The Brush Of Doom
I asked him to put lotion on my feet to relax me before our nap. I was feeling sleepy, and cold sensation along with his massaging fingers on my soles is very enjoyable for me. I got aroused from his fingers and hands handling my feet, and I asked him to tickle me. I actually said please.
“Please tickle my feet. I love it. Please tickle me, oh my god, yes, please!”
I was lying on my tummy still in position from having my feet massaged and gently stroked. He grabbed a pillow and lay across my legs. I couldn’t hold still though, and I longed for him to tie me down. I told him I craved being bound, and when it didn’t happen fast enough, I reached behind me and tickled his thigh.
“Be good, or I’ll punish you. I’ll discipline you for tickling me. I’ll use the brush!”
“Promises, Promises…*sigh*.”
He bound my arms above my head separately so I couldn’t escape, and went to retrieve the brush I love to hate. It’s a round hairbrush with tiny little knobs attached to each and every bristle. Nothing can really prepare me for the sensations that tickle me to death with that tool. I remember an experience or two with it before, and I gasp for breath and begin to sweat a little.
My legs are still free, but he is able to control me well with his body weight by lying on a pillow. I think this instrument is the one thing that drives me the craziest, and makes me feel completely helpless the quickest. I have such sensitive feet that I can’t control what my reactions will be to this brush, nor do I know when the stroking is coming, or which foot he will take first from my tied position. But I have no time to think of this during the experience. HERE WE GO!
There really is no way to describe the way he tortured me except to say it was complete chaos. At first he stroked my left foot, and I shrieked and screamed and shrieked some more. It tickled me so much that the length of the sounds I made matched the stroking on my soles. At first he let me curl my toes in to try and cut the sensation down, but it seemed to make it tickle more. He spent a good deal of time on that first foot, so when he moved to the other I thought I’d get a small break. But I’m just as ticklish there, and the room was just full of raspy voiced shrieks.
He stopped allowing me to cover one foot with the other by using his arm to spread them apart, and that’s when I began to giggle. I was so sweaty by them time he got more strict with me, and my hair was a mess; I just started giggling frantically from the sensations of that god damn brush. I pulled on my bonds with all the strength I had. I was stuck.
The sensations were electric and didn’t let up. The more it went on, I was certain I couldn’t take another second.
“I can’t. I can’t! I can’t take anymore! Fuck off! Oh my god! Please no more, please no more!”
“You can do it. I know you can. More is coming.”
“I’ll die. I will. I just can’t!”
“You can and you will.”
I gave my feet to him in my mind, and let him tease me. I was being tortured, and he was giving me what I craved. He worked me over on my toes. He held my toes back and tapped that brush along my soles. He used it on my insteps: first he did each one separately, and then simultaneously.
I began to get very wet between my legs, and I pleaded FOR MORE! He was driving me out of my mind, and I was so turned on by the way he was torturing me that I wanted more. It began to be a tiny bit more tolerable for a few seconds as electric shocks went up and down my body and made me spasm. I pulled on my bonds as hard as I could, and he made my body spasm many times in a row. It wouldn’t stop. I came for him. The more I came, the more he stroked my feet. I didn’t know if he was aware of what he was doing to me, and that his tickling was making me orgasm. I was full of sweaty, tickle hair and flushed cheeks, and when he untied me I didn’t realized how much energy my body was using to try and escape, and how hot he had made me.
What a tickle monster he is!
