Long overdue and not worth the wait. What can I say?
Part 1 can be found here:http://www.ticklingforum.com/showthread.php?214084
********************************
Freak! Part 2
To say that John was tired would be an understatement. He had just received the tickling of his life at the hands of a girl who knew what she was doing, and his torture had been topped off with an extremely satisfying handjob. A large part of him wanted nothing more than to take a nap, but if there was one thing that would give him burst of energy, it was the prospect of turning the tables on Anya, his red-headed torturess. Fortunately, that was the exact situation he was in. To make things even better, she was looking forward to it as much as he was.
He sat up with a groan, stretching his tired muscles. He hadn’t been tied up very long, but it was still the most strenuous workout he’d had in months. Coughing, he noticed that his throat was dry from all the laughing. “Do you have anything to drink?” he asked his hostess.
“Sure. We have some bottles of water in the fridge. There’s some soda and other stuff if you really want, but water’s best. Down the stairs, hang a right, then straight back.” Anya pointed the way. “And take the cuffs off before you go,” she reminded him.
“Thanks.” John hurried about taking them leather restrains off of his wrists and ankles, laying them in a neat row on the bed next to him. He got off the bed gingerly, not wanting to make a mess with the wet towel she had given him to clean off. “What should I do with this?”
Anya curled her lip in exaggerated disgust. “Anything you want. It’s yours now. I’d recommend putting it in the trash.”
John looked down at his new possession, feeling somewhat guilty for ruining one of her towels. Anya started to laugh at him, apparently amused by the forlorn look on his face.
“Don’t worry about it. I always keep a few old towels on hand, just in case. Just put it in the trash over there.”
As John placed the towel in the bin he found himself wondering how many “just in case” towels had seen the same fate in this room. Based on her own admission, a dozen or more guys had faced similar treatment to what he had just experienced, but none of them had been tickle-fetishists themselves. John found himself once again becoming aroused as he imagined Anya teasing and tickling guy after guy, strapped to the bed the same way he had been.
John headed for the door, stopping to put his shorts back on. “Thank God I didn’t wear anything with a zipper,” he thought as he tied the drawstring; the underwear he had been wearing was shredded during his ticklish encounter. He heard Anya make a disappointed sound behind him has he finished the knot. He gave her a quizzical look over his shoulder.
“I was hoping you’d stay naked,” she said as she fastened a leather strap around her wrist.
John cracked a nervous smile, feeling flattered by the comment. He had never thought of himself as being attractive, so he was pleased that someone as beautiful as Anya had any interest in looking at his body. He fought with himself over whether or not he should remove his shorts again, but modesty won out. “I don’t want to walk around your house naked,” he stated simply. The blinds downstairs were probably open, and since the house was on college property he didn’t want to risk being seen by anyone walking by. And he hated to think of what would happen if he was downstairs in the buff if one of her housemates happened to come home early.
“Fine. Prude.” Anya smiled and winked at him. That was the second time she had called him that today. He smiled back and left the room, bounding down the stairs toward the kitchen. “Hey, bring up a bottle for me!” she called after him.
John located the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door, sighing in relief as a refreshing blast of cold air hit his sweat-covered legs and chest. He grabbed a bottle of water, holding against his neck for a few minutes. He opened it and took several large gulps, draining nearly half of it and relishing the soothing feeling of the cool water on his parched throat. Feeling reinvigorated, he grabbed another bottle for Anya and made his way back up the stairs. He was taking another swig from his bottle as he walked through the bedroom door, and it took considerable effort not to reflexively spew a mouthful of water across the room when he saw what was waiting for him.
“I figured you were too nice a guy to ask me to get naked,” Anya told him. She had removed all of her clothes and was standing at the foot of the bed. “But,” she continued, “I also figured that you’ve earned it, so I won’t make you ask. ‘Turnabout’s fair play,’ and all that.” She cocked a quizzical eyebrow at him. “Is that okay with you?”
John was too distracted by the sight of her uncovered breasts to respond, or to notice that he was already visibly hard, which really made her last question rhetorical. Realizing he was staring and erect, he started to stammer. “Ah, no, it’s…um…it’s fine. If it’s what you want, I mean. I mean…I want it, too, but...since you’re the one who, er…”
Anya laughed and walked over to him, putting her arms around his neck and kissing him. He closed his eyes and let himself savor the moment, paying particular notice to how wonderful her breasts felt pressed up against his bare chest. The kiss ended and Anya took a step back, looking into his eyes. “Thanks for this,” she said, looking into his eyes. His chest swelled and he was about to say that he should be thanking her when he realized that she was referring to the bottle of water he had brought up for her. She took the unopened bottle from him, taking his now-empty hand in hers as she led him back to her bed. She lay down spread eagle, stretching her arms above her head and parting her legs, giving him an amazing view of her body. “You have to do this part,” she said, shaking her wrists to get his attention.
John’s heart was pounding in his ears as he began to attach the cuffs to the restraints on the bed. He finished and took a few moments to admire the sight. How long had he fantasized about something like this, a gorgeous woman, bound, naked, vulnerable…and wanting to be tickled by him? It was too good to be true.
In his fantasies, he was always suave, confident, collected…everything he wasn’t in real life. He wanted to tickle her well, the way he had watched experts do it in his favorite videos or read in his favorite stories. He wanted to begin slowly, teasing her at first, lightly probing and stoking her body, mapping out her ticklish areas. Next, slowly, gradually, he would tickle her harder and harder, drawing more and more frantic laughter from her as he exploited the weaknesses he had discovered. Finally, he would unleash a devastating assault, working ruthlessly until she was begging for it to end, but secretly loving it at the same time.
As perfect as the setup was, the real-life scenario before him did not play out as it would in one of his fantasies. He couldn’t remember the last time he had tickled anyone, aside from a few casual pokes when he was roughhousing with friends. He was like a starving man set in front of a fully-loaded buffet. He simply didn’t have the self-control to start out slow and easy.
As he knelt by the foot of her bed, her bare feet beckoned to him. His fingers began their journey there, seemingly moving on their own accord while he simply watched. His fingertips moved up and down her arches, scribbling random patters. The effect was immediate, the beautiful sound of her laughter filling up the room. The initial laugh was high-pitched, sounding a bit surprised. Perhaps she had expected him to start of slow as well. Then she settled, her laughter becoming more relaxed as he continued to stroke her arches. Her laugh was carefree and almost musical; she wasn’t fighting or holding back at all.
His fingertips journeyed down to her heels and changed tactics. He was enthralled by the barely-perceptible sound his nails made as they scratched the skin. Her toes wiggled frantically, tantalizingly close to his face. He continued to scratch her heels and watched them dance. Eventually it became too much; he had to play with those wiggling toes! His fingers crawled back up her soles, to the balls of her feet, and then to the base of her toes. They clenched, trapping his fingers and limiting his movement. He was only able to get the slightest wiggling motion out of each finger, but even that was enough to keep her laughing.
Anya suddenly started coughing. John pulled his fingers free of her grasping toes and craned his neck to look at her face. “You okay?”
She nodded her head ‘yes’ even as she continued to cough. The spasm subsided and she took a deep breath. “Okay. I’m good. You can keep going.”
The incident seemed to have snapped him out of a state he hadn’t even realized he was in. He had been in autopilot before. Now, concerned for her well-being, he was suddenly very self-conscious. He stroked her soles gently now, and while she did laugh, the reactions weren’t on par with what had come before. He decided it was time to try a different target.
John stood and walked along the edge of the bed. He traced his fingertips up the inside of Anya’s leg, starting just above her bound ankle. She squirmed under his touch, but didn’t laugh. He stopped when his fingers reached the middle of her inner thigh. He stared momentarily at the bright red landing strip of fur above her pussy. Had he been more confident, or experienced, he may have continued his teasing stroke upward, but at the moment he was too intimidated to venture there.
He sat on the bed next to the bound redhead, giving her a sheepish half-smile. She arched her eyebrows expectantly, as if to say “now what?” He gave his own silent response by placing his fingertips on her sides. She tensed and bit her lip slightly, a smile growing across her face. The smile erupted into laughter as stroked his fingers across her ribs. He watched her face as she laughed and found it contagious. He laughed along with her as he tickled her ribcage, but he soon fell silent as he became absorbed in the sight of her breasts bouncing as she struggled and panted.
John rose up on his knees to allow himself better access to her ribs. His fingers crawled over her skin like spiders, poking and prodding as they moved in random patterns over her torso. He became dismayed as her laughter gradually began to subside. Occasionally he’d hit a spot that would make her jump and let out a quick squeak, but he wasn’t getting the same reactions as before. Something about his technique was apparently failing.
“Could you stop for a minute?” Anya finally asked him. He stopped immediately and gave her a remorseful look. He was about to apologize for how badly he was sucking, but she cut him off. “Put your hand here,” she told him, waving her right hand at him as much as the restraints allowed. John reached out and placed his left palm on her waiting hand. “This,” she said, “is kind of annoying.” She began to randomly poke the palm of his hand, imitating the way he had just been tickling.
“Sorry,” he started to say, but she cut him off again. She placed her fingertips firmly into his hand and began to wiggle them rhythmically, digging into his palm.
“But this tickles like hell,” she continued. John nodded in understanding. Then Anya began to gently trace her fingertips across his palm in long, slow strokes. “So does this, but it also will turn me on.”
John still felt a bit embarrassed, but he was also grateful. Not only did he have a gorgeous woman bound beneath him, wanting to be tickled, but she had just given him advice on how to tickle her better. And the fact that she had specifically told him what would turn her on was not lost on him; he had felt his cock twitch involuntarily as she spoke those works. Anya removed her fingers from his hand, settling in and waiting for him to act on her instructions. Without a moment of hesitation, he repositioned himself by kneeling between her legs and dug his fingers into her ribs with gusto.
Anya shrieked in response. Her back arched as his fingertips pressed firmly into her flesh, much harder than he would have dared if she hadn’t just approved this method. He would keep his fingers planted firmly in place for a few minutes, tickling a single spot before switching to a new target, taking a few moments to make sure his fingers were optimally placed between different ribs before increasing pressure and turning Anya into a helpless pile of screaming laughter. How long he tickled her like this he couldn’t say, but he stopped and gave her a break to catch her breath once he noticed that her face had reddened to the point that it almost matched her hair. “Thanks for the tip,” he teased as he leaned over her panting form.
“Oh, anytime” came the sarcastic response, punctuated by heavy panting. When she had caught her breath John began to tickle her torso once more, but using the second method that she had demonstrated. He placed his fingertips very gently just beneath her armpits and began to very slowly draw them down her sides. A deep gasp escaped her lips, followed by an adorable stream of giggles as the fingers made their way over her ribcage and down to her hips. When he reached her hips, John’s fingers changed direction and he dragged the backs of his fingernails back up her sides as she continued to squirm and giggle.
His fingertips continued their journey upward, past where they had started, and stroked the smooth skin underneath her arms. An increase in her laughter indicated that her underarms were considerably more ticklish than her sides, so he spent little more time there, stoking them up and down four or five times before allowing his fingers to once again lightly trace their way down her sides. His fingers continued this circuit, fingertips down to her hips, fingernails up to her underarms, then up and down her underarms several times, repeat.
John shifted his attention to other areas, his feather-light fingertips stroking across her ribs, her belly, down to her hips, spiraling all across her torso as she writhed on the bed beneath him. She hadn’t been lying; she was enjoying every minute of the tickling in and of itself, but she was also becoming increasingly aroused at his teasing touch. The light tickling continued for several minutes, and just as John was about to once again attempt the firmer, harder tickling technique that his “victim” had recommended, she spoke.
“Oh, God, I’m getting so wet.”
Unfortunately, John completely misunderstood what she meant. He clearly heard what she said, but his brain botched the interpretation, registering it as “Oh my God, I’m about to wet myself.” He immediately stopped ticking and withdrew his hands. Anya stared at him in disbelief as John kneeled in front of her, his eyes wide and hands held up like he was surrendering. “John, that’s a good thing.”
It dawned on him what had just happened, what she had really said. He groaned with embarrassment and stammered an apology. “Should I, you know, keep going?”
“Hang on.” Anya was visibly annoyed, but doing her best to hide it. “Let’s try something else before the mood dies completely.” She waved her right hand at the nightstand. “Open it. Top drawer.”
John’s jaw fell open as he pulled the drawer open. It was crammed full with tickle tools: feathers, paintbrushes, hairbrushes, toothbrushes, oils…his mind went crazy as he imagined all of the things he could do to her, or that she could do to him. “What is it you want me to get?” he asked.
“Vibrator.”
It hadn’t escaped his notice that she had quite a variety of those stashed away as well. “Erm, any particular one?”
“Purple. Hurry up.”
John quickly found the desired object, a rather compact and innocent-looking massager. The controls looked simple as well: on/off, faster, slower. Prize in hand, he turned back to his naked companion. “Okay, got it.” There was an awkward pause. “Now what?”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Untie this.” An exasperated Anya shook her left hand at him. John moved quickly to unfasten the leather cuff from its restraint. Now free, her hand moved like lighting to grab the vibrator away from him, flipping it on and holding it firmly between her legs as it hummed to life. Her back arched and she let out a long moan, letting the buzzing machine work its magic on all the sensitive parts that had been craving attention and, sadly, had received none. She relaxed after a few moments, continuing to tease herself and she opened her eyes and looked at John. “You should be tickling me.”
Of course, she had meant that he should continue the feathery stroking that had gotten her so turned on in the first place. However, the sight of Anya pleasuring herself in front of him had overloaded his brain. The shy, insecure boy he normally was had shut down and was rebooting. He felt like his hands belonged to someone else, much like when he had begun tickling her feet, and they moved on their own towards her ribcage. Fingers, curved like wicked claws, dug gently but firmly into the soft flesh surrounding her ribs and began to squeeze.
If she hadn’t been tied to the bed, Anya would have hit the roof. Her entire body jolted like she just been hooked up to a car battery.
“Wha-haahhahha! Not like thahaahahaahat!” Her laughter was louder and more prolonged than it had been at any point until now, completely emptying her lungs with each outburst, followed by a deep breath that would be guffawed out only moments later. John’s hands squeezed her ribs, dug into her hips, prodded her belly as she laughed and thrashed, somehow always managing to keep the vibrator held steadily against her pussy.
Moving purely by instinct, John allowed his fingers to work their way up to her bouncing chest, a tantalizing prize that he had wanted to fondle since the moment he saw her. His fingernails lightly grazed the sides of her breasts, moving up to her nipples and then back down, his left hand occasionally traveling to her right armpit. He switched quickly and randomly from lightly teasing her rapidly hardening nipples to gentle kneading the entire breast with his wiggling fingers, both causing Anya to shriek with laughter.
Suddenly Anya inhaled sharply and arched her back, every muscle seeming to tense. She relaxed just as suddenly, her breath alternating between gasps and moans. John gently massaged her breasts as she came, not sure if outright tickling would help or hinder the bliss she was obviously feeling. She continued to breathe heavily for a minute more before she turned off the vibrator and set it to the side. Exhausted, she seemed to melt into the bed, although John did notice that she seemed to sidle up to him as she relaxed. Eventually she reached out with her free hand and gave him a reassuring pat on the leg. “Good boy,” she said with a playful smile. “You need some practice, but I’ll turn you into an expert yet.” She pursed her lips at him and John leaned over and kissed them, then kissed them again.
John glanced over at the clock as her rose back up on his knees. Still plenty of time before her housemates were due back. He had a fiendish idea, and he was still just confident enough to try it out.
“Practice, eh?” He flashed her a smile, and she cocked an eyebrow at him. “Well, they say there’s no time like the present, and I there something that I’ve always wanted to try.” Anya didn’t say a word as he leaned over to rummage through the toy drawer. He returned with an eclectic toothbrush.
“Oh, good lord,” Anya said, rolling her eyes, but not protesting. She lay her head back on the pillow, apparently accepting whatever he was about to do to her. John excitedly jumped to his feet and settled at the foot of the bed.
Staring down at Anya’s bare soles, his spiteful ex’s cruel words unexpectedly sprang to mind. “Freak,” she had called him.
“Yeah, I am a freak,” he thought to himself. As the spinning bristles in his hand whirred into action, he realized that there was nothing else in the world he would rather be.
Part 1 can be found here:http://www.ticklingforum.com/showthread.php?214084
********************************
Freak! Part 2
To say that John was tired would be an understatement. He had just received the tickling of his life at the hands of a girl who knew what she was doing, and his torture had been topped off with an extremely satisfying handjob. A large part of him wanted nothing more than to take a nap, but if there was one thing that would give him burst of energy, it was the prospect of turning the tables on Anya, his red-headed torturess. Fortunately, that was the exact situation he was in. To make things even better, she was looking forward to it as much as he was.
He sat up with a groan, stretching his tired muscles. He hadn’t been tied up very long, but it was still the most strenuous workout he’d had in months. Coughing, he noticed that his throat was dry from all the laughing. “Do you have anything to drink?” he asked his hostess.
“Sure. We have some bottles of water in the fridge. There’s some soda and other stuff if you really want, but water’s best. Down the stairs, hang a right, then straight back.” Anya pointed the way. “And take the cuffs off before you go,” she reminded him.
“Thanks.” John hurried about taking them leather restrains off of his wrists and ankles, laying them in a neat row on the bed next to him. He got off the bed gingerly, not wanting to make a mess with the wet towel she had given him to clean off. “What should I do with this?”
Anya curled her lip in exaggerated disgust. “Anything you want. It’s yours now. I’d recommend putting it in the trash.”
John looked down at his new possession, feeling somewhat guilty for ruining one of her towels. Anya started to laugh at him, apparently amused by the forlorn look on his face.
“Don’t worry about it. I always keep a few old towels on hand, just in case. Just put it in the trash over there.”
As John placed the towel in the bin he found himself wondering how many “just in case” towels had seen the same fate in this room. Based on her own admission, a dozen or more guys had faced similar treatment to what he had just experienced, but none of them had been tickle-fetishists themselves. John found himself once again becoming aroused as he imagined Anya teasing and tickling guy after guy, strapped to the bed the same way he had been.
John headed for the door, stopping to put his shorts back on. “Thank God I didn’t wear anything with a zipper,” he thought as he tied the drawstring; the underwear he had been wearing was shredded during his ticklish encounter. He heard Anya make a disappointed sound behind him has he finished the knot. He gave her a quizzical look over his shoulder.
“I was hoping you’d stay naked,” she said as she fastened a leather strap around her wrist.
John cracked a nervous smile, feeling flattered by the comment. He had never thought of himself as being attractive, so he was pleased that someone as beautiful as Anya had any interest in looking at his body. He fought with himself over whether or not he should remove his shorts again, but modesty won out. “I don’t want to walk around your house naked,” he stated simply. The blinds downstairs were probably open, and since the house was on college property he didn’t want to risk being seen by anyone walking by. And he hated to think of what would happen if he was downstairs in the buff if one of her housemates happened to come home early.
“Fine. Prude.” Anya smiled and winked at him. That was the second time she had called him that today. He smiled back and left the room, bounding down the stairs toward the kitchen. “Hey, bring up a bottle for me!” she called after him.
John located the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door, sighing in relief as a refreshing blast of cold air hit his sweat-covered legs and chest. He grabbed a bottle of water, holding against his neck for a few minutes. He opened it and took several large gulps, draining nearly half of it and relishing the soothing feeling of the cool water on his parched throat. Feeling reinvigorated, he grabbed another bottle for Anya and made his way back up the stairs. He was taking another swig from his bottle as he walked through the bedroom door, and it took considerable effort not to reflexively spew a mouthful of water across the room when he saw what was waiting for him.
“I figured you were too nice a guy to ask me to get naked,” Anya told him. She had removed all of her clothes and was standing at the foot of the bed. “But,” she continued, “I also figured that you’ve earned it, so I won’t make you ask. ‘Turnabout’s fair play,’ and all that.” She cocked a quizzical eyebrow at him. “Is that okay with you?”
John was too distracted by the sight of her uncovered breasts to respond, or to notice that he was already visibly hard, which really made her last question rhetorical. Realizing he was staring and erect, he started to stammer. “Ah, no, it’s…um…it’s fine. If it’s what you want, I mean. I mean…I want it, too, but...since you’re the one who, er…”
Anya laughed and walked over to him, putting her arms around his neck and kissing him. He closed his eyes and let himself savor the moment, paying particular notice to how wonderful her breasts felt pressed up against his bare chest. The kiss ended and Anya took a step back, looking into his eyes. “Thanks for this,” she said, looking into his eyes. His chest swelled and he was about to say that he should be thanking her when he realized that she was referring to the bottle of water he had brought up for her. She took the unopened bottle from him, taking his now-empty hand in hers as she led him back to her bed. She lay down spread eagle, stretching her arms above her head and parting her legs, giving him an amazing view of her body. “You have to do this part,” she said, shaking her wrists to get his attention.
John’s heart was pounding in his ears as he began to attach the cuffs to the restraints on the bed. He finished and took a few moments to admire the sight. How long had he fantasized about something like this, a gorgeous woman, bound, naked, vulnerable…and wanting to be tickled by him? It was too good to be true.
In his fantasies, he was always suave, confident, collected…everything he wasn’t in real life. He wanted to tickle her well, the way he had watched experts do it in his favorite videos or read in his favorite stories. He wanted to begin slowly, teasing her at first, lightly probing and stoking her body, mapping out her ticklish areas. Next, slowly, gradually, he would tickle her harder and harder, drawing more and more frantic laughter from her as he exploited the weaknesses he had discovered. Finally, he would unleash a devastating assault, working ruthlessly until she was begging for it to end, but secretly loving it at the same time.
As perfect as the setup was, the real-life scenario before him did not play out as it would in one of his fantasies. He couldn’t remember the last time he had tickled anyone, aside from a few casual pokes when he was roughhousing with friends. He was like a starving man set in front of a fully-loaded buffet. He simply didn’t have the self-control to start out slow and easy.
As he knelt by the foot of her bed, her bare feet beckoned to him. His fingers began their journey there, seemingly moving on their own accord while he simply watched. His fingertips moved up and down her arches, scribbling random patters. The effect was immediate, the beautiful sound of her laughter filling up the room. The initial laugh was high-pitched, sounding a bit surprised. Perhaps she had expected him to start of slow as well. Then she settled, her laughter becoming more relaxed as he continued to stroke her arches. Her laugh was carefree and almost musical; she wasn’t fighting or holding back at all.
His fingertips journeyed down to her heels and changed tactics. He was enthralled by the barely-perceptible sound his nails made as they scratched the skin. Her toes wiggled frantically, tantalizingly close to his face. He continued to scratch her heels and watched them dance. Eventually it became too much; he had to play with those wiggling toes! His fingers crawled back up her soles, to the balls of her feet, and then to the base of her toes. They clenched, trapping his fingers and limiting his movement. He was only able to get the slightest wiggling motion out of each finger, but even that was enough to keep her laughing.
Anya suddenly started coughing. John pulled his fingers free of her grasping toes and craned his neck to look at her face. “You okay?”
She nodded her head ‘yes’ even as she continued to cough. The spasm subsided and she took a deep breath. “Okay. I’m good. You can keep going.”
The incident seemed to have snapped him out of a state he hadn’t even realized he was in. He had been in autopilot before. Now, concerned for her well-being, he was suddenly very self-conscious. He stroked her soles gently now, and while she did laugh, the reactions weren’t on par with what had come before. He decided it was time to try a different target.
John stood and walked along the edge of the bed. He traced his fingertips up the inside of Anya’s leg, starting just above her bound ankle. She squirmed under his touch, but didn’t laugh. He stopped when his fingers reached the middle of her inner thigh. He stared momentarily at the bright red landing strip of fur above her pussy. Had he been more confident, or experienced, he may have continued his teasing stroke upward, but at the moment he was too intimidated to venture there.
He sat on the bed next to the bound redhead, giving her a sheepish half-smile. She arched her eyebrows expectantly, as if to say “now what?” He gave his own silent response by placing his fingertips on her sides. She tensed and bit her lip slightly, a smile growing across her face. The smile erupted into laughter as stroked his fingers across her ribs. He watched her face as she laughed and found it contagious. He laughed along with her as he tickled her ribcage, but he soon fell silent as he became absorbed in the sight of her breasts bouncing as she struggled and panted.
John rose up on his knees to allow himself better access to her ribs. His fingers crawled over her skin like spiders, poking and prodding as they moved in random patterns over her torso. He became dismayed as her laughter gradually began to subside. Occasionally he’d hit a spot that would make her jump and let out a quick squeak, but he wasn’t getting the same reactions as before. Something about his technique was apparently failing.
“Could you stop for a minute?” Anya finally asked him. He stopped immediately and gave her a remorseful look. He was about to apologize for how badly he was sucking, but she cut him off. “Put your hand here,” she told him, waving her right hand at him as much as the restraints allowed. John reached out and placed his left palm on her waiting hand. “This,” she said, “is kind of annoying.” She began to randomly poke the palm of his hand, imitating the way he had just been tickling.
“Sorry,” he started to say, but she cut him off again. She placed her fingertips firmly into his hand and began to wiggle them rhythmically, digging into his palm.
“But this tickles like hell,” she continued. John nodded in understanding. Then Anya began to gently trace her fingertips across his palm in long, slow strokes. “So does this, but it also will turn me on.”
John still felt a bit embarrassed, but he was also grateful. Not only did he have a gorgeous woman bound beneath him, wanting to be tickled, but she had just given him advice on how to tickle her better. And the fact that she had specifically told him what would turn her on was not lost on him; he had felt his cock twitch involuntarily as she spoke those works. Anya removed her fingers from his hand, settling in and waiting for him to act on her instructions. Without a moment of hesitation, he repositioned himself by kneeling between her legs and dug his fingers into her ribs with gusto.
Anya shrieked in response. Her back arched as his fingertips pressed firmly into her flesh, much harder than he would have dared if she hadn’t just approved this method. He would keep his fingers planted firmly in place for a few minutes, tickling a single spot before switching to a new target, taking a few moments to make sure his fingers were optimally placed between different ribs before increasing pressure and turning Anya into a helpless pile of screaming laughter. How long he tickled her like this he couldn’t say, but he stopped and gave her a break to catch her breath once he noticed that her face had reddened to the point that it almost matched her hair. “Thanks for the tip,” he teased as he leaned over her panting form.
“Oh, anytime” came the sarcastic response, punctuated by heavy panting. When she had caught her breath John began to tickle her torso once more, but using the second method that she had demonstrated. He placed his fingertips very gently just beneath her armpits and began to very slowly draw them down her sides. A deep gasp escaped her lips, followed by an adorable stream of giggles as the fingers made their way over her ribcage and down to her hips. When he reached her hips, John’s fingers changed direction and he dragged the backs of his fingernails back up her sides as she continued to squirm and giggle.
His fingertips continued their journey upward, past where they had started, and stroked the smooth skin underneath her arms. An increase in her laughter indicated that her underarms were considerably more ticklish than her sides, so he spent little more time there, stoking them up and down four or five times before allowing his fingers to once again lightly trace their way down her sides. His fingers continued this circuit, fingertips down to her hips, fingernails up to her underarms, then up and down her underarms several times, repeat.
John shifted his attention to other areas, his feather-light fingertips stroking across her ribs, her belly, down to her hips, spiraling all across her torso as she writhed on the bed beneath him. She hadn’t been lying; she was enjoying every minute of the tickling in and of itself, but she was also becoming increasingly aroused at his teasing touch. The light tickling continued for several minutes, and just as John was about to once again attempt the firmer, harder tickling technique that his “victim” had recommended, she spoke.
“Oh, God, I’m getting so wet.”
Unfortunately, John completely misunderstood what she meant. He clearly heard what she said, but his brain botched the interpretation, registering it as “Oh my God, I’m about to wet myself.” He immediately stopped ticking and withdrew his hands. Anya stared at him in disbelief as John kneeled in front of her, his eyes wide and hands held up like he was surrendering. “John, that’s a good thing.”
It dawned on him what had just happened, what she had really said. He groaned with embarrassment and stammered an apology. “Should I, you know, keep going?”
“Hang on.” Anya was visibly annoyed, but doing her best to hide it. “Let’s try something else before the mood dies completely.” She waved her right hand at the nightstand. “Open it. Top drawer.”
John’s jaw fell open as he pulled the drawer open. It was crammed full with tickle tools: feathers, paintbrushes, hairbrushes, toothbrushes, oils…his mind went crazy as he imagined all of the things he could do to her, or that she could do to him. “What is it you want me to get?” he asked.
“Vibrator.”
It hadn’t escaped his notice that she had quite a variety of those stashed away as well. “Erm, any particular one?”
“Purple. Hurry up.”
John quickly found the desired object, a rather compact and innocent-looking massager. The controls looked simple as well: on/off, faster, slower. Prize in hand, he turned back to his naked companion. “Okay, got it.” There was an awkward pause. “Now what?”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Untie this.” An exasperated Anya shook her left hand at him. John moved quickly to unfasten the leather cuff from its restraint. Now free, her hand moved like lighting to grab the vibrator away from him, flipping it on and holding it firmly between her legs as it hummed to life. Her back arched and she let out a long moan, letting the buzzing machine work its magic on all the sensitive parts that had been craving attention and, sadly, had received none. She relaxed after a few moments, continuing to tease herself and she opened her eyes and looked at John. “You should be tickling me.”
Of course, she had meant that he should continue the feathery stroking that had gotten her so turned on in the first place. However, the sight of Anya pleasuring herself in front of him had overloaded his brain. The shy, insecure boy he normally was had shut down and was rebooting. He felt like his hands belonged to someone else, much like when he had begun tickling her feet, and they moved on their own towards her ribcage. Fingers, curved like wicked claws, dug gently but firmly into the soft flesh surrounding her ribs and began to squeeze.
If she hadn’t been tied to the bed, Anya would have hit the roof. Her entire body jolted like she just been hooked up to a car battery.
“Wha-haahhahha! Not like thahaahahaahat!” Her laughter was louder and more prolonged than it had been at any point until now, completely emptying her lungs with each outburst, followed by a deep breath that would be guffawed out only moments later. John’s hands squeezed her ribs, dug into her hips, prodded her belly as she laughed and thrashed, somehow always managing to keep the vibrator held steadily against her pussy.
Moving purely by instinct, John allowed his fingers to work their way up to her bouncing chest, a tantalizing prize that he had wanted to fondle since the moment he saw her. His fingernails lightly grazed the sides of her breasts, moving up to her nipples and then back down, his left hand occasionally traveling to her right armpit. He switched quickly and randomly from lightly teasing her rapidly hardening nipples to gentle kneading the entire breast with his wiggling fingers, both causing Anya to shriek with laughter.
Suddenly Anya inhaled sharply and arched her back, every muscle seeming to tense. She relaxed just as suddenly, her breath alternating between gasps and moans. John gently massaged her breasts as she came, not sure if outright tickling would help or hinder the bliss she was obviously feeling. She continued to breathe heavily for a minute more before she turned off the vibrator and set it to the side. Exhausted, she seemed to melt into the bed, although John did notice that she seemed to sidle up to him as she relaxed. Eventually she reached out with her free hand and gave him a reassuring pat on the leg. “Good boy,” she said with a playful smile. “You need some practice, but I’ll turn you into an expert yet.” She pursed her lips at him and John leaned over and kissed them, then kissed them again.
John glanced over at the clock as her rose back up on his knees. Still plenty of time before her housemates were due back. He had a fiendish idea, and he was still just confident enough to try it out.
“Practice, eh?” He flashed her a smile, and she cocked an eyebrow at him. “Well, they say there’s no time like the present, and I there something that I’ve always wanted to try.” Anya didn’t say a word as he leaned over to rummage through the toy drawer. He returned with an eclectic toothbrush.
“Oh, good lord,” Anya said, rolling her eyes, but not protesting. She lay her head back on the pillow, apparently accepting whatever he was about to do to her. John excitedly jumped to his feet and settled at the foot of the bed.
Staring down at Anya’s bare soles, his spiteful ex’s cruel words unexpectedly sprang to mind. “Freak,” she had called him.
“Yeah, I am a freak,” he thought to himself. As the spinning bristles in his hand whirred into action, he realized that there was nothing else in the world he would rather be.
