TeeHeeLawrence
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*The following MF switch tickle tale is copyright 2016 by the author.
*Those who love tickle torture but are ticklish about love, don't worry. This story would barely steam a window. And the couple's married. It could have been filmed in 1940. And shown to nuns.
* Hey!! It's not THAT harmless! (Fumes.)
Sharing some quality TV time leads to laughter and l'amour when our amusingly amorous couple proves to be...
REMOTELY TICKLISH
featuring Stephanie and Simon
by Tee Hee Lawrence
An autumn's Sunday evening finds Stephanie and Simon cozily cuddled on the couch as the closing credits of a Netflix movie offering endlessly scroll by on their TV.
"Well, that was 'Meh.'" suggested Stephanie, stretched out before him, as she strained to extract the remote control from under the cushion beneath her. "That's the last time I take a movie suggestion from an assistant DA."
"'Meh' for me, too." agreed Simon. "Watch it! You're twitching your tush against me!"
"Hehheh! 'Sorry!" giggled Steph. "You NEVER used to complain about that."
"Who's COMPLAINING?" leered Simon. "I'm merely pointing out the dangerously stimulative nature of your twitch, Counselor. If it weren't for your occasional tush twitches, I'd ask for the last 90 minutes of my life back." He plucked the remote from her hand. "Thank you. Now, please keep your delish tush still. I don't want to be distracted while my show is on." He switched the TV to Channel 36.
"Waitaminnut! I thought we agreed that we'd watch MY show NOW and record YOURS." The lounging lawyer plucked the control back from him and thumbed Channel 18. "Besides, I still have to do some prep work on a case. I can just squeeze my show in now."
"That was before YOU chose the movie." Simon insisted, again snatching the remote and returning the TV to Channel 36. "C'mon. I deserve this. I was on that conference call with our Singapore division [He works for a multinational financial auditor.] for hours this morning. Besides, shouldn't this be YOUR show, too? It's the hottest courtroom drama on TV."
"I get ENOUGH courtroom drama, thank you very much." She regained the control and restored Channel 18. "Remember, redbeard, you said--and I quote, 'I'll watch ANYTHING as long as I get to nuzzle you as I do.' "
"That's what I get for marrying an attorney who exploits my romantic testimony." He made a grab for the remote, but Steph, chuckling, held it at arm's length, just beyond his reach. He wailed, "I object!" He strained at the remote with his arm and fingers fully extant, but it was just beyond his fingertips.
"Overruled! Heeheehee!" she chortled, teasing him by waving the remote. "The long arm of the law--in action! Hey! Careful! You're pushing me off the couch."
"Long arm, huh? We'll see about THAT!" Simon said, as he slid his hand down Steph's bare arm into the sleeve of her tee shirt and spidered his fingers upon her tender, shaven underarm. "'Got you, sweetheart!"
Stephanie bubbled with laughter and jerked her arm down. "HahahaHEEEEY!" she cried. "NOhohohoFAIR!"
"Oh-so-fair!" Simon insisted, intently tickling her until he was able to grab the remote from her weakened hold and switch back to his show.
"HehhehhehOOOOOOO! No-you-don't!" she fumed, reaching up to snatch it back.
"Yes, I do," he assured her. "And I know how to keep it." Tightrning his grip on the remote, he slid his free hand under her tee and skittered his fingers across her soft, sensitive tummy. Steph yelped "NO!" and writhed with giggles, "Heeheeheeheeeeeeee!"
"Gee, your tush is REALLY twitching now," Simon stated, tucking the remote between his back and the sofa, then bringing both hands to squeeze Steph's sides. "I should audit your ticklish spots more often, dontcha think, hon'?"
Steph squealed with laughter as she struggled to stay on the sofa. "SHHH!" admonished Simon. "I'm trying to watch this." Red-faced, hilarious, Steph tumbled to the carpeted floor.
Out of his tickly grasp, she growled, "YOU--!" She picked herself right up and dove at him, grabbing HIS sides through his Cubs shirt and digging her fingers into his ribs. "NO, WAIT!" he cried, instantly undone by her concerted retaliation. "Dohohohon't--!" he feebly protested, before succumbing to sappy laughter.
"Don't WHAT?" she asked, her toned legs pinning him to the sofa as she mercilessly poked his ribs. "Don't TICKLE you? AWWWWW?" He couldn't answer for hapless laughing. "You tickled ME for the remote. Now I want it BACK, ticklish boy!"
"I can't hehhehheh...reach eeheehee...," he giggled, vainly trying to recover the remote behind him with one hand as his other hand sought her middle. His fumbling fingers found her ticklish tummy. She squealed and fell back onto his legs.
He finally grasped the remote and, with exaggerated protectiveness, cradled it against his chest. "Still MINE!" he insisted, wiggling five fingers at her to keep her at bay.
Leery of being tickled again, Steph sat back, pinning his lower legs. She winked as her hands groped behind her. "Not much longer, sir." She marched her fingers beyond his jeans and found his bare feet. "Coochie coochie, cutie."
"NO, Steph!" he cried, futilely reaching for her. "Oooooh, YES, Simon!" she beamed, dragging her short, sharp, clear-polished fingernails along his touchy soles.
He bucked and barked with laughter, but she stayed upright and continued to torturously tease his tootsies. From much experience, she knew just where his feet were most ticklish. She'd do her worst until the remote was hers again. "Simon, I'm missing my show. If you don't give me that," she intoned, her fingers busy, "I'm going to tickle you like this ALLLLLL night."
Smiling serenely, she began to expertly torment the edges of his feet. Simon squeezed his eyes shut, trying gamely to withhold the remote and his giggles. Steph cruelly teased, "Awww! Is the bad little boy ticklish?" His face reddened to match his beard as his giggles spilled forth. She allowed her nails to wander back up his wrinkly soles and poke under his scrunching toes.
Simon's eyes flew open as his body jerked and he barked with laughter. Nonetheless, he heroically cast upon her the most potent Shakespearean oaths against a woman he could muster.
"HahahaeeHARPY!" he cried. She smirked and kept on tickling.
"WhahahaHARLOT!!" he barked. Her eyes narrowed and she tickled harder.
"HahahaHARRIGAN!" he bleated. Targeting his toes, she chuckled, "Hehheh. You mean 'harridan'?"
"Y-YEShehhehhehYES!" he asserted.
He tried to slip one hand under her shirt to tickle her tummy, but she deftly fended him off with her left hand, while continuing a five-finger farrago upon his arches. Knowing how susceptible he was to her verbal teasing in a sultry voice, she underscored the tickling by crooning, "Si-mon's SOOOO ticklish...coochie coochie cooooo...tickle-tickle-tickle...SUCH a TICKLISH guy...tickle you, tickle you...."
Under such a relentless onslaught, his efforts to tickle her faltered and he collapsed into silliness. After what seemed like forever but was, oh, perhaps twenty seconds, he cried, "HAHA! OK! HA! OK! Hehhehhehere! HERE!" The remote, like a slippery bar of soap, bounced from his hands to land betwixt her knees. Snatching up the prize, she uttered a triumphant, "Aaaahhhhh, thenk yooouu!"
No sooner had she slid down to sit crosslegged in front of the couch and click over to HER show than she felt Simon's vengeful fingers seek out her sides and tickle her to squeals and giggles. "EEEENONOhehhehEEEEhehhehhehEEEEEhehheeheeheeee!" Despite her giggles, she managed to fold herself over the remote.
Simon growled, "Yield that remote, you wicked woman!" Chuckling, he slid his fingers up her sides 'til he mined the tender hollows under her arms. She yelped and spun away on her tush, ending up on her back with her legs in the air.
Thus Simon, most propitiously, was able to catch her pink-ankle-socked right foot. Gaining a firm grasp on her ankle with his left hand, he peeled off her sock with his right.
"What--? Oh, no!" gasped Steph.
"Remote, please!" demanded Simon, holding out his right hand.
"Never!" insisted Steph, clutching it to her chest.
"We will SEE, Counselor," Simon drawled, as he began to skim his fingertips along her butter- soft, coconut-scented sole. "The proof is in the...tickling!"
"EEEEEEEEEEEE! GAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAD!"
Simon hummed mischievously as he evaded her flailing socked left foot and held fast to and persisted in tickling her bare right one. He was clearly relishing driving his brainy and beautiful wife nuts, expertly teasing the soft, sensitive center of her sole.
Now, he applied a fitting--considering how she'd tickled and teased HIM--kitchey coup-de-grace. In a voice heavy with villainy, he sang, "Your Honor, the Defense...laughs! Tickle-tickle, me beauty!"
She was already crying with laughter BEFORE he began tickling her desperate toes with kisses as his fingertips strummed her sole.
Her ensuing squeals and peals were peppered with peeps of excitement, In her lubricious hilarity, she inadvertently turned off the TV, before fumbling away the remote entirely.
Simon, trying to reach for the remote AND continue teasing Steph, tumbled onto the carpet beside her. She wasted no time in wickedly grabbing to tickle his sides, as he fiendishly poked hers, too. Thus ticklishly tangled, their giggling coochie coos morphed with comic swiftness to cooing caresses, kisses, canoodling, and cuddling (in overlapping, erogenous order), providing all the entertainment they needed in the otherwise silent room.
The remote?
It sank, forgotten, between the cushions.
-Fin-
Afterword:
I'm certainly not going to claim that the "written-on-a-matchbook" plot of this tale--tickle wrestling over a TV remote--is original. This notion has propelled tickle vids (among the few that even bother with plots), stories (true, fantasy, and in-between), and more than a few steamy illoes. I figured, what-the-hell, why, in my tickle fic dotage, should I pretend at originality now?
I've wanted to finish a new Stephanie and Simon vignette for ages, and this one was the simplest--and closest to completion--of a varied, undone lot. These days, I finish stories about as often as the Federal Reserve Bank raises interest rates. Talk about ticklish topics!
There's also something heartening in it for me: that tickling can disarm a modern couple enough to finally ignore their damn electronics and, ah, interact. All of us know that romance is the ORIGINAL--and BEST--distraction. Especially spiced with tickling. NO GBs needed.
More Stephanie and Simon can be found in "Murder Afoot," "Alarm Clock? Hah!" and "Tickled to Tears."
*Those who love tickle torture but are ticklish about love, don't worry. This story would barely steam a window. And the couple's married. It could have been filmed in 1940. And shown to nuns.
* Hey!! It's not THAT harmless! (Fumes.)
Sharing some quality TV time leads to laughter and l'amour when our amusingly amorous couple proves to be...
REMOTELY TICKLISH
featuring Stephanie and Simon
by Tee Hee Lawrence
An autumn's Sunday evening finds Stephanie and Simon cozily cuddled on the couch as the closing credits of a Netflix movie offering endlessly scroll by on their TV.
"Well, that was 'Meh.'" suggested Stephanie, stretched out before him, as she strained to extract the remote control from under the cushion beneath her. "That's the last time I take a movie suggestion from an assistant DA."
"'Meh' for me, too." agreed Simon. "Watch it! You're twitching your tush against me!"
"Hehheh! 'Sorry!" giggled Steph. "You NEVER used to complain about that."
"Who's COMPLAINING?" leered Simon. "I'm merely pointing out the dangerously stimulative nature of your twitch, Counselor. If it weren't for your occasional tush twitches, I'd ask for the last 90 minutes of my life back." He plucked the remote from her hand. "Thank you. Now, please keep your delish tush still. I don't want to be distracted while my show is on." He switched the TV to Channel 36.
"Waitaminnut! I thought we agreed that we'd watch MY show NOW and record YOURS." The lounging lawyer plucked the control back from him and thumbed Channel 18. "Besides, I still have to do some prep work on a case. I can just squeeze my show in now."
"That was before YOU chose the movie." Simon insisted, again snatching the remote and returning the TV to Channel 36. "C'mon. I deserve this. I was on that conference call with our Singapore division [He works for a multinational financial auditor.] for hours this morning. Besides, shouldn't this be YOUR show, too? It's the hottest courtroom drama on TV."
"I get ENOUGH courtroom drama, thank you very much." She regained the control and restored Channel 18. "Remember, redbeard, you said--and I quote, 'I'll watch ANYTHING as long as I get to nuzzle you as I do.' "
"That's what I get for marrying an attorney who exploits my romantic testimony." He made a grab for the remote, but Steph, chuckling, held it at arm's length, just beyond his reach. He wailed, "I object!" He strained at the remote with his arm and fingers fully extant, but it was just beyond his fingertips.
"Overruled! Heeheehee!" she chortled, teasing him by waving the remote. "The long arm of the law--in action! Hey! Careful! You're pushing me off the couch."
"Long arm, huh? We'll see about THAT!" Simon said, as he slid his hand down Steph's bare arm into the sleeve of her tee shirt and spidered his fingers upon her tender, shaven underarm. "'Got you, sweetheart!"
Stephanie bubbled with laughter and jerked her arm down. "HahahaHEEEEY!" she cried. "NOhohohoFAIR!"
"Oh-so-fair!" Simon insisted, intently tickling her until he was able to grab the remote from her weakened hold and switch back to his show.
"HehhehhehOOOOOOO! No-you-don't!" she fumed, reaching up to snatch it back.
"Yes, I do," he assured her. "And I know how to keep it." Tightrning his grip on the remote, he slid his free hand under her tee and skittered his fingers across her soft, sensitive tummy. Steph yelped "NO!" and writhed with giggles, "Heeheeheeheeeeeeee!"
"Gee, your tush is REALLY twitching now," Simon stated, tucking the remote between his back and the sofa, then bringing both hands to squeeze Steph's sides. "I should audit your ticklish spots more often, dontcha think, hon'?"
Steph squealed with laughter as she struggled to stay on the sofa. "SHHH!" admonished Simon. "I'm trying to watch this." Red-faced, hilarious, Steph tumbled to the carpeted floor.
Out of his tickly grasp, she growled, "YOU--!" She picked herself right up and dove at him, grabbing HIS sides through his Cubs shirt and digging her fingers into his ribs. "NO, WAIT!" he cried, instantly undone by her concerted retaliation. "Dohohohon't--!" he feebly protested, before succumbing to sappy laughter.
"Don't WHAT?" she asked, her toned legs pinning him to the sofa as she mercilessly poked his ribs. "Don't TICKLE you? AWWWWW?" He couldn't answer for hapless laughing. "You tickled ME for the remote. Now I want it BACK, ticklish boy!"
"I can't hehhehheh...reach eeheehee...," he giggled, vainly trying to recover the remote behind him with one hand as his other hand sought her middle. His fumbling fingers found her ticklish tummy. She squealed and fell back onto his legs.
He finally grasped the remote and, with exaggerated protectiveness, cradled it against his chest. "Still MINE!" he insisted, wiggling five fingers at her to keep her at bay.
Leery of being tickled again, Steph sat back, pinning his lower legs. She winked as her hands groped behind her. "Not much longer, sir." She marched her fingers beyond his jeans and found his bare feet. "Coochie coochie, cutie."
"NO, Steph!" he cried, futilely reaching for her. "Oooooh, YES, Simon!" she beamed, dragging her short, sharp, clear-polished fingernails along his touchy soles.
He bucked and barked with laughter, but she stayed upright and continued to torturously tease his tootsies. From much experience, she knew just where his feet were most ticklish. She'd do her worst until the remote was hers again. "Simon, I'm missing my show. If you don't give me that," she intoned, her fingers busy, "I'm going to tickle you like this ALLLLLL night."
Smiling serenely, she began to expertly torment the edges of his feet. Simon squeezed his eyes shut, trying gamely to withhold the remote and his giggles. Steph cruelly teased, "Awww! Is the bad little boy ticklish?" His face reddened to match his beard as his giggles spilled forth. She allowed her nails to wander back up his wrinkly soles and poke under his scrunching toes.
Simon's eyes flew open as his body jerked and he barked with laughter. Nonetheless, he heroically cast upon her the most potent Shakespearean oaths against a woman he could muster.
"HahahaeeHARPY!" he cried. She smirked and kept on tickling.
"WhahahaHARLOT!!" he barked. Her eyes narrowed and she tickled harder.
"HahahaHARRIGAN!" he bleated. Targeting his toes, she chuckled, "Hehheh. You mean 'harridan'?"
"Y-YEShehhehhehYES!" he asserted.
He tried to slip one hand under her shirt to tickle her tummy, but she deftly fended him off with her left hand, while continuing a five-finger farrago upon his arches. Knowing how susceptible he was to her verbal teasing in a sultry voice, she underscored the tickling by crooning, "Si-mon's SOOOO ticklish...coochie coochie cooooo...tickle-tickle-tickle...SUCH a TICKLISH guy...tickle you, tickle you...."
Under such a relentless onslaught, his efforts to tickle her faltered and he collapsed into silliness. After what seemed like forever but was, oh, perhaps twenty seconds, he cried, "HAHA! OK! HA! OK! Hehhehhehere! HERE!" The remote, like a slippery bar of soap, bounced from his hands to land betwixt her knees. Snatching up the prize, she uttered a triumphant, "Aaaahhhhh, thenk yooouu!"
No sooner had she slid down to sit crosslegged in front of the couch and click over to HER show than she felt Simon's vengeful fingers seek out her sides and tickle her to squeals and giggles. "EEEENONOhehhehEEEEhehhehhehEEEEEhehheeheeheeee!" Despite her giggles, she managed to fold herself over the remote.
Simon growled, "Yield that remote, you wicked woman!" Chuckling, he slid his fingers up her sides 'til he mined the tender hollows under her arms. She yelped and spun away on her tush, ending up on her back with her legs in the air.
Thus Simon, most propitiously, was able to catch her pink-ankle-socked right foot. Gaining a firm grasp on her ankle with his left hand, he peeled off her sock with his right.
"What--? Oh, no!" gasped Steph.
"Remote, please!" demanded Simon, holding out his right hand.
"Never!" insisted Steph, clutching it to her chest.
"We will SEE, Counselor," Simon drawled, as he began to skim his fingertips along her butter- soft, coconut-scented sole. "The proof is in the...tickling!"
"EEEEEEEEEEEE! GAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAD!"
Simon hummed mischievously as he evaded her flailing socked left foot and held fast to and persisted in tickling her bare right one. He was clearly relishing driving his brainy and beautiful wife nuts, expertly teasing the soft, sensitive center of her sole.
Now, he applied a fitting--considering how she'd tickled and teased HIM--kitchey coup-de-grace. In a voice heavy with villainy, he sang, "Your Honor, the Defense...laughs! Tickle-tickle, me beauty!"
She was already crying with laughter BEFORE he began tickling her desperate toes with kisses as his fingertips strummed her sole.
Her ensuing squeals and peals were peppered with peeps of excitement, In her lubricious hilarity, she inadvertently turned off the TV, before fumbling away the remote entirely.
Simon, trying to reach for the remote AND continue teasing Steph, tumbled onto the carpet beside her. She wasted no time in wickedly grabbing to tickle his sides, as he fiendishly poked hers, too. Thus ticklishly tangled, their giggling coochie coos morphed with comic swiftness to cooing caresses, kisses, canoodling, and cuddling (in overlapping, erogenous order), providing all the entertainment they needed in the otherwise silent room.
The remote?
It sank, forgotten, between the cushions.
-Fin-
Afterword:
I'm certainly not going to claim that the "written-on-a-matchbook" plot of this tale--tickle wrestling over a TV remote--is original. This notion has propelled tickle vids (among the few that even bother with plots), stories (true, fantasy, and in-between), and more than a few steamy illoes. I figured, what-the-hell, why, in my tickle fic dotage, should I pretend at originality now?
I've wanted to finish a new Stephanie and Simon vignette for ages, and this one was the simplest--and closest to completion--of a varied, undone lot. These days, I finish stories about as often as the Federal Reserve Bank raises interest rates. Talk about ticklish topics!
There's also something heartening in it for me: that tickling can disarm a modern couple enough to finally ignore their damn electronics and, ah, interact. All of us know that romance is the ORIGINAL--and BEST--distraction. Especially spiced with tickling. NO GBs needed.
More Stephanie and Simon can be found in "Murder Afoot," "Alarm Clock? Hah!" and "Tickled to Tears."
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