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"Grave Consequences" - Chapter 1 (A "Buffy" Fic)

Ticklogic

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Jun 2, 2006
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Here we are, a week later. The prologue wasn't the most popular, but you can check it out here.

Previously,
"Have you gone mental, rat brain?" Dark Willow exclaimed, as Amy began frantically scribbling her nails on the witch's belly. But the captive had not the slightest of ticklish reactions. The would-be torturer stepped back, throwing her hands to the air.

"God, what is it with you! You're barely human!" Amy cried.

"Face it, you've got a crappy sense of timing," Dark Willow explained, contemptuous. "My sensitivity went out with my natural hair color. The age of weak little Willow is the past."

Amy's eyes lit up. Another idea. One that might actually work. She turned once more to her captive. Approached the pillory with hands raised. Dark Willow just kept her bored scowl.

"Give it up, Amy. Unless you've got a Delorean that goes 88 miles per hour…"

Amy wrapped her palms around the side of Dark Willow's head, locking eyes with her former friend.

"Don't worry, Red. Where we're going, we won't need roads."

There was white light. And then silence.

“Your shirt…” She collapses. Blood.

“Come on baby. Get up. Please. Tara!”

no, don’t show me this, not this…

Further back.

Soft morning light through the window. “I forgot how good this could feel. Us. Together… Without the magic.”

Warm and soft and slick with sweat like dew.

“Oh, there was plenty of magic, Will.”

seeing_red_002.jpg


Tara Maclay smiles at her lover. They’re tangled in the sheets after a long night. Willow, full of warmth and contentment, leans in for a long, sensual kiss. It’s been eternity and a day. Magic drew them together; its abuse tore them apart. But nothing so trivial could stand between them for long.

Willow snuggles in closer, Tara stroking her hair. Peaceful, Willow eyes the midmorning sunlight.

“Mm, it’s getting late,” she notes.

“You wanna get up?” her lover asks, certain of the answer, grinning wide when she hears it.

“No. God, no.” Willow rolls over, indulging in the silk sheets, to face Tara. “Can’t we stay like this forever?”

“That’s up to you. It’s all your fault.”

Willow blinks, darkness passing over her expression. Did she hear what she thought she heard?

“Wh- what?”

Tara giggles.

“I said, it’s your decision, sweetie.”

The dark cloud passes, and Willow returns her lover’s grin.

“I think you know my decision.”

“I do?” Tara replies, a look of mock innocence barely suppressing her grin.

Willow nods slyly. She slides herself face first toward the foot of the bed, propping her feet against the headboard. Tara shivers in anticipation. A moment, dripping slowly in time, and then Willow has found her target. She spreads the sheets to uncover it. In an instant, Tara sees only a mass of crimson hair as her lover explores the area with her tongue. The blonde’s mouth cracks open, her eyes closing, her head sliding back as tingling warmth floods her.

“Oh, Will,” Tara breathes. “Goddess, that… tickles!”

Willow raises her head, a little sheepish. There’s an audible ‘pop’ as Tara’s toes leave her mouth, sticky saliva trailing behind.

“Sorry, babe. Know how you hate that.”

Tara’s hand grasps the bed sheets. She rocks forward, her eyes hungry with desperate need. She can only mouth her request: ‘D- don’t stop!’

Willow grins, and fulfills their shared desire. First, she takes Tara’s bare foot in her hands, regarding it with the same dreamy indulgence she usually reserves for that first morning cup of coffee. She holds a moment, allowing her lover to feel the insinuation of warm breath on the backs of her toes. Tara’s breath catches. Willow smiles. Right where she wants her.

Willow glides her tongue along the tops of Tara’s toes, which twitch and flex in response. A soft moan from her lover spurns her on. Her moist lips envelope the big toe, eyes half-closed in ecstasy. She slides her fingers along the smooth flesh at the bottom of Tara’s foot, gently massaging as she slurps contentedly. So deeply enraptured in tasting her lover’s toes, that it’s a moment before she feels the first, tentative touch on her arch. A shiver of not-entirely pleasant sensation makes itself known.

Willow’s eyes pop open. Something’s not quite right. She feels it again- that electrical tingle starting at her arch and shimmering down her leg. Tara’s toes still in her mouth, Willow glances back, where her own feet are still comfortably propped on the headboard. Tara, lost in her own pleasure, has dreamily begun to plant kisses on the upturned pink soles resting so carelessly close to her head. A faint crease of worry appears on Willow’s brow.

In the time since they’d introduced this game to their sexual repertoire, they’d found it best to draw the line at Willow’s feet. Light touches were fun, but Willow possessed a special brand of sensitivity. The kind that tended to break the spell of foreplay whenever a stray poke found its way to a hot spot. This discovery, found one evening in the UC Sunnydale dorms, at first yielded playful delight, only to somewhat embarrassingly end with Willow taking a header off Tara’s bed. From that moment on, Willow made clear her aversion to tickling and the helplessness it wrought. To lose control like that…

All of this comes creeping back to her, as Tara’s gentle foot kisses send tremors straight to Willow’s central nervous system. Not wishing to ruin the moment, Willow tries to renew her attentions on her lover’s foot, in an attempt to block out the sensations coming from her own. But her mind’s not in it. And she nearly jumps out of her skin when she feels what comes next. Willow’s mouth drops open in shock, letting go of Tara’s glistening wet toes in the process. She looks back.

Tara is running her tongue from sole to arch, licking Willow’s bare foot with lusty abandon. Willow isn’t used to this. Her body shifts with tiny, uncontrollable spasms. She wants to say something, to tactfully tell her girl to knock it off, but all that comes out is a pitiful squeak. If Tara hears that plaintive sound, she shows no signs of slowing down. Willow grabs hold of the bed sheets with one hand, as if holding on for dear life. A wise move.

‘Oh goddess,’ Willow thinks with sudden alarm, ‘is she using her teeth?’ Sure enough, Tara is nibbling gently on her heel… then her arch… then lightly grazing the pad just under the toes. The final straw. Willow can’t help it. She bursts into giggles. She immediately clasps one hand over her mouth, fearful of waking the others in the house. Pounds the bed with her other fist like a madwoman. She’s sure that’ll be the end of it- that Tara will be broken from her reverie, and they’ll move on to the fun, non-torturous activities.

But Tara doesn’t stop. She clasps Willow’s bucking bare foot in her hands, holding it still as she works her tongue and teeth along the excruciatingly ticklish flesh. Somehow, Willow finds her voice.

“Ha h-all right, baby, stop!” It’s a frenzied plea, and it finally gets through. Willow heaves a sigh of relief. She turns slightly to see Tara regarding her with a raised eyebrow, still holding her foot captive. “All right…” Willow pants, trying to disguise her annoyance, “I think… we’re done… with feet.”

“Is that a surrender?” Tara asks. There’s a strange tone to her voice that’s not the playful edge Willow’s used to hearing. It’s cold.

“Yeah-huh,” Willow replies, with a certain unease, as she attempts to pull her foot away. But Tara holds strong. “Um, honey… Let go. Please.” Tara breaks eye contact, looking with a scientific detachment at the fair-skinned, lightly freckled appendage she holds. Willow is no stranger to being caught in vulnerable positions—it’s a weekly event, living over the Hellmouth. But right now, this is trumping them all.

“I dunno, Will,” Tara intones, lightly running the pad of her index finger across Willow’s sole. Willow’s toes clench involuntarily, and her eyes narrow. “I’m not really buying the ‘surrender’. Could you try that once more?” Her finger stops, nail pointing at the center of Willow’s arch. She locks eyes with her lover. “With feeling?”

Tara twists her finger back and forth like a drill. Willow yelps. Quite loudly. She doesn’t have time to be embarrassed about it, as Tara begins scratching her first two fingernails against Willow’s yielding, sensitive arch. She yelps again, her whole body bucking. Tara watches her reactions, expressionless. Her fingernails are now twice as long and flaming crimson. Willow’s brow furrows at the sight. But she’s too late to do anything. Tara, or whatever’s posing as her, digs in.

Willow’s laughter bubbles forth as she wriggles helplessly, making serpentine patterns in the crimson bed sheets. The jittery warmth of earlier lovemaking gives way to a feeling not unlike panic, as electrical jolts arc along her nerves. It’s not fun any more.

“Baby, please,” Willow pants between frenzied giggles. “Tarahahaha!”

“Shut up, bitch,” Tara spits venomously. “Nothing you can do with all your power. Couldn’t even save me.”

The poison words cut through the sensory overload of the tickling. Willow’s eyes squeeze shut, mouth contorting in emotional agony, but her sounds of mirth continue. The idyllic sunlight that once bathed the room has faded to ashy gray, and Willow’s skin prickles at the feel of an arid wind. The illusion is breaking down.

To Be Continued...
 
Nice story, good work, do keep it up! Buffy is one of the all time great fantasy worlds for tickling because there are SO many good targets. Anyway, hope to see the next installments soon.
 
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