Forcing Fits Of Giggles
He captured me, and wrapped his surprisingly strong arms around my waist. His hands began to tickle my sides; he used all ten fingers. They were bent a bit, and it felt like electric current passing through my body. This tickling was shocking me; it kept me from being able to resist him, and zapped away my ability to free myself from torture.
“I’m going to fall; I can’t take it. Help me! I’ll die!”
My body began dropping to the floor; he suspended me in mid-flop. I was hoping to sound cute, sexy and just giggle lightly, keeping my composure. His tickling death-grip on my ribs caused me to make involuntary sounds instead. I was screaming, laughing, cackling, and snorting with my belly laughs. I could feel my face turning pink.
“It’s not fair. My eyes are watering. Mercy!”
“I have an idea. I’ll put you on my bed, reposition you, and force you in to fits of giggles! I liked the snorting sound. I want to hear it again. Give it to me!”
“You are clearly insane. Help!”
He pulled both my hands behind my back, and used his body weight to move me across the floor to his bed that was low to the ground. He positioned me on my belly, and held my hands behind my back by my wrists. He sat on my legs, and reached underneath me to the center of my tummy.
“Can you cackle and snort for five minutes? Will you be the color of a tomato? This belly is mine now to do as I please. Every time I hear the word please from you, I will pick up the intensity of your belly tickle. Five minutes starts now.”
All ten of his fingers arrived directly at the center of my belly together. It caused me to try to roll to one side, and then the other to protect my poor, innocent tummy. He was a tickle monster, a mad tickle freak. He forced me to giggle into spastic paralysis. He poked everywhere. He stroked everywhere. He paid particular attention to my belly button, above and below it, and inside it. When he reached down to my lower belly and my hips, he knew he had found “the sweet spots.” Stupid me…I signaled that he had discovered them by screaming at the top of my lungs:
“PLEASE, OH PLEASE! IT TORTURES ME! ANYTHING, EXCEPT RIGHT THERE! NO, NOT THERE!”
“I’m not sure I heard you right. I’m a little confused. Did you mean right here? Or, was it here? This needs my immediate, uninterrupted attention. Code blue! Attack!”
He was skilled at tickling me, and mentioned how nice it was that I had worn a thin t-shirt. He was ravenous to get more access to my hips, so he turned me onto my back. He put my wrists into his cuffs that attached to the head of his bed. He was sweating. I was flushed and hot. As he stoked me, I closed my eyes. Maybe that would make it tickle less.
He changed his technique to lighter, feather-like touches, still using all his fingers. His quick pokes and teasing drove me into a squirmy, blushing mess. He was a lion that had captured his prey, and he decided to have my hips for an appetizer. He used his mouth to nibble and kiss them; first the right, and then the left. He would nibble, kiss, and tickle until my screaming became too loud for his eardrums, forcing him to alternate. He used his teeth to nibble my sides. He put his tongue inside my belly button.
Then, without any warning, he pulled my t-shirt up over my head and gave my ribs the tickle death-grip. It was so effective without my top, I screamed my safe-word over and over again. I screamed it because I was completely out of control. He had taken it away from me. I was exhausted. It surprised me how quickly he had worn me down.
He stopped torturing me. My mouth was so dry, and before I could ask for a drink, he was fetching one for me. He stroked my hair. He held me. He was comforting me, and gentle for the moment. But his plans for me were not over!
Holding in the safeword can be hard...when in the death grip.
You make me giggle.
