C.K. Storyteller
3rd Level Blue Feather
- Joined
- Mar 7, 2007
- Messages
- 5,729
- Points
- 0
I'm not a dominant kind of guy, unless I'm with you.
Maybe it's the way you look at me; almost daring me to give you orders.
We both know you'll follow them obediently, but there's still that gleam of troublemaking every time.
Maybe it's because you're always so soft-spoken, unless I'm forcing you to scream out something.
It might also be because your language gets much more crass once you're helpless.
Maybe it's because you've never complained once, in all our years together, about anything we've done.
You're always eager to start, and as exhausted as you are when it's over, you still seem to want more.
Maybe it's because when I'm with you, I know I have to protect you.
Maybe it's because when I'm with you, I know I have to destroy you.
Whatever the reason, I get within 10 feet of you, and my entire demeanor changes.
I feel stronger, more daring, and certainly in better control of this crazy life.
No matter the reason, not a day goes by I don't count my blessings.
Especially on a day like today. Which reminds me, time to go pick you up.
---
For some reason, I wanted it quiet on the drive over here.
I can tell it bothers you. For all you know, something's wrong.
I take your hand in mine, gently at first, which seems to relax you.
Then I place it on the dashboard, giving you a sideways glance to let you know it better stay there.
Wonderful woman you are, you don't wait for me to command, you just do the same with your right hand.
Your eyes are still concerned, though now it's for a completely different reason.
I trace the outside of your left arm with my fingers, keeping my eyes on the road.
At this point, I could find all your hot spots blindfolded.
You try to control your breathing, hoping to keep your composure as long as you can.
That's very clever, but it's only going to make it worse for you later.
I swirl my fingertips inside your elbow, and your focus melts away instantly.
A growl from me is all it takes for you to tighten your grip on the dash.
Swirling turns to spidering, and the giggles begin to pour out.
It takes all my willpower not to pull over and take you right there on the side of the road.
When it seems you're getting used to my movements, I let my hand fall into your lap.
It's rather convenient you chose a miniskirt for tonight's festivities.
I let my hand spread over your knee, whispering that you better keep still.
Luckily, laughter doesn't require much movement.
The rest of the ride passed too quickly for my tastes.
Even when I took the back roads really slow.
One would think I'd be rushing home
But there's something about these first tickles that just get to me.
---
Upon arrival, you leave your shoes and purse at the door.
Neither will be necessary for the duration of your stay.
I give you the 5 minute warning sign.
Letting you know to put your affairs in order quickly.
I leave you downstairs, as I head up to make final preparations.
You always seem to like one or two surprises in your evening.
After checking everything, I sit on the top of the steps to wait for you.
Watching you willingly approach your tormentor never gets old.
You ascend the stairs slowly, which is good, because I can take in your beauty.
I'll never admit it tonight, but I am absolutely captivated by you.
The auburn hair pulled tight in a ponytail, just how I like it.
How your blue eyes alternate between terror and absolute bliss.
The way your tank top and aforementioned miniskirt do little to hide your body.
The burgundy nail polish on toes and fingers, again, at my request.
I hold out the blindfold, deciding on a whim to give you a rare choice.
Do you take it, or just promise to keep your eyes closed like a good girl?
You know the penalty for breaking the rules is dire, but usually worth it.
I guess this is my way of just testing your obedience level tonight.
My heart skips a beat as your eyes do that flashing thing again.
Meekly smiling at me as I pocket the blindfold, possibly to use later.
You close your eyes, holding your wrists out in front of you.
Luckily, you can't see me do a little jump for joy. It'd ruin the mystique.
I cuff your wrists together, then lead you into the darkened room.
It's called an office, though it certainly doesn't look like it.
By candlelight, I escort you into the middle of the room.
A puzzled look crosses your face, but you seem to be following the rules.
I lift your arms up, placing the strap of the cuffs against a large hook in the ceiling.
This is surprise number one, put in place hours before our meeting.
Your puzzlement deepens, as you begin to squirm, unsure what exactly is going on.
I'm sure you're looking, but at the moment, your body is proving a fine distraction.
I let my hands slide from your wrists down to your ankles, feeling you shudder the whole way.
This is the hardest question of all; where to begin?
I roll your tank top up, exposing your breaktaking stomach.
It's not flat like the ones on those models on TV, but we both agree they have problems.
I let my fingertips glide in small circles, from the edge of your skirt to the edge of your top.
The gasping and low laughter I get is just as appealing as the howls I'll force out of you later.
Without warning, I move behind you, placing my hands on your hipbones.
I have affectionately titled this area "Gold Mine #3".
You stiffen, knowing as well as I do nothing but pure torture can come of this.
We both wait quietly, one in fear, one to build suspense, both in exhiliration.
When my fingertips begin to move, your head rolls back onto my shoulder.
It proves a nice place for it to rest as you shriek with ticklish delight.
Your squirming is crazed, but at this point, I know every move you'll make.
We must look like strange dancers practicing a new routine.
My hands freeze in place, and I wait for you to realize this.
One time, it took you a good 5 minutes to come to your senses.
As soon as you relax, I start again, and our dance continues.
Once I have you in hysterics, I stop, so on and so on.
When I finally remove my hands from your hips, you've begun to sweat.
The ponytail I love so much is mussed a bit, but this is just the beginning.
I pull a chair up behind you, sitting down and lifting one foot into my lap.
A small moan from your lips is quickly stifled, and you adjust your balance.
After admiring your sole for a moment, I gently pull your toes back.
No point in me being gentle here, not for "Gold Mine #2".
Five fingers begin sliding across your now taut sole.
Sending you into a spastic dance that frees your foot from my grasp.
I growl again, this time picking up your other foot and doing the same thing.
Once again, you wrench your foot away with all your struggling.
I stand and uncuff you from the ceiling, shaking my head at you as I do.
You grimace, knowing you've just increased your punishment tenfold.
---
Well now, this is better. Surprise number 2 is a rousing success.
I'm sure that if you could see yourself right now, you'd agree.
You're on the bed, wrapped in a pair of blankets.
I added some cuffs around your ankles too, just in case.
Sitting near your head, I brush the loose hair from your eyes.
The look on your face is priceless, somewhere between glaring and pleading.
I move down to the other end, where your soles are patiently waiting.
The shine from the baby oil makes them sparkle in the candlelight.
I lift them into my lap, letting my fingertips rest just under your toes.
This might be my favorite thing, how this simple action makes you cackle like crazy.
When I begin to slide them back and forth, the cackling increases in volume.
You also begin rocking back and forth, as if anything will save you now.
I let you roll yourself onto your stomach, then sit on your legs to hold you down.
Now I can use both hands on these oiled soles, which seems to suit you just fine.
Your laughter rises and falls like waves crashing on an ocean.
It lets me know which parts of these feet are feeling most sensitive today.
I focus in on the balls of your feet, holding your toes back to make them nice and pronounced.
You begin taking the Lord's name in vain here, which as we all know, is a sin.
A minute of non-stop tickling so you apologize for that heinous act.
Then it's down to your arches and heels, which render you breathless.
The tickles turn to a massage, and a reapplication of lotion.
Your moans let me know you enjoy it, but I'll assume you know this is the calm before the storm.
Now, we've done lots of studies, haven't we?
Trying to determine which hairbrush worked the best on these feet.
I think we've narrowed it down to these two finalists.
Time for some comparitive testing. One on each foot should do the trick.
Hmm, you used your safeword rather early tonight.
Perhaps we'll keep both brushes, and try this test again later.
---
You deserved a break, and we were both getting thirsty.
Plus, we needed to change positions, and in your case, wardrobe.
We've always discussed those medieval racks, and how cool they looked.
This is as close as I've come to that without having a strange contraption in the basement.
You're topless now, and the skirt's gone too.
The "Tickle Me" panties are a nice touch.
Your arms are high overhead, tightly secured to the headboard.
It's a nice bonus that this keeps your head facing upwards, so I can watch your torture.
Body stretched across the bed, your feet hang over the edge.
That will prove nicely if I decide to test the brushes again.
Tempting as that is, this position allows for total access to one particular area.
"Gold Mine #1", or as you've dubbed it, "The Dead Zone".
I straddle your waist, looking into your eyes.
We both know exactly what's going to happen, and neither of us can wait.
I pour more baby oil into my hands, this batch warmed a bit first.
Agonizingly slowly, I begin to rub it over your underarms, and the sides of your breasts.
This isn't even the tickling, and your laughter is tremendous.
You'll wind up in tears by the end of this; I just know it.
A couple coats of oil, and we're ready to go.
I announce the countdown, starting at 10, fingers lowering slowly as I do so.
Your eyes follow my fingers, switching from hand to hand, biting your lip.
I should drag this out for a long time, but I can't wait another second.
My hands drop under your arms, ten fingers spidering in circles.
I am immediately thrown from the bed by the force of your hips bucking.
. . . That was a bit embarassing, I'll admit.
Hilarious, too, but I won't admit that until after you've suffered for it.
I reposition myself, now firmly planted on your hips.
Back under your arms I go, tickling faster and harder than before.
You thrash, you writhe, you test the strength of the cuffs on both ends.
At one point, you even infer that my parents were never married.
I discover that the same trick from your hips work here as well.
Keeping my fingers still has the same effect as moving them for a few seconds.
Briefly, I remove my hands, letting you take one deep breath.
Moving down, I rush them to the sides of your breasts, and it begins again.
One, two, three seconds of struggling, and then you collapse onto the bed.
You've passed the point of fighting now, and have surrendered to the sensations.
I remember the first time that happened, and I thought I'd killed you.
Turns out, this is where it gets even more fun.
I swirl my fingertips along your breasts and sides.
Eclipsing into silent laughter, you stare at the ceiling, in a place far from here.
Moving to your left side, I attack armpit and ribs simultaneously.
That brings your laughter back to a human decibel, but just for a moment.
For whatever reason, your right side is more sensitive.
Exhibit A: When I switch there, you begin whispering death threats in French.
Another few minutes on both sides, and you're spent.
The safeword forces its way out between peals of hysteria.
Collapsing next to you, I watch you intently.
Usually, the first minute or so afterwards is when I can tell if you've had it for good.
You glance over at me, smiling weakly, hair matted down with sweat.
I free you from your bondage, but your body doesn't move.
Planting a gentle kiss on your forehead, I give one last order.
Whispering thanks, you fall asleep within seconds.
---
I'm not a dominant guy, unless I'm with you.
Maybe it's the way you look when I've tied you up.
Like you want to kill me and kiss me all at the same time.
Maybe it's because your laughter is such a release for you.
When I force you to be loud and totally out of control.
Maybe it's because, when you come right down to it,
You need be to take charge of you, if only for a short time.
No matter the reason, not a day goes by where I don't count my blessings.
Especially on a day like today. Which reminds me, time to go wake you up.
I'm not through with you yet. . .
Maybe it's the way you look at me; almost daring me to give you orders.
We both know you'll follow them obediently, but there's still that gleam of troublemaking every time.
Maybe it's because you're always so soft-spoken, unless I'm forcing you to scream out something.
It might also be because your language gets much more crass once you're helpless.
Maybe it's because you've never complained once, in all our years together, about anything we've done.
You're always eager to start, and as exhausted as you are when it's over, you still seem to want more.
Maybe it's because when I'm with you, I know I have to protect you.
Maybe it's because when I'm with you, I know I have to destroy you.
Whatever the reason, I get within 10 feet of you, and my entire demeanor changes.
I feel stronger, more daring, and certainly in better control of this crazy life.
No matter the reason, not a day goes by I don't count my blessings.
Especially on a day like today. Which reminds me, time to go pick you up.
---
For some reason, I wanted it quiet on the drive over here.
I can tell it bothers you. For all you know, something's wrong.
I take your hand in mine, gently at first, which seems to relax you.
Then I place it on the dashboard, giving you a sideways glance to let you know it better stay there.
Wonderful woman you are, you don't wait for me to command, you just do the same with your right hand.
Your eyes are still concerned, though now it's for a completely different reason.
I trace the outside of your left arm with my fingers, keeping my eyes on the road.
At this point, I could find all your hot spots blindfolded.
You try to control your breathing, hoping to keep your composure as long as you can.
That's very clever, but it's only going to make it worse for you later.
I swirl my fingertips inside your elbow, and your focus melts away instantly.
A growl from me is all it takes for you to tighten your grip on the dash.
Swirling turns to spidering, and the giggles begin to pour out.
It takes all my willpower not to pull over and take you right there on the side of the road.
When it seems you're getting used to my movements, I let my hand fall into your lap.
It's rather convenient you chose a miniskirt for tonight's festivities.
I let my hand spread over your knee, whispering that you better keep still.
Luckily, laughter doesn't require much movement.
The rest of the ride passed too quickly for my tastes.
Even when I took the back roads really slow.
One would think I'd be rushing home
But there's something about these first tickles that just get to me.
---
Upon arrival, you leave your shoes and purse at the door.
Neither will be necessary for the duration of your stay.
I give you the 5 minute warning sign.
Letting you know to put your affairs in order quickly.
I leave you downstairs, as I head up to make final preparations.
You always seem to like one or two surprises in your evening.
After checking everything, I sit on the top of the steps to wait for you.
Watching you willingly approach your tormentor never gets old.
You ascend the stairs slowly, which is good, because I can take in your beauty.
I'll never admit it tonight, but I am absolutely captivated by you.
The auburn hair pulled tight in a ponytail, just how I like it.
How your blue eyes alternate between terror and absolute bliss.
The way your tank top and aforementioned miniskirt do little to hide your body.
The burgundy nail polish on toes and fingers, again, at my request.
I hold out the blindfold, deciding on a whim to give you a rare choice.
Do you take it, or just promise to keep your eyes closed like a good girl?
You know the penalty for breaking the rules is dire, but usually worth it.
I guess this is my way of just testing your obedience level tonight.
My heart skips a beat as your eyes do that flashing thing again.
Meekly smiling at me as I pocket the blindfold, possibly to use later.
You close your eyes, holding your wrists out in front of you.
Luckily, you can't see me do a little jump for joy. It'd ruin the mystique.
I cuff your wrists together, then lead you into the darkened room.
It's called an office, though it certainly doesn't look like it.
By candlelight, I escort you into the middle of the room.
A puzzled look crosses your face, but you seem to be following the rules.
I lift your arms up, placing the strap of the cuffs against a large hook in the ceiling.
This is surprise number one, put in place hours before our meeting.
Your puzzlement deepens, as you begin to squirm, unsure what exactly is going on.
I'm sure you're looking, but at the moment, your body is proving a fine distraction.
I let my hands slide from your wrists down to your ankles, feeling you shudder the whole way.
This is the hardest question of all; where to begin?
I roll your tank top up, exposing your breaktaking stomach.
It's not flat like the ones on those models on TV, but we both agree they have problems.
I let my fingertips glide in small circles, from the edge of your skirt to the edge of your top.
The gasping and low laughter I get is just as appealing as the howls I'll force out of you later.
Without warning, I move behind you, placing my hands on your hipbones.
I have affectionately titled this area "Gold Mine #3".
You stiffen, knowing as well as I do nothing but pure torture can come of this.
We both wait quietly, one in fear, one to build suspense, both in exhiliration.
When my fingertips begin to move, your head rolls back onto my shoulder.
It proves a nice place for it to rest as you shriek with ticklish delight.
Your squirming is crazed, but at this point, I know every move you'll make.
We must look like strange dancers practicing a new routine.
My hands freeze in place, and I wait for you to realize this.
One time, it took you a good 5 minutes to come to your senses.
As soon as you relax, I start again, and our dance continues.
Once I have you in hysterics, I stop, so on and so on.
When I finally remove my hands from your hips, you've begun to sweat.
The ponytail I love so much is mussed a bit, but this is just the beginning.
I pull a chair up behind you, sitting down and lifting one foot into my lap.
A small moan from your lips is quickly stifled, and you adjust your balance.
After admiring your sole for a moment, I gently pull your toes back.
No point in me being gentle here, not for "Gold Mine #2".
Five fingers begin sliding across your now taut sole.
Sending you into a spastic dance that frees your foot from my grasp.
I growl again, this time picking up your other foot and doing the same thing.
Once again, you wrench your foot away with all your struggling.
I stand and uncuff you from the ceiling, shaking my head at you as I do.
You grimace, knowing you've just increased your punishment tenfold.
---
Well now, this is better. Surprise number 2 is a rousing success.
I'm sure that if you could see yourself right now, you'd agree.
You're on the bed, wrapped in a pair of blankets.
I added some cuffs around your ankles too, just in case.
Sitting near your head, I brush the loose hair from your eyes.
The look on your face is priceless, somewhere between glaring and pleading.
I move down to the other end, where your soles are patiently waiting.
The shine from the baby oil makes them sparkle in the candlelight.
I lift them into my lap, letting my fingertips rest just under your toes.
This might be my favorite thing, how this simple action makes you cackle like crazy.
When I begin to slide them back and forth, the cackling increases in volume.
You also begin rocking back and forth, as if anything will save you now.
I let you roll yourself onto your stomach, then sit on your legs to hold you down.
Now I can use both hands on these oiled soles, which seems to suit you just fine.
Your laughter rises and falls like waves crashing on an ocean.
It lets me know which parts of these feet are feeling most sensitive today.
I focus in on the balls of your feet, holding your toes back to make them nice and pronounced.
You begin taking the Lord's name in vain here, which as we all know, is a sin.
A minute of non-stop tickling so you apologize for that heinous act.
Then it's down to your arches and heels, which render you breathless.
The tickles turn to a massage, and a reapplication of lotion.
Your moans let me know you enjoy it, but I'll assume you know this is the calm before the storm.
Now, we've done lots of studies, haven't we?
Trying to determine which hairbrush worked the best on these feet.
I think we've narrowed it down to these two finalists.
Time for some comparitive testing. One on each foot should do the trick.
Hmm, you used your safeword rather early tonight.
Perhaps we'll keep both brushes, and try this test again later.
---
You deserved a break, and we were both getting thirsty.
Plus, we needed to change positions, and in your case, wardrobe.
We've always discussed those medieval racks, and how cool they looked.
This is as close as I've come to that without having a strange contraption in the basement.
You're topless now, and the skirt's gone too.
The "Tickle Me" panties are a nice touch.
Your arms are high overhead, tightly secured to the headboard.
It's a nice bonus that this keeps your head facing upwards, so I can watch your torture.
Body stretched across the bed, your feet hang over the edge.
That will prove nicely if I decide to test the brushes again.
Tempting as that is, this position allows for total access to one particular area.
"Gold Mine #1", or as you've dubbed it, "The Dead Zone".
I straddle your waist, looking into your eyes.
We both know exactly what's going to happen, and neither of us can wait.
I pour more baby oil into my hands, this batch warmed a bit first.
Agonizingly slowly, I begin to rub it over your underarms, and the sides of your breasts.
This isn't even the tickling, and your laughter is tremendous.
You'll wind up in tears by the end of this; I just know it.
A couple coats of oil, and we're ready to go.
I announce the countdown, starting at 10, fingers lowering slowly as I do so.
Your eyes follow my fingers, switching from hand to hand, biting your lip.
I should drag this out for a long time, but I can't wait another second.
My hands drop under your arms, ten fingers spidering in circles.
I am immediately thrown from the bed by the force of your hips bucking.
. . . That was a bit embarassing, I'll admit.
Hilarious, too, but I won't admit that until after you've suffered for it.
I reposition myself, now firmly planted on your hips.
Back under your arms I go, tickling faster and harder than before.
You thrash, you writhe, you test the strength of the cuffs on both ends.
At one point, you even infer that my parents were never married.
I discover that the same trick from your hips work here as well.
Keeping my fingers still has the same effect as moving them for a few seconds.
Briefly, I remove my hands, letting you take one deep breath.
Moving down, I rush them to the sides of your breasts, and it begins again.
One, two, three seconds of struggling, and then you collapse onto the bed.
You've passed the point of fighting now, and have surrendered to the sensations.
I remember the first time that happened, and I thought I'd killed you.
Turns out, this is where it gets even more fun.
I swirl my fingertips along your breasts and sides.
Eclipsing into silent laughter, you stare at the ceiling, in a place far from here.
Moving to your left side, I attack armpit and ribs simultaneously.
That brings your laughter back to a human decibel, but just for a moment.
For whatever reason, your right side is more sensitive.
Exhibit A: When I switch there, you begin whispering death threats in French.
Another few minutes on both sides, and you're spent.
The safeword forces its way out between peals of hysteria.
Collapsing next to you, I watch you intently.
Usually, the first minute or so afterwards is when I can tell if you've had it for good.
You glance over at me, smiling weakly, hair matted down with sweat.
I free you from your bondage, but your body doesn't move.
Planting a gentle kiss on your forehead, I give one last order.
Whispering thanks, you fall asleep within seconds.
---
I'm not a dominant guy, unless I'm with you.
Maybe it's the way you look when I've tied you up.
Like you want to kill me and kiss me all at the same time.
Maybe it's because your laughter is such a release for you.
When I force you to be loud and totally out of control.
Maybe it's because, when you come right down to it,
You need be to take charge of you, if only for a short time.
No matter the reason, not a day goes by where I don't count my blessings.
Especially on a day like today. Which reminds me, time to go wake you up.
I'm not through with you yet. . .
