Yvonne smoothed her hair, adjusted her blouse and put her sandal back on her lovely barefoot.
Dave chuckled. “I told you I’d be punishing her for being late. And now, let’s go to lunch.”
Just then one of the set designers came by and spotting Dave called to him. “Hey Dave, have you gotten those flats primed and dressed?”
“Oh shit, I forgot. Don’t worry, they’ll be ready by the end of the day.”
He turned to Yvonne. “Sorry, Babe, but I have to finish those sets. You understand, don’t you?” and he punctuated that last remark with a poke to her ribs. She laughed and pulled away from him. “Alright, I suppose I can find something to do here till you’re done.”
“Nonsense, just go and have lunch,” he said. “I’ll finish those sets and then we can go and discuss that ‘ticklish matter’”, he said with an evil chuckle.
Then he looked at me. “Hey, Ron, have you had lunch yet?”
I said I hadn’t. “Well why not take Yvonne and you both go and have some lunch. I’d rather she was with you and not being hit on by some biker dude or something like that.”
“Thanks.”
“Aw hell, you know what I mean. You two go have lunch and meet me back here at the theater.”
“Shall we?” I asked her.
“Sounds like a plan,” she aid with a laugh and we left.
On the way to the restaurant Yvonne and I made small talk, but there was no avoiding the 5000 pound gorilla in the room, namely the scene I had just witnessed. Yvonne finally broke the tension.
“I guess you know that Dave is a tickle freak.”
“Yeah, he sort of told me.”
She sighed. “He’s been tickling me for as long as I can remember. I used to really fight him, but over the years I have tended to give in easier. He still manages to surprise me with new ways to tickle me.”
We pulled up to the restaurant and went in. We took our seats and placed our orders. As we waited I decided to push the envelope and ask her about her tickling experiences with Dave.
With a dry mouth I asked her, “What was the worst tickling experience you have had with Dave?”
“They’ve all been torturous,’ she said with a laugh.
“Well, you know what I mean,” I stammered.
“I know what you mean,” she said teasingly.
“I suppose he’s told you about the batten incident,” she said with a wry chuckle.
“No, I think I would have remembered something like that,” I replied.
“Hm, I’m surprised. He loves to tell that story. Mainly because it sort of embarrasses me.”
“So, what’s the story?”
Yvonne looked around the room to see if there was anyone listening, and then she leaned in, took a breath, and began her story.
“I was about 19 when it happened. Dave must have been 21 or so. I was helping him finish a backdrop at the theater one night. It was after hours and we were alone in the place and, well, you know how Dave is. Whenever he gets me alone he can’t keep from tickling me. So we’re painting away. It was summertime and I was barefoot and Dave kept dabbing his paintbrush at my feet, making me jump and giggle.
“He kept that up and kept that up and finally I yelled at him to quit it. He got silent and went back to his work. Now whenever Dave goes silent I know he’s cooking up something truly evil for me. And I was right.
“After we finished the drop we stood back to look at it. He put his arm around me, drew me close and gave me a long, deep kiss, which took my breath away. Dave is very passionate, when he isn’t tickling me, that is.
“He kissed from my lips to my ear and when he got there he nibbled it a bit, knowing full well that that sort of action drives me crazy. He then kissed down from my ear to my neck and there he nuzzled me for a while, making me giggle and moan.
“Finally he stopped and began to unbutton my blouse, saying, ‘Its awful hot in here, isn’t it? Let’s get you out of this hot blouse.” He took off my blouse. Underneath that was a black halter top, which he got me out of and then, before I knew what was happening he had my bra off. I stood there before him, naked from the waist up.
“He took a dry paintbrush and began to tickle my nipples. It tickled me and also sent shivers down my spine. He also sucked my nipples for a while. I began to grow weak in the knees and seeing that he scooped me up in his arms and carried me off to the costume shop.
“There in a corner was a pile of dirty clothes. It was here that he laid me down and continued to tickle and suckle my breasts. We kissed some more, as his fingers began to explore my upper body. Dave’s touch is like the agony and the ecstasy.”
“What do you mean by that?” I asked, totally enthralled by her story so far.
“Well with one touch he can drive me to ticklish agony, and with the same touch he can drive me to the heights of ecstasy,” she replied.
“And which touch was he using that day?” I asked.
“Well,” she said with a laugh, “It tickled a little but it was more like ecstasy. He leaned over and tongue-kissed my belly button, something which drives me nuts. Then he licked around the button in a circle, and kept that up for a while, as I laid there and giggled.
“Then he began to trace a line with his finger along the top of my jeans. That tickled more, but still it wasn’t exactly torture. His finger arrived at the button of my jeans and he opened it, and unzipped my zipper. He pulled my jeans down a bit, exposing my underwear.
“He then began a subtle torture which he calls “sliding home.”
“Dare I ask?” I said.
“My you are a nosy one,” Yvonne laughed. I blushed a little and sort of coughed an apology. She patted my hand and laughed. “No worries. Sliding home. Did you know Dave used to be a baseball player?”
I shook my head. The thought of that scrawny dude playing a sport of any kind, other than competitive tickling, amazed me.
“Oh yeah, he was a pretty good ball player. I used to love to watch him. One season the team had won the championship and we went out afterwards. When we were alone he relived his triumph on my body and one of the moves he created was ‘sliding home’. That consisted of his slowly running his tongue along my slit.”
She closed her eyes and smiled at the thought. “I think I made him relive that move ten times that night,” she said with a husky laugh. “Actually, there are three kinds of ‘sliding home’, a slippery slide home, which is where he licks me, an airy slide home, which is where he takes a feather and strokes my slit, and walking home, where he slowly runs a finger up and down my pussy. They’re all good.”
Suddenly my cell phone rang and snapped us back into reality. I excused myself and looked at the caller ID. It was Anne. I decided she could wait and let the call go to voicemail. Then I rejoined Yvonne, who was sipping an iced tea.
“Important call?” she asked with a smile.
“No, it was a wrong number,” I lied. “Now, back to the story. You know, about the battens.”
She laughed. “I digress so much I almost forgot what I was trying to tell you. The battens. Okay, so Dave and I were making love on a heap of clothes in the costume shop, and he was beginning to finger me. I was giggling and moaning. He pulled off my jeans and then my panties and laid with his head directly in front of my pussy, which, I admit, was beginning to get a little wet.
“He just laid there and studied it, every now and then lightly blowing on my slit, which tickled. God, he can tickle me just by breathing on me. Finally, he splayed open my pussy lips and began to slowly lick, and lick. I was in heaven. His tongue is really talented and after a few minutes he had driven me into an orgasm.
“I must have blacked out for the next thing I remember, I was blindfolded, and laying face down on the cold stage, on a drop. I tried to move my hands and feet, but found that I couldn’t . My arms were stretched out in above me and my legs were stretched out below. My wrists and ankles were fixed to something metal. I later found out that I was chained between two--”
“Battens!” I said, sort of loudly. I quickly looked around, ashamed at being driven so hot by the story that I would blurt out something in a crowded restaurant. Yvonne just laughed and took another sip of her tea.
“That’s right, battens,” she laughed, “Those rods where stage curtains are hung from. Only this time I was the stage curtain. I called for Dave, who had, apparently, been sitting there waiting for me to wake up. ‘Back from la la land are we, Vonnie?’ he said. I demanded that he release me. I pleaded with him, in fact, but he just laughed.
“’I ill let you go, after I’ve had my revenge,’ he said matter of factly to me. ‘What have you got to be avenged for?’ I asked.
“’You yelled at me to stop tickling your feet. Tickle toys don’t yell at their master. So, now you’ll have to pay.’
“Next thing I heard was footsteps walking behind me and off stage. I called to Dave and yelled at him to let me go, but he wasn’t in the mood to listen.
“Suddenly, I felt a tug on my arms, followed by a tug on my legs. I was being raised into the air!”
“No way!” I said.
“It’s all true,” she said firmly. “So here I am, blindfolded and being lifted into the air. Suddenly the sensation of moving stopped and I was left to hang in the air. Then I heard footsteps again and finally Dave spoke.
“’Are you still hanging around?’ he said and laughed at me. I yelled at him to let me down, that it wasn’t funny. Not the wisest choice of words to use. He told me that he had been hunting around the theater while I was sleeping and he found something that would ‘amuse’ me.
“’What?’ I asked him fearfully. ‘Remember when we did “Kismet”? That scene where slaves are fanning the hero? I found one of the fans, and guess what?’
“’What?’ I asked. ‘These fans are made of feathers.’ I froze.
“’And we both know what feathers do to you, or rather, what I make feathers do to you’, he said evilly.
“I began to whimper and beg. ‘Please don’t tickle me while I’m up here, please!’ I begged. “Let me down and you can tickle me all you want, please!’
“Dave just laughed. ‘That’s going to happen anyway. Once I’m done torturing you here, we’re going to my place where the soles of your feet have a date with my fingers. But right now…’
“And here he began to stroke the feathers along my stomach. I burst into hysterical laughter immediately. He kept on stroking my tummy, he worked the feathers into my arm pits, along my ribs, into my pussy, and along my poor sensitive feet.
“And here’s where it gets rather embarrassing. He had been tickling me with the feather fan and verbally taunting me for about ten minutes when I began to feel a strong urge to pee. I screamed at him, ‘Stop tickling me or I’ll pee!’, which was yet another wrong thing to say. This only egged him on more.
“Dave kept on tickling me in all the usual spots and little by little pee began to leak out. He finally settled in on my feet, which were hung over a batten bar, my toes were pointing down and my soles were exposed. He kept on tickling me there and the more he tickled, the more I laughed and more I peed, until finally I could hold it in no longer and down came the rain, so to speak.
“Wow!” I said, sitting back and drinking in the mental picture of that night. “What did Dave do?”
“Dave?” She said, ruefully, “He sang “April Showers” and laughed like a hyena. As for me, I got red in the face and started to cry, and I don’t cry that easily. I yelled at him to let me down and laughing all the while he slowly lowered me onto the pee-soaked drop cloth. He then released me from my bonds and I got up and tore off the blind fold and ran off into the costume shop to get my clothes.
“Dave ran after me, laughing and apologizing all the while. He finally caught up to me as I was about to leave. He caught my arm and pulled me towards him and planted a loving kiss on my lips.
“’Do you forgive me?’ he asked me softly, holding me in a warm embrace.
“’I suppose so,’ I said, sniffling back my tears.
“’Whose my ticklish girl?’ he cooed, goosing me in the ribs.
“’I am,’ I answered, laughing and trying to get away from his tickling fingers. He kissed me again. Then he took me over to his place and proceeded to tickle my feet for over two hours.”
After she finished her story I sat there, dry mouthed and with a raging hard-on. My cell rang again, and I was once more shocked into the present. Yvonne excused herself to use the restroom and I took the call. It was Anne again.
“Ron! Where have you been ?!!” she screamed. She sounded frantic and out of breath.
“Take it easy, sweetheart,” said, trying to calm her down. “What’s wrong?”
She seemed hysterical and I couldn’t make out what she was saying. All I could make out was “Come home, now! Please, Ron, I need you!”
“What’s the matter? Anne? Anne!”
“Just come home! Please! “ and she burst into tears.
“I’ll be right there! Don’t move!” Yvonne had come back to the table and heard the last part of my phone call and asked, “Is there anything wrong?”
“I gotta go. Something’s the matter with Anne,” I told her.
“Go on, I’ll get a cab back to the theater. Take care of your wife.”
I thanked her for understanding and we settled the bill. Hanging on the bulletin board nearby the cashier was a sign that read, “Kittens Free to a Good Home”. I remarked that Anne loved kittens and wondered if I should get her one. Yvonne closed her eyes and shuddered.
“She wouldn’t like them if she had the experience I had with kittens,” she said at last. “I hate cats.”
“And why is that?” I said.
We walked out together and she whispered into my ear, “Let’s just say a raspy kitten’s tongue on the arch of your foot isn’t pleasant, and leave it at that.”
We bid each other good bye and the thought of Yvonne being foot licked by kittens gave me a hard on all the way back to my house.
______
Here is Part 3. COMMENTS? Shall there be a Part 4?
Dave chuckled. “I told you I’d be punishing her for being late. And now, let’s go to lunch.”
Just then one of the set designers came by and spotting Dave called to him. “Hey Dave, have you gotten those flats primed and dressed?”
“Oh shit, I forgot. Don’t worry, they’ll be ready by the end of the day.”
He turned to Yvonne. “Sorry, Babe, but I have to finish those sets. You understand, don’t you?” and he punctuated that last remark with a poke to her ribs. She laughed and pulled away from him. “Alright, I suppose I can find something to do here till you’re done.”
“Nonsense, just go and have lunch,” he said. “I’ll finish those sets and then we can go and discuss that ‘ticklish matter’”, he said with an evil chuckle.
Then he looked at me. “Hey, Ron, have you had lunch yet?”
I said I hadn’t. “Well why not take Yvonne and you both go and have some lunch. I’d rather she was with you and not being hit on by some biker dude or something like that.”
“Thanks.”
“Aw hell, you know what I mean. You two go have lunch and meet me back here at the theater.”
“Shall we?” I asked her.
“Sounds like a plan,” she aid with a laugh and we left.
On the way to the restaurant Yvonne and I made small talk, but there was no avoiding the 5000 pound gorilla in the room, namely the scene I had just witnessed. Yvonne finally broke the tension.
“I guess you know that Dave is a tickle freak.”
“Yeah, he sort of told me.”
She sighed. “He’s been tickling me for as long as I can remember. I used to really fight him, but over the years I have tended to give in easier. He still manages to surprise me with new ways to tickle me.”
We pulled up to the restaurant and went in. We took our seats and placed our orders. As we waited I decided to push the envelope and ask her about her tickling experiences with Dave.
With a dry mouth I asked her, “What was the worst tickling experience you have had with Dave?”
“They’ve all been torturous,’ she said with a laugh.
“Well, you know what I mean,” I stammered.
“I know what you mean,” she said teasingly.
“I suppose he’s told you about the batten incident,” she said with a wry chuckle.
“No, I think I would have remembered something like that,” I replied.
“Hm, I’m surprised. He loves to tell that story. Mainly because it sort of embarrasses me.”
“So, what’s the story?”
Yvonne looked around the room to see if there was anyone listening, and then she leaned in, took a breath, and began her story.
“I was about 19 when it happened. Dave must have been 21 or so. I was helping him finish a backdrop at the theater one night. It was after hours and we were alone in the place and, well, you know how Dave is. Whenever he gets me alone he can’t keep from tickling me. So we’re painting away. It was summertime and I was barefoot and Dave kept dabbing his paintbrush at my feet, making me jump and giggle.
“He kept that up and kept that up and finally I yelled at him to quit it. He got silent and went back to his work. Now whenever Dave goes silent I know he’s cooking up something truly evil for me. And I was right.
“After we finished the drop we stood back to look at it. He put his arm around me, drew me close and gave me a long, deep kiss, which took my breath away. Dave is very passionate, when he isn’t tickling me, that is.
“He kissed from my lips to my ear and when he got there he nibbled it a bit, knowing full well that that sort of action drives me crazy. He then kissed down from my ear to my neck and there he nuzzled me for a while, making me giggle and moan.
“Finally he stopped and began to unbutton my blouse, saying, ‘Its awful hot in here, isn’t it? Let’s get you out of this hot blouse.” He took off my blouse. Underneath that was a black halter top, which he got me out of and then, before I knew what was happening he had my bra off. I stood there before him, naked from the waist up.
“He took a dry paintbrush and began to tickle my nipples. It tickled me and also sent shivers down my spine. He also sucked my nipples for a while. I began to grow weak in the knees and seeing that he scooped me up in his arms and carried me off to the costume shop.
“There in a corner was a pile of dirty clothes. It was here that he laid me down and continued to tickle and suckle my breasts. We kissed some more, as his fingers began to explore my upper body. Dave’s touch is like the agony and the ecstasy.”
“What do you mean by that?” I asked, totally enthralled by her story so far.
“Well with one touch he can drive me to ticklish agony, and with the same touch he can drive me to the heights of ecstasy,” she replied.
“And which touch was he using that day?” I asked.
“Well,” she said with a laugh, “It tickled a little but it was more like ecstasy. He leaned over and tongue-kissed my belly button, something which drives me nuts. Then he licked around the button in a circle, and kept that up for a while, as I laid there and giggled.
“Then he began to trace a line with his finger along the top of my jeans. That tickled more, but still it wasn’t exactly torture. His finger arrived at the button of my jeans and he opened it, and unzipped my zipper. He pulled my jeans down a bit, exposing my underwear.
“He then began a subtle torture which he calls “sliding home.”
“Dare I ask?” I said.
“My you are a nosy one,” Yvonne laughed. I blushed a little and sort of coughed an apology. She patted my hand and laughed. “No worries. Sliding home. Did you know Dave used to be a baseball player?”
I shook my head. The thought of that scrawny dude playing a sport of any kind, other than competitive tickling, amazed me.
“Oh yeah, he was a pretty good ball player. I used to love to watch him. One season the team had won the championship and we went out afterwards. When we were alone he relived his triumph on my body and one of the moves he created was ‘sliding home’. That consisted of his slowly running his tongue along my slit.”
She closed her eyes and smiled at the thought. “I think I made him relive that move ten times that night,” she said with a husky laugh. “Actually, there are three kinds of ‘sliding home’, a slippery slide home, which is where he licks me, an airy slide home, which is where he takes a feather and strokes my slit, and walking home, where he slowly runs a finger up and down my pussy. They’re all good.”
Suddenly my cell phone rang and snapped us back into reality. I excused myself and looked at the caller ID. It was Anne. I decided she could wait and let the call go to voicemail. Then I rejoined Yvonne, who was sipping an iced tea.
“Important call?” she asked with a smile.
“No, it was a wrong number,” I lied. “Now, back to the story. You know, about the battens.”
She laughed. “I digress so much I almost forgot what I was trying to tell you. The battens. Okay, so Dave and I were making love on a heap of clothes in the costume shop, and he was beginning to finger me. I was giggling and moaning. He pulled off my jeans and then my panties and laid with his head directly in front of my pussy, which, I admit, was beginning to get a little wet.
“He just laid there and studied it, every now and then lightly blowing on my slit, which tickled. God, he can tickle me just by breathing on me. Finally, he splayed open my pussy lips and began to slowly lick, and lick. I was in heaven. His tongue is really talented and after a few minutes he had driven me into an orgasm.
“I must have blacked out for the next thing I remember, I was blindfolded, and laying face down on the cold stage, on a drop. I tried to move my hands and feet, but found that I couldn’t . My arms were stretched out in above me and my legs were stretched out below. My wrists and ankles were fixed to something metal. I later found out that I was chained between two--”
“Battens!” I said, sort of loudly. I quickly looked around, ashamed at being driven so hot by the story that I would blurt out something in a crowded restaurant. Yvonne just laughed and took another sip of her tea.
“That’s right, battens,” she laughed, “Those rods where stage curtains are hung from. Only this time I was the stage curtain. I called for Dave, who had, apparently, been sitting there waiting for me to wake up. ‘Back from la la land are we, Vonnie?’ he said. I demanded that he release me. I pleaded with him, in fact, but he just laughed.
“’I ill let you go, after I’ve had my revenge,’ he said matter of factly to me. ‘What have you got to be avenged for?’ I asked.
“’You yelled at me to stop tickling your feet. Tickle toys don’t yell at their master. So, now you’ll have to pay.’
“Next thing I heard was footsteps walking behind me and off stage. I called to Dave and yelled at him to let me go, but he wasn’t in the mood to listen.
“Suddenly, I felt a tug on my arms, followed by a tug on my legs. I was being raised into the air!”
“No way!” I said.
“It’s all true,” she said firmly. “So here I am, blindfolded and being lifted into the air. Suddenly the sensation of moving stopped and I was left to hang in the air. Then I heard footsteps again and finally Dave spoke.
“’Are you still hanging around?’ he said and laughed at me. I yelled at him to let me down, that it wasn’t funny. Not the wisest choice of words to use. He told me that he had been hunting around the theater while I was sleeping and he found something that would ‘amuse’ me.
“’What?’ I asked him fearfully. ‘Remember when we did “Kismet”? That scene where slaves are fanning the hero? I found one of the fans, and guess what?’
“’What?’ I asked. ‘These fans are made of feathers.’ I froze.
“’And we both know what feathers do to you, or rather, what I make feathers do to you’, he said evilly.
“I began to whimper and beg. ‘Please don’t tickle me while I’m up here, please!’ I begged. “Let me down and you can tickle me all you want, please!’
“Dave just laughed. ‘That’s going to happen anyway. Once I’m done torturing you here, we’re going to my place where the soles of your feet have a date with my fingers. But right now…’
“And here he began to stroke the feathers along my stomach. I burst into hysterical laughter immediately. He kept on stroking my tummy, he worked the feathers into my arm pits, along my ribs, into my pussy, and along my poor sensitive feet.
“And here’s where it gets rather embarrassing. He had been tickling me with the feather fan and verbally taunting me for about ten minutes when I began to feel a strong urge to pee. I screamed at him, ‘Stop tickling me or I’ll pee!’, which was yet another wrong thing to say. This only egged him on more.
“Dave kept on tickling me in all the usual spots and little by little pee began to leak out. He finally settled in on my feet, which were hung over a batten bar, my toes were pointing down and my soles were exposed. He kept on tickling me there and the more he tickled, the more I laughed and more I peed, until finally I could hold it in no longer and down came the rain, so to speak.
“Wow!” I said, sitting back and drinking in the mental picture of that night. “What did Dave do?”
“Dave?” She said, ruefully, “He sang “April Showers” and laughed like a hyena. As for me, I got red in the face and started to cry, and I don’t cry that easily. I yelled at him to let me down and laughing all the while he slowly lowered me onto the pee-soaked drop cloth. He then released me from my bonds and I got up and tore off the blind fold and ran off into the costume shop to get my clothes.
“Dave ran after me, laughing and apologizing all the while. He finally caught up to me as I was about to leave. He caught my arm and pulled me towards him and planted a loving kiss on my lips.
“’Do you forgive me?’ he asked me softly, holding me in a warm embrace.
“’I suppose so,’ I said, sniffling back my tears.
“’Whose my ticklish girl?’ he cooed, goosing me in the ribs.
“’I am,’ I answered, laughing and trying to get away from his tickling fingers. He kissed me again. Then he took me over to his place and proceeded to tickle my feet for over two hours.”
After she finished her story I sat there, dry mouthed and with a raging hard-on. My cell rang again, and I was once more shocked into the present. Yvonne excused herself to use the restroom and I took the call. It was Anne again.
“Ron! Where have you been ?!!” she screamed. She sounded frantic and out of breath.
“Take it easy, sweetheart,” said, trying to calm her down. “What’s wrong?”
She seemed hysterical and I couldn’t make out what she was saying. All I could make out was “Come home, now! Please, Ron, I need you!”
“What’s the matter? Anne? Anne!”
“Just come home! Please! “ and she burst into tears.
“I’ll be right there! Don’t move!” Yvonne had come back to the table and heard the last part of my phone call and asked, “Is there anything wrong?”
“I gotta go. Something’s the matter with Anne,” I told her.
“Go on, I’ll get a cab back to the theater. Take care of your wife.”
I thanked her for understanding and we settled the bill. Hanging on the bulletin board nearby the cashier was a sign that read, “Kittens Free to a Good Home”. I remarked that Anne loved kittens and wondered if I should get her one. Yvonne closed her eyes and shuddered.
“She wouldn’t like them if she had the experience I had with kittens,” she said at last. “I hate cats.”
“And why is that?” I said.
We walked out together and she whispered into my ear, “Let’s just say a raspy kitten’s tongue on the arch of your foot isn’t pleasant, and leave it at that.”
We bid each other good bye and the thought of Yvonne being foot licked by kittens gave me a hard on all the way back to my house.
______
Here is Part 3. COMMENTS? Shall there be a Part 4?
I should hope so!
