Francie_Pants
TMF Poster
- Joined
- May 6, 2008
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Here's a fantasy of mine, put into a story. Hope you enjoy.
I had never been so bored in my life. It was only 11:00 am, and this seminar had been going since 9:00 am. We would get a half hour for lunch, at 1:00 pm and then have to be there until 5:00 pm, for the remainder of day one. Then there was still all day Saturday, and half a day Sunday, and since my employer considered this to be like a 'vacation' for me, it was right back to the grind, for Monday-Friday work week. I was not happy about two weeks without what I considered to be a day off, but at least the hotel was paid for, and it was something away from home. There was a cocktail lounge, and I was sure I could make good use of it.
In the meantime, I was listening to this goofy looking stock analyst, with really bad hair, go on and on about why his company provided the best mutual funds, and et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. You know how people, who get nervous when speaking in public, will find something and focus on it, for the entire speech? Well, he had found something. I was seated in the 3rd row of tables, and it didn't matter where I moved my feet, his eyes were mostly fixated on them. I was particularly worried that he could see up my skirt, despite my attempts to maintain zero visibility, so during the lunch break, I went up to my room and changed into a pair of jeans. I had gone into the meeting, thinking it would be formal, but turns out I felt pretty silly, being the only person there who was even close to being in business attire, being in a black blazer, white blouse, and black skirt, jet-black pantyhose, and black 2.5 inch heeled pumps.
The remainder of the day proceeded in very much the same way, with long boring presentations on each different type of portfolio that could be built. He also continued to stare at my feet, but this time it was more obvious. I had moved to another place a few rows back, that would make it harder for him to watch. He moved to a spot on the floor, that was not all that strategic for someone speaking to the crowd in the room, but made it pretty easy for him to lock his glance on my feet. I tried not to let it make me feel uncomfortable, but it was so obvious to me that I wondered if anyone else noticed.
I had been in a hurry to change, because I wanted to eat too, so I just swapped the skirt for the jeans, keeping the rest of the outfit intact, right down to the pantyhose and pumps, so maybe he just had a thing for that, I don't know. Needless to say, I was glad when 5:00 came, and he dismissed the class. I didn't even bother going back to my room; I went straight to the lounge.
After some food and a few drinks, I was feeling better, when I noticed he had entered the lounge as well. That confirmed my suspicion that he was staying in the same hotel. I had found out that some were put up in the other hotel, across the street. He noticed me right off the bat, and made his way to the empty stool next to me. For once in my life, I wished the sloppy drunk who couldn't get a clue was sitting next to me, like all the other times.
"Hey, Francie," he said, plopping on the stool, and looking goofy as all get out.
"Hey.." I answered, almost wondering how he knew my name, but then I remembered the name sticker on my chest, and giggles, pulling it off, "Thanks for the reminder."
He laughed and ordered a drink, then spoke again, "I couldn't help but notice that you came prepared for a more formal affair. I hope you didn't feel too out of place."
I just smiled a fake smile, wanting so badly to say I felt uncomfortable, but for different reasons. I decided it wasn't a good idea though and replied, "Nah, it wasn't that bad. I took care of it."
"Indeed you did," he was curiously monotone, in saying that, as if his mind was somewhere else, then he came right back, "Let me buy you a drink. To the last of a generation of people who dress to impress."
That was very forward, but I'd already had three, and I think he knew it, too. I was certainly not turning down a free one, either. At $7.00 a drink, it can cost a fortune to get a buzz, "Sure, after a day of discussing mutual funds, who could turn that down?"
He laughed, but it seemed kind of hollow. I didn't care. I was starting to feel better, and would've said what I thought about just about anything, at that moment.
"Some people just don't have the passion for it that I have,” he spoke, trying I guess for a little but of self justification. I took the drink, as the bartender set it next to me, and concentrated on it. It was the same as I had been drinking, but the bartender must have seen my disinterest in the man, and mixed it stronger, to heighten the fun factor.
I sat there, smiling and nodding, while listening him go into detail about why he was so passionate about his work. As he talked, I continued to down the drink, thinking that at this rate, he was going to tell me his life story over the next 12-13 drinks, until I needed to be rolled back to the room on a luggage cart. I decided not to wait around for that.
"I should be getting back to the room. I didn't get a day off this week, so I'm gonna relax and watch some TV or something,” I said, as I set the glass down and rose from the stool.
As I stood, I felt a severe lightheadedness rush over me, and nearly fell back down onto the stool, before shaking my head and starting towards the exit.
"Hmm, let me at least walk you to your room," he started after me.
"Oh, that's ok, I'll be fine...” I said, swaying a little as I walked. I didn't think I had drank that much, but I guess the bartender mixed that last one extra strong.
"Oh, I insist. It's the least I can do after nearly putting you to sleep with 8 hours my chatter,” he was persistent.
"Oh, alright." I relented, knowing that if I didn't, he'd follow me and argue all the way, anyway.
He smiled and followed, holding me by the arm, to help me maintain balance, as we neared the elevator. By the time we reached my room, I was feeling more like taking a nap than watching TV, and just wanted to get to the bed as soon as possible.
I let myself into the room, and he followed, I thought, to guide me to the bed. Well, that he did, and a nice bed it was; king size with an ornate wooden headboard. The instant my head hit the pillow I was out.
I expected to wake with a headache, but I didn't, much to my surprise. That was quickly put out of mind though, when I realized, upon opening my eyes, that everything was still black. At first I thought it was because all the lights were out, but when I tried to rub my eyes, I realized that I couldn't move my hands. A few minutes of trying to move proved to me that I had been tied to the bed. My wrists were each tied together, and apparently lashed to the headboard, with more binding around my elbows, tying them tightly together. My ankles were tied together, also, sticking just over the edge of the bed, with a rope from them tying them to the frame under the center of the bed. Additionally my knees were bound together.
I tried to call out, but I was gagged. There I lay completely helpless and as far as I knew, still in my hotel room. I couldn't tell if I was alone or not, until I heard a voice...that voice...the guy from the seminar, Mr. Mutual Funds, himself. Fear gripped me, because I couldn't move, or do anything to defend myself, and had no idea what he would want with me, to do this to me.
I felt him sit down on the bed, next to me, while I squirmed and strained, trying to find some way to loosen the ropes, and get off of that bed. He started talking.
"Nice to see you're finally waking up, Francie. I was starting to worry."
I replied with some garbled nonsense, while angrily jerking against the ropes.
"I guess you noticed I was watching your feet this morning, because you moved, this afternoon, to try and make it harder for me to watch." His voice was sending chills down my spine, now. I was still frantically trying to break the ropes or pull myself out of them as he talked, but I was getting nowhere.
"That was not very nice. I had to walk the floor for several minutes, trying to find a good place to stand, for a nice view of them." Ok, now he was freaking me out. I screamed, but with the cloth filling my mouth and the cleave gag holding it in, I didn't make much noise at all.
I felt pressure on my calves, as he sat across my legs, straddling them, as he sat at the end of the bed. My feet were now sticking out in front of him, tied down and pinned between his legs.
"Now, you can't move them, and I can look at them all I want." He was right about that. I was completely helpless. A wave of shock went through me, when I felt him grab my pumps and begin to slide them slowly off.
Amid a flurry of garbled protests, he pulled the shoes off, a little bit at a time, until my nyloned feet were bare and wiggling.
"Ahh, the next thing I was wondering...toenail polish. Nice shade of red." The more frantic I got, the calmer he seemed to get, "I stared at your feet all day long, and not once did you pull those toes out and show them to me. That was very wicked of you."
Was this guy for real? I had to be dreaming. I pinched my left hand hard, but didn't wake up. A sick feeling grew in my stomach.
"I wondered about that, and about one other thing, also, Francie."
I didn't really want to know what else he was wondering about. I wanted out. My wildest of struggles, however, availed to nothing. He knew what he was doing with the bindings, and had secured me in a way that I was not getting out.
The next move shocked me, and nearly made me scream, instantly, before I managed to stifle myself. Waves of tingly spasm pulsated through my body, as I felt him drag his fingers up the soles of my feet. I batted his hands with my feet, trying to swat them away, and then cover one with the other.
"Ahhh, so they are ticklish. That's what I wanted to know." Upon saying that, he dug into my soles with a passion. It only took moments to have me cackling like a hen in a coop full of foxes. I didn't want to laugh, but I couldn't help it. My feet are just too ticklish. I could be in a life or death situation, and I'm afraid I'd laugh, if they started tickling my feet.
Screams and pleas were muffled and garbled by the gag, as I jerked and writhed with all my strength. He then used one hand to grab my two big toes and pull them back, so that I couldn't protect one with the other, or swat his fingers away. He used the other hand to sadistically flitter five fingers all over the surfaces of both soles, simultaneously.
Tears filled my eyes and started to soak the blindfold, while I laid there, going absolutely mad, as he tormented the sensitive nerves on the bottoms of my feet with his masterful tickling hands. It was clear that I was not his first victim. He seemed to know how to find the spots that drove me the wildest, and focus on them.
After finding out how badly sensitive my arches were, he spent what felt like an hour, just torturing the arch of my right foot, with repeated spiderings of his fingers, right in the center of it. It felt like an hour, but had to have been at least five minutes, because I was on pins and needles by the time he was done. The slightest touch anywhere would have made me scream, at that point.
He wasn't interested in anywhere else, though, it seemed. He let go of my toes and went all out, with all ten fingers, scratching and raking them from my heels to my toes. Then he used his palms to hold my toes back, and four fingered the undersides of the toes on each foot.
Being unable to see, or speak, I was alone with my hysteria, and having to cope with it in the only way I knew how: laugh. I laughed, and I laughed. When I didn't think I could laugh anymore, I had no choice but to keep laughing. From giggles to guffaws, cackles to silent gasps, laughter was the one constant during the ordeal.
In a flash, he shocked me, though, by switching his focus. I felt his hands begin grabbing my knees, as he still sat across my calves. The grabbing tickled bad enough, but he was pulling the denim against the nylon, adding a tingly sensation to the grabs. Between the two, it was the worst knee tickling had ever tickled. Spasming on the bed, I blared with ear splitting laughter, while his hands moved up from my knees to my thighs and then back down.
Would there ever be an end to this insanity? In my mind I reasoned that there head to be. He had another seminar to teach tomorrow, and I had to attend, to receive credit for the class. On the other hand, it felt like an eternity, each minute that the torture continued.
Little by little, he moved up my legs, and then got off of me, so that he could reposition himself. After repositioning himself, I felt his hands slide down into my pants and the fingers started lightly digging into my nylon covered hip creases.
I went ballistic again, screaming for several moments, before falling into a roar of constant cackles. The harder I thrashed, the worse it was, because no matter which way I moved, my tight jeans held his hands in place against my hips, keeping the stimulations constant. I'm sure my face was probably red enough to stop traffic, by this point, but I couldn't see it and I really didn't care. All I cared about was getting the tickling to stop. There was nothing I could do, though. I was utterly helpless. I couldn't move; I couldn't see; and I couldn't beg him to stop.
I don't think it would have helped to beg. By my gauging, the begging would have probably hit a more sinister side of him, and driven him to tickle harder.
He continued to move upward, hitting my sides and my stomach next, after straddling my waist for better positioning and access. After pulling my shirt tail out, he put his hands up my shirt, and walked his fingers up and down on my rib cage. I laughed in deep guffaws, hoarsely roaring amid his uninterrupted invasions of my ticklish areas. I wanted desperately to pull my arms down, for protecting my sensitive upper body, but the bindings would allow none of that.
Inch by inch he moved upwards, towards my armpits. The closer he got to my armpits, the higher the pitch of my laughter got. He tickled the sides of my breasts, for several moments, sliding his fingers under the bra straps, and really digging in. I was just screaming, which didn't sound like much, through all the mufflings.
I could have waited for him to go to my armpits, but he didn't wait. His fingers moved into them, and I screamed in pitches I hadn't hit since I was a child. It hurt my voice to scream that high, and the giggles that followed were in close to the same pitch. I tried to roll to the left, and then tried to roll to the right. There was no escape. His hands were inside my blouse, so that whichever way I twisted, they went, too.
The harder I pulled on the ropes, the faster his fingers seemed to tickle. It was as if he was torturing me additionally, for trying to get away. He hadn't said a word, since he had started tickling, not that I wanted to hear him, but I wouldn't have minded the distraction. Maybe it would have taken my mind off of the tickling a little.
He spent a lot longer in my armpits than he did on my midsection or legs, probably because of how hysterical I got, but when I felt him turn back around and straddle my calves, again, I knew the worst was yet to come.
Since I had passed out, and had no idea how long I'd been out, I had no concept of what time it might be. I might have been out an hour, giving him all night to do this, or I might have slept all night, and it might be over soon.
I forgot all about time, again, as I felt his fingers start up in my arches. I'd barely had time to start to catch my breath, after the armpit attack. Within seconds, I had expelled most of the air I had inhaled, and was cackling breathlessly, trying to move my feet out of the path of his tickling fingers.
"I have to say that your feet are my favorite, Francie." He spoke as he raked five fingers up and down each sole, over and over again, "I could spend hours tickling them, like this."
His words sent chills through my bones, but I didn't dwell long on them. I was too busy laughing explosively. When I thought I didn't have another laugh in me, I just laughed harder. The harder I laughed, the longer he tickled. He alternated from one foot to the other, bending the toes back and holding them, while he scribbled fingers all over the sensitive nylon covered skin.
I had wet myself at some point, but was laughing so hard I hadn't noticed. He didn't seem to care either. Finally, he stopped and got up.
"Well, I'd better go get some sleep and teach this class. Now, don't you go anywhere. We’ve got another whole night of play ahead of us. I'll make sure to mark you as present on the roll call, so nothing to worry about there."
I whimpered and groaned, my hopes of getting out of this dashed for the moment. I heard the sounds of him getting his things together and leaving. I wasn't able to see, but he took one of the copies of my keys, and put a do not disturb sign on the outside of the door, so that housekeeping wouldn't come in and find me.
He would be back.
I had never been so bored in my life. It was only 11:00 am, and this seminar had been going since 9:00 am. We would get a half hour for lunch, at 1:00 pm and then have to be there until 5:00 pm, for the remainder of day one. Then there was still all day Saturday, and half a day Sunday, and since my employer considered this to be like a 'vacation' for me, it was right back to the grind, for Monday-Friday work week. I was not happy about two weeks without what I considered to be a day off, but at least the hotel was paid for, and it was something away from home. There was a cocktail lounge, and I was sure I could make good use of it.
In the meantime, I was listening to this goofy looking stock analyst, with really bad hair, go on and on about why his company provided the best mutual funds, and et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. You know how people, who get nervous when speaking in public, will find something and focus on it, for the entire speech? Well, he had found something. I was seated in the 3rd row of tables, and it didn't matter where I moved my feet, his eyes were mostly fixated on them. I was particularly worried that he could see up my skirt, despite my attempts to maintain zero visibility, so during the lunch break, I went up to my room and changed into a pair of jeans. I had gone into the meeting, thinking it would be formal, but turns out I felt pretty silly, being the only person there who was even close to being in business attire, being in a black blazer, white blouse, and black skirt, jet-black pantyhose, and black 2.5 inch heeled pumps.
The remainder of the day proceeded in very much the same way, with long boring presentations on each different type of portfolio that could be built. He also continued to stare at my feet, but this time it was more obvious. I had moved to another place a few rows back, that would make it harder for him to watch. He moved to a spot on the floor, that was not all that strategic for someone speaking to the crowd in the room, but made it pretty easy for him to lock his glance on my feet. I tried not to let it make me feel uncomfortable, but it was so obvious to me that I wondered if anyone else noticed.
I had been in a hurry to change, because I wanted to eat too, so I just swapped the skirt for the jeans, keeping the rest of the outfit intact, right down to the pantyhose and pumps, so maybe he just had a thing for that, I don't know. Needless to say, I was glad when 5:00 came, and he dismissed the class. I didn't even bother going back to my room; I went straight to the lounge.
After some food and a few drinks, I was feeling better, when I noticed he had entered the lounge as well. That confirmed my suspicion that he was staying in the same hotel. I had found out that some were put up in the other hotel, across the street. He noticed me right off the bat, and made his way to the empty stool next to me. For once in my life, I wished the sloppy drunk who couldn't get a clue was sitting next to me, like all the other times.
"Hey, Francie," he said, plopping on the stool, and looking goofy as all get out.
"Hey.." I answered, almost wondering how he knew my name, but then I remembered the name sticker on my chest, and giggles, pulling it off, "Thanks for the reminder."
He laughed and ordered a drink, then spoke again, "I couldn't help but notice that you came prepared for a more formal affair. I hope you didn't feel too out of place."
I just smiled a fake smile, wanting so badly to say I felt uncomfortable, but for different reasons. I decided it wasn't a good idea though and replied, "Nah, it wasn't that bad. I took care of it."
"Indeed you did," he was curiously monotone, in saying that, as if his mind was somewhere else, then he came right back, "Let me buy you a drink. To the last of a generation of people who dress to impress."
That was very forward, but I'd already had three, and I think he knew it, too. I was certainly not turning down a free one, either. At $7.00 a drink, it can cost a fortune to get a buzz, "Sure, after a day of discussing mutual funds, who could turn that down?"
He laughed, but it seemed kind of hollow. I didn't care. I was starting to feel better, and would've said what I thought about just about anything, at that moment.
"Some people just don't have the passion for it that I have,” he spoke, trying I guess for a little but of self justification. I took the drink, as the bartender set it next to me, and concentrated on it. It was the same as I had been drinking, but the bartender must have seen my disinterest in the man, and mixed it stronger, to heighten the fun factor.
I sat there, smiling and nodding, while listening him go into detail about why he was so passionate about his work. As he talked, I continued to down the drink, thinking that at this rate, he was going to tell me his life story over the next 12-13 drinks, until I needed to be rolled back to the room on a luggage cart. I decided not to wait around for that.
"I should be getting back to the room. I didn't get a day off this week, so I'm gonna relax and watch some TV or something,” I said, as I set the glass down and rose from the stool.
As I stood, I felt a severe lightheadedness rush over me, and nearly fell back down onto the stool, before shaking my head and starting towards the exit.
"Hmm, let me at least walk you to your room," he started after me.
"Oh, that's ok, I'll be fine...” I said, swaying a little as I walked. I didn't think I had drank that much, but I guess the bartender mixed that last one extra strong.
"Oh, I insist. It's the least I can do after nearly putting you to sleep with 8 hours my chatter,” he was persistent.
"Oh, alright." I relented, knowing that if I didn't, he'd follow me and argue all the way, anyway.
He smiled and followed, holding me by the arm, to help me maintain balance, as we neared the elevator. By the time we reached my room, I was feeling more like taking a nap than watching TV, and just wanted to get to the bed as soon as possible.
I let myself into the room, and he followed, I thought, to guide me to the bed. Well, that he did, and a nice bed it was; king size with an ornate wooden headboard. The instant my head hit the pillow I was out.
I expected to wake with a headache, but I didn't, much to my surprise. That was quickly put out of mind though, when I realized, upon opening my eyes, that everything was still black. At first I thought it was because all the lights were out, but when I tried to rub my eyes, I realized that I couldn't move my hands. A few minutes of trying to move proved to me that I had been tied to the bed. My wrists were each tied together, and apparently lashed to the headboard, with more binding around my elbows, tying them tightly together. My ankles were tied together, also, sticking just over the edge of the bed, with a rope from them tying them to the frame under the center of the bed. Additionally my knees were bound together.
I tried to call out, but I was gagged. There I lay completely helpless and as far as I knew, still in my hotel room. I couldn't tell if I was alone or not, until I heard a voice...that voice...the guy from the seminar, Mr. Mutual Funds, himself. Fear gripped me, because I couldn't move, or do anything to defend myself, and had no idea what he would want with me, to do this to me.
I felt him sit down on the bed, next to me, while I squirmed and strained, trying to find some way to loosen the ropes, and get off of that bed. He started talking.
"Nice to see you're finally waking up, Francie. I was starting to worry."
I replied with some garbled nonsense, while angrily jerking against the ropes.
"I guess you noticed I was watching your feet this morning, because you moved, this afternoon, to try and make it harder for me to watch." His voice was sending chills down my spine, now. I was still frantically trying to break the ropes or pull myself out of them as he talked, but I was getting nowhere.
"That was not very nice. I had to walk the floor for several minutes, trying to find a good place to stand, for a nice view of them." Ok, now he was freaking me out. I screamed, but with the cloth filling my mouth and the cleave gag holding it in, I didn't make much noise at all.
I felt pressure on my calves, as he sat across my legs, straddling them, as he sat at the end of the bed. My feet were now sticking out in front of him, tied down and pinned between his legs.
"Now, you can't move them, and I can look at them all I want." He was right about that. I was completely helpless. A wave of shock went through me, when I felt him grab my pumps and begin to slide them slowly off.
Amid a flurry of garbled protests, he pulled the shoes off, a little bit at a time, until my nyloned feet were bare and wiggling.
"Ahh, the next thing I was wondering...toenail polish. Nice shade of red." The more frantic I got, the calmer he seemed to get, "I stared at your feet all day long, and not once did you pull those toes out and show them to me. That was very wicked of you."
Was this guy for real? I had to be dreaming. I pinched my left hand hard, but didn't wake up. A sick feeling grew in my stomach.
"I wondered about that, and about one other thing, also, Francie."
I didn't really want to know what else he was wondering about. I wanted out. My wildest of struggles, however, availed to nothing. He knew what he was doing with the bindings, and had secured me in a way that I was not getting out.
The next move shocked me, and nearly made me scream, instantly, before I managed to stifle myself. Waves of tingly spasm pulsated through my body, as I felt him drag his fingers up the soles of my feet. I batted his hands with my feet, trying to swat them away, and then cover one with the other.
"Ahhh, so they are ticklish. That's what I wanted to know." Upon saying that, he dug into my soles with a passion. It only took moments to have me cackling like a hen in a coop full of foxes. I didn't want to laugh, but I couldn't help it. My feet are just too ticklish. I could be in a life or death situation, and I'm afraid I'd laugh, if they started tickling my feet.
Screams and pleas were muffled and garbled by the gag, as I jerked and writhed with all my strength. He then used one hand to grab my two big toes and pull them back, so that I couldn't protect one with the other, or swat his fingers away. He used the other hand to sadistically flitter five fingers all over the surfaces of both soles, simultaneously.
Tears filled my eyes and started to soak the blindfold, while I laid there, going absolutely mad, as he tormented the sensitive nerves on the bottoms of my feet with his masterful tickling hands. It was clear that I was not his first victim. He seemed to know how to find the spots that drove me the wildest, and focus on them.
After finding out how badly sensitive my arches were, he spent what felt like an hour, just torturing the arch of my right foot, with repeated spiderings of his fingers, right in the center of it. It felt like an hour, but had to have been at least five minutes, because I was on pins and needles by the time he was done. The slightest touch anywhere would have made me scream, at that point.
He wasn't interested in anywhere else, though, it seemed. He let go of my toes and went all out, with all ten fingers, scratching and raking them from my heels to my toes. Then he used his palms to hold my toes back, and four fingered the undersides of the toes on each foot.
Being unable to see, or speak, I was alone with my hysteria, and having to cope with it in the only way I knew how: laugh. I laughed, and I laughed. When I didn't think I could laugh anymore, I had no choice but to keep laughing. From giggles to guffaws, cackles to silent gasps, laughter was the one constant during the ordeal.
In a flash, he shocked me, though, by switching his focus. I felt his hands begin grabbing my knees, as he still sat across my calves. The grabbing tickled bad enough, but he was pulling the denim against the nylon, adding a tingly sensation to the grabs. Between the two, it was the worst knee tickling had ever tickled. Spasming on the bed, I blared with ear splitting laughter, while his hands moved up from my knees to my thighs and then back down.
Would there ever be an end to this insanity? In my mind I reasoned that there head to be. He had another seminar to teach tomorrow, and I had to attend, to receive credit for the class. On the other hand, it felt like an eternity, each minute that the torture continued.
Little by little, he moved up my legs, and then got off of me, so that he could reposition himself. After repositioning himself, I felt his hands slide down into my pants and the fingers started lightly digging into my nylon covered hip creases.
I went ballistic again, screaming for several moments, before falling into a roar of constant cackles. The harder I thrashed, the worse it was, because no matter which way I moved, my tight jeans held his hands in place against my hips, keeping the stimulations constant. I'm sure my face was probably red enough to stop traffic, by this point, but I couldn't see it and I really didn't care. All I cared about was getting the tickling to stop. There was nothing I could do, though. I was utterly helpless. I couldn't move; I couldn't see; and I couldn't beg him to stop.
I don't think it would have helped to beg. By my gauging, the begging would have probably hit a more sinister side of him, and driven him to tickle harder.
He continued to move upward, hitting my sides and my stomach next, after straddling my waist for better positioning and access. After pulling my shirt tail out, he put his hands up my shirt, and walked his fingers up and down on my rib cage. I laughed in deep guffaws, hoarsely roaring amid his uninterrupted invasions of my ticklish areas. I wanted desperately to pull my arms down, for protecting my sensitive upper body, but the bindings would allow none of that.
Inch by inch he moved upwards, towards my armpits. The closer he got to my armpits, the higher the pitch of my laughter got. He tickled the sides of my breasts, for several moments, sliding his fingers under the bra straps, and really digging in. I was just screaming, which didn't sound like much, through all the mufflings.
I could have waited for him to go to my armpits, but he didn't wait. His fingers moved into them, and I screamed in pitches I hadn't hit since I was a child. It hurt my voice to scream that high, and the giggles that followed were in close to the same pitch. I tried to roll to the left, and then tried to roll to the right. There was no escape. His hands were inside my blouse, so that whichever way I twisted, they went, too.
The harder I pulled on the ropes, the faster his fingers seemed to tickle. It was as if he was torturing me additionally, for trying to get away. He hadn't said a word, since he had started tickling, not that I wanted to hear him, but I wouldn't have minded the distraction. Maybe it would have taken my mind off of the tickling a little.
He spent a lot longer in my armpits than he did on my midsection or legs, probably because of how hysterical I got, but when I felt him turn back around and straddle my calves, again, I knew the worst was yet to come.
Since I had passed out, and had no idea how long I'd been out, I had no concept of what time it might be. I might have been out an hour, giving him all night to do this, or I might have slept all night, and it might be over soon.
I forgot all about time, again, as I felt his fingers start up in my arches. I'd barely had time to start to catch my breath, after the armpit attack. Within seconds, I had expelled most of the air I had inhaled, and was cackling breathlessly, trying to move my feet out of the path of his tickling fingers.
"I have to say that your feet are my favorite, Francie." He spoke as he raked five fingers up and down each sole, over and over again, "I could spend hours tickling them, like this."
His words sent chills through my bones, but I didn't dwell long on them. I was too busy laughing explosively. When I thought I didn't have another laugh in me, I just laughed harder. The harder I laughed, the longer he tickled. He alternated from one foot to the other, bending the toes back and holding them, while he scribbled fingers all over the sensitive nylon covered skin.
I had wet myself at some point, but was laughing so hard I hadn't noticed. He didn't seem to care either. Finally, he stopped and got up.
"Well, I'd better go get some sleep and teach this class. Now, don't you go anywhere. We’ve got another whole night of play ahead of us. I'll make sure to mark you as present on the roll call, so nothing to worry about there."
I whimpered and groaned, my hopes of getting out of this dashed for the moment. I heard the sounds of him getting his things together and leaving. I wasn't able to see, but he took one of the copies of my keys, and put a do not disturb sign on the outside of the door, so that housekeeping wouldn't come in and find me.
He would be back.
