Hello everyone.
After a long break I return with another sequel to the story I wrote originally in Hebrew for the Israeli tickling forum (which is unfortunately dying now).
For those of you who missed or want to recap on the three previous part, here they are:
part 1 -
http://www.ticklingforum.com/showthread.php?t=110930
part 2 -
http://www.ticklingforum.com/showthread.php?t=111435
part 3 -
http://www.ticklingforum.com/showthread.php?t=111619
and now, on to part 4! enjoy!
-------------------------------------------
Could anyone have asked for more?
It wasn’t every day that she had such a spoiling day.
The sea was quiet and calm. Small, silent waves were whispering secrets to the wet send, then retreating back home. She lay, wet with the fresh water of the shower that had peeled the sea salt off her, on a large blanket, depositing her body to the sun that had already begun to set. The peak of the day’s heat had passed, but it was still hot. As always, she avoided using the blanket to wipe herself, preferring instead to let the sun and the wind dry her off.
She slightly lifted the tip of her bikini bra and snuck a peek. The tan line was very clear. She would be able to boast it tomorrow.
It has been a real day of fun. With friends, people she usually saw around her at her workplace. She had already eaten and drunk, bathed in the water, tanned in the sun, played, laughed, smiled at the men who see her every day at work and had seen her now, some for the first time, as she really was.
There was only one thing left – the massage post, defined by a wall of white cloth. A wonderful way to end a perfect day. Her turn was coming up soon.
-------------------------------
She stepped inside the white cloth wall separating the makeshift massage parlor from the beach outside. A young male therapist smiled at her, welcomed her, and beckoned her with a motion of his arm to the massage table that was standing in the shadow of a big parasol.
She smiled back at him and went over to the table. She glanced around. All kinds of different items and decorations were hanging on the cloth walls, obviously intended to enhance the atmosphere of serenity.
And on the farthest wall, across from the head of the massage table, was hanging a green peacock feather. The black-and-blue circles seemed like eyes looking at her.
She froze for a moment, feeling a slight tremble of memories. Memories of long gone days, of adventure, of erupting passion, of fulfillment of the most hidden desires. Memories of tickling, tickling, tickling…
Surely this can’t be happening again.
Why the peacock feather? Just for the atmosphere? Or maybe…
And the therapist? Did he notice her reaction? Did he know what it was about?
She struggled to get a grip on herself, and walked to the massage bed. By now she was filled with apprehension, accompanied by a surge of rapid heartbeat, and that tickle beginning to spread under the bikini bottom… stop… mustn’t think about it…
She lay face down on the massage table, burying her face in the designated place, all tensed up.
With a water-soaked towel the therapist wiped the sand off her feet. She barely held herself from laughing, from moving, choking fireballs of random tickles. By now she was feeling her insides bubbling, simmering... she hoped there was no wet stain on her bikini bottom. How embarrassing that would be.
The therapist dripped some massage oil on her calves. The massage had begun.
To her relief she found that it was just a regular massage. Her calves and thighs gave in to the skilled touch of the therapist, feeling as if he was pushing the soothing oil through her skin. A pleasant calm spread through her. Her muscles loosened. That was what she had been waiting for.
The therapist asked her something. In her growing trance she barely heard him and could barely answer. Only when he untied her bikini top did she fully understand what he had asked. She didn’t mind. The cord was in the way of the massage anyway, and she wasn’t going to let anything disturb this pleasure.
Slowly, to the rhythm of the therapist’s fingers, she felt herself sinking…
----------------------------------
When she regained full consciousness, after who knows how long, she felt calm, floating in the air. A wonderful feeling of the end of a massage.
Her legs were slightly spread. With a pleasant heavy feeling of loose muscles she tried to clamp them together – only to find out she couldn’t.
She lifted her face off the massage table and looked back. The sight she saw was familiar… terrifying and exciting at the same time. Her ankles were held by leather loops, closed by Velcro, each tied to a leg of the table.
Quickly she examined her wrists – they were free. She gave a look of half rage, half question, to the therapist who was standing at the far end of the table, within touch of her feet, and opened her mouth to protest.
And then she felt it…
And saw it…
A pass of fingers on her feet. Just one pass. A single finger on each foot.
She choked a short grunt of laughter. Her back arched, its sop part lifting off the massage table. Immediately she felt her released breasts dangling. Suddenly she was hit by the memory of the open bikini top…
She glanced, horrified, at the therapist. The full severity of the situation she was in descended upon her. That was no private, secluded room in her apartment. That was the beach, and it was full of people with only a makeshift cloth wall to separate between her and them. Some of them were her coworkers.
She held herself tight against the table, and only managed to whisper “no.. please…’ before his fingers began dancing on her feet.
The tickling hit her with full force now, climbing up her legs to the center of her body that felt the increasing heat, flowing through her entire body, crashing in her head. She immediately realized how desperate things are… laughter was bubbling inside her, she wouldn’t be able to hold it in… please not that… the whole beach would come and see… her coworkers…
In her despair, she buried her face in the message table. The laughter broke from inside her against her will. She tried to silence it, to laugh without a sound, they mustn’t hear, they mustn’t come… how embarrassing… God… if it wasn’t for that other tickle, if there was a way to touch it, without anyone seeing, without anyone knowing…
The feeling in her feet was taking her over. Every now and then her pelvis would dance involuntarily. Her feet convulsed, as if trying to catch the fingers that were agonizing her. Her hands were tightly hugging the massage table, to prevent her breasts from being exposed.
Her laughter was not that quiet anymore. She knew it would soon burst out loud, to be heard beyond the cloth walls by everyone on the other side, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.
The torturing fingers were now inching their way toward her toes…
“No! Please! Anywhere but there! I wouldn’t be able to stand it!“ the thought crossed her brain, her suffering, tickle-struck brain, struggling under the burden of building pleasure…
But the tickling fingers were not to be considerate. Lightning bolts of tickling hit the folds of her toes, between them, from big to pinky toe.
She couldn’t hold it anymore. Her head lifted up from the table, and loud, involuntary laughter burst powerfully from her throat. Her wide-open eyes shot a fearful, begging glance, at the flimsy cloth wall in front.
The laugher now gushed from her like a roaring waterfall. The sharp tickles left her with no capability to stop it, to quiet it down… with the remaining pieces of her self control she kept her tight hug on the massage table. Her head and shoulders were swaying from side to side. Her pelvis was dancing left and right, as if trying to banish the unsatisfied pleasure in its core that was driving her mad. She knew that soon they would hear, soon they would come, acquaintances and strangers… they would see her suffering, laughing, going insane, exploding, burning in her own desire…
She felt she wouldn’t be able to stand it much longer. Her pelvis hopped and danced on the massage table with increased vigor, as if shaking the flux of electricity flowing through it. Her back and shoulders were moving more wildly now, as the tickling was becoming intolerable. Her head lifted to emit another dose of forced laughter, and her tearing eyes were already seeing the first curious heads peeking over the cloth walls, drawn by her sounds, hypnotized by her body and movements. The seemed to be enjoying her suffering, her pleasure…
The tickler’s fingers kept on torturing her, running back and forth along her feet, heels to toes, stalling on the ball of her feet, making the sides of her feet suffer, occasionally climbing to her calves.
Something broke inside her. Her left hand lost its grip and reached, desperate, behind her back, stretched as far as she could, trying to reach her betraying feet that kept sending those horrible, wonderful feelings through her… but naturally came up short. Her upperbody was stretched with it, and through the tears she saw the curious looks growing in number, people she knew and people she didn’t, focusing on that side of hers, trying to penetrate and look at her left breast that exposed itself further and further… and there was nothing she could do about it.
She wanted to beg to them, especially to the ones she knew, the ones she saw every day, her friends… help me… save me… I’m dying… I want it so bad now… don’t look at me… I’ll explode right here in front of you… and all she could do was keep laughing in front of the their amazed faces, as they took pleasure in what was happening to her…
Now she knew – she was there all alone, on her own. No-one would help her… nothing would. The tickling kept driving her mind crazy, increasing more and more with the growing stimulus. She felt the wetness flowing from inside her to the bikini bottom. With the remainder of her consciousness she hoped it was absorbing it all, that she wasn’t flowing through it.
And the therapist wouldn’t let go. He leaned down, knelt – and to his torturing fingers he added mouth and tongue, sucking her toes, sliding a wet tongue between them, lightly biting the heels, passing the tip of his tongue on the balls of the feet.
That was too much for her. She could no longer think of the people watching her, of the shame, of what would happen at work tomorrow. Her whole world was not this tickling, maddening, torturing her, driving her crazy, filling her with heavenly feelings…
Her whole body was twisting now, left and right, performing that special dance only a tickling that deep can cause. Her pelvis shot up, her upperbody spasmed. Her hands, that had now competely lost their grip, were trying to catch the air. Her breasts bounced like balloons on the massage bed. Her nipples, rubbing against the table, shot electric current to her boiling center, colliding there with the tickling shooting up from her feet. Her laughter was occasionally being broken by screams of pain and pleasure combined.
Another move of his tongue on her big toe – and the volcano erupted, shooting steaming lava from inside her, soaking the already soaked bikini bottom, soaking the table, soaking her thighs. Her whole body was shaking with convulsions of extreme pleasure. Her hands looked for something to hold, held the air, the table, her bare breasts, her sides that were aching from laughter. Her moans of pleasure intertwined with the laughter that was extracted from her by her tickler’s fingers that were still working on her feet.
Now the tickling was even more unbearable. Every inch of her body ached with sensitivity. Every gust of wind tickled a stimulated nerve-ending somewhere in her body, it felt like the rays of the sun were tickling her. Her helplessness, and the dozens of eyes that were gazing at her, only added to her ticklishness.
And still the tickling went on… there was nowhere to run… no way to stop it… all those people watching… no way to hide from them…
The laughter was being pushed from her lungs with increased strength, sounding more like a collection of screams. The pleasuring tickle between her thighs was also rebuilding, stronger, sharper than before… oh no… it’s happening again… what would they say at work tomorrow…
---------------------------------------
When he finally let go of her, there was complete silence.
Her face was washed with tears of laughter. She lay, exhausted, huffing and puffing, on the massage bed of her therapist, her torturer, her pleasurer… and tried to regain her strength.
The people gathered around the makeshift walls of the massage area stared in disbelief, not uttering a syllable, shocked at what they had just seen. Some were long time acquaintances of her.
the therapist released her ankles, and she quickly clamped her legs together. After a series of such strong cums, the sharp cums she knew tickling was causing her, she couldn’t bare the thought of that sensitive area being so open and unprotected.
When she gathered enough strength to reach behind and re-tie the cord of her bikini top, she rose from the massage bed, and hurried out, all blushed, not daring to look at the face of the therapist. Her feet, still over-sensitive, felt the touch of every grain of sand.
She hurried to where she left her things, quickly collected them, not waiting even to wear her clothes over the bikini soaked with her juices, and fled the beach, careful not to look at any of her acquaintances, who now knew her biggest, most intimate secret.
After a long break I return with another sequel to the story I wrote originally in Hebrew for the Israeli tickling forum (which is unfortunately dying now).
For those of you who missed or want to recap on the three previous part, here they are:
part 1 -
http://www.ticklingforum.com/showthread.php?t=110930
part 2 -
http://www.ticklingforum.com/showthread.php?t=111435
part 3 -
http://www.ticklingforum.com/showthread.php?t=111619
and now, on to part 4! enjoy!
-------------------------------------------
Could anyone have asked for more?
It wasn’t every day that she had such a spoiling day.
The sea was quiet and calm. Small, silent waves were whispering secrets to the wet send, then retreating back home. She lay, wet with the fresh water of the shower that had peeled the sea salt off her, on a large blanket, depositing her body to the sun that had already begun to set. The peak of the day’s heat had passed, but it was still hot. As always, she avoided using the blanket to wipe herself, preferring instead to let the sun and the wind dry her off.
She slightly lifted the tip of her bikini bra and snuck a peek. The tan line was very clear. She would be able to boast it tomorrow.
It has been a real day of fun. With friends, people she usually saw around her at her workplace. She had already eaten and drunk, bathed in the water, tanned in the sun, played, laughed, smiled at the men who see her every day at work and had seen her now, some for the first time, as she really was.
There was only one thing left – the massage post, defined by a wall of white cloth. A wonderful way to end a perfect day. Her turn was coming up soon.
-------------------------------
She stepped inside the white cloth wall separating the makeshift massage parlor from the beach outside. A young male therapist smiled at her, welcomed her, and beckoned her with a motion of his arm to the massage table that was standing in the shadow of a big parasol.
She smiled back at him and went over to the table. She glanced around. All kinds of different items and decorations were hanging on the cloth walls, obviously intended to enhance the atmosphere of serenity.
And on the farthest wall, across from the head of the massage table, was hanging a green peacock feather. The black-and-blue circles seemed like eyes looking at her.
She froze for a moment, feeling a slight tremble of memories. Memories of long gone days, of adventure, of erupting passion, of fulfillment of the most hidden desires. Memories of tickling, tickling, tickling…
Surely this can’t be happening again.
Why the peacock feather? Just for the atmosphere? Or maybe…
And the therapist? Did he notice her reaction? Did he know what it was about?
She struggled to get a grip on herself, and walked to the massage bed. By now she was filled with apprehension, accompanied by a surge of rapid heartbeat, and that tickle beginning to spread under the bikini bottom… stop… mustn’t think about it…
She lay face down on the massage table, burying her face in the designated place, all tensed up.
With a water-soaked towel the therapist wiped the sand off her feet. She barely held herself from laughing, from moving, choking fireballs of random tickles. By now she was feeling her insides bubbling, simmering... she hoped there was no wet stain on her bikini bottom. How embarrassing that would be.
The therapist dripped some massage oil on her calves. The massage had begun.
To her relief she found that it was just a regular massage. Her calves and thighs gave in to the skilled touch of the therapist, feeling as if he was pushing the soothing oil through her skin. A pleasant calm spread through her. Her muscles loosened. That was what she had been waiting for.
The therapist asked her something. In her growing trance she barely heard him and could barely answer. Only when he untied her bikini top did she fully understand what he had asked. She didn’t mind. The cord was in the way of the massage anyway, and she wasn’t going to let anything disturb this pleasure.
Slowly, to the rhythm of the therapist’s fingers, she felt herself sinking…
----------------------------------
When she regained full consciousness, after who knows how long, she felt calm, floating in the air. A wonderful feeling of the end of a massage.
Her legs were slightly spread. With a pleasant heavy feeling of loose muscles she tried to clamp them together – only to find out she couldn’t.
She lifted her face off the massage table and looked back. The sight she saw was familiar… terrifying and exciting at the same time. Her ankles were held by leather loops, closed by Velcro, each tied to a leg of the table.
Quickly she examined her wrists – they were free. She gave a look of half rage, half question, to the therapist who was standing at the far end of the table, within touch of her feet, and opened her mouth to protest.
And then she felt it…
And saw it…
A pass of fingers on her feet. Just one pass. A single finger on each foot.
She choked a short grunt of laughter. Her back arched, its sop part lifting off the massage table. Immediately she felt her released breasts dangling. Suddenly she was hit by the memory of the open bikini top…
She glanced, horrified, at the therapist. The full severity of the situation she was in descended upon her. That was no private, secluded room in her apartment. That was the beach, and it was full of people with only a makeshift cloth wall to separate between her and them. Some of them were her coworkers.
She held herself tight against the table, and only managed to whisper “no.. please…’ before his fingers began dancing on her feet.
The tickling hit her with full force now, climbing up her legs to the center of her body that felt the increasing heat, flowing through her entire body, crashing in her head. She immediately realized how desperate things are… laughter was bubbling inside her, she wouldn’t be able to hold it in… please not that… the whole beach would come and see… her coworkers…
In her despair, she buried her face in the message table. The laughter broke from inside her against her will. She tried to silence it, to laugh without a sound, they mustn’t hear, they mustn’t come… how embarrassing… God… if it wasn’t for that other tickle, if there was a way to touch it, without anyone seeing, without anyone knowing…
The feeling in her feet was taking her over. Every now and then her pelvis would dance involuntarily. Her feet convulsed, as if trying to catch the fingers that were agonizing her. Her hands were tightly hugging the massage table, to prevent her breasts from being exposed.
Her laughter was not that quiet anymore. She knew it would soon burst out loud, to be heard beyond the cloth walls by everyone on the other side, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.
The torturing fingers were now inching their way toward her toes…
“No! Please! Anywhere but there! I wouldn’t be able to stand it!“ the thought crossed her brain, her suffering, tickle-struck brain, struggling under the burden of building pleasure…
But the tickling fingers were not to be considerate. Lightning bolts of tickling hit the folds of her toes, between them, from big to pinky toe.
She couldn’t hold it anymore. Her head lifted up from the table, and loud, involuntary laughter burst powerfully from her throat. Her wide-open eyes shot a fearful, begging glance, at the flimsy cloth wall in front.
The laugher now gushed from her like a roaring waterfall. The sharp tickles left her with no capability to stop it, to quiet it down… with the remaining pieces of her self control she kept her tight hug on the massage table. Her head and shoulders were swaying from side to side. Her pelvis was dancing left and right, as if trying to banish the unsatisfied pleasure in its core that was driving her mad. She knew that soon they would hear, soon they would come, acquaintances and strangers… they would see her suffering, laughing, going insane, exploding, burning in her own desire…
She felt she wouldn’t be able to stand it much longer. Her pelvis hopped and danced on the massage table with increased vigor, as if shaking the flux of electricity flowing through it. Her back and shoulders were moving more wildly now, as the tickling was becoming intolerable. Her head lifted to emit another dose of forced laughter, and her tearing eyes were already seeing the first curious heads peeking over the cloth walls, drawn by her sounds, hypnotized by her body and movements. The seemed to be enjoying her suffering, her pleasure…
The tickler’s fingers kept on torturing her, running back and forth along her feet, heels to toes, stalling on the ball of her feet, making the sides of her feet suffer, occasionally climbing to her calves.
Something broke inside her. Her left hand lost its grip and reached, desperate, behind her back, stretched as far as she could, trying to reach her betraying feet that kept sending those horrible, wonderful feelings through her… but naturally came up short. Her upperbody was stretched with it, and through the tears she saw the curious looks growing in number, people she knew and people she didn’t, focusing on that side of hers, trying to penetrate and look at her left breast that exposed itself further and further… and there was nothing she could do about it.
She wanted to beg to them, especially to the ones she knew, the ones she saw every day, her friends… help me… save me… I’m dying… I want it so bad now… don’t look at me… I’ll explode right here in front of you… and all she could do was keep laughing in front of the their amazed faces, as they took pleasure in what was happening to her…
Now she knew – she was there all alone, on her own. No-one would help her… nothing would. The tickling kept driving her mind crazy, increasing more and more with the growing stimulus. She felt the wetness flowing from inside her to the bikini bottom. With the remainder of her consciousness she hoped it was absorbing it all, that she wasn’t flowing through it.
And the therapist wouldn’t let go. He leaned down, knelt – and to his torturing fingers he added mouth and tongue, sucking her toes, sliding a wet tongue between them, lightly biting the heels, passing the tip of his tongue on the balls of the feet.
That was too much for her. She could no longer think of the people watching her, of the shame, of what would happen at work tomorrow. Her whole world was not this tickling, maddening, torturing her, driving her crazy, filling her with heavenly feelings…
Her whole body was twisting now, left and right, performing that special dance only a tickling that deep can cause. Her pelvis shot up, her upperbody spasmed. Her hands, that had now competely lost their grip, were trying to catch the air. Her breasts bounced like balloons on the massage bed. Her nipples, rubbing against the table, shot electric current to her boiling center, colliding there with the tickling shooting up from her feet. Her laughter was occasionally being broken by screams of pain and pleasure combined.
Another move of his tongue on her big toe – and the volcano erupted, shooting steaming lava from inside her, soaking the already soaked bikini bottom, soaking the table, soaking her thighs. Her whole body was shaking with convulsions of extreme pleasure. Her hands looked for something to hold, held the air, the table, her bare breasts, her sides that were aching from laughter. Her moans of pleasure intertwined with the laughter that was extracted from her by her tickler’s fingers that were still working on her feet.
Now the tickling was even more unbearable. Every inch of her body ached with sensitivity. Every gust of wind tickled a stimulated nerve-ending somewhere in her body, it felt like the rays of the sun were tickling her. Her helplessness, and the dozens of eyes that were gazing at her, only added to her ticklishness.
And still the tickling went on… there was nowhere to run… no way to stop it… all those people watching… no way to hide from them…
The laughter was being pushed from her lungs with increased strength, sounding more like a collection of screams. The pleasuring tickle between her thighs was also rebuilding, stronger, sharper than before… oh no… it’s happening again… what would they say at work tomorrow…
---------------------------------------
When he finally let go of her, there was complete silence.
Her face was washed with tears of laughter. She lay, exhausted, huffing and puffing, on the massage bed of her therapist, her torturer, her pleasurer… and tried to regain her strength.
The people gathered around the makeshift walls of the massage area stared in disbelief, not uttering a syllable, shocked at what they had just seen. Some were long time acquaintances of her.
the therapist released her ankles, and she quickly clamped her legs together. After a series of such strong cums, the sharp cums she knew tickling was causing her, she couldn’t bare the thought of that sensitive area being so open and unprotected.
When she gathered enough strength to reach behind and re-tie the cord of her bikini top, she rose from the massage bed, and hurried out, all blushed, not daring to look at the face of the therapist. Her feet, still over-sensitive, felt the touch of every grain of sand.
She hurried to where she left her things, quickly collected them, not waiting even to wear her clothes over the bikini soaked with her juices, and fled the beach, careful not to look at any of her acquaintances, who now knew her biggest, most intimate secret.
