AaronTheCreator
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Here's part II of Beg for Emily. You can find part 1 here: http://www.ticklingforum.com/showthread.php?307628-Beg-for-Emily-(Mostly-f-m-with-some-f-mf).
___________________________________________________
LUCY
I had to hand it to Emily - the woman knew how to build suspense. I pondered my position and did my best to clear my mind. Listening to massage music is slightly less relaxing when you’re waiting for someone to trace their finger nails down the soles of your feet.
I was completely cut off from the world. Blindfolded and gagged, I couldn’t see, or speak, or hear anything but massage music. Emily had turned up the music coming out of her phone, or radio, or whatever and it drowned out every other noise in the room. She was playing the same adult contemporary station on Spotify that she always used. Over time, my response to the music had become almost Pavlovian. Just a few notes of Enya in real life was enough to make me clench my toes and have a throbbing urge to immediately drive home and fuck my fiancé, Alex.
Speaking of Alex, I could feel him struggling to my left, but he’d calmed down quite a bit. Emily was taking turns playing with us, and it was still Alex’s turn. I could hear his muffled laughter now and then, but it wasn’t as frantic as when Emily had first started.
I couldn’t help but smile thinking of tiny Emily completely controlling my strapping fiancé with a few swipes of her nails.
At 6’4, 230 pounds of solid muscle, Alex cut quite the imposing figure. He is one of the kindest, warmest man in the world, but carried a bit of the youthful arrogance of a man that grew up rich, gifted, and attractive. He was a high school jock turned frat guy turned finance professional, and had a Type A streak that he could never completely turn off. Unfortunately for Alex, most of the women in our circle of friends thought watching an Alpha man beg like a little boy from tickles was better than French toast on Christmas morning.
I introduced Alex to bondage right around the time we first started having sex. In the beginning, I was the submissive 100% of the time, which was perfectly fine by me. I love everything about being tied up. Hoods, handcuffs, blindfolds, ropes – yes please! There’s just something unexplainably divine about the snug feeling of tight constraints and the liberating release of being able to cry or scream or moan into one of my gags as loud as I can. Alex has always indulged my fantasies, and over the years I helped him gain a certain appreciation for playing the submissive role every now and then.
Actually, Emily was in the process of helping him at that very moment.
Alex jerked suddenly. I heard him grunt and then laugh hard into his gag. Alex and I were trapped in Emily’s favorite predicament, and neither he nor I were going anywhere. We were both naked except for straightjackets and leather hoods with accompanying blindfolds and ball gags. Both sets of our feet were sticking out of a huge pair of stocks that looked like they came out of the Spanish Inquisition. The stocks were slightly elevated and held our feet slightly closer than hip length. This position had the effect of being comfortable, but virtually eliminating any leverage we had to move our legs with much force. I’ve seen Alex deadlift almost 600 pounds, but in this position Emily could slowly, deftly play her game with his feet for an hour and even at his most desperate, he could barely make the stocks creak.
I felt air from the slightly opened window glide over my exposed tummy. There was one significant difference between Alex’s situation and mine. I had significantly more skin exposed on my upper body. Alex’s straitjacket was a standard, canvas model I bought for him when we first started playing together. My jacket was more…daring. It was made of black leather and was designed to pin my arms to my torso with the least amount of fabric possible.
It was a minimalistic, but devastatingly effective design. My upper chest, neck, and shoulder blades were covered by thick leather that extended down into long sleeves. A few slim straps and buckles firmly secured pinned arms to my body and kept the upper part of the jacket from riding up. My arms crossed right below my breasts, which were also bare, of course. It was a sexy as it was confining.
I bought the jacket when I had just started college and was still learning the game. I was a typical 18 year old girl, and wanted people to see me as bold and unconventional. The jacket was supposed to be a statement to anyone trying to tame me that said, “I’m not afraid to be tied up by you. See? I’m intentionally and unnecessarily exposing my boobs, my tummy, and my sides. It doesn’t matter what you do because you can’t break me!” This was completely foolish, of course. The first time I wore the jacket during my playmate broke me in 5 minutes and spend the rest of my time forcing me say “tickle my nipples.”
Over the years I’ve become much more comfortable with myself and my needs. I still wear the jacket, but now it’s more of an invitation than a statement. At 30, I want it to say, “I put myself in this situation because this is what I want. I can’t move, I can’t fight back. Want to try to find my spots? If you find one, there’s nothing I can do to stop you.”
I wiggled my elbows from side to side. Whoever designed this had clearly spent some time in bondage. It was perfectly made for extended sessions. I could struggle for hours without anything pinching or chaffing. This was helped in no small part by the fact that the back of my sleeves stopped just below my underarms. This allowed me to struggle without rubbing my skin raw at the most ticklish parts of my body. Because my arms were folded and trapped against my body, my underarms were almost always hidden. Even Emily hadn’t ever seemed to have noticed this design feature. And yet, every time I let someone tie me down in this thing, just the thought the possibility that someone could sneak their fingers into the hollows of my trapped underarms was like stripping naked and sitting in the front row of a roller coaster.
I flexed my toes back and forth to distract me from an itch on my sole that had been bugging me for the last few minutes.
Alex was moving again. Emily was definitely at work, but whatever she was doing to my fiancé seemed to be more teasing than torture. For most of the past hour Alex had been in hysterics. Now his movement seemed less frantic. His lack of thrashing put me on edge. Emily was up to something over there. And if she wasn’t working on Alex, it was only a matter of time before it was my turn.
Alex stopped moving. I thought I heard whispering, but I couldn’t tell over the music.
Suddenly, the bed shifted. Movement. Sound. Crawling. There was weight on top off my hips. It was Emily.
Emily leaned off of me and turned the music down. When she settled again on top of me, she rested her hands on my arms. It was my turn. A new Enya song began.
I started to giggle and reflexively tried to move the ball gag with my tongue. Nothing, not even a little budge. She could have gagged us with duct tape or cloth… something that allowed us to make far less noise. But the noise was part of what Emily loved. Being able to sob but not talk, scream but not reason eventually becomes utterly frustrating and humiliating. Not ideal for innocent play, but Emily always preferred to push her playmates as far as she could.
I felt her soft hands delicately cup my hips. I froze. A moment passed. Then another. Without warning, I felt her thumbs press deeply into the creases in my hip bones.
I twisted back and forth in shock for a moment before I started laughing.
MMMMMPPPMMMM MMMMMMPP HAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAMMMMMMMMMMMP
It tickled so bad. My body sprang into action to try to free itself. My elbows shifted back and forth. I tried to push my arms out, but the straps on my jacket held fast. I was laughing now. I bucked with my hips as hard as I could. They barely moved. She shifted half an inch and struck gold in a new spot. My whole body jumped and then settled down into a steady stream of laughter. After what couldn’t have been more than five minutes, she stopped.
I felt her weight shift. Her face was next to the side of my hood. “Did you miss me, Lucy?” She was whispering in her light, southern accent.
I moaned into my gag. I was already starting to twitch involuntarily.
Even through the leather, her whispers tickled my ear. “Thanks for your patience, love. And thanks for again for lending me your man. I think it may take a while before he lets my tickle his feet again.”
Alex was silent, I wondered if he heard her.
As she whispered, I could feel something faint moving across my breasts. A feather?
Whatever it was, it was just substantial enough to create tingly feeling on my skin. After a minute of light tracing, a second feather joined its friend. Together they slowly circled my breasts until they reached my nipples. Emily kept them there, and started to glide them back and forth.
The feathers moved in precise, extended strokes. They slowly dragged across the surface my nipples before pausing shortly and reversing direction.
“Did you enjoy hearing me play with your big, tough fiancé?”
I nodded. MMMHMMM
“I thought you might.” She chuckled lightly. “Poor Alex. He’s so sweet, but so, so stubborn. All the muscles in the world and all it takes to wreck him is a little bit of tickling. The feathers continued to stroke. I clenched my fists.
“Are you feeling stubborn tonight too, Lucy?”
I shook my head “no.” “
Emily gets off on psychological torment as much as the physical kind, and I’d just heard what she had done to a defiant ticklee.”
“Awww, poor Lucy. I hope Alex didn’t scare you. He’s so noisy sometimes.” The constant movement of the feathers were having an effect. My nipples were on fire. My belly started to spasm. I swallowed a giggle.
“Shhhh it’s too early for that, love.” My nipples throbbed. She continued the steady pace of her feathers.
“We’ll go easy. I want you to relax and concentrate on the sound of my voice. Her southern accent itself like a slow tickle. Light and soothing. But over time, it accentuated the torture unbearably.
The feathers continued to move. Back. Forth. Back. Forth.
“I want you to picture that you’re suspended in a cloud. Feel yourself floating, weightless, high above the world. Feel the tension in your arms and legs melt away.”
Her voice was sensual and soothing. My arms and legs felt heavy and I felt a rising warmth between my legs.
“Feel the breeze as it lightly kisses your skin, sweet Lucy. You’re completely bare, completely exposed to the cloud. Feel the softness as it caresses every part of you.”
Back. Forth. Back. Forth.
My body was starting to ripple giggles. My toes began to flex in their bonds. I felt goosebumps forming down my arms and legs. Emily felt me stiffen. “Shhh, don’t fight it. Feel the cloud caress you. Feel it as the light air begins to focus. Feel it as the breeze finds your safest most tender parts and flows across them.”
I suppressed the first urge to jerk my upper body away from her. Not that it would make much of a difference with Lucy straddling my waist. The sensation of the feathers had accumulated in my chest and had pushed down into my sternum. The butterflies in my stomach were turning into humming birds.
“You’re warm and calm, but the breeze is starting to give you a chill in your safest most tender spots. You feel the nerves in your body -your feet, your hips, your sweet little tummy - start to come alive as that chill starts to tickle ever so slightly.”
My belly shuddered with a suppressed laugh. My nipples were unbearably hard.
Back. Forth.
My upper shoulders twitched as I tried to reposition my body. Emily felt me move and shifted her weight up slightly to better hold my chest in place. The feathery touches were all I could think about. I tried to lift my arms, but my jacket held firm.
“You feel the cloud closing around your arms and legs. The tickles make you want to move, but you can’t. You’re starting to feel confined. The cloud is holding you firm. You’re safe. You’re warm. But the tickles are growing, and you can’t escape them.”
Emily’s voice was like warm molasses. I bucked involuntarily under her. I was chuckling into my gag. She was in my head. In the dark my world was her voice and those two feathers.
“Feel the breeze on your sweet, perky little nipples. They’re so sensitive, so tender.”
I let out a noise. Half laugh, half pathetic sob. I was constantly jerking involuntarily now. Emily’s thighs held my torso firmly as she continued to apply the feathers.
My abs flexed hard as I kept trying to sit up. I couldn’t get leverage and kept falling back to the same position. Each pass across my nipples was sending a shock through my body. My muscles were starting to tense. I noticed that my hands were clenched inside my sleeves.
“That’s it Lucy, don’t fight it. Let go. This is a safe place. You know the tickles aren’t going to stop. You can beg or scream as loud as you want to. I left the windows open, see if you can wake up the neighbors.”
Her taunting was breaking me down as much as the feathers. I was laughing in earnest now. Back. Forth.
“Remember last month at April's apartment? 20 minutes of your electric toothbrush on my nipples. I screamed, and screamed, and screamed. ” I did remember. We’d scheduled a play session downtown during our lunch break. Something about April’s rack always got to Emily.
“They’re something so wicked about nipple tickles, don’t you think? I always feel so devious. Aren’t you so glad your arms are pinned to your chest so that you can enjoy these feathers?”
I vigorously nodded my head “yes” as I rolled to my left and then to my right. I ended up in the same position and the feather touches continued. She was in complete control. Laughter was rolling through me in waves.
“Ask me for more feather tickles.”
MMMRRRR PWEEEZ, PWEEEZ MMMRRMM MMMMMM
“Louder, honey.”
She had me on a razor’s edge. Her feathers had erased my defenses but weren’t quite enough to make me completely spastic. Every nerve in my body was at full alert. For a moment, I wondered if she had an electric toothbrush in her purse.
“I could play with you like this all night, but feather tickles are for good little vanilla girls. Don’t you want to be tickled like a bad girl, Lucy?”
She asked me the question so sweetly, but I immediately felt my stomach roll. Goosebumps burst out across my arms and legs.”
“Is someone nervous??” The light feathers were replaced by her finger tips moving lightly but quickly over the tips of my nipples. The sudden change in sensation made me seize up. I bent my upper body as forward as I could.
“Tell me you want to be tickled like a bad girl.” He voice was light and feminine, almost kind. God, she was good at this.
I was deeply laughing into my gag now. I shook my head back and forth, “MMMOOO, MMOOO UMNOOP A BAH GRLL.”
“You’re not a bad girl?” She traced her hands down my breasts.”
MMMPPP PWEEEZ. IMAAA GOOOM GRLL!!
“Good girls don’t wear leather hoods and ball gags” she teased. Her hands cupped the base of my breasts and waited. “Tell me you want to be tickled like a bad girl.”
She waited a moment for a response, and when I didn’t give her what she wanted she began to squeeze. I screamed in surprise. This time my laughter was loud and frantic. I immediately tried to give her what she had asked for.
OMMMM A BAH GRLL OMMMMMMMMM A BAAAAHH GRLLL HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
“That’s right, you are a bad girl. And tickles are the best thing for bad little girls. Good thing I have my whole evening free.”
I cried out for mercy. I yelled “please”, “thank you”, “ma’am”, “ya’ll”… anything I felt that would appeal to her sense of southern manners or mercy. Nothing made sense coming out of my gag. I was drooling. Nothing mattered but her fucking hands and my breasts exposed by this stupid, brutally effective straight jacket. In between gasping laughter I realized it was probably the best purchase I’d ever made.
Emily and I had been playing the game since we were introduced to it in college. It didn’t matter that I was her go-to cat-sitter, or that I gave her a great ceviche recipe last week. She was going to play my body like a musical instrument without any hint of pity or mercy.
She began pressing on my lower abs. After a few moments of making me scream from that she switched to goosing my sides and poking the ribs that weren’t covered by my bound arms. She was gentle but firm. Her pokes and presses never hurt, but they didn’t give either.
MMMMMMHPPPP HAHAHAHA OOOPPHHMM HAHAHAH MMMMMPPHHHH HAHAHAHA
Emily knew that I would have given her anything right then to stop. The muffled screams, the rising feeling of desperation, the frantic laughter, none of it mattered. Once the game started, it wouldn’t stop until the time we agreed on was up.
She rotated on top of me and crawled towards the foot of the bed. I felt her weight press down on the lower part of my shins. I was painfully aware of just how vulnerable my feet were. My toes flexed in their ties, but my soles didn’t move. I felt her nails start to dig in below my toes and lost all sense of reason.
MMMMMMMOOPHM MMMMMM HAHAHAHAHAHAHA
I thrashed vehemently. My pleading was loud and screeching, but completely incoherent to Emily. I was in agony and she continued. She had to. Rules were rules.
Our game is about choices. My submission, my bondage, and my consent were each a choice I made to give Emily complete power over my body. We played the game to feel the kinds of raw, consuming emotions most people only feel a few times in their entire lives. But we can only feel those emotions if our playmates respect our choices and use the power we give them to push use past our limits, no matter how much we beg.
Her nails stopped. She was rubbing baby oil on my feet. My chest was heaving. She quickly, lightly ran her nails down my feel. I jolted. She giggled and did it again. I tried to slow down my breathing, to stop laughing for a moment and get my…
… I felt her hairbrush on the sole of my right foot and lost all reason.
I couldn’t laugh. I couldn’t beg. I was immediately lost in silent laughter. In between being forced to silently push all of the air out of my lungs, I let out loud, hysterical screams and gasped for air.
Emily ignored my pleas and moved her brush to my left sole. “Somebody is extra ticklish tonight. Only another hour and a half before you’re done. Think you can make it?”
I could tell by her light, playful tone that this wasn’t going to stop anytime soon. After all, if she stopped as soon as I started begging, there would be no game, and no emotional catharsis. There was also the fact that Emily enjoyed tickling willing playmates more than just about anything. She spent her days as a buttoned-up attorney in a downtown, white shoe law firm. She spent her weekends volunteering at her church and planning Junior League events. Everyone who met her in the real world saw her wit and soft kindness. But during playtime, she was as brutal as a Hun.
I’d also marveled that the smile she had when giving an oversized check to a charity was the exact same one she wore when she was slowly dragging the tines of a new, pointy fork up and down someone’s sole. Something she was, in fact, doing to me at moment.
MMMPPPPPPPMMMM MPPPPPHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAHAHA
What Emily does with her fork should be outlawed by the Geneva Convention. She carefully studies the creases and wrinkles of her playmate’s feet and then delicately traces them with her fork. When she comes to the end of a wrinkle, she picks up an adjacent one and continues. The feeling is nothing short of completely unbearable, and Emily knows it’s one of my least favorite ways to be tickled.
MMMPPPPHMMMMMMM HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA MMMMMMMMM PWEEZ PWEEZZZZZZ HAHAHAHAHAHA
My feet are so ticklish that more aggressive tools like brushes or electric toothbrushes send me into silent laughter almost immediately. Not that I enjoy being pushed into silent laughter, but there’s a certain rhythm to it. My body locks up and most of my energy is channeled into pushing laughter out of my lungs and occasionally sucking in deep breaths of air whenever I can. Emily’s fork technique keeps me in a constant state of deep, panicked laughter.
I couldn’t my breath. I couldn’t stop moving. I was a twisting, frantic, begging mess. Finally, Emily stopped tickling my feet.
“Alex dear” she sang like she was waking up a child to go to school.
“Are you getting lonely? I thought your big feet were bad, but I think I forgot how ticklish Lucy’s are. What do you think? Is she more ticklish than you?”
MMMMMMPPHM
Alex’s response was indecipherable.
“Sorry, sweetheart. Could you please say that again?”
This time Alex was much louder. He was clearly trying to say yes.. But all that came out were garbled words.
“Hmmm. I didn’t catch that either. Do you mind if I check for myself?”
Alex let out a shocked gasp. He started gasping for air erratically. A high pitch squeal came from his direction, though it sounded like a girl made it. Classic symptoms of Emily’s fork treatment.
“MMMMMMMHPPPPPH HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH”
“Wow guys, this is really embarrassing. I can’t tell whose feet are more ticklish.” Emily feigned frustration.
“Let’s see, Alex fought harder, but Lucy was a little louder. Normally, I’m so good at this stuff, but I just can’t decide. Let me try something else.”
She started dragging the metal tines of her fork down my left sole. I could hear Alex laughing. Her light technique along with the sharpness of the metal tines were electric. I felt the fork tracing my arch and I let out a blood curdling scream that faded back into frustrated laughter.
MMMMMMPPPMMMM MMMOOOOOOOOOOOO AAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
How in the hell could she do her tracing technique on two people at the same time? The brief break made it worse than before. My lungs were full, and my muscles had relaxed. All at once every part of my body was trying to break something – a toe tie, a strip of leather, a rubber ball.
She stopped.
I didn’t trust this pause for a second. I couldn’t relax like that again. Every inch of my body was tingling, my soles in particular. I had a feeling that when Emily finally let me out, I’d find a grid of tiny red lines all over the bottoms of my feet. I wanted to break every fork Emily ever owned.
“Guys, I think this may be a first, I can’t tell which of you is more ticklish. I think I owe it to both of you to get to the bottom of this.”
Alex and I both moaned into our gags.
“Come on ya’ll, this is going to be fun for all of us. Wait right here, I just had an idea.” Emily jumped up from the foot of the bed and skipped out of her room. After about a minute of silence, it sounded like Emily was talking to someone, but I couldn’t make out the conversation. I tried to keep from relaxing just in case Emily came back with another brutal kitchen implement.
I heard her walking back towards the bed. My eyes clenched and I balled my fists waiting for the tickles to start again. Instead I felt her reach around my head and unbuckle my gag. She helped slide the rubber ball out of my mouth.
Emily walked over and did the same to Alex.
“We’re going to play a new game”
As she started to explain the ground rules, the butterflies my stomach started to move again.
___________________________________________________
LUCY
I had to hand it to Emily - the woman knew how to build suspense. I pondered my position and did my best to clear my mind. Listening to massage music is slightly less relaxing when you’re waiting for someone to trace their finger nails down the soles of your feet.
I was completely cut off from the world. Blindfolded and gagged, I couldn’t see, or speak, or hear anything but massage music. Emily had turned up the music coming out of her phone, or radio, or whatever and it drowned out every other noise in the room. She was playing the same adult contemporary station on Spotify that she always used. Over time, my response to the music had become almost Pavlovian. Just a few notes of Enya in real life was enough to make me clench my toes and have a throbbing urge to immediately drive home and fuck my fiancé, Alex.
Speaking of Alex, I could feel him struggling to my left, but he’d calmed down quite a bit. Emily was taking turns playing with us, and it was still Alex’s turn. I could hear his muffled laughter now and then, but it wasn’t as frantic as when Emily had first started.
I couldn’t help but smile thinking of tiny Emily completely controlling my strapping fiancé with a few swipes of her nails.
At 6’4, 230 pounds of solid muscle, Alex cut quite the imposing figure. He is one of the kindest, warmest man in the world, but carried a bit of the youthful arrogance of a man that grew up rich, gifted, and attractive. He was a high school jock turned frat guy turned finance professional, and had a Type A streak that he could never completely turn off. Unfortunately for Alex, most of the women in our circle of friends thought watching an Alpha man beg like a little boy from tickles was better than French toast on Christmas morning.
I introduced Alex to bondage right around the time we first started having sex. In the beginning, I was the submissive 100% of the time, which was perfectly fine by me. I love everything about being tied up. Hoods, handcuffs, blindfolds, ropes – yes please! There’s just something unexplainably divine about the snug feeling of tight constraints and the liberating release of being able to cry or scream or moan into one of my gags as loud as I can. Alex has always indulged my fantasies, and over the years I helped him gain a certain appreciation for playing the submissive role every now and then.
Actually, Emily was in the process of helping him at that very moment.
Alex jerked suddenly. I heard him grunt and then laugh hard into his gag. Alex and I were trapped in Emily’s favorite predicament, and neither he nor I were going anywhere. We were both naked except for straightjackets and leather hoods with accompanying blindfolds and ball gags. Both sets of our feet were sticking out of a huge pair of stocks that looked like they came out of the Spanish Inquisition. The stocks were slightly elevated and held our feet slightly closer than hip length. This position had the effect of being comfortable, but virtually eliminating any leverage we had to move our legs with much force. I’ve seen Alex deadlift almost 600 pounds, but in this position Emily could slowly, deftly play her game with his feet for an hour and even at his most desperate, he could barely make the stocks creak.
I felt air from the slightly opened window glide over my exposed tummy. There was one significant difference between Alex’s situation and mine. I had significantly more skin exposed on my upper body. Alex’s straitjacket was a standard, canvas model I bought for him when we first started playing together. My jacket was more…daring. It was made of black leather and was designed to pin my arms to my torso with the least amount of fabric possible.
It was a minimalistic, but devastatingly effective design. My upper chest, neck, and shoulder blades were covered by thick leather that extended down into long sleeves. A few slim straps and buckles firmly secured pinned arms to my body and kept the upper part of the jacket from riding up. My arms crossed right below my breasts, which were also bare, of course. It was a sexy as it was confining.
I bought the jacket when I had just started college and was still learning the game. I was a typical 18 year old girl, and wanted people to see me as bold and unconventional. The jacket was supposed to be a statement to anyone trying to tame me that said, “I’m not afraid to be tied up by you. See? I’m intentionally and unnecessarily exposing my boobs, my tummy, and my sides. It doesn’t matter what you do because you can’t break me!” This was completely foolish, of course. The first time I wore the jacket during my playmate broke me in 5 minutes and spend the rest of my time forcing me say “tickle my nipples.”
Over the years I’ve become much more comfortable with myself and my needs. I still wear the jacket, but now it’s more of an invitation than a statement. At 30, I want it to say, “I put myself in this situation because this is what I want. I can’t move, I can’t fight back. Want to try to find my spots? If you find one, there’s nothing I can do to stop you.”
I wiggled my elbows from side to side. Whoever designed this had clearly spent some time in bondage. It was perfectly made for extended sessions. I could struggle for hours without anything pinching or chaffing. This was helped in no small part by the fact that the back of my sleeves stopped just below my underarms. This allowed me to struggle without rubbing my skin raw at the most ticklish parts of my body. Because my arms were folded and trapped against my body, my underarms were almost always hidden. Even Emily hadn’t ever seemed to have noticed this design feature. And yet, every time I let someone tie me down in this thing, just the thought the possibility that someone could sneak their fingers into the hollows of my trapped underarms was like stripping naked and sitting in the front row of a roller coaster.
I flexed my toes back and forth to distract me from an itch on my sole that had been bugging me for the last few minutes.
Alex was moving again. Emily was definitely at work, but whatever she was doing to my fiancé seemed to be more teasing than torture. For most of the past hour Alex had been in hysterics. Now his movement seemed less frantic. His lack of thrashing put me on edge. Emily was up to something over there. And if she wasn’t working on Alex, it was only a matter of time before it was my turn.
Alex stopped moving. I thought I heard whispering, but I couldn’t tell over the music.
Suddenly, the bed shifted. Movement. Sound. Crawling. There was weight on top off my hips. It was Emily.
Emily leaned off of me and turned the music down. When she settled again on top of me, she rested her hands on my arms. It was my turn. A new Enya song began.
I started to giggle and reflexively tried to move the ball gag with my tongue. Nothing, not even a little budge. She could have gagged us with duct tape or cloth… something that allowed us to make far less noise. But the noise was part of what Emily loved. Being able to sob but not talk, scream but not reason eventually becomes utterly frustrating and humiliating. Not ideal for innocent play, but Emily always preferred to push her playmates as far as she could.
I felt her soft hands delicately cup my hips. I froze. A moment passed. Then another. Without warning, I felt her thumbs press deeply into the creases in my hip bones.
I twisted back and forth in shock for a moment before I started laughing.
MMMMMPPPMMMM MMMMMMPP HAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAMMMMMMMMMMMP
It tickled so bad. My body sprang into action to try to free itself. My elbows shifted back and forth. I tried to push my arms out, but the straps on my jacket held fast. I was laughing now. I bucked with my hips as hard as I could. They barely moved. She shifted half an inch and struck gold in a new spot. My whole body jumped and then settled down into a steady stream of laughter. After what couldn’t have been more than five minutes, she stopped.
I felt her weight shift. Her face was next to the side of my hood. “Did you miss me, Lucy?” She was whispering in her light, southern accent.
I moaned into my gag. I was already starting to twitch involuntarily.
Even through the leather, her whispers tickled my ear. “Thanks for your patience, love. And thanks for again for lending me your man. I think it may take a while before he lets my tickle his feet again.”
Alex was silent, I wondered if he heard her.
As she whispered, I could feel something faint moving across my breasts. A feather?
Whatever it was, it was just substantial enough to create tingly feeling on my skin. After a minute of light tracing, a second feather joined its friend. Together they slowly circled my breasts until they reached my nipples. Emily kept them there, and started to glide them back and forth.
The feathers moved in precise, extended strokes. They slowly dragged across the surface my nipples before pausing shortly and reversing direction.
“Did you enjoy hearing me play with your big, tough fiancé?”
I nodded. MMMHMMM
“I thought you might.” She chuckled lightly. “Poor Alex. He’s so sweet, but so, so stubborn. All the muscles in the world and all it takes to wreck him is a little bit of tickling. The feathers continued to stroke. I clenched my fists.
“Are you feeling stubborn tonight too, Lucy?”
I shook my head “no.” “
Emily gets off on psychological torment as much as the physical kind, and I’d just heard what she had done to a defiant ticklee.”
“Awww, poor Lucy. I hope Alex didn’t scare you. He’s so noisy sometimes.” The constant movement of the feathers were having an effect. My nipples were on fire. My belly started to spasm. I swallowed a giggle.
“Shhhh it’s too early for that, love.” My nipples throbbed. She continued the steady pace of her feathers.
“We’ll go easy. I want you to relax and concentrate on the sound of my voice. Her southern accent itself like a slow tickle. Light and soothing. But over time, it accentuated the torture unbearably.
The feathers continued to move. Back. Forth. Back. Forth.
“I want you to picture that you’re suspended in a cloud. Feel yourself floating, weightless, high above the world. Feel the tension in your arms and legs melt away.”
Her voice was sensual and soothing. My arms and legs felt heavy and I felt a rising warmth between my legs.
“Feel the breeze as it lightly kisses your skin, sweet Lucy. You’re completely bare, completely exposed to the cloud. Feel the softness as it caresses every part of you.”
Back. Forth. Back. Forth.
My body was starting to ripple giggles. My toes began to flex in their bonds. I felt goosebumps forming down my arms and legs. Emily felt me stiffen. “Shhh, don’t fight it. Feel the cloud caress you. Feel it as the light air begins to focus. Feel it as the breeze finds your safest most tender parts and flows across them.”
I suppressed the first urge to jerk my upper body away from her. Not that it would make much of a difference with Lucy straddling my waist. The sensation of the feathers had accumulated in my chest and had pushed down into my sternum. The butterflies in my stomach were turning into humming birds.
“You’re warm and calm, but the breeze is starting to give you a chill in your safest most tender spots. You feel the nerves in your body -your feet, your hips, your sweet little tummy - start to come alive as that chill starts to tickle ever so slightly.”
My belly shuddered with a suppressed laugh. My nipples were unbearably hard.
Back. Forth.
My upper shoulders twitched as I tried to reposition my body. Emily felt me move and shifted her weight up slightly to better hold my chest in place. The feathery touches were all I could think about. I tried to lift my arms, but my jacket held firm.
“You feel the cloud closing around your arms and legs. The tickles make you want to move, but you can’t. You’re starting to feel confined. The cloud is holding you firm. You’re safe. You’re warm. But the tickles are growing, and you can’t escape them.”
Emily’s voice was like warm molasses. I bucked involuntarily under her. I was chuckling into my gag. She was in my head. In the dark my world was her voice and those two feathers.
“Feel the breeze on your sweet, perky little nipples. They’re so sensitive, so tender.”
I let out a noise. Half laugh, half pathetic sob. I was constantly jerking involuntarily now. Emily’s thighs held my torso firmly as she continued to apply the feathers.
My abs flexed hard as I kept trying to sit up. I couldn’t get leverage and kept falling back to the same position. Each pass across my nipples was sending a shock through my body. My muscles were starting to tense. I noticed that my hands were clenched inside my sleeves.
“That’s it Lucy, don’t fight it. Let go. This is a safe place. You know the tickles aren’t going to stop. You can beg or scream as loud as you want to. I left the windows open, see if you can wake up the neighbors.”
Her taunting was breaking me down as much as the feathers. I was laughing in earnest now. Back. Forth.
“Remember last month at April's apartment? 20 minutes of your electric toothbrush on my nipples. I screamed, and screamed, and screamed. ” I did remember. We’d scheduled a play session downtown during our lunch break. Something about April’s rack always got to Emily.
“They’re something so wicked about nipple tickles, don’t you think? I always feel so devious. Aren’t you so glad your arms are pinned to your chest so that you can enjoy these feathers?”
I vigorously nodded my head “yes” as I rolled to my left and then to my right. I ended up in the same position and the feather touches continued. She was in complete control. Laughter was rolling through me in waves.
“Ask me for more feather tickles.”
MMMRRRR PWEEEZ, PWEEEZ MMMRRMM MMMMMM
“Louder, honey.”
She had me on a razor’s edge. Her feathers had erased my defenses but weren’t quite enough to make me completely spastic. Every nerve in my body was at full alert. For a moment, I wondered if she had an electric toothbrush in her purse.
“I could play with you like this all night, but feather tickles are for good little vanilla girls. Don’t you want to be tickled like a bad girl, Lucy?”
She asked me the question so sweetly, but I immediately felt my stomach roll. Goosebumps burst out across my arms and legs.”
“Is someone nervous??” The light feathers were replaced by her finger tips moving lightly but quickly over the tips of my nipples. The sudden change in sensation made me seize up. I bent my upper body as forward as I could.
“Tell me you want to be tickled like a bad girl.” He voice was light and feminine, almost kind. God, she was good at this.
I was deeply laughing into my gag now. I shook my head back and forth, “MMMOOO, MMOOO UMNOOP A BAH GRLL.”
“You’re not a bad girl?” She traced her hands down my breasts.”
MMMPPP PWEEEZ. IMAAA GOOOM GRLL!!
“Good girls don’t wear leather hoods and ball gags” she teased. Her hands cupped the base of my breasts and waited. “Tell me you want to be tickled like a bad girl.”
She waited a moment for a response, and when I didn’t give her what she wanted she began to squeeze. I screamed in surprise. This time my laughter was loud and frantic. I immediately tried to give her what she had asked for.
OMMMM A BAH GRLL OMMMMMMMMM A BAAAAHH GRLLL HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
“That’s right, you are a bad girl. And tickles are the best thing for bad little girls. Good thing I have my whole evening free.”
I cried out for mercy. I yelled “please”, “thank you”, “ma’am”, “ya’ll”… anything I felt that would appeal to her sense of southern manners or mercy. Nothing made sense coming out of my gag. I was drooling. Nothing mattered but her fucking hands and my breasts exposed by this stupid, brutally effective straight jacket. In between gasping laughter I realized it was probably the best purchase I’d ever made.
Emily and I had been playing the game since we were introduced to it in college. It didn’t matter that I was her go-to cat-sitter, or that I gave her a great ceviche recipe last week. She was going to play my body like a musical instrument without any hint of pity or mercy.
She began pressing on my lower abs. After a few moments of making me scream from that she switched to goosing my sides and poking the ribs that weren’t covered by my bound arms. She was gentle but firm. Her pokes and presses never hurt, but they didn’t give either.
MMMMMMHPPPP HAHAHAHA OOOPPHHMM HAHAHAH MMMMMPPHHHH HAHAHAHA
Emily knew that I would have given her anything right then to stop. The muffled screams, the rising feeling of desperation, the frantic laughter, none of it mattered. Once the game started, it wouldn’t stop until the time we agreed on was up.
She rotated on top of me and crawled towards the foot of the bed. I felt her weight press down on the lower part of my shins. I was painfully aware of just how vulnerable my feet were. My toes flexed in their ties, but my soles didn’t move. I felt her nails start to dig in below my toes and lost all sense of reason.
MMMMMMMOOPHM MMMMMM HAHAHAHAHAHAHA
I thrashed vehemently. My pleading was loud and screeching, but completely incoherent to Emily. I was in agony and she continued. She had to. Rules were rules.
Our game is about choices. My submission, my bondage, and my consent were each a choice I made to give Emily complete power over my body. We played the game to feel the kinds of raw, consuming emotions most people only feel a few times in their entire lives. But we can only feel those emotions if our playmates respect our choices and use the power we give them to push use past our limits, no matter how much we beg.
Her nails stopped. She was rubbing baby oil on my feet. My chest was heaving. She quickly, lightly ran her nails down my feel. I jolted. She giggled and did it again. I tried to slow down my breathing, to stop laughing for a moment and get my…
… I felt her hairbrush on the sole of my right foot and lost all reason.
I couldn’t laugh. I couldn’t beg. I was immediately lost in silent laughter. In between being forced to silently push all of the air out of my lungs, I let out loud, hysterical screams and gasped for air.
Emily ignored my pleas and moved her brush to my left sole. “Somebody is extra ticklish tonight. Only another hour and a half before you’re done. Think you can make it?”
I could tell by her light, playful tone that this wasn’t going to stop anytime soon. After all, if she stopped as soon as I started begging, there would be no game, and no emotional catharsis. There was also the fact that Emily enjoyed tickling willing playmates more than just about anything. She spent her days as a buttoned-up attorney in a downtown, white shoe law firm. She spent her weekends volunteering at her church and planning Junior League events. Everyone who met her in the real world saw her wit and soft kindness. But during playtime, she was as brutal as a Hun.
I’d also marveled that the smile she had when giving an oversized check to a charity was the exact same one she wore when she was slowly dragging the tines of a new, pointy fork up and down someone’s sole. Something she was, in fact, doing to me at moment.
MMMPPPPPPPMMMM MPPPPPHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAHAHA
What Emily does with her fork should be outlawed by the Geneva Convention. She carefully studies the creases and wrinkles of her playmate’s feet and then delicately traces them with her fork. When she comes to the end of a wrinkle, she picks up an adjacent one and continues. The feeling is nothing short of completely unbearable, and Emily knows it’s one of my least favorite ways to be tickled.
MMMPPPPHMMMMMMM HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA MMMMMMMMM PWEEZ PWEEZZZZZZ HAHAHAHAHAHA
My feet are so ticklish that more aggressive tools like brushes or electric toothbrushes send me into silent laughter almost immediately. Not that I enjoy being pushed into silent laughter, but there’s a certain rhythm to it. My body locks up and most of my energy is channeled into pushing laughter out of my lungs and occasionally sucking in deep breaths of air whenever I can. Emily’s fork technique keeps me in a constant state of deep, panicked laughter.
I couldn’t my breath. I couldn’t stop moving. I was a twisting, frantic, begging mess. Finally, Emily stopped tickling my feet.
“Alex dear” she sang like she was waking up a child to go to school.
“Are you getting lonely? I thought your big feet were bad, but I think I forgot how ticklish Lucy’s are. What do you think? Is she more ticklish than you?”
MMMMMMPPHM
Alex’s response was indecipherable.
“Sorry, sweetheart. Could you please say that again?”
This time Alex was much louder. He was clearly trying to say yes.. But all that came out were garbled words.
“Hmmm. I didn’t catch that either. Do you mind if I check for myself?”
Alex let out a shocked gasp. He started gasping for air erratically. A high pitch squeal came from his direction, though it sounded like a girl made it. Classic symptoms of Emily’s fork treatment.
“MMMMMMMHPPPPPH HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH”
“Wow guys, this is really embarrassing. I can’t tell whose feet are more ticklish.” Emily feigned frustration.
“Let’s see, Alex fought harder, but Lucy was a little louder. Normally, I’m so good at this stuff, but I just can’t decide. Let me try something else.”
She started dragging the metal tines of her fork down my left sole. I could hear Alex laughing. Her light technique along with the sharpness of the metal tines were electric. I felt the fork tracing my arch and I let out a blood curdling scream that faded back into frustrated laughter.
MMMMMMPPPMMMM MMMOOOOOOOOOOOO AAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
How in the hell could she do her tracing technique on two people at the same time? The brief break made it worse than before. My lungs were full, and my muscles had relaxed. All at once every part of my body was trying to break something – a toe tie, a strip of leather, a rubber ball.
She stopped.
I didn’t trust this pause for a second. I couldn’t relax like that again. Every inch of my body was tingling, my soles in particular. I had a feeling that when Emily finally let me out, I’d find a grid of tiny red lines all over the bottoms of my feet. I wanted to break every fork Emily ever owned.
“Guys, I think this may be a first, I can’t tell which of you is more ticklish. I think I owe it to both of you to get to the bottom of this.”
Alex and I both moaned into our gags.
“Come on ya’ll, this is going to be fun for all of us. Wait right here, I just had an idea.” Emily jumped up from the foot of the bed and skipped out of her room. After about a minute of silence, it sounded like Emily was talking to someone, but I couldn’t make out the conversation. I tried to keep from relaxing just in case Emily came back with another brutal kitchen implement.
I heard her walking back towards the bed. My eyes clenched and I balled my fists waiting for the tickles to start again. Instead I felt her reach around my head and unbuckle my gag. She helped slide the rubber ball out of my mouth.
Emily walked over and did the same to Alex.
“We’re going to play a new game”
As she started to explain the ground rules, the butterflies my stomach started to move again.
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Looking forward to the next part. 
