Hello everyone!
This is part 2 of the story I initially published in Hebrew in the Israeli tickling forum.
In case you missed the first one, go see it here:
http://www.ticklingforum.com/showthread.php?t=110930
Like the first part, this story is based on true events.
hope you enjoy!
***
A week has passed since that first time.
In her apartment near a table she sat, cup of coffee in hand, and reminisced again, like she did every day this past week. The initial shock, the involuntary spasms in the arms and legs pulling the restraints, the light pain in the ribs and the lungs and the diaphragm that pushed out the huge amount of air she needed, so she could laugh and laugh and laugh, and in between – to moan and groan and shout… All of that seemed to have been long gone. Only memories remained now. Memories of the feeling, of the tickling shots flying into the brain from every spot on the body, the ecstasy that left her almost paralyzed, the feeling of reaching the limits and stretching them thin. Memories of an orgasm, and another, and another… and of the body becoming more and more ticklish.
She remembered the payback, how she kept him so tense, tickled his tied up body crazy as he convulsed with laughter, brought to him to the well but prevented him from drinking time and time again, just so he would pounce on her, hungry as a tiger, when she untied him… The perfect revenge, she thought and smiled.
No, not only memories remained… but also the passion and the longing – to experience it again, to explore it further, to search, to go insane. The wait would be over soon. He already knew where to come.
All week they spoke about what they've been through, drove each other crazy again, and again she felt the excitement, the fast strong heartbeats, just like in the first time – and even more, as she had come to know that feeling, it had been engraved in her brain. She had heard from him that even after many years, after dozens of experiences, the excitement never fades or dulls – and now, after the first time and heading toward a second, she knew that it was so. One cannot get used to it or get bored of it, and there would always be that excitement of expectation for the next time.
And that time has arrived, with three soft knocks on the door. She laid down the coffee cup, only half consumed, before her shaking hand would drop it; got up on stumbling legs – again the instinctive fear was pricking her… she opened the door – and felt the familiar strong arms turning her around to face the entrance hall wall, holding her from behind. Her breath seemed to have been knocked out of her.
"You know I'm going to tickle you today… insane tickles, torturing and pleasuring tickles…" She heard him whisper. She was taken by surprise – in their first encounter he had hardly spoken to her – and felt she was melting in his arms, just by hearing the sound of those words…
But not for long – her body erected hastily when she felt the prick of his fingers in her waist, her head being thrown back, the moan on the verge of laughter that forced its way from her lungs.
And there it was again… and again… electric shocks of tickling were running from her waist to hear head, passing through the chest and extracting the sweet laughter from it. His arm wrapped her and prevented her from moving, the wall in front of her took the kicks of her flailing feet – and with every chapter of laughter, another finger sent it the next tickling shot.
She hung on his hugging arms, the wall continuing to take her kicks without complaint, her hands trying unsuccessfully to break his grip, and with every tickle she was laughing louder, shaking her head from side to side. "No! Stop! Let me breathe…" she begged between laughs, as between her legs that other tickle began to be felt, increasing with every movement of her legs. He held her with one arm now – "how strong he was!", a single thought crossed her mind between a tickle and the next, between one laugh and the following – the fingers of that hugging arm kept digging into her waist and ribs, while another mischievous hand tickled her breasts and belly. The wall in front prevented her from doubling over. She had no way to stop him. The laughter rose, accompanied with groans each time his mouth and tongue passed over the back of her neck, or an ear.
He left her after several long minutes, and she leaned against the wall, huffing and puffing, laying her hands on it for support, unable to resist as her shirt was tugged over her head, the clasp of her bra was opened allowing it to fall off her breasts. She turned around quickly to face him, hugged his neck, clang to him, and kissed him, her tongue twirling with his. He pushed her gently with his body until her back was held tight against the wall, and tickled her ribs with quick fingers.
Immediately he felt the choke of hot air from her throat to his as she laughed into the kiss, anxious to separate her mouth from his. Her breasts clang tighter to his chest with every stifled laugh.
This time she paid him back, and tickled his waist. She remembered how ticklish he was there a week ago… and he didn't let her down this time either, he bounced back and laughed, the kiss broke apart – but he wouldn't give in, and the tickling rose in power, rising to her ribs and underarms, sliding down to her thighs.
They undressed and tickled each other, touring every part of the body released from the cloth, absorbing the thrill of increasing reactions and the combined laughs, until they remained nude in front of each other, breathing away remnants of laughter, ticklish tingles running up and down their bodies.
***
A quick tickle of hers to his belly made him double over and retreat, and she ran away from him, laughing, to the bedroom. He chased her, caught her at the foot of the bed, and held her again with her back to him. She felt him tight against her, and knew that he was feeling at least as hot as she was.
"You know you'll get punished for this", he said, and tickled her lower abdomen. She laughed out loud, and escaped the only way she had – by falling forwards onto the bed, face down. He hurried after her and knelt, his shins wrapping her on both sides, his ass on hers, pinning her to the mattress.
"No… no…" She begged through the unstoppable laugh, trying to get him off her.
"No what? That?" he teased her as he reached back and tickled the back of her thighs.
"No!! Not there!! Please!! Please…" She couldn't say more than that, her feet kicked the mattress, her legs tried to avoid his fast fingers, her hands again tried to remove his legs' grip on her torso. Her back arched up in an almost impossible angle, and the laughter burst out, and flowed, as if pushed out by a powerful engine that couldn't be shut down.
And he went on and on, his one hand had already climbed to the back of her neck, tickling there so softly it made her mind blow over. Her head rocked from side to side after his fingers, trying to block, to reduce the open space… while her legs were still trying to get rid of his other hand tickling the thighs, in uneven rhythm, it seemed to her like there were two different people tickling her… and the tickling doubled, and so did the laughter, and the heat that spread from the center of the body every time her thighs rubbed together. She expected him to flip her over, but was surprised when her arms were stretched above her head while still lying face down, and tied to the head of the bed. Her legs were spread apart and tied as well, and she found herself open and exposed, knowing that new fields of tickling were now at his mercy, spots that had not yet tasted the feather and the dancing fingers.
***
"That's new", she laughed, trying to turn her head back to look at him.
"Turn back!" he ordered from his sitting position, and tickled the exposed defenseless underarms of the body under him, that beckoning body lying face down secured to the four corners of the bed.
She laughed loudly, and obeyed… she had no choice. Her arms couldn't be pulled down, and the poor underarms were totally accessible to his assault. Her arms, stretched forward, gave her the look of a flying super-heroine, how she wanted to lower them and hold them tight to her sides! But all she could do was laugh, laugh to release the air compressed into her lungs by the sensitized nervous system.
Occasionally she would try to raise and turn her head, to catch him in the corner of her eye, maybe he would take pity and stop… but she wouldn't be able to take the strain for long, and her face would fall down, her laughter choked by the pillow that seemed to take it willingly. He moved to her ribs, her hips, and again the underarms, on this side and then on the other, driving her insane, taking her by surprise again and again, with her totally unprotected and unable to stop him.
Just as she felt her lungs were running out of air, he stopped.
She breathed quickly, trying to cover the oxygen debt, stings of imaginary tickling poking her brain, pricking it tenderly, extracting more short stifled pulses of laughter. He turned backwards, and rose again holding two feather – no, what is it? Not the usual feathers from last time… those were bundles of feathers shaped like open fans.
She saw them as she turned her head, aching to see what would happen to her now.
"Oh no…" she sighed when she saw the tools of destruction in his hands.
Slowly, gently, a fan of feathers strolled down her bare back. She shivered violently, choking a groan.
At the same rhythm, the other fan passed down the side of her body, from underarm to hip. Again she choked, this time stifling a slightly nervous laughter. Again that fear took over – that primal fear of what's to come next, although she knew what it was.
Now the two feathery fans were passing together, twirling on her back, one making its way up, holding to tickle the back of the neck, stinging her ears; the other making its way down to the small of her back, and then further down to the crack of her ass, playing there and finding new nerve endings to stimulate, to tickle, to agonize and delight.
She never imagined that. She was ticklish there too! She didn't have much time to think, the tickling was shaking her again, while the other bouquet of feathers was driving her nuts like a mosquito buzzing at her ear. That was too much! She twisted around as much as she could, she felt as if her bones had melted and she was twisting like a boneless mollusk, anything to escape this suffering, the lightning strikes of tickling filling the head, oh this wetness, that heat between my legs, let me just rub them together, touch me there already! Her laughter seemed to make the walls tremble, she could hardly collect enough air - only to let it out rapidly through the laughing mouth, the rising and falling head. She could feel her nipples rubbing against the mattress with every move, sending shockwaves down her body.
Finally the bouquet of feathers left her ears and neck, but the relief was short. With record speed the malicious feathers clung to an exposed underarm, rocking fast back and forth, ran wild, tickled her to the bone. The other bouquet went down the crack of her ass, more, more… Finally she could feel it there… moans of pleasure mixed into the fit of incessant laughter, the combined sounds raising and supporting each other; the back arched, the head twisted from side to side with extra strength.
At last the fan of feathers left the poor underarm, was tossed aside, she heard a short bubbling voice – and then, instead of the feathers, came five fast fingers pushing into every crevice of her hips, her ribs… the touch was slippery, some kind of oil, no doubt… the slippery feeling only added to the power of the tickle.
There was no strength left in her neck, her head now lay defeated and desperate, spurting out the laughter that was burning her lungs, harmonizing with the moans produced by the feathers that devastated her between her legs. She could already feel the contractions forming in her belly…
And again… just like last week… the feathers left her, abandoned and hanging in the thin air by the summit – and two maddening hands, oily and slippery, tickled powerfully on her hips, skipped to the back of her thighs, to her feet, irritated her bare back… she wanted to slap with her hands and feet, to leap, twist, run, fly like the super-heroine she was seeming to be, but couldn't move an inch; the super-heroine had been subdued, held in a pillory of laughter and a deep, sharp, unsatisfied itch of stimulation.
***
Tears of laughter soaked the pillow, a wet stain was visible on the sheet between her legs. Her whole body sparkled with sweat, her muscles ached from the strain even more, and still her left her hung on the edge – such torture! – and all she could do was laugh. Not protest. Not beg…
Fingers kept tormenting her, passing but not passing, penetrating but not penetrating, as she hovered in another world, the tickling raising her to higher clouds of laughter and ecstasy, hopping, surprising, attacking a new weak spot each time, making her self control crumble to dust.
This time the finger was more focused… its fellow fingers played the labia, penetrating slightly, then more , raising her to higher levels… the laughter catalyzed by the other hand - that was still tickling her - rose in pitch and volume, gradually becoming a scream. The back arched in a last convulsion of unexpected, forced flexibility…
And then – the looseness of limbs; even if she hadn't been tied she wouldn't be able to move a single muscle. Tickles ran through her body, squeezing hoarse, tired laughs from her… was it he tickling, or was her body doing it to itself?
It wasn't him. Much to her astonishment, as she was expecting the fingers that would storm her with renewed tickling, right then at the peak of her sensitivity, he undid the four straps that were holding her.
Was that it?
He flipped her over. Her tired body was now laying like a powerless rag doll on its back – and then he re-tied her, reaching out to her stomach and breasts that have been protected until now, hidden in the mattress… She shut her eyes, fresh tears were flowing freely from them. And the laughter… that laughter… it was shaking her again, and his hand has only approached, hasn't touched her yet…
***
She didn't even have enough power to laugh anymore. Sense of the outside world was gone… all that was left was that huge exhaustion after the grinding laughter, the draining orgasms. His last tickles were answered with a faint sound, half laughing, half crying. She was almost paralyzed when he finally untied her and gave her the warm soft hug she had already come to know. It took several minutes for her to ease the fast breathing and regulate her heartbeats, and her arms returned the hug. "You're evil", she said with a thin smile, "you wrecked me today."
***
END of part 2... part 3 to follow...
This is part 2 of the story I initially published in Hebrew in the Israeli tickling forum.
In case you missed the first one, go see it here:
http://www.ticklingforum.com/showthread.php?t=110930
Like the first part, this story is based on true events.
hope you enjoy!
***
A week has passed since that first time.
In her apartment near a table she sat, cup of coffee in hand, and reminisced again, like she did every day this past week. The initial shock, the involuntary spasms in the arms and legs pulling the restraints, the light pain in the ribs and the lungs and the diaphragm that pushed out the huge amount of air she needed, so she could laugh and laugh and laugh, and in between – to moan and groan and shout… All of that seemed to have been long gone. Only memories remained now. Memories of the feeling, of the tickling shots flying into the brain from every spot on the body, the ecstasy that left her almost paralyzed, the feeling of reaching the limits and stretching them thin. Memories of an orgasm, and another, and another… and of the body becoming more and more ticklish.
She remembered the payback, how she kept him so tense, tickled his tied up body crazy as he convulsed with laughter, brought to him to the well but prevented him from drinking time and time again, just so he would pounce on her, hungry as a tiger, when she untied him… The perfect revenge, she thought and smiled.
No, not only memories remained… but also the passion and the longing – to experience it again, to explore it further, to search, to go insane. The wait would be over soon. He already knew where to come.
All week they spoke about what they've been through, drove each other crazy again, and again she felt the excitement, the fast strong heartbeats, just like in the first time – and even more, as she had come to know that feeling, it had been engraved in her brain. She had heard from him that even after many years, after dozens of experiences, the excitement never fades or dulls – and now, after the first time and heading toward a second, she knew that it was so. One cannot get used to it or get bored of it, and there would always be that excitement of expectation for the next time.
And that time has arrived, with three soft knocks on the door. She laid down the coffee cup, only half consumed, before her shaking hand would drop it; got up on stumbling legs – again the instinctive fear was pricking her… she opened the door – and felt the familiar strong arms turning her around to face the entrance hall wall, holding her from behind. Her breath seemed to have been knocked out of her.
"You know I'm going to tickle you today… insane tickles, torturing and pleasuring tickles…" She heard him whisper. She was taken by surprise – in their first encounter he had hardly spoken to her – and felt she was melting in his arms, just by hearing the sound of those words…
But not for long – her body erected hastily when she felt the prick of his fingers in her waist, her head being thrown back, the moan on the verge of laughter that forced its way from her lungs.
And there it was again… and again… electric shocks of tickling were running from her waist to hear head, passing through the chest and extracting the sweet laughter from it. His arm wrapped her and prevented her from moving, the wall in front of her took the kicks of her flailing feet – and with every chapter of laughter, another finger sent it the next tickling shot.
She hung on his hugging arms, the wall continuing to take her kicks without complaint, her hands trying unsuccessfully to break his grip, and with every tickle she was laughing louder, shaking her head from side to side. "No! Stop! Let me breathe…" she begged between laughs, as between her legs that other tickle began to be felt, increasing with every movement of her legs. He held her with one arm now – "how strong he was!", a single thought crossed her mind between a tickle and the next, between one laugh and the following – the fingers of that hugging arm kept digging into her waist and ribs, while another mischievous hand tickled her breasts and belly. The wall in front prevented her from doubling over. She had no way to stop him. The laughter rose, accompanied with groans each time his mouth and tongue passed over the back of her neck, or an ear.
He left her after several long minutes, and she leaned against the wall, huffing and puffing, laying her hands on it for support, unable to resist as her shirt was tugged over her head, the clasp of her bra was opened allowing it to fall off her breasts. She turned around quickly to face him, hugged his neck, clang to him, and kissed him, her tongue twirling with his. He pushed her gently with his body until her back was held tight against the wall, and tickled her ribs with quick fingers.
Immediately he felt the choke of hot air from her throat to his as she laughed into the kiss, anxious to separate her mouth from his. Her breasts clang tighter to his chest with every stifled laugh.
This time she paid him back, and tickled his waist. She remembered how ticklish he was there a week ago… and he didn't let her down this time either, he bounced back and laughed, the kiss broke apart – but he wouldn't give in, and the tickling rose in power, rising to her ribs and underarms, sliding down to her thighs.
They undressed and tickled each other, touring every part of the body released from the cloth, absorbing the thrill of increasing reactions and the combined laughs, until they remained nude in front of each other, breathing away remnants of laughter, ticklish tingles running up and down their bodies.
***
A quick tickle of hers to his belly made him double over and retreat, and she ran away from him, laughing, to the bedroom. He chased her, caught her at the foot of the bed, and held her again with her back to him. She felt him tight against her, and knew that he was feeling at least as hot as she was.
"You know you'll get punished for this", he said, and tickled her lower abdomen. She laughed out loud, and escaped the only way she had – by falling forwards onto the bed, face down. He hurried after her and knelt, his shins wrapping her on both sides, his ass on hers, pinning her to the mattress.
"No… no…" She begged through the unstoppable laugh, trying to get him off her.
"No what? That?" he teased her as he reached back and tickled the back of her thighs.
"No!! Not there!! Please!! Please…" She couldn't say more than that, her feet kicked the mattress, her legs tried to avoid his fast fingers, her hands again tried to remove his legs' grip on her torso. Her back arched up in an almost impossible angle, and the laughter burst out, and flowed, as if pushed out by a powerful engine that couldn't be shut down.
And he went on and on, his one hand had already climbed to the back of her neck, tickling there so softly it made her mind blow over. Her head rocked from side to side after his fingers, trying to block, to reduce the open space… while her legs were still trying to get rid of his other hand tickling the thighs, in uneven rhythm, it seemed to her like there were two different people tickling her… and the tickling doubled, and so did the laughter, and the heat that spread from the center of the body every time her thighs rubbed together. She expected him to flip her over, but was surprised when her arms were stretched above her head while still lying face down, and tied to the head of the bed. Her legs were spread apart and tied as well, and she found herself open and exposed, knowing that new fields of tickling were now at his mercy, spots that had not yet tasted the feather and the dancing fingers.
***
"That's new", she laughed, trying to turn her head back to look at him.
"Turn back!" he ordered from his sitting position, and tickled the exposed defenseless underarms of the body under him, that beckoning body lying face down secured to the four corners of the bed.
She laughed loudly, and obeyed… she had no choice. Her arms couldn't be pulled down, and the poor underarms were totally accessible to his assault. Her arms, stretched forward, gave her the look of a flying super-heroine, how she wanted to lower them and hold them tight to her sides! But all she could do was laugh, laugh to release the air compressed into her lungs by the sensitized nervous system.
Occasionally she would try to raise and turn her head, to catch him in the corner of her eye, maybe he would take pity and stop… but she wouldn't be able to take the strain for long, and her face would fall down, her laughter choked by the pillow that seemed to take it willingly. He moved to her ribs, her hips, and again the underarms, on this side and then on the other, driving her insane, taking her by surprise again and again, with her totally unprotected and unable to stop him.
Just as she felt her lungs were running out of air, he stopped.
She breathed quickly, trying to cover the oxygen debt, stings of imaginary tickling poking her brain, pricking it tenderly, extracting more short stifled pulses of laughter. He turned backwards, and rose again holding two feather – no, what is it? Not the usual feathers from last time… those were bundles of feathers shaped like open fans.
She saw them as she turned her head, aching to see what would happen to her now.
"Oh no…" she sighed when she saw the tools of destruction in his hands.
Slowly, gently, a fan of feathers strolled down her bare back. She shivered violently, choking a groan.
At the same rhythm, the other fan passed down the side of her body, from underarm to hip. Again she choked, this time stifling a slightly nervous laughter. Again that fear took over – that primal fear of what's to come next, although she knew what it was.
Now the two feathery fans were passing together, twirling on her back, one making its way up, holding to tickle the back of the neck, stinging her ears; the other making its way down to the small of her back, and then further down to the crack of her ass, playing there and finding new nerve endings to stimulate, to tickle, to agonize and delight.
She never imagined that. She was ticklish there too! She didn't have much time to think, the tickling was shaking her again, while the other bouquet of feathers was driving her nuts like a mosquito buzzing at her ear. That was too much! She twisted around as much as she could, she felt as if her bones had melted and she was twisting like a boneless mollusk, anything to escape this suffering, the lightning strikes of tickling filling the head, oh this wetness, that heat between my legs, let me just rub them together, touch me there already! Her laughter seemed to make the walls tremble, she could hardly collect enough air - only to let it out rapidly through the laughing mouth, the rising and falling head. She could feel her nipples rubbing against the mattress with every move, sending shockwaves down her body.
Finally the bouquet of feathers left her ears and neck, but the relief was short. With record speed the malicious feathers clung to an exposed underarm, rocking fast back and forth, ran wild, tickled her to the bone. The other bouquet went down the crack of her ass, more, more… Finally she could feel it there… moans of pleasure mixed into the fit of incessant laughter, the combined sounds raising and supporting each other; the back arched, the head twisted from side to side with extra strength.
At last the fan of feathers left the poor underarm, was tossed aside, she heard a short bubbling voice – and then, instead of the feathers, came five fast fingers pushing into every crevice of her hips, her ribs… the touch was slippery, some kind of oil, no doubt… the slippery feeling only added to the power of the tickle.
There was no strength left in her neck, her head now lay defeated and desperate, spurting out the laughter that was burning her lungs, harmonizing with the moans produced by the feathers that devastated her between her legs. She could already feel the contractions forming in her belly…
And again… just like last week… the feathers left her, abandoned and hanging in the thin air by the summit – and two maddening hands, oily and slippery, tickled powerfully on her hips, skipped to the back of her thighs, to her feet, irritated her bare back… she wanted to slap with her hands and feet, to leap, twist, run, fly like the super-heroine she was seeming to be, but couldn't move an inch; the super-heroine had been subdued, held in a pillory of laughter and a deep, sharp, unsatisfied itch of stimulation.
***
Tears of laughter soaked the pillow, a wet stain was visible on the sheet between her legs. Her whole body sparkled with sweat, her muscles ached from the strain even more, and still her left her hung on the edge – such torture! – and all she could do was laugh. Not protest. Not beg…
Fingers kept tormenting her, passing but not passing, penetrating but not penetrating, as she hovered in another world, the tickling raising her to higher clouds of laughter and ecstasy, hopping, surprising, attacking a new weak spot each time, making her self control crumble to dust.
This time the finger was more focused… its fellow fingers played the labia, penetrating slightly, then more , raising her to higher levels… the laughter catalyzed by the other hand - that was still tickling her - rose in pitch and volume, gradually becoming a scream. The back arched in a last convulsion of unexpected, forced flexibility…
And then – the looseness of limbs; even if she hadn't been tied she wouldn't be able to move a single muscle. Tickles ran through her body, squeezing hoarse, tired laughs from her… was it he tickling, or was her body doing it to itself?
It wasn't him. Much to her astonishment, as she was expecting the fingers that would storm her with renewed tickling, right then at the peak of her sensitivity, he undid the four straps that were holding her.
Was that it?
He flipped her over. Her tired body was now laying like a powerless rag doll on its back – and then he re-tied her, reaching out to her stomach and breasts that have been protected until now, hidden in the mattress… She shut her eyes, fresh tears were flowing freely from them. And the laughter… that laughter… it was shaking her again, and his hand has only approached, hasn't touched her yet…
***
She didn't even have enough power to laugh anymore. Sense of the outside world was gone… all that was left was that huge exhaustion after the grinding laughter, the draining orgasms. His last tickles were answered with a faint sound, half laughing, half crying. She was almost paralyzed when he finally untied her and gave her the warm soft hug she had already come to know. It took several minutes for her to ease the fast breathing and regulate her heartbeats, and her arms returned the hug. "You're evil", she said with a thin smile, "you wrecked me today."
***
END of part 2... part 3 to follow...
