Okay, this is my first story ever, so I'm grateful for any feedback that might help me improve (for instance, I feel like the intro is long. I personally like more character development, but I want to know if it bothers people so I don't make a habit of it). I left it open for a m/f sequel if people are interested, but since this was actually written as a prequel to a different story I'm working on, and I may just move on to that one unless people want a part 2.
Without further delay:
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Freak!
John was a freshman in a small, Midwestern liberal-arts college. He was shy to a fault, and quiet nature kept him from becoming popular or making lots of friends, but he wasn’t disliked, either. He was more attractive than he gave himself credit for, with handsome features and a slender frame that would readily accept more muscle if he bothered to work out at all, but he lacked the confidence. One reason for this was that he was carrying a secret that he was afraid to share with anyone for his entire life.
John had a major tickle fetish. It had started out as an innocent obsession when he was a kid, but he innocence left when puberty hit and he found that tickling aroused him. He also realized that no one else felt the same way he did about tickling, so he kept it hidden, afraid of being labeled a freak. It wasn’t until he got his own computer and internet connection in high school that he realized that he wasn’t alone. The websites he found provided an outlet for his obsession, but he still kept it hidden in his real life.
A few months into his first year of college, John met Emily. Emily was drop-dead gorgeous and everyone knew it, including her. She was extremely popular, aside from some of her rivals, and was the type of girl that John would have thought was completely out of his league. She thought different, though. They wound up with remarkably similar schedules their first semester and began seeing each other outside of class. John kept the relationship moving slower than she was used to, which she was alright with for the most part; too many guys were trying to get with her already. What she didn’t know is that part of the reason that John was debating on whether or not to confide in her.
It started to become obvious to John that Emily wanted a more physical relationship, and he began building up the confidence to tell her. One evening they were alone in his dorm room, and she was coaxing him into going all the way with her. They began to undress, and John’s heart was pounding in his throat, partially at the prospect of losing his virginity but also because he was still terrified to tell her his secret. She gave him an opening when she leaned toward him and whispered seductively in his ear: “What do you want to do to me?”
John swallowed hard and tried to force himself to say it. “I…I want to tickle you.”
There was a brief pause. “You…what?”
Filled with newfound confidence, John repeated himself. “I really want to tickle you. I always have.” Finally unburdening himself felt so good that he couldn’t help revealing all of it. It was like a dam bursting. He told her everything. About the childhood games, the websites he visited, and the way he imagined himself tickling just about everyone he met. He was so caught up in telling his story that he didn’t notice that the look on Emily’s face had changed from one of confusion to one of shock mingled with disgust. He was almost panting when he got done talking, but his breathing almost stopped when he saw it.
“Oh my God,” she said softly, pushing him away as she sat up. “All this time,” she turned and looked him dead in the eye, “I had no idea you were a freak.”
He felt like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over his head. He suddenly felt lost, like he was far away from the room. After she left he couldn’t remember if she had said anything else, if he had said anything, or if he had tried to stop her. All he knew was that she was gone for good. He wanted to cry. He wanted to throw up. He wanted to curl into a ball and disappear forever. He could only manage the first two.
As bad as that night was, he was completely unprepared for what awaited him the next day. Emily had told her friends about him. Her friends appeared to have told the entire world.
The rest of the week was a nightmare. People seemed to laugh at him wherever he went. Even his friends and roommates teased him; they didn’t mean any harm by it, but they had no idea how big a deal this was for John. He had kept this secret his whole life, and the first person he told had shamed him. He wanted to leave school, drop out and go home, but he didn’t know how. His parents would demand to know why, and then they’d find out. As bad as things were now, he felt like that may have been worse.
On Friday afternoon he was in the library, a place that he found to be a safe haven. People were supposed to be quiet, so they didn’t make fun of him there. Truth be told, the novelty had started to wear off and people were losing interest in him, but he was still paranoid. He would glance around frequently, seeing if people were staring at him. They weren’t, but he kept checking every few minutes anyway. During one of his neurotic scans his gaze fell on someone who hadn’t been there the last time he looked. Standing at the door was a tall redhead, and she was staring directly at him. Not just looking, but staring, intently.
He recognized her. She was a junior, and her name was…Anne? Anna? Something like that. She had a strange reputation at the school. Her beauty made her popular, and guys lined up to be with her, but the line moved quickly. She had never stayed with one guy for more than a few weeks at most, so she had a reputation for being a slut. The odd thing was that the guys who had been with her never bragged about her like she was just another conquest. In fact, they seemed reluctant to talk about her at all.
They continued locking eyes as she started heading in his direction. She was wearing a tank top and almost obscenely short cut-offs. Even though he knew she was still looking at him, John couldn’t help glancing down at her feet. She was wearing flip-flops, and he was becoming mesmerized by the sight of them as the staccato slap of the rubber hitting her soles marked her approach. She stopped, standing in front of his table.
“Are you John?” No greeting, no pleasantries, and she asked in the way that made it apparent she already knew the answer.
John swallowed. “Yeah. You’re…Anna, right?”
“Anya,” she corrected him, pulling out the chair across from him and sitting down. She regarded him quietly for a moment. “So, John, I hear you’re into tickling.”
John couldn’t tell if the odd feeling in his face was him growing pale or blushing. He should have guessed that she was here to make fun of him. He started to stand, angrily shoving his books into his backpack. Anya reached out and placed her hand on his. He froze in place at her touch, unable to look her in the eye. “No, wait, it’s okay.” She took a deep breath. “I am too.”
He wasn’t sure if he heard her right. “Are what?”
“Into tickling. Always have been.”
He didn’t believe her. This obviously was a setup. If he fell for it, she would string him along and lead him into an even more embarrassing situation. But his obsession wouldn’t allow him to leave, and he remained locked in place. What if she was telling the truth and he passed up a golden opportunity? He was already in hell, so would it really be so bad to take a risk? Anya noticed his hesitation and continued. “I’ve always loved being tickled, ever since I was a kid. As I got older I started to like tickling other people, too, and I’ve gotten really good at it.” John still wouldn’t look at her, and she sensed his distrust. “Look, what that girl did to you is horrible, sharing your secret like that. I’m sorry it happened, but please hear me out.” John slowly sat back down and finally looked at her. Her green eyes looked sincere, but he was still wary. He waved his hand at her in an annoyed way, giving her permission on continue talking.
“Okay, look, you knew my name – well, almost knew my name, anyway – so you’ve probably heard some stuff about me. All the boyfriends I’ve had, how I’m the biggest slut in the world, all that stuff?” John nodded, suddenly feeling a bit guilty for judging her based on a rumor; that’s what people were doing to him now. “The reason I go through boyfriends so fast,” Anya explained, “is that I like to tickle them. I’ll do it kind of playfully at first, but it’s like an addiction or something. They always want sex anyway, and it’s really easy to get them tied up if they think they’re going to get laid. And then I tickle the hell out of them. Like I said, I’m really good at it and I’m a bit ruthless, so even the ones that want to go along with it eventually give up and dump me.”
John felt himself growing hard in spite of himself as she told him this. She still may be trying to trick him, but that seemed less and less likely. His doubt further dissolved with the next words out her mouth.
“Are you a ‘ler or a ‘lee?,” she asked him. John raised an eyebrow. He had never heard those terms used anywhere except in the tickling community. She probably had been to some of the same sites as him. But did visit them just to gather information to better trick him? That seemed unlikely.
“Um…both, I guess. I mean, I’m more of ‘ler, but being tickled sounds like it would be fun, maybe kinda sexy.” He cleared his throat, a little embarrassed and surprised that he was being this open and honest with a stranger. “To be honest, I haven’t been much of either for a long time.”
Anya nodded. “I hear ya. I had a dry spell starting around junior high. Then sometime in high school I decided ‘hey, this is who I am, this is what I like, what’s the big deal?’ I’ve been a bit shameless since then.” She leaned back in her chair, arching her back slightly. John couldn’t help but glance down at her breasts. The tank top she was wearing was close-fitting and showed off their shape rather well. He looked back up at her face and found her eyes locked on his, one eyebrow raised slightly, matching the corner of her mouth that was turned up into a subtle half-smile. Busted.
She leaned forward again, resting her elbows on the table. He suspected that she was deliberately allowing him a better angle to view her cleavage, and again couldn’t help but glance down. She allowed him this for a moment before speaking again. “Okay, John. It’s not often that two ticklephiles like us will meet by chance. I’m thinking we should take advantage of it.”
John cleared his throat again, something he found himself doing often since she approached him. He knew that she was right. Risky as it was, this was too amazing an opportunity to pass up. Still, he felt an odd conflict raging inside of him. He looked at her fingernails, his stomach turning in knots as he imagined them delicately scratching his exposed skin. His heart was also racing with excitement as he imagined it, and imagined what he would do to her in retaliation. “What?” he said finally. “I mean, what did you have in mind?”
“I live in the yellow house on the south side of campus. My roommates are all out right now and shouldn’t be back for a good six hours or so. Are your classes done for today?” John nodded. “Perfect. It’s pretty straightforward, then. We go there, one of us gets tied up and tickled, then we trade places.” She shrugged. “Nothing much to it, really. So, you up for it?”
John nodded again. “You’ve put some thought to this, haven’t you? It’s like you knew what I’d say before you came over here.”
She grinned. “One thing you’ll learn about me if we get to know each other is that I plan everything. I wasn’t sure if you’d go for it or not, but I can handle rejection well enough to not be afraid of asking.” She stood up. “So, let’s get out of here. Time’s a-wasting.”
Anya’s dorm was one of the houses reserved for upper-class girls, located on the far side of campus. The campus was rather small, though, so it was a short walk, and they filled it with some of the normal small talk that normal people would have started off a conversation with. John tried to hide the fact that there were butterflies in his stomach as he walked alongside her.
Anya kicked off her flip flops as soon as they were inside the door. Her bare feet padded across the floor as she charged excitedly up the stairs. John followed, keeping his shoes on. When they made it to her room she jumped onto the twin bed and began reaching under the corners of the mattress, pulling out nylon straps that had already been secured to the bed. She then reached into the top drawer of her nightstand and pulled out four padded cuffs. “Here,” she said, tossing the cuffs to the floor in front of him. “Get undressed and put these on.” She then sat cross-legged on the bed, grinning while she watched him.
I can’t believe I’m doing this, John thought as he removed his shoes and socks. He then pulled his t-shirt over his head and picked up the cuffs, fastening them to his wrists first. He started to put the other two on his ankles when he saw Anya shaking her head. “No. The shorts come off, too.” John blushed a little, but he complied. She couldn’t help but laugh a little when he pulled his shorts off, revealing his tighty-whities. Why didn’t he wear his boxers today? He told her that he was keeping those on. “That’s fine,” she said, adding “Prude,” with a wink.
John finished putting on the cuffs and hopped onto the bed with her. “Now what?” he asked, knowing full well what the answer was.
Anya rose to her knees and put a hand on his chest. “Lie back,” she said softly, giving him a gentle push. He lined himself up with the center of the bed and lay down, hands above his head, feet apart. She grabbed the cuff on his left ankle and started securing it to the strap at the corner of the bed. “Last chance if you want to back out,” she told him. John shook his head in reply. She pulled the strap taught, securing his ankle to the bed and repeating the process with his right foot. She then climbed over him and started strapping in his wrists, purposefully placing her breasts over his face while she did so. Even though they were still enclosed by her tank top, he enjoyed the show. When she had finished she straddled him, sitting with her knees placed on either side of his ribcage. He had never felt so helpless, or so turned on.
“Okay. You’re in for one wild ride, Johnny-boy. I already warned you that I’m not big on the mercy department, but I’ll try to contain myself since this is your first time and I don’t want to screw this up. If you beg me to stop – which I really enjoy, by the way – I probably won’t listen. But if you really, really need me to stop, like if something is painful or you’re gonna pass out or something, say ‘red.’ That’ll be our safeword. Say red and I promise I’ll stop everything until you’re ready to go again. Got it?” John nodded again. “Good. Do you want to aim for a certain time limit, or just go until one of us feels like being done?”
John thought about it. Setting a time limit sounded comforting, but he didn’t want to set it too short and be a disappointment or set it too long and not live up to it. “We’ll play it by ear,” he told her. “Show me what you’ve got,” he added with a cocky wink.
Anya didn’t need to be told twice, and she wasn’t lying when she said she was ruthless. She went straight for his armpits with both hands, digging five stiff fingers into each hairy hollow. He had expected her to ease into it, teasing him, so the brutality of her opening assault caught him completely off guard. He also hadn’t been tickled there since he was about ten, so he had forgotten what it was like. He shrieked and howled, trying to twist away from her fingers. She was half sitting on his chest, so his movement was limited, and whichever way he would turn just offered her a better shot at the other pit. He started bucking up and down, trying to shake her off of him, but it didn’t faze her in the slightest. She rode him like a bronco, laughing at his reactions and teasing him.
She continued tickling him for what seemed like an eternity. He couldn’t keep up his violent struggling anymore, so he toned it down to minor spasms coupled with screaming laughter. The tickling suddenly stopped and struggled to catch his breath. His vision was blurry from squeezing his eyes shut, but he could see her face leaning over his, grinning from ear to ear. “That was about a minute and half,” she told him. His heart sank. That couldn’t be true, could it? That had to have been at least fifteen minutes. “You,” she said, leaning closer, “are deliciously ticklish.” She finished leaning in and kissed him softly on the lips. He closed his eyes and returned the kiss, a feeling of bliss washing over him. He felt himself getting hard.
Anya ended the kiss and sat back up. John’s laid his head back on the bed. Despite his ordeal, he suddenly felt very calm and relaxed. That feeling didn’t last long, though, as her tickling fingers started lightly stroking his ribcage. He started to laugh, not violently this time, but his laughter grew harder as she continued her tickling and began speaking to him. “Most people will start out with something light like this, kind of teasing their victim, easing them into it. I do that too, sometimes. But one thing I’ve found out from tickling guys is that they start sweating pretty early, and I don’t like tickling sweaty, hairy armpits. So I try to get my best shots in while they’re still dry.” Before he could protest, her fingers spidered their way back into his armpits. She unleashed a full-force assault and had him screaming again within seconds.
He found it incredibly frustrating that he was unable to saw anything intelligible. He tried to plead with her, beg her to stop, but all he could manage was stuttering gibberish. This amused Anya, which made her tickle him harder, which made him babble more. It was a vicious cycle. Then, as suddenly as it started, the tickling stopped. “See,” she said, waving her damp fingers in front of his face. “Sweaty already. Gross.” She wiped her hands on the sheets. “Guess we’ll be done with the armpits now.”
“Oh, thank you,” he panted. “Thank god. That was to much. I can’t take it. I can’t take it.”
“Silly boy. We’re not done yet,” she said, sliding herself further down on his body, placing a knee on either side of his hips and sitting on his thighs. “Hmmm, I’ll bet that tummy is just as ticklish as the armpits, isn’t it.”
“Oh god. Yes, I mean, probably, I don’t…just, not like before. Please, Anya, go easier on me this time.”
Anya laughed. “Oh, I do love it when they beg. I guess I’ll go easy on you, wuss. I like that you’re a screamer, but I want to hear more begging.” She placed her fingertips on his abs, smiling as she felt the muscles tighten. His breathing quickened as he tried to brace himself. She started dragging her fingertips across his flesh, tracing random patterns on his stomach, then up to his chest, then back again. John laughed freely and squirmed. This was still torture, but it felt like a break compared to what she had been doing. He was surprised to discover that her delicate stroking was actually turning him on and he was beginning to get hard again. This didn’t escape Anya’s attention, and she subtly changed her position, putting the seam of her jean shorts on top of his growing erection. Why let all the squirming go to waste?
“I said I wanted to hear begging.” She increased the speed and pressure of her fingertips and was rewarded by more squirming and intensified laughter.
“Oh, please, ahaahahaaha! Please sto-hahahahaha! Mmmmm…oh god. Oh please.”
“Please what?” she taunted him. “You love it. Don’t lie to me, you know you love it. Beg me to tickle you. Come on, tell me you love it.”
“Oh god. Yes, ahahahaha, I love it. Ple-heeheeeheeheese. Nrrrrnnnn….aaaaaaaaa! Please tick…please tickle me!.” He wasn’t sure if her really wanted it or not, but there was something about being made to beg for something, even something she was already doing to him, that he found strangely erotic.
“That’s what I wanted to hear.” Her fingers dance their way up to his nipples. His laughter went up an octave and his squirming turned into quick, spasmodic jerking movements. He bit his lip and moaned a thumb and finger gently squeezed each nipple, then giggle as the rest of the fingers simultaneously stroked the adjacent ribs. She stopped teasing his nipples and ran her fingernails up and down his ribcage as he squealed. After a few minutes she stopped tickling him and began to massage his heaving chest. He let out a long half sigh, half moan, feeling the tension drain out of his muscles.
“Good boy,” she cooed at him. “Good little ticklish boy.” She lifted herself off of him, giving his hardened member a squeeze as she got up. He arched his back and moaned and she started rubbing it through his shorts with her palm. “Such a good boy,” she repeated. He sank back to down to the bed with a frustrated sigh as the contact stopped. She knelt at the foot of the bed, pausing to admire his bare feet. “These look soft,” she said, slowly rubbing her palms on his soles. “Soft and ticklish.”
John lifted his head up to look at her. “No, wait, Anya, I’m not ready…I’m not readyyyyyyyheeheeehee haaahaa!” His begging didn’t work this time, either, and she started running her nails methodically over both heels. She tickled slowly, testing him and enjoying the sight of his toes curling and uncurling while his body twisted from side to side. She found a sweet spot and focused there and studied his reactions. His twisting stopped and his body tensed, a steady peal of laughter exploding from him.
Her fingers crawled up his soles, nails scratching the sensitive skin. John started bucking again. His laughter came to a head when she reached the base of his toes and started lightly scratching in between them, causing him to go nuts. After testing his various reactions, she went to work like a professional, making him squirm, beg, laugh, and scream at her whim. She decided that his right foot was more ticklish, so she bent those toes back with one hand and started tickling his stretched out sole with the other, sending him through the roof. She kept it up for what, to him, seemed like an eternity until she decided to give him another break.
He continued giggling for a minute or so after she stopped tickling him. She climbed back up on the bed as he was calming down, laying next to him with her bare feet near his head. She could tell he was enjoying the view, so she wiggled her toes playfully at him. “You like feet too, huh?” They were way past the point where he should feel embarrassed about anything with her, so he nodded in reply. “Good,” she said, bringing them up to his face. “Knock yourself out.”
John had never done this before, so he wasn’t sure exactly where to begin. He started kisses each toe, one after the other as she shifted her position to give him access to each one in turn. He continued planting small kisses all over the sole of her left foot as she began to lightly tickle his abdomen in the way that had turned him on earlier. He started to squirm and moan, his kisses getting bigger and wetter the more excited he got. Finally he started to suck on her toes. It was her turn to start moaning now. Her left hand continued to tickle his stomach and her right hand wandered down to his leg, tickling him under the knee. He started to laugh, but she shoved more of her toes into his mouth, her foot acting as a gag. His squirming intensified as he began to feel more helpless. She kept it up for a short while but began to worry about him accidentally biting her, so she stopped tickling and took her feet away from his face.
She rose up to her knees as he caught his breath. “Looks like someone wants to say ‘hi,’” she remarked. He lifted his head up, looking confused, then groaned as he saw what she was referring to. The tip of his erecting had emerged triumphantly from the waistband of his jockey shorts, almost as if it wanted to see what all the noise was about. So much for being beyond embarrassment.
Anya didn’t seem at all phased by it. She suddenly straddled him again, playfully tickling his ribs. “Somebody likes it, somebody likes it,” she teased in a sing-song voice as he laughed beneath her. “Tell me again how much you like it.”
“Gaaahaahahaahaa! I like it, I like it.” She slid down his legs and sat behind his knees, tickling his inner thighs. His laughter reached went up in pitch again as he continued to chant “I like it.” When her fingers reached the edge of his briefs she stopped, looking dissatisfied.
“This won’t do at all.” She leaned over and rummaged through the drawer where she had stored the cuffs. John’s eyes went wide as saucers when he saw what she pulled out: a pair of medical shears.
Oh god, he thought. She’s going to kill me. I let a crazy person tie me up and now she’s going to kill me. Before he could say anything, she had made two quick snips on the sides of his shorts. With one quick tug, she yanked them off and tossed them away, along with the scissors. He was now completely exposed.
She looked down at him, a lusty look in her eyes. “I don’t get to do this very often,” she said. She wiggled her fingers teasingly, moving them closer and closer to his shaft.
John started shaking his head as her nails approached. He had never really been touched there, let alone tickled. He really had no idea how it was going to feel, and a large part of him didn’t want to find out. That part seemed to have control of his mouth, and he begged and pleaded for her not to tickle him there.
John let out a machine-gun-like peal of laughter as her fingers made contact. She started drawing them slowly down the length of the shaft, then back up again. It tickled like crazy, but it felt incredible at the same time. He whimpered, laughed, and moaned as her nails traced their torturous path, growing harder with each stroke. He closed his eyes, caught up in the sensations, and he didn’t bother opening them when he felt one hand leave and heard her rummaging around in the drawer once again. Suddenly the stroking stopped and he let out a startled yelp as something cold touched him. The coldness began to spread and looked up to find her pouring some sort of oil onto him. “Hey, that’s cold!” he protested.
“It’ll warm up. Don’t be such a baby.” She started smearing oil on his groin, spreading the excess onto his abdomen and thighs before returning both hands to his erection. Anya ceased tickling and began rubbing him instead, sending waves of euphoria through John’s body. She would occasionally scribble the fingers of one hand across his belly, causing him to giggle slightly.
As she brought him closer and closer to climax, John once again found himself unable to control his speech. When Anya had been assaulting his armpits, he found himself unable to speak. Now he was unable to shut up. He thanked her profusely. He praised her beauty. He swore his undying love to her. He knew he was babbling like an idiot and felt completely embarrassed about it, but she found it amusing and didn’t take it too seriously. If she could make a guy lose control like that, she must be doing it well.
John’s babbling switched to loud, incoherent moaning as he reached the point of no return. His back arched as he let out a loud cry, ecstasy overtaking him as he finally felt release. Anya began massaging his thighs as he lay there, panting and content. The contentment gave way to panic as her fingers moved up his legs and suddenly tickled him underneath his balls. The result was explosive.
“Ohmygod, holy shit! Redredredred!”
Anya stopped tickling but laughed at him, amused by the reaction. “Okay, we’re done. But it looks like you’re one of those guys who gets more ticklish after orgasm, and I do want to try that out sometime. But this is probably enough for a first time, huh?”
“Yeah. That was…holy crap. That was intense.”
Anya unstrapped John’s wrists from the bed, kissing him on the forehead before moving down to release his ankles. “Stay here, try not to move around too much,” she instructed as she ran off toward the bathroom. He heard the sound of water running as he tried to flex his arms and legs while remaining flat on the bed. Anya returned carrying two towels and hopped onto the bed. John let out a surprised “aaaaah!” that gave way to a contented “ooooooh” as she placed a nearly steaming-hot towel over his abdomen and genitals. “Here you go. Cleanup time.”
John began to clean himself off, surprised that he didn’t feel embarrassed or ashamed of anything that had just happened. Anya looked a bit more concerned. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I got carried away there, didn’t I? We hadn’t really talked about doing anything sexual.”
“No, it’s okay, really. I wouldn’t have asked you to do that, but it was like you read my mind. I could’ve told you to stop if I had wanted to.” It was true that he could have asked her to stop, but part of him did wonder if she actually would have. Still, she seemed satisfied with the answer and perked back up.
“Okay,” she said cheerily, standing up. “Take the cuffs off. It’s my turn.”
Without further delay:
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Freak!
John was a freshman in a small, Midwestern liberal-arts college. He was shy to a fault, and quiet nature kept him from becoming popular or making lots of friends, but he wasn’t disliked, either. He was more attractive than he gave himself credit for, with handsome features and a slender frame that would readily accept more muscle if he bothered to work out at all, but he lacked the confidence. One reason for this was that he was carrying a secret that he was afraid to share with anyone for his entire life.
John had a major tickle fetish. It had started out as an innocent obsession when he was a kid, but he innocence left when puberty hit and he found that tickling aroused him. He also realized that no one else felt the same way he did about tickling, so he kept it hidden, afraid of being labeled a freak. It wasn’t until he got his own computer and internet connection in high school that he realized that he wasn’t alone. The websites he found provided an outlet for his obsession, but he still kept it hidden in his real life.
A few months into his first year of college, John met Emily. Emily was drop-dead gorgeous and everyone knew it, including her. She was extremely popular, aside from some of her rivals, and was the type of girl that John would have thought was completely out of his league. She thought different, though. They wound up with remarkably similar schedules their first semester and began seeing each other outside of class. John kept the relationship moving slower than she was used to, which she was alright with for the most part; too many guys were trying to get with her already. What she didn’t know is that part of the reason that John was debating on whether or not to confide in her.
It started to become obvious to John that Emily wanted a more physical relationship, and he began building up the confidence to tell her. One evening they were alone in his dorm room, and she was coaxing him into going all the way with her. They began to undress, and John’s heart was pounding in his throat, partially at the prospect of losing his virginity but also because he was still terrified to tell her his secret. She gave him an opening when she leaned toward him and whispered seductively in his ear: “What do you want to do to me?”
John swallowed hard and tried to force himself to say it. “I…I want to tickle you.”
There was a brief pause. “You…what?”
Filled with newfound confidence, John repeated himself. “I really want to tickle you. I always have.” Finally unburdening himself felt so good that he couldn’t help revealing all of it. It was like a dam bursting. He told her everything. About the childhood games, the websites he visited, and the way he imagined himself tickling just about everyone he met. He was so caught up in telling his story that he didn’t notice that the look on Emily’s face had changed from one of confusion to one of shock mingled with disgust. He was almost panting when he got done talking, but his breathing almost stopped when he saw it.
“Oh my God,” she said softly, pushing him away as she sat up. “All this time,” she turned and looked him dead in the eye, “I had no idea you were a freak.”
He felt like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over his head. He suddenly felt lost, like he was far away from the room. After she left he couldn’t remember if she had said anything else, if he had said anything, or if he had tried to stop her. All he knew was that she was gone for good. He wanted to cry. He wanted to throw up. He wanted to curl into a ball and disappear forever. He could only manage the first two.
As bad as that night was, he was completely unprepared for what awaited him the next day. Emily had told her friends about him. Her friends appeared to have told the entire world.
The rest of the week was a nightmare. People seemed to laugh at him wherever he went. Even his friends and roommates teased him; they didn’t mean any harm by it, but they had no idea how big a deal this was for John. He had kept this secret his whole life, and the first person he told had shamed him. He wanted to leave school, drop out and go home, but he didn’t know how. His parents would demand to know why, and then they’d find out. As bad as things were now, he felt like that may have been worse.
On Friday afternoon he was in the library, a place that he found to be a safe haven. People were supposed to be quiet, so they didn’t make fun of him there. Truth be told, the novelty had started to wear off and people were losing interest in him, but he was still paranoid. He would glance around frequently, seeing if people were staring at him. They weren’t, but he kept checking every few minutes anyway. During one of his neurotic scans his gaze fell on someone who hadn’t been there the last time he looked. Standing at the door was a tall redhead, and she was staring directly at him. Not just looking, but staring, intently.
He recognized her. She was a junior, and her name was…Anne? Anna? Something like that. She had a strange reputation at the school. Her beauty made her popular, and guys lined up to be with her, but the line moved quickly. She had never stayed with one guy for more than a few weeks at most, so she had a reputation for being a slut. The odd thing was that the guys who had been with her never bragged about her like she was just another conquest. In fact, they seemed reluctant to talk about her at all.
They continued locking eyes as she started heading in his direction. She was wearing a tank top and almost obscenely short cut-offs. Even though he knew she was still looking at him, John couldn’t help glancing down at her feet. She was wearing flip-flops, and he was becoming mesmerized by the sight of them as the staccato slap of the rubber hitting her soles marked her approach. She stopped, standing in front of his table.
“Are you John?” No greeting, no pleasantries, and she asked in the way that made it apparent she already knew the answer.
John swallowed. “Yeah. You’re…Anna, right?”
“Anya,” she corrected him, pulling out the chair across from him and sitting down. She regarded him quietly for a moment. “So, John, I hear you’re into tickling.”
John couldn’t tell if the odd feeling in his face was him growing pale or blushing. He should have guessed that she was here to make fun of him. He started to stand, angrily shoving his books into his backpack. Anya reached out and placed her hand on his. He froze in place at her touch, unable to look her in the eye. “No, wait, it’s okay.” She took a deep breath. “I am too.”
He wasn’t sure if he heard her right. “Are what?”
“Into tickling. Always have been.”
He didn’t believe her. This obviously was a setup. If he fell for it, she would string him along and lead him into an even more embarrassing situation. But his obsession wouldn’t allow him to leave, and he remained locked in place. What if she was telling the truth and he passed up a golden opportunity? He was already in hell, so would it really be so bad to take a risk? Anya noticed his hesitation and continued. “I’ve always loved being tickled, ever since I was a kid. As I got older I started to like tickling other people, too, and I’ve gotten really good at it.” John still wouldn’t look at her, and she sensed his distrust. “Look, what that girl did to you is horrible, sharing your secret like that. I’m sorry it happened, but please hear me out.” John slowly sat back down and finally looked at her. Her green eyes looked sincere, but he was still wary. He waved his hand at her in an annoyed way, giving her permission on continue talking.
“Okay, look, you knew my name – well, almost knew my name, anyway – so you’ve probably heard some stuff about me. All the boyfriends I’ve had, how I’m the biggest slut in the world, all that stuff?” John nodded, suddenly feeling a bit guilty for judging her based on a rumor; that’s what people were doing to him now. “The reason I go through boyfriends so fast,” Anya explained, “is that I like to tickle them. I’ll do it kind of playfully at first, but it’s like an addiction or something. They always want sex anyway, and it’s really easy to get them tied up if they think they’re going to get laid. And then I tickle the hell out of them. Like I said, I’m really good at it and I’m a bit ruthless, so even the ones that want to go along with it eventually give up and dump me.”
John felt himself growing hard in spite of himself as she told him this. She still may be trying to trick him, but that seemed less and less likely. His doubt further dissolved with the next words out her mouth.
“Are you a ‘ler or a ‘lee?,” she asked him. John raised an eyebrow. He had never heard those terms used anywhere except in the tickling community. She probably had been to some of the same sites as him. But did visit them just to gather information to better trick him? That seemed unlikely.
“Um…both, I guess. I mean, I’m more of ‘ler, but being tickled sounds like it would be fun, maybe kinda sexy.” He cleared his throat, a little embarrassed and surprised that he was being this open and honest with a stranger. “To be honest, I haven’t been much of either for a long time.”
Anya nodded. “I hear ya. I had a dry spell starting around junior high. Then sometime in high school I decided ‘hey, this is who I am, this is what I like, what’s the big deal?’ I’ve been a bit shameless since then.” She leaned back in her chair, arching her back slightly. John couldn’t help but glance down at her breasts. The tank top she was wearing was close-fitting and showed off their shape rather well. He looked back up at her face and found her eyes locked on his, one eyebrow raised slightly, matching the corner of her mouth that was turned up into a subtle half-smile. Busted.
She leaned forward again, resting her elbows on the table. He suspected that she was deliberately allowing him a better angle to view her cleavage, and again couldn’t help but glance down. She allowed him this for a moment before speaking again. “Okay, John. It’s not often that two ticklephiles like us will meet by chance. I’m thinking we should take advantage of it.”
John cleared his throat again, something he found himself doing often since she approached him. He knew that she was right. Risky as it was, this was too amazing an opportunity to pass up. Still, he felt an odd conflict raging inside of him. He looked at her fingernails, his stomach turning in knots as he imagined them delicately scratching his exposed skin. His heart was also racing with excitement as he imagined it, and imagined what he would do to her in retaliation. “What?” he said finally. “I mean, what did you have in mind?”
“I live in the yellow house on the south side of campus. My roommates are all out right now and shouldn’t be back for a good six hours or so. Are your classes done for today?” John nodded. “Perfect. It’s pretty straightforward, then. We go there, one of us gets tied up and tickled, then we trade places.” She shrugged. “Nothing much to it, really. So, you up for it?”
John nodded again. “You’ve put some thought to this, haven’t you? It’s like you knew what I’d say before you came over here.”
She grinned. “One thing you’ll learn about me if we get to know each other is that I plan everything. I wasn’t sure if you’d go for it or not, but I can handle rejection well enough to not be afraid of asking.” She stood up. “So, let’s get out of here. Time’s a-wasting.”
Anya’s dorm was one of the houses reserved for upper-class girls, located on the far side of campus. The campus was rather small, though, so it was a short walk, and they filled it with some of the normal small talk that normal people would have started off a conversation with. John tried to hide the fact that there were butterflies in his stomach as he walked alongside her.
Anya kicked off her flip flops as soon as they were inside the door. Her bare feet padded across the floor as she charged excitedly up the stairs. John followed, keeping his shoes on. When they made it to her room she jumped onto the twin bed and began reaching under the corners of the mattress, pulling out nylon straps that had already been secured to the bed. She then reached into the top drawer of her nightstand and pulled out four padded cuffs. “Here,” she said, tossing the cuffs to the floor in front of him. “Get undressed and put these on.” She then sat cross-legged on the bed, grinning while she watched him.
I can’t believe I’m doing this, John thought as he removed his shoes and socks. He then pulled his t-shirt over his head and picked up the cuffs, fastening them to his wrists first. He started to put the other two on his ankles when he saw Anya shaking her head. “No. The shorts come off, too.” John blushed a little, but he complied. She couldn’t help but laugh a little when he pulled his shorts off, revealing his tighty-whities. Why didn’t he wear his boxers today? He told her that he was keeping those on. “That’s fine,” she said, adding “Prude,” with a wink.
John finished putting on the cuffs and hopped onto the bed with her. “Now what?” he asked, knowing full well what the answer was.
Anya rose to her knees and put a hand on his chest. “Lie back,” she said softly, giving him a gentle push. He lined himself up with the center of the bed and lay down, hands above his head, feet apart. She grabbed the cuff on his left ankle and started securing it to the strap at the corner of the bed. “Last chance if you want to back out,” she told him. John shook his head in reply. She pulled the strap taught, securing his ankle to the bed and repeating the process with his right foot. She then climbed over him and started strapping in his wrists, purposefully placing her breasts over his face while she did so. Even though they were still enclosed by her tank top, he enjoyed the show. When she had finished she straddled him, sitting with her knees placed on either side of his ribcage. He had never felt so helpless, or so turned on.
“Okay. You’re in for one wild ride, Johnny-boy. I already warned you that I’m not big on the mercy department, but I’ll try to contain myself since this is your first time and I don’t want to screw this up. If you beg me to stop – which I really enjoy, by the way – I probably won’t listen. But if you really, really need me to stop, like if something is painful or you’re gonna pass out or something, say ‘red.’ That’ll be our safeword. Say red and I promise I’ll stop everything until you’re ready to go again. Got it?” John nodded again. “Good. Do you want to aim for a certain time limit, or just go until one of us feels like being done?”
John thought about it. Setting a time limit sounded comforting, but he didn’t want to set it too short and be a disappointment or set it too long and not live up to it. “We’ll play it by ear,” he told her. “Show me what you’ve got,” he added with a cocky wink.
Anya didn’t need to be told twice, and she wasn’t lying when she said she was ruthless. She went straight for his armpits with both hands, digging five stiff fingers into each hairy hollow. He had expected her to ease into it, teasing him, so the brutality of her opening assault caught him completely off guard. He also hadn’t been tickled there since he was about ten, so he had forgotten what it was like. He shrieked and howled, trying to twist away from her fingers. She was half sitting on his chest, so his movement was limited, and whichever way he would turn just offered her a better shot at the other pit. He started bucking up and down, trying to shake her off of him, but it didn’t faze her in the slightest. She rode him like a bronco, laughing at his reactions and teasing him.
She continued tickling him for what seemed like an eternity. He couldn’t keep up his violent struggling anymore, so he toned it down to minor spasms coupled with screaming laughter. The tickling suddenly stopped and struggled to catch his breath. His vision was blurry from squeezing his eyes shut, but he could see her face leaning over his, grinning from ear to ear. “That was about a minute and half,” she told him. His heart sank. That couldn’t be true, could it? That had to have been at least fifteen minutes. “You,” she said, leaning closer, “are deliciously ticklish.” She finished leaning in and kissed him softly on the lips. He closed his eyes and returned the kiss, a feeling of bliss washing over him. He felt himself getting hard.
Anya ended the kiss and sat back up. John’s laid his head back on the bed. Despite his ordeal, he suddenly felt very calm and relaxed. That feeling didn’t last long, though, as her tickling fingers started lightly stroking his ribcage. He started to laugh, not violently this time, but his laughter grew harder as she continued her tickling and began speaking to him. “Most people will start out with something light like this, kind of teasing their victim, easing them into it. I do that too, sometimes. But one thing I’ve found out from tickling guys is that they start sweating pretty early, and I don’t like tickling sweaty, hairy armpits. So I try to get my best shots in while they’re still dry.” Before he could protest, her fingers spidered their way back into his armpits. She unleashed a full-force assault and had him screaming again within seconds.
He found it incredibly frustrating that he was unable to saw anything intelligible. He tried to plead with her, beg her to stop, but all he could manage was stuttering gibberish. This amused Anya, which made her tickle him harder, which made him babble more. It was a vicious cycle. Then, as suddenly as it started, the tickling stopped. “See,” she said, waving her damp fingers in front of his face. “Sweaty already. Gross.” She wiped her hands on the sheets. “Guess we’ll be done with the armpits now.”
“Oh, thank you,” he panted. “Thank god. That was to much. I can’t take it. I can’t take it.”
“Silly boy. We’re not done yet,” she said, sliding herself further down on his body, placing a knee on either side of his hips and sitting on his thighs. “Hmmm, I’ll bet that tummy is just as ticklish as the armpits, isn’t it.”
“Oh god. Yes, I mean, probably, I don’t…just, not like before. Please, Anya, go easier on me this time.”
Anya laughed. “Oh, I do love it when they beg. I guess I’ll go easy on you, wuss. I like that you’re a screamer, but I want to hear more begging.” She placed her fingertips on his abs, smiling as she felt the muscles tighten. His breathing quickened as he tried to brace himself. She started dragging her fingertips across his flesh, tracing random patterns on his stomach, then up to his chest, then back again. John laughed freely and squirmed. This was still torture, but it felt like a break compared to what she had been doing. He was surprised to discover that her delicate stroking was actually turning him on and he was beginning to get hard again. This didn’t escape Anya’s attention, and she subtly changed her position, putting the seam of her jean shorts on top of his growing erection. Why let all the squirming go to waste?
“I said I wanted to hear begging.” She increased the speed and pressure of her fingertips and was rewarded by more squirming and intensified laughter.
“Oh, please, ahaahahaaha! Please sto-hahahahaha! Mmmmm…oh god. Oh please.”
“Please what?” she taunted him. “You love it. Don’t lie to me, you know you love it. Beg me to tickle you. Come on, tell me you love it.”
“Oh god. Yes, ahahahaha, I love it. Ple-heeheeeheeheese. Nrrrrnnnn….aaaaaaaaa! Please tick…please tickle me!.” He wasn’t sure if her really wanted it or not, but there was something about being made to beg for something, even something she was already doing to him, that he found strangely erotic.
“That’s what I wanted to hear.” Her fingers dance their way up to his nipples. His laughter went up an octave and his squirming turned into quick, spasmodic jerking movements. He bit his lip and moaned a thumb and finger gently squeezed each nipple, then giggle as the rest of the fingers simultaneously stroked the adjacent ribs. She stopped teasing his nipples and ran her fingernails up and down his ribcage as he squealed. After a few minutes she stopped tickling him and began to massage his heaving chest. He let out a long half sigh, half moan, feeling the tension drain out of his muscles.
“Good boy,” she cooed at him. “Good little ticklish boy.” She lifted herself off of him, giving his hardened member a squeeze as she got up. He arched his back and moaned and she started rubbing it through his shorts with her palm. “Such a good boy,” she repeated. He sank back to down to the bed with a frustrated sigh as the contact stopped. She knelt at the foot of the bed, pausing to admire his bare feet. “These look soft,” she said, slowly rubbing her palms on his soles. “Soft and ticklish.”
John lifted his head up to look at her. “No, wait, Anya, I’m not ready…I’m not readyyyyyyyheeheeehee haaahaa!” His begging didn’t work this time, either, and she started running her nails methodically over both heels. She tickled slowly, testing him and enjoying the sight of his toes curling and uncurling while his body twisted from side to side. She found a sweet spot and focused there and studied his reactions. His twisting stopped and his body tensed, a steady peal of laughter exploding from him.
Her fingers crawled up his soles, nails scratching the sensitive skin. John started bucking again. His laughter came to a head when she reached the base of his toes and started lightly scratching in between them, causing him to go nuts. After testing his various reactions, she went to work like a professional, making him squirm, beg, laugh, and scream at her whim. She decided that his right foot was more ticklish, so she bent those toes back with one hand and started tickling his stretched out sole with the other, sending him through the roof. She kept it up for what, to him, seemed like an eternity until she decided to give him another break.
He continued giggling for a minute or so after she stopped tickling him. She climbed back up on the bed as he was calming down, laying next to him with her bare feet near his head. She could tell he was enjoying the view, so she wiggled her toes playfully at him. “You like feet too, huh?” They were way past the point where he should feel embarrassed about anything with her, so he nodded in reply. “Good,” she said, bringing them up to his face. “Knock yourself out.”
John had never done this before, so he wasn’t sure exactly where to begin. He started kisses each toe, one after the other as she shifted her position to give him access to each one in turn. He continued planting small kisses all over the sole of her left foot as she began to lightly tickle his abdomen in the way that had turned him on earlier. He started to squirm and moan, his kisses getting bigger and wetter the more excited he got. Finally he started to suck on her toes. It was her turn to start moaning now. Her left hand continued to tickle his stomach and her right hand wandered down to his leg, tickling him under the knee. He started to laugh, but she shoved more of her toes into his mouth, her foot acting as a gag. His squirming intensified as he began to feel more helpless. She kept it up for a short while but began to worry about him accidentally biting her, so she stopped tickling and took her feet away from his face.
She rose up to her knees as he caught his breath. “Looks like someone wants to say ‘hi,’” she remarked. He lifted his head up, looking confused, then groaned as he saw what she was referring to. The tip of his erecting had emerged triumphantly from the waistband of his jockey shorts, almost as if it wanted to see what all the noise was about. So much for being beyond embarrassment.
Anya didn’t seem at all phased by it. She suddenly straddled him again, playfully tickling his ribs. “Somebody likes it, somebody likes it,” she teased in a sing-song voice as he laughed beneath her. “Tell me again how much you like it.”
“Gaaahaahahaahaa! I like it, I like it.” She slid down his legs and sat behind his knees, tickling his inner thighs. His laughter reached went up in pitch again as he continued to chant “I like it.” When her fingers reached the edge of his briefs she stopped, looking dissatisfied.
“This won’t do at all.” She leaned over and rummaged through the drawer where she had stored the cuffs. John’s eyes went wide as saucers when he saw what she pulled out: a pair of medical shears.
Oh god, he thought. She’s going to kill me. I let a crazy person tie me up and now she’s going to kill me. Before he could say anything, she had made two quick snips on the sides of his shorts. With one quick tug, she yanked them off and tossed them away, along with the scissors. He was now completely exposed.
She looked down at him, a lusty look in her eyes. “I don’t get to do this very often,” she said. She wiggled her fingers teasingly, moving them closer and closer to his shaft.
John started shaking his head as her nails approached. He had never really been touched there, let alone tickled. He really had no idea how it was going to feel, and a large part of him didn’t want to find out. That part seemed to have control of his mouth, and he begged and pleaded for her not to tickle him there.
John let out a machine-gun-like peal of laughter as her fingers made contact. She started drawing them slowly down the length of the shaft, then back up again. It tickled like crazy, but it felt incredible at the same time. He whimpered, laughed, and moaned as her nails traced their torturous path, growing harder with each stroke. He closed his eyes, caught up in the sensations, and he didn’t bother opening them when he felt one hand leave and heard her rummaging around in the drawer once again. Suddenly the stroking stopped and he let out a startled yelp as something cold touched him. The coldness began to spread and looked up to find her pouring some sort of oil onto him. “Hey, that’s cold!” he protested.
“It’ll warm up. Don’t be such a baby.” She started smearing oil on his groin, spreading the excess onto his abdomen and thighs before returning both hands to his erection. Anya ceased tickling and began rubbing him instead, sending waves of euphoria through John’s body. She would occasionally scribble the fingers of one hand across his belly, causing him to giggle slightly.
As she brought him closer and closer to climax, John once again found himself unable to control his speech. When Anya had been assaulting his armpits, he found himself unable to speak. Now he was unable to shut up. He thanked her profusely. He praised her beauty. He swore his undying love to her. He knew he was babbling like an idiot and felt completely embarrassed about it, but she found it amusing and didn’t take it too seriously. If she could make a guy lose control like that, she must be doing it well.
John’s babbling switched to loud, incoherent moaning as he reached the point of no return. His back arched as he let out a loud cry, ecstasy overtaking him as he finally felt release. Anya began massaging his thighs as he lay there, panting and content. The contentment gave way to panic as her fingers moved up his legs and suddenly tickled him underneath his balls. The result was explosive.
“Ohmygod, holy shit! Redredredred!”
Anya stopped tickling but laughed at him, amused by the reaction. “Okay, we’re done. But it looks like you’re one of those guys who gets more ticklish after orgasm, and I do want to try that out sometime. But this is probably enough for a first time, huh?”
“Yeah. That was…holy crap. That was intense.”
Anya unstrapped John’s wrists from the bed, kissing him on the forehead before moving down to release his ankles. “Stay here, try not to move around too much,” she instructed as she ran off toward the bathroom. He heard the sound of water running as he tried to flex his arms and legs while remaining flat on the bed. Anya returned carrying two towels and hopped onto the bed. John let out a surprised “aaaaah!” that gave way to a contented “ooooooh” as she placed a nearly steaming-hot towel over his abdomen and genitals. “Here you go. Cleanup time.”
John began to clean himself off, surprised that he didn’t feel embarrassed or ashamed of anything that had just happened. Anya looked a bit more concerned. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I got carried away there, didn’t I? We hadn’t really talked about doing anything sexual.”
“No, it’s okay, really. I wouldn’t have asked you to do that, but it was like you read my mind. I could’ve told you to stop if I had wanted to.” It was true that he could have asked her to stop, but part of him did wonder if she actually would have. Still, she seemed satisfied with the answer and perked back up.
“Okay,” she said cheerily, standing up. “Take the cuffs off. It’s my turn.”
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