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Romantic Comedy (m/f)

Shem the Penman

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Joined
Apr 3, 2001
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ROMANTIC COMEDY
another one of those stories

LISTEN UP: IF YOU'RE UNDER 18, PASS THIS STORY BY. WATCH SOME WHOLESOME FAMILY ENTERTAINMENT INSTEAD. I THINK THE WWF IS ON.

Louise opened the door of her bedroom closet, humming, and then broke off in mid-note when she saw Mark standing there in front of her neatly arrayed nightdresses, smiling.

"Hello," he said, airily as if they'd just passed each other on the street.

"What are you doing here?" Louise gasped, stepping back as he emerged.

"Well, I've got some things to say to you that I couldn't say without that old vulture you call your aunt hanging over us ... "

"Aunt Agatha was very nice to invite us to her summer house," Louise protested defensively.

"Aunt Agatha is a pain in the neck who has weighed me and found me wanting," Mark snorted. "I can practically hear her thinking 'He's not good enough for her' when we're together. If she knew how I really felt about you, she'd keel over and die, not that that would be too much of a loss ... "

"Oh, but ... " Louise's halfhearted defense was interrupted by a curt rap at the door.

"Are you in there, Louise?" a voice demanded from the other side. Aunt Agatha's grating tones were unmistakable.

Mark rolled his eyes and groaned silently as Louise's own eyes widened in panic. While Aunt Agatha might have been, as Mark said, a pain in the neck, she also wielded considerable influence over Louise's parents by means of inheritance. No one in the family wanted to be on her bad side. Except Mark, who wasn't part of the family anyway and didn't care. Right now, though, Louise had more on her mind than that.

"You can't be here!" she hissed. "Hide, quickly!" Without waiting to see where he went, she hurried to the door as Aunt Agatha's sharp little knock sounded again, more peremptorily this time. Glancing back over her shoulder, she saw that the bedroom was now apparently Mark-free. With a deep breath to steady herself, she opened the door and stepped back as Aunt Agatha billowed into the room under full sail.

Aunt Agatha was wearing an immense, shapeless nightdress that would have hung on a woman twice her size. As it was, she was utterly lost among the flaps and folds of white cloth. Her hair was pinned up for the night, making her look even more severe than usual. Her sharp little eyes darted this way and that, as if she suspected the reason Louise had been so slow in opening the door. "Aren't you in bed yet?" she snapped, looking disapprovingly at Louise's pink silk robe and white stockings.

"I was just getting ready, Aunt." With a composure that astonished herself -- her insides were still shaking -- Louise walked past her aunt to the vanity and sat down. Picking up the silver-backed hairbrush, she began to brush out her long, dark hair. It was easier to lie to Aunt Agatha if you didn't have to look directly at her.

"You'll spoil your looks if you don't start going to bed at a respectable hour." Aunt Agatha stalked this way and that around the room, a dim white shape in the background of the mirror. As if she were ... searching? Where was Mark? Louise was in an agony of terror -- there weren't that many places in the bedroom that could hide someone of Mark's size, and if she found him ...

Then something took hold of one of her ankles. She nearly dropped the brush and only just bit back a gasp. Looking down, she saw Mark's hand, extending from under the vanity's skirts, holding her. He gave a reassuring squeeze, and then the hand withdrew, pulling her ankle with it.

"Well," Aunt Agatha said, "I suppose you're wondering why I'm here." With a start, Louise remembered to breathe normally and keep brushing her hair. She looked into the mirror, meeting the reflection of Aunt Agatha's cold eyes.

"Have you come to say good night?" Louise said. "If -- " Then she broke off, because Mark had just removed the slipper from the foot he held under the vanity. What was he doing? She gave her leg a little shake, trying to communicate "Don't do that" in body language. The answer was immediate: fingers sliding across the tops of her toes, tracing the course of the little valleys between them through their silk covering. Louise had to press her lips together tightly to contain the squeak that rocketed straight from her toes to her mouth ... it tickled!

What was Mark doing? He *knew* how unbearably ticklish she was after that time they'd spent by the stream yesterday! She could just imagine the wicked little smile on his face as he crouched there in the darkness, teasing her. His fingers were still moving, curving around to the underside of her toes. She hastily scrunched them up, but Mark's fingertips worked at them, burrowing toward the ticklish prize she was trying to protect ...

"Louise!" Aunt Agatha said sharply, startling her. She'd been so focused on the little struggle under the table that she'd almost forgotten her older relative. Her toes unclenched in surprise, and Mark's triumphant fingers wriggled among them, brushing the soft little curves She squeaked and dropped the hairbrush, then hastily bent down to recover it, hoping Aunt Agatha hadn't noticed the flaming blush that had set the rims of her ears alight and was spreading up her neck. The tickling stopped while she was rooting around under the bench for the hairbrush -- but only so Mark could take advantage of her distraction to grab her other ankle and pull her foot under the vanity to join in its mate's suffering.

"Have you even heard a word I'm saying?" Aunt Agatha snapped as Mark hooked a forefinger into the slipper on Louise's newly captured foot and slowly tugged it off, tickling all the way up the sole as it was exposed.

"Sooorry ... " Louise felt her behind sliding on the satin surface of the bench and forced herself to sit still, not giving in to the need to wiggle. "What?"

"It's that Lyons person."

"M-mark?" Beneath the vanity, teeth closed delicately but firmly on her toes, nibbling the sensitive flesh. Louise saw her eyes go wide in the mirror as the sensation registered somewhere deep in the pit of her stomach. "What about him?" she remembered to ask after a hot eternity.

"I've noticed the way he looks at you. I'm sure he has designs of some sort on you."

"R-r-really?" Louise said, forcing her hand to continue to move mechanically, brushing her hair. "I -- oh! -- I mean, I h-hadn't noticed ... "

"Well, I have. Not much escapes my eye, I tell you." The object of their conversation had both Louise's slender ankles pinned with one hand now, while the other roamed with idle cruelty over her soles. Normally, she could have easily kicked out of his grip, but any violent movement would alert Aunt Agatha that something was wrong. It was an exquisite torture, knowing that freedom was just one good kick away -- but being unable to do anything more than twitch and tug futilely as the tickling continued without relief. "I realize he is here as your guest, but I must say I find him utterly unsuitable." Mark's finger moved in a broad circle around her soles, then straight down and to the left, then traced out a semicircle .... Louise had to stifle an unprovoked giggle when she realized he was writing OLD BAT on the slate of her quivering feet.

"I admit there are times I WISH he would GO AWAY," Louise said in a loud, firm voice, giving her legs an emphatic little jerk to underline her statement. In immediate answer, the fingertips that had been wandering lazily around her feet hopped to her arches, wriggling rapidly and delivering a highly concentrated dose of tickling to those tender spots. Louise's reaction was no less immediate: she jumped up with a shriek.

Aunt Agatha stared at her in irritated astonishment. "Louise Anne, what on earth has gotten into you?"

"I saw a spider," Louise lied hastily, her cheeks feeling hot. She hoped Aunt Agatha didn't ask where her slippers had gone.

Aunt Agatha raised an eyebrow. "Nonsense. I keep my house free from vermin. Where did you see it?" She took a step toward the vanity.

Louise sat back down again, fast. "Uh, it ran off." She remembered to tuck her feet under the bench a second too late, and Mark snagged one of them, dragging it back under the vanity to whatever fate he had in mind. Gritting her teeth, Louise resumed brushing her hair for what seemed like the hundredth time.

"In any case, I wanted to inform you of Mr. Lyons's base intentions so that you should be prepared if he tried anything untoward," Aunt Agatha resumed, pacing back and forth. A stealthy hand emerged from the vanity's skirts and squeezed one silken knee. Louise whapped it with the hairbrush and it hastily withdrew. "I intend to send him home in the morning. I won't have him under my roof any longer."

"Well, you have to d-do what you feel best ... " Louise mumbled, barely aware of anything but the fact that the tickling on her captive sole had started up again, slow and gentle but unstoppable. A mighty giggle was building up in the back of her throat, and if Aunt Agatha didn't leave now, she'd burst. "Uh, I'm tickl -- tired -- and I should be in b-bed ... "

"Of course." Aunt Agatha moved to the door, then paused with her hand on the knob. "You do understand I have your best interests at heart here?"

Louise nodded rapidly, feeling a trembling smile spreading itself over her face as Mark continued to tickle. Her chest heaved with the effort of containing giggles. Aunt Agatha peered at her suspiciously for a moment and then swept back out, shutting the door firmly behind her.

The second the door had closed behind Aunt Agatha, Louise yanked her foot out of Mark's grasp, hard. So hard, in fact, that she unbalanced and toppled over the back of the bench, legs flailing in the air. Fortunately, the room was comfortably carpeted, and nothing was injured except the remaining shreds of Louise's pride as Mark emerged from under the vanity, chuckling. She scrambled to her feet, her face feeling like one huge blush, to see him standing there with her slippers in one hand.

"You idiot, you -- " she blazed, unable to find a word that quite expressed her feelings. Fortunately, the old room's walls were thick, so it was unlikely Aunt Agatha would overhear her rage.

Mark laughed again, holding up the slippers. "May I keep these as a souvenir of an -interesting- evening?"

"Give me those!" Louise said. She lunged, reaching for the slippers, but he tossed them back over his shoulder at the same moment his other arm snaked around her waist, pulling her into him. Barely had the gasp of surprise escaped her lips when the fingers that had clasped her slippers were buried in her side, tickling her ribs ruthlessly. Louise eeped and struggled, but his grip was firm. The hand clasping her waist had started tickling a particularly delicate spot just above her hip, turning her battle for freedom into a wild, uncontrolled writhing.

"M-m-m-maaark!" she shrieked, half in protest and half in pleasure, her body vibrating in blissful agony, and the sensation overwhelmed her and she sagged in joyful surrender, the laughter pouring out of her. She buried her face in his shoulder in an effort to muffle it, and clung to him because the alternative was to collapse to the floor in hysterics. Her arms flailed helplessly as tickling fingers flew from spot to spot on her body, each touch bringing a fresh jerk and mirthful gasp from her. He was laughing too, softly, enjoying what he was doing to her as his fingers burrowed into the softness of her belly, flickered under her arms, or, worst of all, kneaded her quivering ribs. Her stockinged feet stamped the carpeted floor soundlessly as she reflexively tried to curl up -- even though she knew it was useless to try and protect all her ticklish spots at once. She couldn't stop laughing, there was nothing in her but laughter and no sensation in the world but tickling, and she loved it that way. "Stoooopppp!" she squealed blindly, even as she knew it was a lie, she never wanted him to stop ....

But he did stop, and opened his arms, letting her fall back a step. She raised her hands to push her tangled hair out of her face, felt a strange coolness, and looked down. Somehow, during the giggly struggle, the belt of her robe had become untied, or perhaps Mark had untied it while her attention was otherwise occupied. It hung open, revealing all that she wasn't wearing underneath. Louise trembled on the edge between shame and delight as Mark looked at her in frank appreciation. After a moment that seemed to last years, she reached for the edges of the robe, but Mark caught her hands and pushed them back down. His own hands went to her shoulders, lifting the robe off and letting it fall the length of her body, collapsing into a shining puddle around her feet. The cool breath of night seemed to only fan the flames that burned all under her flushed, tingling skin. She was panting, and not just from the exertion of her hysterical squirming.

Mark put his hands on her hips and gently drew him to her again, kissing the soft spot where neck melded into shoulder. "Oh, God." Louise sighed happily. "You almost drove me crazy ... what if Aunt Agatha had realized? As if she doesn't hate you enough already."

Mark smiled down at her. "We'll deal with your aunt tomorrow. Is she as susceptible to tickles as you? Maybe I could make her see reason ... "

"Oh, no." Louise put her arms around his neck. "The only person in this house you'll be tickling is me."

"Is that a request?" Mark's warm hands traced the contours of her bare back.

"It's an order."

Fingertips tap-tapped up the length of Louise's sides, sending delicious shudders through her and drawing out a squeaky giggle. "One that I'll happily obey." Mark swung her around, toward the bed. "I'm sure we've only just, ah, scratched the surface ... "
 
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