This is a continuation of a story I posted 8 years ago. See here for the first part: http://www.ticklingforum.com/showth...ons-(M-F-F-M-sexual-content)&highlight=alanna
As in that story, this story does not contain foot tickling (it's not my thing), but DOES contain sexual tickling. Please be kind, I am still nervous to post something (which is why it has been so long, this is the first time I feel like I have something that is worth reading)
She is excited… tonight she will see him again. She is standing in front of his door, not sure what to expect, working up the nerve to knock. Tonight it would be her turn, and she was both excited and a little scared: he had had more time to prepare than she had, what had his mind cooked up for her?
The door opens, and he is standing in front of her, smiling mischievously: “were you going to stand there all night?” She can feel herself blushing and immediately reaches out to tickle him. He flinches back and grabs her hands: “today it’s MY turn to tickle YOU”. She feels shivers running up and down her spine, excitement and trepidation in equal measure. She starts to take off her coat, but he stops her: “I made a dinner reservation for us.” Dinner? She doesn’t think she can stand the suspense, but he turns her around and leads her out the door: “My treat”. Normally she would object, would insist on paying for herself, but tonight he’s in charge, so she keeps her mouth shut and relinquishes control to him. On the drive to the restaurant, she does her best to keep up her end of the conversation, but her brain is occupied with thoughts of what the rest of the night will hold. Maintaining her concentration on the conversation is not exactly made easier by his hands straying over her left leg, slowly pulling up her dress (why did she choose tonight to wear a dress??) and tickling her thigh and knee through her pantyhose. She is trying hard not to show how much his touch is affecting her, is trying to keep her leg still, but she knows it is a losing battle; worse, she knows HE knows it’s a losing battle. Soon she is clasping onto the door handle and the side of the seat, trying hard to keep her leg locked in place. This is a match of wills, and she isn’t going lose this quickly! Just when she is sure she can’t hold on any longer (she has long since given up the pretense of carrying on a conversation), he turns into a parking lot and parks: “we are here.”
The table he had requested is in the back left corner of the restaurant. He gestures for her to sit in the corner, and, instead of sitting across from her, sits next to her, on her right. Now, her right knee and thigh receive his attention. She tries to concentrate on the menu, tries not to show what is happening under the table, while his fingers tickle her knees and slowly, agonizingly slowly, up her leg. He is careful, deliberate, pushing her just to the point of losing control, then backing off.
The waitress comes over and asks for their order, and she has to ask for another few minutes: she hasn’t even gotten past the appetizers on the menu yet. She forces her mind to concentrate, assisted by him giving her a brief respite of only light tickling, and finally manages to choose her order. As soon as he realizes that she has decided, he increases his play again, tickling around her kneecap, making her twitch slightly. They are early for dinner, so the restaurant is relatively empty, and there is no one sitting near them. She tries to keep from moving as much as possible, knowing that as soon as he breaks through her control even slightly, she’d be lost. She is so focused on trying not to move that she doesn’t even notice the waitress’ return until she hears him ordering their food. He slows down the tickling slightly but doesn’t stop entirely. She keeps her eyes down, pretending to read the drink menu, so the waitress can’t see her expression.
As soon as the waitress turns her back, he increases the pace of the tickling again, starting at her knees and moving upwards; his fingers slide between her legs, forcing them apart gently, moving higher and higher. She can’t help holding her breath, waiting for him to reach his (and her) goal… but he stops just short of it. She can’t help looking at him then, and the knowing, mischievous smile on his face almost destroys the last bit of control she has left. She wants him to touch her there so badly, and his smile tells her he knows that. He leans over and whispers, softly, “we have all the time in the world tonight, be patient.” Patient? She doesn’t think she can stand another minute of teasing. His fingers start tickling again, softly, moving away and down her legs towards her knees. She can’t help the soft sound of protest, but he ignores her and continues the conversation he had started in the car, as if nothing is happening. She tries to keep her mind on topic, but she knows she is doing a terrible job at pretending to be her normal quick-witted, sarcastic self.
Thankfully, the food comes fairly quickly, and while she misses his hands on her thigh, she is glad for the reprieve, the chance to pull herself together. Despite her earlier misgivings, she does enjoy the food, though she is too excited and nervous to eat much. She notices, with slightly malicious satisfaction, that he also eats little, confirming her suspicion that couldn’t be unaffected by this. When he notices that she is also done eating, he calls the waitress over and asks for the check and a couple of to-go boxes. While the waitress is gone, his hand returns to torture her legs, reawakening all the nerve endings and pushing her close to the edge of desperation again by the time the waitress returns. He has the cash ready and pays right away, giving a generous tip. He packs the food up quickly, and they are soon on their way out the door. While they are walking, he puts his arms around her as if to support her, lightly tickling her sides in the process. She can’t help a small twitch but manages not to show her reaction enough to alert others. When they are back in the car he goes back to torturing her left leg, briefly tickling across the crotch of her panties, making her arch her back into the seat to simultaneously get away from the feeling and push towards it. “I can’t wait to have you in my bed tonight. I can’t wait to test your limits, test your will, test your stubbornness. I have been looking forward to this for so long.” She can’t help shivering at his words, though she can’t decide whether from arousal, anticipation or trepidation.
Soon they are back in his apartment. This time he slowly slides her light jacket off, tickling down her bare arms as he does so. The shivers running up and down her spine are now continuous, and they are definitely shivers of arousal. She wants to push herself against him, grind into him, make him want her as much as she wants him, but he moves away as if he anticipates her need. He hangs up her coat, lets her take off her shoes, and leads her towards the bedroom. She has never been in his apartment before. Normally, she would look around, try to get an impression of him by looking at his space, but her mind is fully focused on the bedroom.
When she gets to the door of the bedroom, she sees a queen sized bed, stripped of the covers. Her eyes are immediately drawn to the corners of the bed, where he has rigged soft cuffs. She knows she’s in for it now, there is no turning back at this point, and she doesn’t want to. He stands behind her and starts slowly tickling her again, across her shoulders, and down her sides, paying particular attention to the places that make her squirm slightly. His hands travel down her sides and down the sides of her legs, until they get to the bottom of her dress. He slowly starts tickling up the inside of her legs, pushing the dress up further and further, making it hard for her to stand still, to not clench her legs together. His fingers start moving to the backs of her legs and reach the bottom of her butt. She reaches back and grabs onto his shoulders, trying hard not to move. It is simultaneously more ticklish and more erotic than she would ever have thought possible. Still his fingers are moving up further, taking the dress with them: up the super sensitive edges of her butt crack until he gets to the hot-spot at the top, and she can’t help jerking away. Since he had been gathering her dress in his hands, however, she can’t move far. “Oh, are you ticklish there? I’ll remember that”. Damn, she is already giving herself away. But his hands keep moving, now exploring the naked skin above the top of her pantyhose, traveling up her sides, finding new sensitive areas. He guides her arms up with his hands, tickling up her sides and into her exposed underarms, while she fights not to move from her position, not to bring her arms down, though she can’t help squirming. Finally, the dress is off.
He moves around her, looking at her, still not letting her put her arms down. She feels exposed, but at this point that is only turning her on more. Is there anything he could do that wouldn’t? Knowing what tonight would hold, she had bought a whisper thin satin bra. She had experimented at home and realized she was insanely sensitive being touched through the bra. He slowly moves towards her, softly tickling under her arms and the sides of her breasts, slowly moving across the bottom of her breasts and… down. She wants to scream, wants to beg him to tickle her breasts, but manages to hold onto her dignity and pride and clamps her mouth shut. Meanwhile his fingers are exploring her stomach area and then start the slow, torturous, tickling path to taking her pantyhose off. He has obviously planned this: he tickles around the top of the still-covered area, then rolls the pantyhose down and tickles the newly exposed skin. The sensations between being tickled with the pantyhose and without are different, but both highly erotic and extremely ticklish. When he gets to the top of her panty line, she feels like she is going to jump out of her skin. The tickling so close to where she wants him to touch her sets her nerves on fire, makes her want him more than she had ever wanted anyone, more than she had ever thought possible. But he continues his torture, tickling down her legs until finally the pantyhose is off as well.
He guides her towards the bed and pushes her down until she is lying on the bed with him on top of her. Suddenly, he starts tickling for real, making her squirm, making it impossible for her not to fight back. They wrestle for a while, all the sexual tension that had built up releasing into laughter and trying to gain the upper hand. Finally, he is on top of her again, and she can feel his mood shift. He softly guides her hands to the cuffs, asking her with his eyes whether she is ok with that. She replies by placing her hands in the hand cuffs and spreading her legs to place her feet in the feet cuffs.
The relieved and excited smile on his face tugs at her control, she wants him so badly. He cuffs her quickly, and then steps back to take in the picture. She is his to play with, his to explore, and she can see how much he loves the feeling of power that gives him. He almost abandons the rest of his plan right then and there, but he reminds himself how much more he will enjoy it if he followed what he has mapped out for tonight. Thinking about how much more SHE will enjoy gives him strength, though the trust in her eyes almost shatters his resolve.
He sits on her hips, and slowly starts tickling down her arms: from her elbows to the inside of her arms, until he gets to her armpits. He spends some time there, enough to make her realize how helpless she is, but not enough to make her regret it, though he pushes that boundary. Then his fingers move back to the sides of her breast, tickling in concentric circles around each breast, getting closer and closer to the nipple with every circle. She almost wishes she had chosen a different bra. The touch of his hands, and his fingernails, through the satin tickles so much and simultaneously arouses her more than she had anticipated. When he finally gets to her nipples, she can’t help arching her back in reaction, so much she almost throws him off her. She feels like her nipples are connected right to her groin, driving the desire up more than she thought possible. She can’t help grinding her hips up, begging him silently to touch her there. He just smiles that knowing smile again and keeps tickling her nipples. The feeling is indescribable, simultaneously excruciatingly ticklish and insanely arousing.
Finally, he moves to sit on her right side, so he can tickle her nipples with one hand and slowly, torturously slowly, tickle his way down her side until he reaches her panty line again. The combination of being tickled there and on her nipples at the same time shatters any semblance of dignity she has left, and she starts begging softly while thrusting her hips into his hand, seeking the contact she needs. His hands move across the fabric, avoiding her clit, and start tickling her lips. She never realized how ticklish she is there, never realized that it is possible to be sure that you cannot endure one minute more and simultaneously be sure you could not endure it if it stopped.
He loves watching her reaction, watching her lose control completely, realizing how much she wants him, that she is fully in his control. He slowly tickles up the inside of her lips, until her back is as arched as the cuffs allow, and then stops… and just holds his hand there. Her eyes, which had been shut, fly open and he can see the desperation, the longing, the wanting, and the accusation. The feeling of power is overwhelming. He didn’t know he could feel this way, enjoy having this power over someone so much. And then he finally starts tickling her nipples again and moves to the spot she has been wanting him to touch since he started playing with her legs in the car.
It doesn’t take long. She has the most intense orgasm of her life almost as soon as he touches her there, but he doesn’t stop. He slows down on the tickling in both places, but doesn’t stop and she comes again, and again, like aftershocks to an earthquake. When she is finally done, she feels completely worn out and more relaxed than she has felt in a very long time. He lies down, half on top of her, wrapping her in his arms and holding her close while the residual waves of pleasure wash over her.
As in that story, this story does not contain foot tickling (it's not my thing), but DOES contain sexual tickling. Please be kind, I am still nervous to post something (which is why it has been so long, this is the first time I feel like I have something that is worth reading)
She is excited… tonight she will see him again. She is standing in front of his door, not sure what to expect, working up the nerve to knock. Tonight it would be her turn, and she was both excited and a little scared: he had had more time to prepare than she had, what had his mind cooked up for her?
The door opens, and he is standing in front of her, smiling mischievously: “were you going to stand there all night?” She can feel herself blushing and immediately reaches out to tickle him. He flinches back and grabs her hands: “today it’s MY turn to tickle YOU”. She feels shivers running up and down her spine, excitement and trepidation in equal measure. She starts to take off her coat, but he stops her: “I made a dinner reservation for us.” Dinner? She doesn’t think she can stand the suspense, but he turns her around and leads her out the door: “My treat”. Normally she would object, would insist on paying for herself, but tonight he’s in charge, so she keeps her mouth shut and relinquishes control to him. On the drive to the restaurant, she does her best to keep up her end of the conversation, but her brain is occupied with thoughts of what the rest of the night will hold. Maintaining her concentration on the conversation is not exactly made easier by his hands straying over her left leg, slowly pulling up her dress (why did she choose tonight to wear a dress??) and tickling her thigh and knee through her pantyhose. She is trying hard not to show how much his touch is affecting her, is trying to keep her leg still, but she knows it is a losing battle; worse, she knows HE knows it’s a losing battle. Soon she is clasping onto the door handle and the side of the seat, trying hard to keep her leg locked in place. This is a match of wills, and she isn’t going lose this quickly! Just when she is sure she can’t hold on any longer (she has long since given up the pretense of carrying on a conversation), he turns into a parking lot and parks: “we are here.”
The table he had requested is in the back left corner of the restaurant. He gestures for her to sit in the corner, and, instead of sitting across from her, sits next to her, on her right. Now, her right knee and thigh receive his attention. She tries to concentrate on the menu, tries not to show what is happening under the table, while his fingers tickle her knees and slowly, agonizingly slowly, up her leg. He is careful, deliberate, pushing her just to the point of losing control, then backing off.
The waitress comes over and asks for their order, and she has to ask for another few minutes: she hasn’t even gotten past the appetizers on the menu yet. She forces her mind to concentrate, assisted by him giving her a brief respite of only light tickling, and finally manages to choose her order. As soon as he realizes that she has decided, he increases his play again, tickling around her kneecap, making her twitch slightly. They are early for dinner, so the restaurant is relatively empty, and there is no one sitting near them. She tries to keep from moving as much as possible, knowing that as soon as he breaks through her control even slightly, she’d be lost. She is so focused on trying not to move that she doesn’t even notice the waitress’ return until she hears him ordering their food. He slows down the tickling slightly but doesn’t stop entirely. She keeps her eyes down, pretending to read the drink menu, so the waitress can’t see her expression.
As soon as the waitress turns her back, he increases the pace of the tickling again, starting at her knees and moving upwards; his fingers slide between her legs, forcing them apart gently, moving higher and higher. She can’t help holding her breath, waiting for him to reach his (and her) goal… but he stops just short of it. She can’t help looking at him then, and the knowing, mischievous smile on his face almost destroys the last bit of control she has left. She wants him to touch her there so badly, and his smile tells her he knows that. He leans over and whispers, softly, “we have all the time in the world tonight, be patient.” Patient? She doesn’t think she can stand another minute of teasing. His fingers start tickling again, softly, moving away and down her legs towards her knees. She can’t help the soft sound of protest, but he ignores her and continues the conversation he had started in the car, as if nothing is happening. She tries to keep her mind on topic, but she knows she is doing a terrible job at pretending to be her normal quick-witted, sarcastic self.
Thankfully, the food comes fairly quickly, and while she misses his hands on her thigh, she is glad for the reprieve, the chance to pull herself together. Despite her earlier misgivings, she does enjoy the food, though she is too excited and nervous to eat much. She notices, with slightly malicious satisfaction, that he also eats little, confirming her suspicion that couldn’t be unaffected by this. When he notices that she is also done eating, he calls the waitress over and asks for the check and a couple of to-go boxes. While the waitress is gone, his hand returns to torture her legs, reawakening all the nerve endings and pushing her close to the edge of desperation again by the time the waitress returns. He has the cash ready and pays right away, giving a generous tip. He packs the food up quickly, and they are soon on their way out the door. While they are walking, he puts his arms around her as if to support her, lightly tickling her sides in the process. She can’t help a small twitch but manages not to show her reaction enough to alert others. When they are back in the car he goes back to torturing her left leg, briefly tickling across the crotch of her panties, making her arch her back into the seat to simultaneously get away from the feeling and push towards it. “I can’t wait to have you in my bed tonight. I can’t wait to test your limits, test your will, test your stubbornness. I have been looking forward to this for so long.” She can’t help shivering at his words, though she can’t decide whether from arousal, anticipation or trepidation.
Soon they are back in his apartment. This time he slowly slides her light jacket off, tickling down her bare arms as he does so. The shivers running up and down her spine are now continuous, and they are definitely shivers of arousal. She wants to push herself against him, grind into him, make him want her as much as she wants him, but he moves away as if he anticipates her need. He hangs up her coat, lets her take off her shoes, and leads her towards the bedroom. She has never been in his apartment before. Normally, she would look around, try to get an impression of him by looking at his space, but her mind is fully focused on the bedroom.
When she gets to the door of the bedroom, she sees a queen sized bed, stripped of the covers. Her eyes are immediately drawn to the corners of the bed, where he has rigged soft cuffs. She knows she’s in for it now, there is no turning back at this point, and she doesn’t want to. He stands behind her and starts slowly tickling her again, across her shoulders, and down her sides, paying particular attention to the places that make her squirm slightly. His hands travel down her sides and down the sides of her legs, until they get to the bottom of her dress. He slowly starts tickling up the inside of her legs, pushing the dress up further and further, making it hard for her to stand still, to not clench her legs together. His fingers start moving to the backs of her legs and reach the bottom of her butt. She reaches back and grabs onto his shoulders, trying hard not to move. It is simultaneously more ticklish and more erotic than she would ever have thought possible. Still his fingers are moving up further, taking the dress with them: up the super sensitive edges of her butt crack until he gets to the hot-spot at the top, and she can’t help jerking away. Since he had been gathering her dress in his hands, however, she can’t move far. “Oh, are you ticklish there? I’ll remember that”. Damn, she is already giving herself away. But his hands keep moving, now exploring the naked skin above the top of her pantyhose, traveling up her sides, finding new sensitive areas. He guides her arms up with his hands, tickling up her sides and into her exposed underarms, while she fights not to move from her position, not to bring her arms down, though she can’t help squirming. Finally, the dress is off.
He moves around her, looking at her, still not letting her put her arms down. She feels exposed, but at this point that is only turning her on more. Is there anything he could do that wouldn’t? Knowing what tonight would hold, she had bought a whisper thin satin bra. She had experimented at home and realized she was insanely sensitive being touched through the bra. He slowly moves towards her, softly tickling under her arms and the sides of her breasts, slowly moving across the bottom of her breasts and… down. She wants to scream, wants to beg him to tickle her breasts, but manages to hold onto her dignity and pride and clamps her mouth shut. Meanwhile his fingers are exploring her stomach area and then start the slow, torturous, tickling path to taking her pantyhose off. He has obviously planned this: he tickles around the top of the still-covered area, then rolls the pantyhose down and tickles the newly exposed skin. The sensations between being tickled with the pantyhose and without are different, but both highly erotic and extremely ticklish. When he gets to the top of her panty line, she feels like she is going to jump out of her skin. The tickling so close to where she wants him to touch her sets her nerves on fire, makes her want him more than she had ever wanted anyone, more than she had ever thought possible. But he continues his torture, tickling down her legs until finally the pantyhose is off as well.
He guides her towards the bed and pushes her down until she is lying on the bed with him on top of her. Suddenly, he starts tickling for real, making her squirm, making it impossible for her not to fight back. They wrestle for a while, all the sexual tension that had built up releasing into laughter and trying to gain the upper hand. Finally, he is on top of her again, and she can feel his mood shift. He softly guides her hands to the cuffs, asking her with his eyes whether she is ok with that. She replies by placing her hands in the hand cuffs and spreading her legs to place her feet in the feet cuffs.
The relieved and excited smile on his face tugs at her control, she wants him so badly. He cuffs her quickly, and then steps back to take in the picture. She is his to play with, his to explore, and she can see how much he loves the feeling of power that gives him. He almost abandons the rest of his plan right then and there, but he reminds himself how much more he will enjoy it if he followed what he has mapped out for tonight. Thinking about how much more SHE will enjoy gives him strength, though the trust in her eyes almost shatters his resolve.
He sits on her hips, and slowly starts tickling down her arms: from her elbows to the inside of her arms, until he gets to her armpits. He spends some time there, enough to make her realize how helpless she is, but not enough to make her regret it, though he pushes that boundary. Then his fingers move back to the sides of her breast, tickling in concentric circles around each breast, getting closer and closer to the nipple with every circle. She almost wishes she had chosen a different bra. The touch of his hands, and his fingernails, through the satin tickles so much and simultaneously arouses her more than she had anticipated. When he finally gets to her nipples, she can’t help arching her back in reaction, so much she almost throws him off her. She feels like her nipples are connected right to her groin, driving the desire up more than she thought possible. She can’t help grinding her hips up, begging him silently to touch her there. He just smiles that knowing smile again and keeps tickling her nipples. The feeling is indescribable, simultaneously excruciatingly ticklish and insanely arousing.
Finally, he moves to sit on her right side, so he can tickle her nipples with one hand and slowly, torturously slowly, tickle his way down her side until he reaches her panty line again. The combination of being tickled there and on her nipples at the same time shatters any semblance of dignity she has left, and she starts begging softly while thrusting her hips into his hand, seeking the contact she needs. His hands move across the fabric, avoiding her clit, and start tickling her lips. She never realized how ticklish she is there, never realized that it is possible to be sure that you cannot endure one minute more and simultaneously be sure you could not endure it if it stopped.
He loves watching her reaction, watching her lose control completely, realizing how much she wants him, that she is fully in his control. He slowly tickles up the inside of her lips, until her back is as arched as the cuffs allow, and then stops… and just holds his hand there. Her eyes, which had been shut, fly open and he can see the desperation, the longing, the wanting, and the accusation. The feeling of power is overwhelming. He didn’t know he could feel this way, enjoy having this power over someone so much. And then he finally starts tickling her nipples again and moves to the spot she has been wanting him to touch since he started playing with her legs in the car.
It doesn’t take long. She has the most intense orgasm of her life almost as soon as he touches her there, but he doesn’t stop. He slows down on the tickling in both places, but doesn’t stop and she comes again, and again, like aftershocks to an earthquake. When she is finally done, she feels completely worn out and more relaxed than she has felt in a very long time. He lies down, half on top of her, wrapping her in his arms and holding her close while the residual waves of pleasure wash over her.
