This is a sequel to a story I wrote sometime last year. The characters are Marguerite, an older woman who tickled her daughters (Iqbal, now age 20, and Aisha, now age 19) as a form of punishment and her husband Karim. In the first story, the daughters discovered their mother was deathly ticklish and turned the tables on her. On with the story!
Marguerite complained to her husband.
"They found out how ticklish I am while you were gone. I have no control over them at all. Iqbal and Aisha threaten to tickle me, or worse, do tickle me, all the time now."
"Well, do you not think that is part of what you get for having tickled Iqbal and Aisha so much?"
"But I am their mother! And Iqbal has only ticklish feet and Aisha only around her waist. I could not believe it. Aisha accidentally touched my belly, then when she found out how sensitive I am, started to tickle my sides. The next thing I know, she is tickling my feet! And then Iqbal tickled my ribs, you know where…"
He did. He knew that Marguerite's worst ticklish spot was her ribs just below her bulging brown bosom.
"Well, I have to say, Marguerite, that I am glad. I know disciplining the girls was always your job, but I always thought it was tremendously unfair for you to take advantage of them like that".
Margeurite stood there in shock. "How can you not take my side…"
Marguerite turned around and did not face him. Karim thought this might be the ideal time to teach his wife a lesson. From behind, he only saw her full, voluptuous body.
"Speaking of sides…", he said.
"OOOHHH! NO HO HO HO HO HO! STOP! " He leapt across the bed and grabbed his tender wife around her sensitive middle. It had been well over 20 years since he dared tickle her. Karim knew how deathly ticklish his wife was and how she lived in fear of being tickled. Ever since her childhood in the Bahamas, when people would routinely tickle her to incontinence, she dreaded it. He knew, and she knew, that after only about 15-20 seconds of tickling, she would burst. Now, he was about to push her to the limits.
"You know you cannot do that to me! You know what will happen to me!"
"Well, Marguerite, it's about time you got a good dose of what you've been putting those poor girls through. Cootchie coo!" He threw her down onto the bed and started tickling her ribs, just below her bosom. It was pure tickling torture for the poor, voluptuous dark-skinned woman.
"NO PLEASE KARIM! OH HO HO HO HO HO HO! HO HO HO HO HO HO HO!" Her deep, throaty laugh was stimulating to him. Karim found his wife incredibly sexy, and the sight of her squirming, shaking and jiggling excited him as well. He kept poking his fingers into her fleshy rib cage, rendering Marguerite helpless with laughter as she tossed back and forth. As she tossed, her bosom danced raucously underneath her white cotton shirt
"YOO! OH HO! HO HO HO HO HO! HOHOHOHOOO! STOP! HOHOHOHOHOHOHOOOO!"
Marguerite's shirt had twisted over her belly, showing off her slight paunch. Karim paused, then dug into her soft belly near her navel. After a quick draw of breath, Marguerite convulsed.
"AAHAAH! NO NO NOT MY BELLY! HO HO HO HO HO HO! HO HO HO HO HO HO!" Marguerite especially hated her belly being tickled - it usually stimulated her bladder.
Outside their parents bedroom, Iqbal and Aisha heard their mother’s raucous laughter.
"Do you think he's tickling her, Aish?" "Oh, yes indeed. I'm glad. I hope he gets her for an hour for what she's done to us over the years".
"HO HO HO HO HO HO! HOHOHOHOOOO! LET ME GO! STOP!" He paused and pondered.
"OK, I will let you go. But, only if….you do 1 minute of jumping jacks for me!"
Margeurite was not an athletic woman. Her wide, round bottom and weighty breasts made her quite clumsy. Jumping jacks, that accursed exercise from grade school, was a bouncy, jiggly torment for her. While both daughters were lean, with flat stomachs and narrow waists, Marguerite was shaped differently. In contrast to her tall daughters, she was 5'3". Though older (late 40s) she retained much of her facial beauty and still resembled Sophia Loren in her face. Unlike her lean daughters, however, she had gained weight over time. Though only 5'1", she weighed about 165lbs. Her stomach was a little chubby (34" waist), her hips wide and butt round (42"), and her breasts so large that her 36E bras did not totally contain them.
"No, Karim, I cannot do that! No please".
"It's that or I tickle your….feet!" Karim wrapped his arm around both of Marguerite's ankles and slowly scraped his fingers across her broad, lighter-toned soles. Her feet twitched uncontrollably as she burst into laughter.
"OH HO HO HO HO HO NO! NO! HOHOHOHOHO! OOHHHH! HO HO HO HO HO!" As she laughed, Marguerite thrashed to and fro on the bed. Her chubby middle rippled, but not nearly as much as her round, plump bosom. Her shoulder-length black hair (with the occasional streak of gray) whirled wildly about her face. Her feet were maddeningly sensitive. She had weak abdominal muscles in the first place, but her state of hilarity made it impossible for her to sit up. Her arms had been beating the bed, but now one wrapped around her stomach in a desperate attempt to hold in the laughter. Her other arm reached towards her groin to try and stop the imminent passing of urine. Marguerite quickly reached a state of breathless laughter.
"HOHOHOHOHO…OH…NO..HOHOHO……". At this point, her husband quit tickling her overly sensitive feet. Marguerite coughed and regained control of her breath and other bodily functions.
"Please", she begged, "no more tickling". "Will you do the jumping jacks", he asked.
"Yes, anything, yes".
"Oh, one more thing", he added. "Take off your shirt and shorts!".
Iqbal and Aisha listened and desperately wished they had a camera.
Marguerite complied. There she stood, wild black hair surrounding her dark, Sophia Loren-like sweaty, flushed face. Her bra was stretched to its limit as her breasts protruded at the sides and bulged at the top. Her brown, fleshy belly was seemed slim compared to her wide hips and buttocks. She began her exercise. Soon, every part of her was airborne. Her bosom flew in uncontrollable directions. Her buttocks shook like brown pillows filled with jello. Even her stomach rippled as she jumped and flapped.
Karim was laughing at the sight, which he found unbelievably gorgeous. Marguerite, however, hated every wobbly second of it. After only 30 seconds, the momentum produced by her gyroscopic bosom through her off balance and she fell to the floor.
Karim called to his daughters. He'd heard their laughter through the door. "Girls, she's all yours!"
Iqbal and Aisha paused, then burst into the room. Marguerite started to rise as she saw her daughters, poised with wiggling fingers heading for her nearly naked body. "NO! DON'T LET THEM! NO PLEASE!".
She tried to scoot away, but she was far too slow. Her daughters nimbly descended into tickling positions. They were helped by their father, who held his wife's arms above her outstretched body.
"Iq, get her feet while I get her sides!". Aisha had terribly tickish sides, so she knew how best to torture her mother. Likewise, all the tickling Iqbal received over her 20 years had taught her how best to torment Marguerite's horribly ticklish feet. She screamed.
"NOOO! NO! PLEASE! I'M YOUR MO-HOOO! HO HO HO HO HO HO HO! HOOOOOO!"
The tickling started. Iqbal, often compared to the R&B singer Brandy, sat directly on her mother's legs, faced her feet and was scraping her soles vigorously. Aisha, a dead ringer for the actress Salma Hayak dug her hands into her mother's soft sides.
Marguerite twisted violently as she cackled. With her arms held above her head while she lay on the floor, all her ticklish spots were exposed. Aisha ran her fingers into her mother's armpits. Marguerite had lost almost all of what strength she had. Still, she bellowed and gyrated, hoping to avoid at least a second of her tickling torture.
"OH HO! OH HO! STOP! HOHOHOHOHOHOHO! MY FEET! HO HOHOHOHOHO NO! STOP!"
Iqbal didn't let up on her feet for a second. Marguerite's dark, delicate feet twitched like tornadoes, but she could not avoid the tickling. As she twisted, the forceful bouncing of her bosom strained against the fabric of her bra until the clasps actually broke. For a second both girls stopped. "Mother", Aisha exclaimed, "you've got some enormous boobs!" But that was it, and both girls resumed their attack. Iqbal returned to her feet, while Aisha dug her fingers into her mother's worst part, the hypersensitive ribs just beneath her now exposed, flapping bosom.
Marguerite couldn't laugh anymore. Silent laughter accompanied her now painful spasmodic twitches. Her incontinence was on her before she knew it. Aisha knew what had just happened by the pained look on her mother's face. "Iq, she's peeing, keep tickling her!"
Marguerite shook her head back and forth at the sound of that last command. The tickling did not stop there. Aisha grabbed her mother just beneath her rib cage and dug her thumbs into that devastating tickle spot. Iqbal wiggled all her fingers across Marguerite's tormented soles. Marguerite could utter no sounds butt the occasional moaning gasp for air. Her face contorted as she twisted and thrashed in ticklish agony. In her deepest recesses of her mind, she wished to the Heavens that she hadn’t been so deathly ticklish.
Finally, Karim stopped the torment.
Marguerite composed herself, replaced her bra and ran to the bathroom. Karim spoke.
"Girls, that's the last time you will tickle you mother. That is a gift from me. You've given her worse a tickling than you ever received. Henceforth, there will be no more tickling between the three of you".
The End
Marguerite complained to her husband.
"They found out how ticklish I am while you were gone. I have no control over them at all. Iqbal and Aisha threaten to tickle me, or worse, do tickle me, all the time now."
"Well, do you not think that is part of what you get for having tickled Iqbal and Aisha so much?"
"But I am their mother! And Iqbal has only ticklish feet and Aisha only around her waist. I could not believe it. Aisha accidentally touched my belly, then when she found out how sensitive I am, started to tickle my sides. The next thing I know, she is tickling my feet! And then Iqbal tickled my ribs, you know where…"
He did. He knew that Marguerite's worst ticklish spot was her ribs just below her bulging brown bosom.
"Well, I have to say, Marguerite, that I am glad. I know disciplining the girls was always your job, but I always thought it was tremendously unfair for you to take advantage of them like that".
Margeurite stood there in shock. "How can you not take my side…"
Marguerite turned around and did not face him. Karim thought this might be the ideal time to teach his wife a lesson. From behind, he only saw her full, voluptuous body.
"Speaking of sides…", he said.
"OOOHHH! NO HO HO HO HO HO! STOP! " He leapt across the bed and grabbed his tender wife around her sensitive middle. It had been well over 20 years since he dared tickle her. Karim knew how deathly ticklish his wife was and how she lived in fear of being tickled. Ever since her childhood in the Bahamas, when people would routinely tickle her to incontinence, she dreaded it. He knew, and she knew, that after only about 15-20 seconds of tickling, she would burst. Now, he was about to push her to the limits.
"You know you cannot do that to me! You know what will happen to me!"
"Well, Marguerite, it's about time you got a good dose of what you've been putting those poor girls through. Cootchie coo!" He threw her down onto the bed and started tickling her ribs, just below her bosom. It was pure tickling torture for the poor, voluptuous dark-skinned woman.
"NO PLEASE KARIM! OH HO HO HO HO HO HO! HO HO HO HO HO HO HO!" Her deep, throaty laugh was stimulating to him. Karim found his wife incredibly sexy, and the sight of her squirming, shaking and jiggling excited him as well. He kept poking his fingers into her fleshy rib cage, rendering Marguerite helpless with laughter as she tossed back and forth. As she tossed, her bosom danced raucously underneath her white cotton shirt
"YOO! OH HO! HO HO HO HO HO! HOHOHOHOOO! STOP! HOHOHOHOHOHOHOOOO!"
Marguerite's shirt had twisted over her belly, showing off her slight paunch. Karim paused, then dug into her soft belly near her navel. After a quick draw of breath, Marguerite convulsed.
"AAHAAH! NO NO NOT MY BELLY! HO HO HO HO HO HO! HO HO HO HO HO HO!" Marguerite especially hated her belly being tickled - it usually stimulated her bladder.
Outside their parents bedroom, Iqbal and Aisha heard their mother’s raucous laughter.
"Do you think he's tickling her, Aish?" "Oh, yes indeed. I'm glad. I hope he gets her for an hour for what she's done to us over the years".
"HO HO HO HO HO HO! HOHOHOHOOOO! LET ME GO! STOP!" He paused and pondered.
"OK, I will let you go. But, only if….you do 1 minute of jumping jacks for me!"
Margeurite was not an athletic woman. Her wide, round bottom and weighty breasts made her quite clumsy. Jumping jacks, that accursed exercise from grade school, was a bouncy, jiggly torment for her. While both daughters were lean, with flat stomachs and narrow waists, Marguerite was shaped differently. In contrast to her tall daughters, she was 5'3". Though older (late 40s) she retained much of her facial beauty and still resembled Sophia Loren in her face. Unlike her lean daughters, however, she had gained weight over time. Though only 5'1", she weighed about 165lbs. Her stomach was a little chubby (34" waist), her hips wide and butt round (42"), and her breasts so large that her 36E bras did not totally contain them.
"No, Karim, I cannot do that! No please".
"It's that or I tickle your….feet!" Karim wrapped his arm around both of Marguerite's ankles and slowly scraped his fingers across her broad, lighter-toned soles. Her feet twitched uncontrollably as she burst into laughter.
"OH HO HO HO HO HO NO! NO! HOHOHOHOHO! OOHHHH! HO HO HO HO HO!" As she laughed, Marguerite thrashed to and fro on the bed. Her chubby middle rippled, but not nearly as much as her round, plump bosom. Her shoulder-length black hair (with the occasional streak of gray) whirled wildly about her face. Her feet were maddeningly sensitive. She had weak abdominal muscles in the first place, but her state of hilarity made it impossible for her to sit up. Her arms had been beating the bed, but now one wrapped around her stomach in a desperate attempt to hold in the laughter. Her other arm reached towards her groin to try and stop the imminent passing of urine. Marguerite quickly reached a state of breathless laughter.
"HOHOHOHOHO…OH…NO..HOHOHO……". At this point, her husband quit tickling her overly sensitive feet. Marguerite coughed and regained control of her breath and other bodily functions.
"Please", she begged, "no more tickling". "Will you do the jumping jacks", he asked.
"Yes, anything, yes".
"Oh, one more thing", he added. "Take off your shirt and shorts!".
Iqbal and Aisha listened and desperately wished they had a camera.
Marguerite complied. There she stood, wild black hair surrounding her dark, Sophia Loren-like sweaty, flushed face. Her bra was stretched to its limit as her breasts protruded at the sides and bulged at the top. Her brown, fleshy belly was seemed slim compared to her wide hips and buttocks. She began her exercise. Soon, every part of her was airborne. Her bosom flew in uncontrollable directions. Her buttocks shook like brown pillows filled with jello. Even her stomach rippled as she jumped and flapped.
Karim was laughing at the sight, which he found unbelievably gorgeous. Marguerite, however, hated every wobbly second of it. After only 30 seconds, the momentum produced by her gyroscopic bosom through her off balance and she fell to the floor.
Karim called to his daughters. He'd heard their laughter through the door. "Girls, she's all yours!"
Iqbal and Aisha paused, then burst into the room. Marguerite started to rise as she saw her daughters, poised with wiggling fingers heading for her nearly naked body. "NO! DON'T LET THEM! NO PLEASE!".
She tried to scoot away, but she was far too slow. Her daughters nimbly descended into tickling positions. They were helped by their father, who held his wife's arms above her outstretched body.
"Iq, get her feet while I get her sides!". Aisha had terribly tickish sides, so she knew how best to torture her mother. Likewise, all the tickling Iqbal received over her 20 years had taught her how best to torment Marguerite's horribly ticklish feet. She screamed.
"NOOO! NO! PLEASE! I'M YOUR MO-HOOO! HO HO HO HO HO HO HO! HOOOOOO!"
The tickling started. Iqbal, often compared to the R&B singer Brandy, sat directly on her mother's legs, faced her feet and was scraping her soles vigorously. Aisha, a dead ringer for the actress Salma Hayak dug her hands into her mother's soft sides.
Marguerite twisted violently as she cackled. With her arms held above her head while she lay on the floor, all her ticklish spots were exposed. Aisha ran her fingers into her mother's armpits. Marguerite had lost almost all of what strength she had. Still, she bellowed and gyrated, hoping to avoid at least a second of her tickling torture.
"OH HO! OH HO! STOP! HOHOHOHOHOHOHO! MY FEET! HO HOHOHOHOHO NO! STOP!"
Iqbal didn't let up on her feet for a second. Marguerite's dark, delicate feet twitched like tornadoes, but she could not avoid the tickling. As she twisted, the forceful bouncing of her bosom strained against the fabric of her bra until the clasps actually broke. For a second both girls stopped. "Mother", Aisha exclaimed, "you've got some enormous boobs!" But that was it, and both girls resumed their attack. Iqbal returned to her feet, while Aisha dug her fingers into her mother's worst part, the hypersensitive ribs just beneath her now exposed, flapping bosom.
Marguerite couldn't laugh anymore. Silent laughter accompanied her now painful spasmodic twitches. Her incontinence was on her before she knew it. Aisha knew what had just happened by the pained look on her mother's face. "Iq, she's peeing, keep tickling her!"
Marguerite shook her head back and forth at the sound of that last command. The tickling did not stop there. Aisha grabbed her mother just beneath her rib cage and dug her thumbs into that devastating tickle spot. Iqbal wiggled all her fingers across Marguerite's tormented soles. Marguerite could utter no sounds butt the occasional moaning gasp for air. Her face contorted as she twisted and thrashed in ticklish agony. In her deepest recesses of her mind, she wished to the Heavens that she hadn’t been so deathly ticklish.
Finally, Karim stopped the torment.
Marguerite composed herself, replaced her bra and ran to the bathroom. Karim spoke.
"Girls, that's the last time you will tickle you mother. That is a gift from me. You've given her worse a tickling than you ever received. Henceforth, there will be no more tickling between the three of you".
The End
