpet”.
She came out from behind the partition without any clothes on, yet covered in a thin nylon body suit. It was a long form-fitting stocking. Aware of her modesty and honoring her character, he turned his eyes and waited for her to slip into place. When she gave him notice, he walked over to her with a sheet to keep her covered while he closed the machine’s top. Arms were comfortably above her head, yet she could not move them. As the cover neared its final destination, he gently pulled the sheet out. With the cover closed, the rest of her body was comfortable yet immobile as her arms were. Her head was the only part of her that was exposed to the outside.
He reached down and ever so gently kissed her forehead. He kissed her, inch by inch, around her face until their lips met at last in one momentous, moderately long passionate touch.
He turned to her whispering softly in her ear. “Are you ready?” She nodded. She always knew what to expect, yet she was never prepared for her responses.
There were four keys that operated parts of this machine. The first key sent a yelp from her throat. Light fingers stroked her sides and drew circles around her bellybutton. The yelp turned to giggles then quickly to laughter as he adjusted the intensity to gather the most response from her. Shortly afterwards, a black button sent stiff feathers to her behind and the back of her thighs. Even though she knew the sequence of events, she was continually surprised by each and every move. Her laughter started as giggles then turned hard, almost guttural. Never did she plead with him to stop, for she knew he would in a second if she desired it. This was her freedom.
The second key brought tickling sensations to her feet. Every inch was covered from the moist tongue that forced its way between her toes to the multiple fingers probing and stroking the balls of her feet. An accompanying red button brought the sensation of lips encircling her kneecaps and moving back and forth as if to massage them lightly. At the same time, more fingers crossed back and forth around the backs of her knees. She began laughing so hard there was only the sound of silence. She was in a strong sensory overload, she couldn't stand it. But how she wanted it all the more. And there was more to come.
The third key sent two small blades that cut a slit in the material covering her underarms. The blades retracted then were replaced by a lone finger soaked in cooking oil. The sensation of the oil dripping down sent her eyes bulging in expectation. The fingers began to slide up and down the hollows in her underarms, sending shockwaves through her entire body. She didn’t just endure the tickling. She enjoyed it. She loved being tickled. She craved it as much as she craved her friend as a way of escaping the place she was in. Tears of joy rolled down her sweat-drenched face as she laughed hysterically.
The final key sent three long, stiff feathers to the right, left and center of her womanhood. Each one began to follow a programmed path. There was already preparation inside her from the previous touching and stroking. The cover surrounding her breasts began to vibrate which added to her pleasure. He lifted two small openings that covered her buxom nipples. He took a feather boa and slowly ran the feathers across her nipples. Her mind raced to keep up with her bodies reactions and her hearts desires. He walked to her and kissed her intently and continually until the rush of emotions brought her to that point of total and overwhelming completion and satisfaction. He was always tempted to open the box and tickle more, but he knew that would be out of bounds. This time, she asked him to. His fingers ran across her armpits and breasts while he kissed her. She was a hilarious combination of laugh-out-loud guffaws and deep, subtle moans ... not knowing where one started and the other ended.
He carried her to the bedroom, where she would rest until she could gather strength enough to go home. He knew she would be back until, one day, they could be together forever. Until that time, he was content to provide a momentary distraction. It was enough for him. It meant a lifetime to her. The carpet was always safe.
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