prelude to a tickle

we laughed like a couple of naughty kids while he tied my wrists together. I kept looking at his face... watching his expression change from 'boy with a new toy' to 'all powerful tickler' and then back again. my heart was already pounding and he hadn't even touched me yet. how I trust him... how I adore him... these thoughts were running
through my head as he pushed me down onto the bed and held my tightly wrapped wrists over my head. that boyish look on his face was all gone now. I giggled nervously. my man was like a locomotive now.... there would be no stopping him.

his face inches from mine, he asked me... "are you mine?". this was to be my last chance for an out. he knew I would never take it... but as always, I hesitated. fear and need wrestled for a brief moment. "yes, I am yours" I answered, and then closed my eyes. I could hear his breathing becoming deeper... slower... while my own seemed to have
stopped. once I was securely tied to the head board he paused. I knew he was watching me... watching me fight panic... watching me let go.

an eternity passed before I felt his hands slide from my wrists and then down my arms. I jerked instinctively and he chuckled. "first things first", he let his fingertips brush my neck... and slowly began to unbutton my blouse. he took his time, knowing that with every second that passed my anticipation was growing. this was torture... my
god, how I needed him to touch me.

my blouse open now, he pushed down my camisole. I felt so exposed... so vulnerable. the urge to cover myself seemed so silly but was very real. until, that is... I felt his mouth. immediately I was lost. my body stiffening and relaxing somehow at the exact same time. then I felt his fingers... digging... crawling up my sides. not wanting his
mouth to leave me, I tried so hard to be still. my hands frantic for something to grab onto but finding only the rope. "please... oh god, pleeaase! stop! no no... wait... don't...", I was torn between two powerful desires and being consumed by them both. "ssshhhh", he whispered in my ear and kissed my neck.

leaving me lying there... panting... blushing... he got up from the bed and pulled off his belt. he wore a slow easy grin as he tied my ankle to the foot board. he then used his necktie to secure the other. standing at the side of bed he inspected his work. "you are beautiful", he said simply. I smiled... owning my shame, my lust... my love, my fear. I was his... and that was all that mattered.

closing my eyes once again, I waited for his touch. at last I felt both of his strong hands on one of my feet. his thumbs pressed against center he dug in... scratching and sliding against the fabric of my nylons with his thumbnails. the rush that shot through my body was
intense. there was nothing in the entire world except for that all consuming feeling. slowly I realized that he was no longer tickling me... simply holding my foot in his hands... and that I was shrieking. before I could calm myself I felt his warm, wet mouth on my toes. my shriek was transformed into a moan... my body still jerking from the assault on my senses.

I watched him climb onto me. our eyes locked, "tell me", he
said... "please", I whispered buying a few precious seconds of rest, "please... please, tickle me". my own personal victory... I can say it to him... I can ask him... he knows...

The Prelude

Ayla...you put into words, so clearly, what for most are inexpressible emotions. Tickling itself is a beautiful thing; the giddiness, the laughter. But tickling is only the release of built-up anticipation. Ecstasy is: the feeling of being about to tickle a woman, seeing her bound and unable to defend herself, yet knowing she has given her consent. With such clarity you perceive that moment, and share your experience from the other side of it...it was a pleasure to read your post.

Glentickle

Glen, thank you so much for those kind words. I hope my day-dream was half as touching as your response was.

I had it wrong...

Oh, Ayla, I'm so sorry! I thought your story was true...and such strange reactions I'm having, upon finding out otherwise. When I first read your "Prelude," I was both jealous and heartened. Jealous, I suppose, for obvious reasons. But at the same time I tried to see the bright side, the beautiful side: at least somewhere, I told myself, someone was enjoying the scene you described. If not me, then...well, someone. I would have expected myself to feel some sort of relief (from jealousy) upon finding the story to be fiction, but instead I'm disappointed. I liked the idea that what you described had actually occurred. But still...a beautiful...how did you put it? Daydream.

Glen

it is out there tho. it has to be

Want to trade stories?

You writing is wonderful. If you've more to share, I'd love to read. I could exchange a few of my own. I hope you're interested! If you are, email me. (Or post here if you prefer...)

[email protected]

Amazing, innit, the things ya find when ya root around long enough.....

Ayla ny said:

it is out there tho. it has to be

Click to expand...

Ya think?

I think, and hope that we just witnessed the start of a beautiful friendship...

AffectionateDan said:

Ya think?

Click to expand...

I do.

phil605_ca said:

I think, and hope that we just witnessed the start of a beautiful friendship...

Click to expand...

you did.

I take a size 9-1/2, but . . .

Ayla, I take a size 9-1/2, but no matter what, I would like to be in your man's shoes. If only I could inspire such expressive writing.

Damn lass.... you know there are times I really wish you'd put fingers to keyboard more often but... not sure how often the ol' heart could stand reading stuff like this. Powerful, moving and straight from the soul, bravo and dare I say encore?

(And just on a side note, I should have known better than to read this, now my own fingers are itching to get writing again. )

Steve.