This must be the first story I've written in 10 damn years. But inspiration struck. I may go back and add to it, but I feel like this is a decent first draft. Enjoy.
The wheels were randomly set in motion one night. We were doing nothing, as we usually did. Our conversations always covered a variety of topics, but we hadn't touched on this yet.
"I'm not ticklish. Well, I'm ticklish on my feet, but I think everyone is. Nowhere else, though."
I don't recall how we got there, but it was a pleasant surprise nonetheless. When you're a tickle fetishist, it's a question that often very near the front of your mind the instant you meet someone you're attracted to. But you're very aware of the fact that just asking right off the bat might give some pause. It's more fun to find out organically anyways.
"Really? Just your feet?"
"Yeah. Just the bottoms."
She's sitting next to me on the bed, cross legged, barefoot. It's almost expected to do a little test at this point. I reach out and brush her sole lightly.
She jerks back. "Don't. I'll pee my pants for sure."
I laugh and make a few more half-hearted attempts. We change the topic and start talking about music. It'd been a long day, and we were lounging in her room. She looked gorgeous as usual, and I longed to touch her, but something...the moment just wasn't right.
I want it to be right.
*************************
We'd been friends for about 6 months, but I'd noticed her for years. Since my first day at University. She walked into my first class. I still remember that moment to this day. Green hoodie, black jeans, black, scene-kid styled hair. She looked...wounded, I guess. Instant attraction for me. Take that for what you will.
Over the years we had classes together and the occasional conversation, but that was all. I've never been good at initiating friendship, and she was mega-shy. So we just sort of orbited each other, in that way you often do with people in school. She ended up adding me to Facebook, but we still just sort of circled each other.
One semester, she was doing a documentary for one of our film production classes. The subject isn't important, but she asked if she might interview me. I said sure, despite my hatred of being on camera. I finally had an in. We gradually began talking more. She had just gotten out of a shitty five year relationship, and I was fresh out of a two year one, which gave us something to bond over.
I've always been better at making friends with girls than guys. But this was the fastest connection I'd ever made. Within weeks, we were talking nearly all day, every day, and hanging out for hours on end. I was smitten, to put it lightly, and she knew as much. But she was harder to read. I'd occasionally get signals that seemed like signs of attraction, flirty messages or what have you, but on the whole, we were both just out of taxing relationships and weren't looking to date anyone else yet. I was content to let it play out, because I really dug the hell out of her.
We didn't need movies or dinner or any "date-ly" activities. We'd just hang out and talk. I loved talking to her for two reasons. One, I genuinely loved getting inside her head, and two, it gave me an excuse to stare at her as much as I wanted. She was gorgeous. The scene kid hair and slightly gothic style I'd seen her rock for the last couple of years was all but gone, in favour of something much more low key. Her hair was crimson now, and fell long and straight past her shoulders. It nicely complimented her large, green eyes. And when I say large, I mean large. Her eyes wouldn't have been out of place on an anime character, and I absolutely adored them. I'd stare at them forever, if I didn't get distracted by her bee-stung lips that so often would stretch into an adorably dorky smile.
She didn't think she was anything special. She often complained about a bump on her nose that gave it a strange shape, and what she felt was a too prominent chin.
She was not perfect, no. But that made her all the more stunning. She was natural. She was beautiful.
And yeah. I thought about tickling her...well, let's say often.
*************************
The night it happened, we'd gone drinking and dancing. While I was an old hand at said activities, she rarely drank, and got drunk even less. But she was certainly feeling good that night, and we closed the club down. She danced the same way she smiled, dorky and cute, and I loved watching her.
I also noticed something strange about her when she was drunk. She liked to touch me. Nothing untoward, just lots of hands on arms or backs, and the occasional hug. This is stranger still when you consider the fact that she was quite uncomfortable being touched when she was sober. I certainly wasn't complaining.
When we left, we stood outside with my other friends, deciding what to do next. The idle chatter gave me time to take a look at her outside of the darkness of the club. She was dressed simply, in a flannel patterened button up shirt and black jeans. Both garments hugged her body very nicely. After her and her ex had broken up, she'd decicded to lose some weight. She had no reason to as she was never anything even vaguely close to overweight, but the 5 or 10 pounds she had shed had served to highlight her figure even more, and I found it tough to look away. She had just enough meat on her bones, and an alluring amount of curves. She had a few facial piercings and tattoos, but on the whole, she just seemed...soft. She looked made to be held, and I wished to be the one to do so dearly.
A decision was finally reached to grab some food, and we began to walk. Her and I fell behind everyone else, and suddenly, she entwined her arm with mine and pulled me close. I couldn't have been more surprised if Godzilla had randomly decided to show up and lay waste to the city. The night, pretty good up until now, had just jumped up another notch.
We reached the restaurant. She wasn't hungry and said she'd be staying outside and waiting for us. I was starving, but I wasn't about break the grip she had on my arm, and so as my friends got in line, we took a seat on a concrete planter just outside.
It was technically summer, but an unseasonably cool evening. I tolerated the cold just fine, but I could see she was starting to shiver slightly. I seized the moment, wrapped my arms around her and pulled her close. She soon shifted her position on the planter, and was more or less sitting on my lap as I hugged her.
This was pretty good.
"I'm so cold. Ugh."
"I know. But you'll be home soon."
"This is true."
But downtown on a Saturday night after the bars close is a place where soon takes a slightly different meeting, and it was over an hour in the cool night before we could find a cab.
We sat sleepily in the backseat, my arm around her, her head on my chest.
"My mom refuses to turn on the heat after the end of March. It's gonna be so cold in my room."
There's my opportunity.
"I can't stand the cold. I keep the heater cranked." (A little white lie) "You can come back to my place for a bit, warm up."
"Ohhhh that sounds so good."
Rapidly jumping up the notches.
We got back to my place and I wasted no time in showing her my room.
"You'll warm up faster under the covers."
She agreed. She got into the bed, and I followed her. No objections so far.
"Come here."
I covered us in two comforters and pulled her close, wrapping my arms around her yet again. I felt her hand. Cold as ice.
She pulled herself even deeper into me.
"Ohhhhhh my god. You're so warm. How are you so warm."
Normally I would've replied with some cheesy joke about how I might be warm but she's so hot. But not now. I just held her tighter.
And so we lay there. I just held her, occasionally rubbing her back or stroking her hair. I'm not sure if I could define bliss, but I think this would be a good starting point.
After a while she finally warmed up. Letting go of her was currently just below getting castrated with a rusty saw on the list of things I wanted to do, but I figured I should ask.
"Do you want to go home now?"
She finally looked up at me with those gorgeous anime eyes.
"No."
I cupped her cheek with my hand. I've never been good at reading signs from women, likely because few are thrown my way, but only a complete fool could misinterpret this.
I leaned in and kissed her.
She kissed back.
Those lips somehow tasted better than they looked.
We spent an indeterminate amount of time making out I badly, badly wanted to rip her clothes off and then do the next logical thing for that situation, but I restrained myself. Slowly we went, kissing, carressing, holding.
Finally, we came up for breath, and an even better opportunity presented itself.
"I can't believe how comfortable your bed is. These pillows alone...I wanna steal them."
"Thanks. They're feather stuffed. So comfortable."
I would've stopped there and gone back to kissing her, but I saw a window.
"They're kinda fragile though. They break open. I'll turn over sometimes and a bunch of feathers will tickle my face."
"Ha. You can give them to me then. I wouldn't have that problem. Not ticklish."
"I remember you saying that yeah. Just on your feet."
"Mmmhm. It's true."
"Rightttttttttt."
"What! For real! I'm just not ticklish. I'm not lying."
"I didn't say you were lying. I just have a hunch you've never been properly tested."
She smiled that smile. Threw the blankets off, got on her back, and raised her arms over her head.
"Try me."
You know that moment in a comedy movie trailer where something absurd happens and they drop in the sound of a needle scratching across a record, then James Brown starts singing I Feel Good or something? Yeah. That moment is my life right now.
I do what I can to avoid my jaw hitting the floor, but I'm only moderately successful.
"...really?"
"Mmhmm. You're gonna be disappointed though."
"'Disappointed' has no place in my current state of mind."
I shifted my position and lay next to her. Where to start.
"So you really think you're not ticklish."
"Nope. My brother used to chase me down all the time when we were kids. He'd pin me and grab my ribs and try his hardest. Nothing."
I smile.
"You know, there's different ways to tickle. That way...so coarse. So rough. Some people just need a lighter touch."
I start unbuttoning her shirt.
"We associate tickling with childhood, mostly. Most people barely even think of it in situations other than that. I'm not sure why. I think it's one of the most sensual acts in the world."
Her shirt is undone. She wears a black tanktop underneath, exposing a very nice amount of cleavage, and a pair of lovely, smooth underarms.
"Think about it. You take someone, and maybe you tie them down...or just hold them."
I push her wrists together over her head, and hold them there lightly, just enough to let her know that I can apply more pressure if needed.
"They're at your mercy. You could do whatever you wanted to them. But all you want to do is touch them. We're tactile creatures. We need that touch, even if we don't want to admit it."
I start walking my fingers up her side, towards her underarm. She's breathing slightly heavier.
"But not a hard touch, no. Just...soft."
I reach her underarm and lightly graze it with my fingers, back and forth. I'm not really trying to make her laugh yet. I just want to set her nerves on edge.
But I notice her smile go tighter. The sensation is gnawing at her.
"I thought you weren't ticklish. You're smiling awful big right now."
"I'm not. I mean it."
"Keep telling yourself that. Might even help...but I doubt it. Belief becomes a lot tougher when you get proven wrong. I'll break through that belief."
I punctuate this sentence by nuzzling up to her neck and kissing it. She gasps. I've yet to meet a girl who doesn't respond to having her neck kissed, and she's no different. But I've also got an ulterior motive. I haven't shaved for a couple of days, and I've got just enough stubble...
I rub my face along her neck while I lightly bite her earlobe. I can feel the breath catching in her throat. I look up and that smile is tighter still.
"I can see you're trying to hold on still. That's fine. The chase, that's half the fun. But we're just getting started..."
I walk my fingers back down her side and rest my hand on her stomach. Her tanktop has ridden up ever so slightly, and those jeans have a pretty low waist. The result is just a few inches of exposed skin. I rest a finger on it.
"See something like this can be all it takes. Just a tiny bit of exposure."
I begin the same light grazing motion I used on her armpit, but just a bit faster this time. The smile remains, but I feel her squirm minutely. I wouldn't have noticed it if I wasn't completely tuned in to her body. But it was there. Getting closer.
"I felt that, you know. That one second where you didn't have control of your body, where you couldn't decide whether to try and get away, or keep up this facade and try to endure. That's it my dear. The beginning of the end. I got you now. All it takes is a single crack for the dam to break. And there's about to be a flood."
I lift her tanktop to just below her breasts, revealing her stomach's full expanse. She's not a tanner, so I see lovely, pale, soft skin, accentuated by a tiny innie belly button. I dispense with words, and simply begin dragging my nails up and down her stomach, every which way.
She's still not laughing, but she can't begin to hide the squirming. I drag my nails up her side, and feel a shiver run through her. She makes a sound that is something like 80% pleasure and 20% torture. But she's still not laughing.
But I'm ready to make her.
I pull her tanktop up over her head, but I don't take it off fully. Instead, I wrap her arms in it, and have a little makeshift bondage device.
She's wearing white bra with black polkadots. Some girls look better with their clothes on, and disappoint the more that comes off. She is not one of them.
I lean close to her ear, so close that I barely even have to speak for her to hear me. I continue lightly raking her stomach.
"Ok. This is your chance. You admit you're ticklish, and I'll let you up right now. Just say the words. That's all you have to do."
She's gritting her teeth. The combination of my fingers on her stomach and my breath in her ear is presenting a challenge.
I guess she likes a challenge.
"I'm...n-not....ticklish."
"Alright. Have it your way."
I stop raking and begin spider tickling her underarm. That's all it takes. She breaks into laughter.
I smile.
"Just a crack..."
I run my fingers all over her upperbody, from underarms to sides to stomach. She laughs constantly. It's a wonderful laugh, an out of control laugh, alternating between high pitched hahahas, cute giggles, and lower pitched near moans. She doesn't scream. She just laughs. Wonderful.
I think I'm gettin the best reaction out of her underarms, until I slip my finger into her tiny innie, which causes her to buck and slip into silent laughter. I drape my leg over hers to keep her from going too wild, and spend a solid 2 minutes with just my finger inside her bellybutton. Usually, repetition of a sensation will lessen the effect. She doesn't have that problem, and is laughing just as hard when I remove my finger as when I put it in.
I give her a moment to catch her breath.
"Alright. Ready to admit it?"
"I...was just...thinking...of...something funny...I heard....today. That's...all."
"Hm. If I didn't know better, I'd think you were maybe enjoying this."
She can only smile and continue to catch her breath.
"You know my dear...there's another reason why sometimes people don't think they're ticklish."
I start stroking her belly slowly, just above the button on her jeans.
"There's the standard spots everyone knows about. Feet..."
I brush my fingers just under the waistline of her jeans.
"Stomach..."
I move my hand down to her thigh, and back up.
"Underarms..."
I start playing with the button on her jeans.
"But there's a whole host of other spots..."
I unbutton her jeans.
"That don't usually get any attention at all..."
I undo the zipper.
She smiles.
"Not ticklish there either..."
I smile.
"I'll take that bet."
Her panties match her bra, and hug her hips like they were made for her. She favours skinny jeans, and they're practically painted on her. I can't reach her thighs...
...but I find the joint where her leg meets her groin, and drag my nails up and down.
The laughter starts again immediately. She's no longer considering hiding it. But it's taken on a different quality. More husky. More desperate. There's tones of pure pleasure that were absent before.
She's mine.
I let my fingers roam all over her pantyline, sliding them under to play with her hips, teasing both her and myself by occasionally brushing the light down of pubic hair beneath. She's trimmed but not fully shaved, and I'm not sure if it makes her more ticklish there, but it certainly doesn't hurt. She's still squirming, but it's not a 'I can't take this' squirm, it's an 'I can't process these feelings and I like it' squirm.
I pause for a moment, long enough to pull her pants off and undo the front clasp on her bra. Her breasts spill out, perfectly supple, with small pink nipples. I stop my pelvis assault and begin attempting to map every inch of her chest with my fingers. I strike gold when I scratch at her upper ribs, just under the armpit. Her nipples seem ticklish as well, but those moans were as much in pleasure as in laughter.
Suddenly, the reality of the matter hits me. I have the girl of my dreams in my bed, submitting to me as my own personal tickle toy.
I no longer struggle for the definition of bliss. I have it.
I abandon any pretense of sticking to an area and begin an all out assault on her entire body. I run my fingers from her underarms to stomach. I squeeze her thighs. Lick her stomach. Scratch her ribs. She laughs the whole time.
I honestly can't say how much time passed. Maybe ten minutes. Maybe an hour.
Eventually I stop. She's practically spent, her eyes wet with tears. The smile never leaves her face though.
"Well. Ready to admit it?"
Her body heaves as her lungs look for breath.
"Okay...okay...I was...wrong....ticklish..."
I kiss her forehead.
"Yes. Yes you are...but you know...there's one spot I hadn't checked..."
Her eyes go wide. She's caught my drift.
"No...no...dunno if I can...handle it."
"We've yet to establish just what you can and cannot handle, my dear."
I let go of her wrists. She's so worn out that she couldn't go anywhere if she wanted to.
I get her feet in a scissor grip with my legs. She has large feet, probably size 9 or 10. Long toes. Like I said, I'm not a foot guy, but these seems like some good tickling real estate.
Her breathing is quickening.
"Be gentle."
"I'm always gentle."
With no more hesitation, I plunge in. I begin scrabbling my nails all over her soles. The effect is instantaneous. She shrieks like a banshee, and the fight that I thought had left her comes back in force. She's no longer squirming, but thrashing in desperation. I maintain my grip and double the intensity. I push her toes back and find the gaps between them. She howls at that, and the adrenaline is gone. She falls back onto the bed and is powerless to do anything but laugh. And laugh she does. I scratch her arches, her heel, the tops of her toes, anywhere there's skin. Whatever she thought about the rest of herself, she certainly wasn't exaggerating about her feet.
I can sense her reaching her limit, so I continue for just a couple of more minutes before I let go. When I look back up, she's a mess. Her eyes are red from tears, her hair is splayed all over, and her entire naked body is slick with sweat.
As gorgeous a sight as anything I've ever seen.
I unwrap her hands from the makeshift tanktop bondage, and take her in my arms. I enjoy the feel of her heart beating rapidly against me. It's a while before either of us speak.
"That...was....intense."
"It was. Are you ok?"
"Oh...yeah...so good..."
I laugh.
"Who'd have thought, eh."
She smiles.
"I'll...get you...back."
"Oh. I'm not that ticklish."
She looks up at me, mischief in her eyes.
"Rightttttttttt."
But that...that's another story for another time.
The wheels were randomly set in motion one night. We were doing nothing, as we usually did. Our conversations always covered a variety of topics, but we hadn't touched on this yet.
"I'm not ticklish. Well, I'm ticklish on my feet, but I think everyone is. Nowhere else, though."
I don't recall how we got there, but it was a pleasant surprise nonetheless. When you're a tickle fetishist, it's a question that often very near the front of your mind the instant you meet someone you're attracted to. But you're very aware of the fact that just asking right off the bat might give some pause. It's more fun to find out organically anyways.
"Really? Just your feet?"
"Yeah. Just the bottoms."
She's sitting next to me on the bed, cross legged, barefoot. It's almost expected to do a little test at this point. I reach out and brush her sole lightly.
She jerks back. "Don't. I'll pee my pants for sure."
I laugh and make a few more half-hearted attempts. We change the topic and start talking about music. It'd been a long day, and we were lounging in her room. She looked gorgeous as usual, and I longed to touch her, but something...the moment just wasn't right.
I want it to be right.
*************************
We'd been friends for about 6 months, but I'd noticed her for years. Since my first day at University. She walked into my first class. I still remember that moment to this day. Green hoodie, black jeans, black, scene-kid styled hair. She looked...wounded, I guess. Instant attraction for me. Take that for what you will.
Over the years we had classes together and the occasional conversation, but that was all. I've never been good at initiating friendship, and she was mega-shy. So we just sort of orbited each other, in that way you often do with people in school. She ended up adding me to Facebook, but we still just sort of circled each other.
One semester, she was doing a documentary for one of our film production classes. The subject isn't important, but she asked if she might interview me. I said sure, despite my hatred of being on camera. I finally had an in. We gradually began talking more. She had just gotten out of a shitty five year relationship, and I was fresh out of a two year one, which gave us something to bond over.
I've always been better at making friends with girls than guys. But this was the fastest connection I'd ever made. Within weeks, we were talking nearly all day, every day, and hanging out for hours on end. I was smitten, to put it lightly, and she knew as much. But she was harder to read. I'd occasionally get signals that seemed like signs of attraction, flirty messages or what have you, but on the whole, we were both just out of taxing relationships and weren't looking to date anyone else yet. I was content to let it play out, because I really dug the hell out of her.
We didn't need movies or dinner or any "date-ly" activities. We'd just hang out and talk. I loved talking to her for two reasons. One, I genuinely loved getting inside her head, and two, it gave me an excuse to stare at her as much as I wanted. She was gorgeous. The scene kid hair and slightly gothic style I'd seen her rock for the last couple of years was all but gone, in favour of something much more low key. Her hair was crimson now, and fell long and straight past her shoulders. It nicely complimented her large, green eyes. And when I say large, I mean large. Her eyes wouldn't have been out of place on an anime character, and I absolutely adored them. I'd stare at them forever, if I didn't get distracted by her bee-stung lips that so often would stretch into an adorably dorky smile.
She didn't think she was anything special. She often complained about a bump on her nose that gave it a strange shape, and what she felt was a too prominent chin.
She was not perfect, no. But that made her all the more stunning. She was natural. She was beautiful.
And yeah. I thought about tickling her...well, let's say often.
*************************
The night it happened, we'd gone drinking and dancing. While I was an old hand at said activities, she rarely drank, and got drunk even less. But she was certainly feeling good that night, and we closed the club down. She danced the same way she smiled, dorky and cute, and I loved watching her.
I also noticed something strange about her when she was drunk. She liked to touch me. Nothing untoward, just lots of hands on arms or backs, and the occasional hug. This is stranger still when you consider the fact that she was quite uncomfortable being touched when she was sober. I certainly wasn't complaining.
When we left, we stood outside with my other friends, deciding what to do next. The idle chatter gave me time to take a look at her outside of the darkness of the club. She was dressed simply, in a flannel patterened button up shirt and black jeans. Both garments hugged her body very nicely. After her and her ex had broken up, she'd decicded to lose some weight. She had no reason to as she was never anything even vaguely close to overweight, but the 5 or 10 pounds she had shed had served to highlight her figure even more, and I found it tough to look away. She had just enough meat on her bones, and an alluring amount of curves. She had a few facial piercings and tattoos, but on the whole, she just seemed...soft. She looked made to be held, and I wished to be the one to do so dearly.
A decision was finally reached to grab some food, and we began to walk. Her and I fell behind everyone else, and suddenly, she entwined her arm with mine and pulled me close. I couldn't have been more surprised if Godzilla had randomly decided to show up and lay waste to the city. The night, pretty good up until now, had just jumped up another notch.
We reached the restaurant. She wasn't hungry and said she'd be staying outside and waiting for us. I was starving, but I wasn't about break the grip she had on my arm, and so as my friends got in line, we took a seat on a concrete planter just outside.
It was technically summer, but an unseasonably cool evening. I tolerated the cold just fine, but I could see she was starting to shiver slightly. I seized the moment, wrapped my arms around her and pulled her close. She soon shifted her position on the planter, and was more or less sitting on my lap as I hugged her.
This was pretty good.
"I'm so cold. Ugh."
"I know. But you'll be home soon."
"This is true."
But downtown on a Saturday night after the bars close is a place where soon takes a slightly different meeting, and it was over an hour in the cool night before we could find a cab.
We sat sleepily in the backseat, my arm around her, her head on my chest.
"My mom refuses to turn on the heat after the end of March. It's gonna be so cold in my room."
There's my opportunity.
"I can't stand the cold. I keep the heater cranked." (A little white lie) "You can come back to my place for a bit, warm up."
"Ohhhh that sounds so good."
Rapidly jumping up the notches.
We got back to my place and I wasted no time in showing her my room.
"You'll warm up faster under the covers."
She agreed. She got into the bed, and I followed her. No objections so far.
"Come here."
I covered us in two comforters and pulled her close, wrapping my arms around her yet again. I felt her hand. Cold as ice.
She pulled herself even deeper into me.
"Ohhhhhh my god. You're so warm. How are you so warm."
Normally I would've replied with some cheesy joke about how I might be warm but she's so hot. But not now. I just held her tighter.
And so we lay there. I just held her, occasionally rubbing her back or stroking her hair. I'm not sure if I could define bliss, but I think this would be a good starting point.
After a while she finally warmed up. Letting go of her was currently just below getting castrated with a rusty saw on the list of things I wanted to do, but I figured I should ask.
"Do you want to go home now?"
She finally looked up at me with those gorgeous anime eyes.
"No."
I cupped her cheek with my hand. I've never been good at reading signs from women, likely because few are thrown my way, but only a complete fool could misinterpret this.
I leaned in and kissed her.
She kissed back.
Those lips somehow tasted better than they looked.
We spent an indeterminate amount of time making out I badly, badly wanted to rip her clothes off and then do the next logical thing for that situation, but I restrained myself. Slowly we went, kissing, carressing, holding.
Finally, we came up for breath, and an even better opportunity presented itself.
"I can't believe how comfortable your bed is. These pillows alone...I wanna steal them."
"Thanks. They're feather stuffed. So comfortable."
I would've stopped there and gone back to kissing her, but I saw a window.
"They're kinda fragile though. They break open. I'll turn over sometimes and a bunch of feathers will tickle my face."
"Ha. You can give them to me then. I wouldn't have that problem. Not ticklish."
"I remember you saying that yeah. Just on your feet."
"Mmmhm. It's true."
"Rightttttttttt."
"What! For real! I'm just not ticklish. I'm not lying."
"I didn't say you were lying. I just have a hunch you've never been properly tested."
She smiled that smile. Threw the blankets off, got on her back, and raised her arms over her head.
"Try me."
You know that moment in a comedy movie trailer where something absurd happens and they drop in the sound of a needle scratching across a record, then James Brown starts singing I Feel Good or something? Yeah. That moment is my life right now.
I do what I can to avoid my jaw hitting the floor, but I'm only moderately successful.
"...really?"
"Mmhmm. You're gonna be disappointed though."
"'Disappointed' has no place in my current state of mind."
I shifted my position and lay next to her. Where to start.
"So you really think you're not ticklish."
"Nope. My brother used to chase me down all the time when we were kids. He'd pin me and grab my ribs and try his hardest. Nothing."
I smile.
"You know, there's different ways to tickle. That way...so coarse. So rough. Some people just need a lighter touch."
I start unbuttoning her shirt.
"We associate tickling with childhood, mostly. Most people barely even think of it in situations other than that. I'm not sure why. I think it's one of the most sensual acts in the world."
Her shirt is undone. She wears a black tanktop underneath, exposing a very nice amount of cleavage, and a pair of lovely, smooth underarms.
"Think about it. You take someone, and maybe you tie them down...or just hold them."
I push her wrists together over her head, and hold them there lightly, just enough to let her know that I can apply more pressure if needed.
"They're at your mercy. You could do whatever you wanted to them. But all you want to do is touch them. We're tactile creatures. We need that touch, even if we don't want to admit it."
I start walking my fingers up her side, towards her underarm. She's breathing slightly heavier.
"But not a hard touch, no. Just...soft."
I reach her underarm and lightly graze it with my fingers, back and forth. I'm not really trying to make her laugh yet. I just want to set her nerves on edge.
But I notice her smile go tighter. The sensation is gnawing at her.
"I thought you weren't ticklish. You're smiling awful big right now."
"I'm not. I mean it."
"Keep telling yourself that. Might even help...but I doubt it. Belief becomes a lot tougher when you get proven wrong. I'll break through that belief."
I punctuate this sentence by nuzzling up to her neck and kissing it. She gasps. I've yet to meet a girl who doesn't respond to having her neck kissed, and she's no different. But I've also got an ulterior motive. I haven't shaved for a couple of days, and I've got just enough stubble...
I rub my face along her neck while I lightly bite her earlobe. I can feel the breath catching in her throat. I look up and that smile is tighter still.
"I can see you're trying to hold on still. That's fine. The chase, that's half the fun. But we're just getting started..."
I walk my fingers back down her side and rest my hand on her stomach. Her tanktop has ridden up ever so slightly, and those jeans have a pretty low waist. The result is just a few inches of exposed skin. I rest a finger on it.
"See something like this can be all it takes. Just a tiny bit of exposure."
I begin the same light grazing motion I used on her armpit, but just a bit faster this time. The smile remains, but I feel her squirm minutely. I wouldn't have noticed it if I wasn't completely tuned in to her body. But it was there. Getting closer.
"I felt that, you know. That one second where you didn't have control of your body, where you couldn't decide whether to try and get away, or keep up this facade and try to endure. That's it my dear. The beginning of the end. I got you now. All it takes is a single crack for the dam to break. And there's about to be a flood."
I lift her tanktop to just below her breasts, revealing her stomach's full expanse. She's not a tanner, so I see lovely, pale, soft skin, accentuated by a tiny innie belly button. I dispense with words, and simply begin dragging my nails up and down her stomach, every which way.
She's still not laughing, but she can't begin to hide the squirming. I drag my nails up her side, and feel a shiver run through her. She makes a sound that is something like 80% pleasure and 20% torture. But she's still not laughing.
But I'm ready to make her.
I pull her tanktop up over her head, but I don't take it off fully. Instead, I wrap her arms in it, and have a little makeshift bondage device.
She's wearing white bra with black polkadots. Some girls look better with their clothes on, and disappoint the more that comes off. She is not one of them.
I lean close to her ear, so close that I barely even have to speak for her to hear me. I continue lightly raking her stomach.
"Ok. This is your chance. You admit you're ticklish, and I'll let you up right now. Just say the words. That's all you have to do."
She's gritting her teeth. The combination of my fingers on her stomach and my breath in her ear is presenting a challenge.
I guess she likes a challenge.
"I'm...n-not....ticklish."
"Alright. Have it your way."
I stop raking and begin spider tickling her underarm. That's all it takes. She breaks into laughter.
I smile.
"Just a crack..."
I run my fingers all over her upperbody, from underarms to sides to stomach. She laughs constantly. It's a wonderful laugh, an out of control laugh, alternating between high pitched hahahas, cute giggles, and lower pitched near moans. She doesn't scream. She just laughs. Wonderful.
I think I'm gettin the best reaction out of her underarms, until I slip my finger into her tiny innie, which causes her to buck and slip into silent laughter. I drape my leg over hers to keep her from going too wild, and spend a solid 2 minutes with just my finger inside her bellybutton. Usually, repetition of a sensation will lessen the effect. She doesn't have that problem, and is laughing just as hard when I remove my finger as when I put it in.
I give her a moment to catch her breath.
"Alright. Ready to admit it?"
"I...was just...thinking...of...something funny...I heard....today. That's...all."
"Hm. If I didn't know better, I'd think you were maybe enjoying this."
She can only smile and continue to catch her breath.
"You know my dear...there's another reason why sometimes people don't think they're ticklish."
I start stroking her belly slowly, just above the button on her jeans.
"There's the standard spots everyone knows about. Feet..."
I brush my fingers just under the waistline of her jeans.
"Stomach..."
I move my hand down to her thigh, and back up.
"Underarms..."
I start playing with the button on her jeans.
"But there's a whole host of other spots..."
I unbutton her jeans.
"That don't usually get any attention at all..."
I undo the zipper.
She smiles.
"Not ticklish there either..."
I smile.
"I'll take that bet."
Her panties match her bra, and hug her hips like they were made for her. She favours skinny jeans, and they're practically painted on her. I can't reach her thighs...
...but I find the joint where her leg meets her groin, and drag my nails up and down.
The laughter starts again immediately. She's no longer considering hiding it. But it's taken on a different quality. More husky. More desperate. There's tones of pure pleasure that were absent before.
She's mine.
I let my fingers roam all over her pantyline, sliding them under to play with her hips, teasing both her and myself by occasionally brushing the light down of pubic hair beneath. She's trimmed but not fully shaved, and I'm not sure if it makes her more ticklish there, but it certainly doesn't hurt. She's still squirming, but it's not a 'I can't take this' squirm, it's an 'I can't process these feelings and I like it' squirm.
I pause for a moment, long enough to pull her pants off and undo the front clasp on her bra. Her breasts spill out, perfectly supple, with small pink nipples. I stop my pelvis assault and begin attempting to map every inch of her chest with my fingers. I strike gold when I scratch at her upper ribs, just under the armpit. Her nipples seem ticklish as well, but those moans were as much in pleasure as in laughter.
Suddenly, the reality of the matter hits me. I have the girl of my dreams in my bed, submitting to me as my own personal tickle toy.
I no longer struggle for the definition of bliss. I have it.
I abandon any pretense of sticking to an area and begin an all out assault on her entire body. I run my fingers from her underarms to stomach. I squeeze her thighs. Lick her stomach. Scratch her ribs. She laughs the whole time.
I honestly can't say how much time passed. Maybe ten minutes. Maybe an hour.
Eventually I stop. She's practically spent, her eyes wet with tears. The smile never leaves her face though.
"Well. Ready to admit it?"
Her body heaves as her lungs look for breath.
"Okay...okay...I was...wrong....ticklish..."
I kiss her forehead.
"Yes. Yes you are...but you know...there's one spot I hadn't checked..."
Her eyes go wide. She's caught my drift.
"No...no...dunno if I can...handle it."
"We've yet to establish just what you can and cannot handle, my dear."
I let go of her wrists. She's so worn out that she couldn't go anywhere if she wanted to.
I get her feet in a scissor grip with my legs. She has large feet, probably size 9 or 10. Long toes. Like I said, I'm not a foot guy, but these seems like some good tickling real estate.
Her breathing is quickening.
"Be gentle."
"I'm always gentle."
With no more hesitation, I plunge in. I begin scrabbling my nails all over her soles. The effect is instantaneous. She shrieks like a banshee, and the fight that I thought had left her comes back in force. She's no longer squirming, but thrashing in desperation. I maintain my grip and double the intensity. I push her toes back and find the gaps between them. She howls at that, and the adrenaline is gone. She falls back onto the bed and is powerless to do anything but laugh. And laugh she does. I scratch her arches, her heel, the tops of her toes, anywhere there's skin. Whatever she thought about the rest of herself, she certainly wasn't exaggerating about her feet.
I can sense her reaching her limit, so I continue for just a couple of more minutes before I let go. When I look back up, she's a mess. Her eyes are red from tears, her hair is splayed all over, and her entire naked body is slick with sweat.
As gorgeous a sight as anything I've ever seen.
I unwrap her hands from the makeshift tanktop bondage, and take her in my arms. I enjoy the feel of her heart beating rapidly against me. It's a while before either of us speak.
"That...was....intense."
"It was. Are you ok?"
"Oh...yeah...so good..."
I laugh.
"Who'd have thought, eh."
She smiles.
"I'll...get you...back."
"Oh. I'm not that ticklish."
She looks up at me, mischief in her eyes.
"Rightttttttttt."
But that...that's another story for another time.
