RogueTickler
TMF Novice
- Joined
- Nov 24, 2001
- Messages
- 62
- Points
- 0
One of the things I love to think about is what I call "the moment of contemplation".
This is the moment right after you have been secured the way I want you. It's the moment after I have checked that your bonds are tight and that your sensory-deprivation accessories are affixed properly. This is the moment when I am standing over your bound form, contemplating where I will begin your tickle torture.
I often like to imagine this moment from a voyeuristic point of view - as if another version of me is spying on you and I during our playtime. I imagine looking into a room through a half open door and seeing your naked body stretched out tight on the bed.
Since the door blocks my viewing angle, I can only see your bound wrists lashed together and strapped to the headboard, and a single bound foot stretched to one corner of the bed by white cotton rope which neatly encircles your ankle. I imagine the other out-of-sight foot tied and stretched to the opposite bedpost, toes flexing with anticipation.
I can see your face, blindfold depriving you of sight and gag-ball stuffed deep inside your sweet little mouth. I watch your torso move up and down with your anxious breathing, soft breasts heaving.
Then I see myself stepping into view, dressed in all-black and wearing a mask. I'm holding a stiff feather in one hand and I twirl it between my fingers, preparing for your tickling.
I see myself stop for that moment of contemplation, considering which of your sensitive body parts I will begin with. Then, as if realizing something, I watch myself turn and look directly at me - my voyeur doppelgänger has been caught!
I freeze and watch as our eyes connect and a wicked grin forms in the mask's mouth-slit. Then I see myself reach over to the door and give it a gentle push. As it slowly swings closed, I can see myself turn my attention back to your helplessly bed-bound body. The door quietly clicks shut, then a few seconds later I hear your muffled cries begin.
The moment of contemplation is over, and I stand outside the door, aroused as hell and wondering what part of your body that feather touched first.
This is the moment right after you have been secured the way I want you. It's the moment after I have checked that your bonds are tight and that your sensory-deprivation accessories are affixed properly. This is the moment when I am standing over your bound form, contemplating where I will begin your tickle torture.
I often like to imagine this moment from a voyeuristic point of view - as if another version of me is spying on you and I during our playtime. I imagine looking into a room through a half open door and seeing your naked body stretched out tight on the bed.
Since the door blocks my viewing angle, I can only see your bound wrists lashed together and strapped to the headboard, and a single bound foot stretched to one corner of the bed by white cotton rope which neatly encircles your ankle. I imagine the other out-of-sight foot tied and stretched to the opposite bedpost, toes flexing with anticipation.
I can see your face, blindfold depriving you of sight and gag-ball stuffed deep inside your sweet little mouth. I watch your torso move up and down with your anxious breathing, soft breasts heaving.
Then I see myself stepping into view, dressed in all-black and wearing a mask. I'm holding a stiff feather in one hand and I twirl it between my fingers, preparing for your tickling.
I see myself stop for that moment of contemplation, considering which of your sensitive body parts I will begin with. Then, as if realizing something, I watch myself turn and look directly at me - my voyeur doppelgänger has been caught!
I freeze and watch as our eyes connect and a wicked grin forms in the mask's mouth-slit. Then I see myself reach over to the door and give it a gentle push. As it slowly swings closed, I can see myself turn my attention back to your helplessly bed-bound body. The door quietly clicks shut, then a few seconds later I hear your muffled cries begin.
The moment of contemplation is over, and I stand outside the door, aroused as hell and wondering what part of your body that feather touched first.