Here's a fake true story:
By the time I had turned eighteen and was a senior in high school, I was well aware of my love for tickling girls. However, I had never had the opportunity to fully indulge that love until the day that this account took place. Sure, I had exploited many an opportunity to “goose” a ticklish waist or tickle a bare foot when the chance arose. But, what I longed to do most, was to systematically explore EVERY possible tickle spot on a fully restrained girl. It was a dream I’d fantasized about long before I even knew what sex was and it was a dream that I had quite nearly lost all hope of ever living out because of how unusual it is. That was until this day.
I lived in a small town way down South and was working at the only grocery store around. At that time, they still provided home deliveries, which was my primary job. Now, Mrs. Tuttle’s order was one that I always looked forward to delivering because she’d invariably flirt with me while I was at her house and she was actually kind of cute for her age. I’d say she was over 40, but with her long blond hair and enormous breasts on her curvy tan figure, I always welcomed her flirtatious teasing.
I never thought it would amount to anything, really. After all, she’d been married for many years, had a kid who’d already gone off to college, and she was probably more than twice my age…but that didn’t make it any less fun, for some reason. On this particular day, I was delivering her standard order at the same time I did every week, so she should have been expecting me. She didn’t answer my knocks at the door, though, so I went around to tap on a side window because I didn’t want to leave without making the delivery. As it turned out, it was to the main bedroom. However, it wasn’t until I had already rapped my knuckles against the pane that I realized that Mrs. Tuttle was in right in front of me, completely naked, and in the process of having an affair with a man whom I recognized as one of her neighbors. I remember being struck by how white her large breasts were, in contrast to the rest of her body.
Well, she saw me right away and the expressions on both their faces were of complete shock as they scrambled to cover themselves. I think the guilt of the situation surpassed the embarrassment, though, because when I told her that I would just leave the bags on the front step, she didn’t seem upset at all that I had peeked in on them. Instead, she instantly pleaded to me through the closed window to wait for her to get dressed so that she could talk to me. She seemed so intent on my staying (almost desperate, actually), that I just couldn’t refuse her.
As I stood out front waiting and smoking a cigarette, I began to hear intense whispering just before the door opened and the man emerged quickly, then departed without even making eye contact. With a smirk on my face, I glanced up at Mrs. Tuttle, who was now clothed and standing in the doorway looking up and down the street to see if any of this was being observed. She then quickly waved me inside and into the front room. Once she had closed the door and seen my grin, she slapped my arm and started scolding me for looking in her window. But, she did it in kind of a teasing manner, because she couldn’t very well be mad at me for her predicament. She even laughed a little as everything began to sink in.
“You got busted, Mrs. Tuttle”, I said, teasing her a little.
“Tom”, she said pleadingly again, “you can’t tell ANYONE about this. PLEASE!!!” But, what she said next really got my attention. “PLEASE, Tom, I’ll do anything! Please promise to keep this a secret for me, pleeease.”
As she spoke, she reached out and grasped my arm to make sure that I was getting her message. I was getting it. My heart had started to race, but I wasn’t bold enough to make a serious move on such a mature woman. I was no virgin, but this was a little intimidating, because I was uncertain whether or not she was just playing a game with me.
“I don’t know…” I continued to tease, hoping that she’d follow suit and be even more forward.
“Come on Tom, there must be something I could do for you” she said seductively. “Isn’t there anything you’ve always wanted to do?” She waited a few seconds, as I appeared to think it over and then said, “I’ll do it, Tom, whatever it is. You just have to promise, OK?”
My courage was building. “Well…” I said with feigned uncertainty, “there is something.”
“What?” she chimed in enthusiastically.
I dropped my eyes and continued a little nervously, “I’ve always wanted to tie a girl up and t-touch her…all over?” Some how, it turned into a question at the end.
Mrs. Tuttle raised an eyebrow and put her hand on her hip. “Well, you are a naughty boy aren’t you?” I could tell that I’d surprised her a bit, but she played right along. “And you want me to be tied up while you…touch me all over?” I just shrugged and smiled a little. She smiled back. “Well, OK, but you have to promise not to tell. Do you promise?”
My heart nearly stopped. “OK.” I said as I ogled her figure. She was wearing cut-off denim shorts that perfectly framed her womanly hips. Her deeply tanned thighs and calves, so firm and shapely that they had caught my attention before, looked smooth and almost shiny as I glanced down to see that her tan feet disappeared into fuzzy powder blue slippers. She had also put on a blue sleeveless button-down shirt, the tails of which she had tied together in a knot so that her bare tummy was showing. “I promise.”
She turned and began to lead me to the bedroom, glancing over her shoulder to make sure I was following. I was.
Mrs. Tuttle grabbed a handful of her husband’s ties and tossed them onto the bed. Then, she plopped down next to them and threw her hands above her head. “Ok,” she said, “but be gentle.”
“I will,” I responded, taking up one of the neck ties, “hurting you is the last thing I want to do.”
I used the ties to bind her hands and feet firmly into a spread-eagle position to all four posts of her bed. When I was done, she thrust out her chest a little and spoke.
“What are you going to do to me…now that you have me all tied up?” she said with a fake worry in her voice. She shook her breasts a little in invitation.
She had no idea what was coming. Much to her surprise, I ignored the temptation to feel her beautiful mountains of flesh and went down to the foot of the bed where her furry blue slippers still covered her little tan feet.
“Oh, are you going to take my clothes off?” she inquired.
I answered by inserting my fingertips between the bottom of her right slipper and her bare foot so that I could touch the center of her high arch. She flinched, trying to pull her foot away, but she was too well restrained.
“CAREFUL,” she said quickly, “that tickles!”
“It does?” I said sarcastically. “Then, I guess you wouldn’t want me to do this?” And I started to scrabble my fingertips around the bottom of her foot inside her slipper. “Tickle, tickle, tickle.”
“Quit it, quit it, quit, quit, heeheeheehee…STOP….heeheeheehee…” she twisted and pulled more frantically than I had anticipated, trying to get her ticklish foot away from my wiggling fingers, but there wasn’t anything she could do. I just slowly stroked across the smooth skin of her arch as she shook her right leg violently and started pulling at the necktie with more force. She nearly kicked off her bedroom slipper with her struggling, but I relented before she did.
“Oh my God,” she said giggling as she caught her breath, “OK no more tickling. I’m WAY too ticklish. Oh my God.”
“No more tickling?” I said, sounding disappointed. “But, it’s fun.” And with that, I removed both of her blue slippers, leaving her tan pedicured feet bare and vulnerable.
“DON’T YOU DARE!!!” she nearly yelled. “My feet are ticklish. Don’t tickle me anymore, please.”
“Would you rather I tell your husband what I saw today, then?” I teased her.
She whimpered and started to whine her response, “No, but…”
Before she went any farther, I started to lightly tickle the bottom of Mrs. Tuttle’s toes with the tips of my fingers.
She quickly left off what she was saying and squealed like a little girl, “NO!! No, no…EEEEEHEEHEEHEEHEE…STOP…heeheehee…”
She shook her toes back and forth, but I followed right along with them, tickling back and forth underneath every one and especially within that trench lying between the tips of her toes and the balls of her feet, which seemed to drive her absolutely crazy. She clenched her toes into fists and I went on to tickle-scratch both of her arches with all of my fingers. “…ahhhahahaha…oh no, oh nahahahahahahahaha…”
Mrs. Tuttle obviously wasn’t used to going around bare foot, because despite the her dark tan skin, the insteps and arches of her feet were quite fair in color. She also had strips of lighter colored skin across the tops of her small feet that were clearly tan lines from a favorite pair of sandals. I approved of her purple nail polish as she alternately clenched and then spread her little toes apart in response to having me tickle her bare feet. Tickling and touching her high, fair skinned arches while she was bound and unable to stop me was about the most erotic thing I’d ever done in my life and my member was feeling the effect as it strained against the inside of my pants.
“…hahaha…haha…hahahahahaha…Quit tickling meheeheehee…hahahahaha…”
I could tell that she was really trying to get loose at that point, because she was pulling forcefully at her wrist bindings. She had been unable to escape the tickling of her feet for so long, even though she was thrashing her legs around and yanking at the ties around her ankles. From the way she was moving, while she continued to laugh pretty darn hard, it looked like she was working on getting her hands loose, so that she could sit up and grab my hands away. There was no hope of that, though. I had spent five years in the scouts.
I tickled on, up and down the white bottoms of her feet and even on her bare heels and around the sun tanned tops as she tittered, giggled, and laughed in response, pulling and flinching all the while. In a moment of sudden inspiration, I snatched a bottle of skin lotion from her dresser and began to squirt it out over toes and down the soles of her soft feet.
“Oh my God! What are you doing?” she begged. “What are you dooohhoohahahahahahahahahahaha…”
I started to thoroughly massage the lotion into the skin of her feet, but I put kind of ticklish twist on it. I was able to tickle her tender soles a little harder, because of the reduced friction, and I dug in with the tips of all my fingers. I tickle-attacked the peaks of her arches and between her ticklish little toes and she went completely bizerk.
“AHHHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA…neeheeheeheehee….STOP…STAHAHAHAHAHA…”
Attempting to escape my tickling fingers, she contorted her poor ticklish feet in a display that would have made the performers in the Cirque du Soliel proud. Her large bosom shook beneath her form-fitting blouse that was tied beneath them. She was no longer shaking them to seduce me though, but because she couldn’t help it. As she laughed and struggled to cope with having her bare feet tickled, her large bulbous mounds bounced and wiggled in a most appealing way.
“I’ve got too much lotion here.” I said, finally easing up.
“…heeheehee…quit tickling my feet!” she pleaded.
“Well, I’ve got to get rid of some of this lotion” I said climbing up beside her on the bed. “I want to find out where all you’re ticklish, Mrs. Tuttle. “Oh no! I’m ticklish all over! No more tickling!” she demanded and she punctuated it weakly by commencing to giggle.
“Don’t you want to take my shirt off?” she added, clearly trying to redirect me.
“Why? Are you ticklish under your shirt?”
With her shirt tied up, her tummy caught my attention. “Is your belly-button ticklish” I inquired as I inserted my lotion-coated index finger right into her navel and wiggled it vigorously.
“EEEEEEEEEEEEEHEEEHEEEHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE…” she squealed loudly and bucked her denim covered hips around on the bed.
“I guess so,” I said retracting my finger. I untied the knot in her shirttails and unbuttoned her blouse to reveal her queen size breasts. Mrs. Tuttle moaned and sighed approvingly as I did. She had a very distinct tan line which left her bountiful boobies as white as snow. Her nipples were dark brown in contrast and were quite big. At this point, however, they were not yet erect, so I set to work.
“Are these ticklish?” I asked, tickling the undersides of her fair breasts. She just moaned and closed her eyes.
I lightly tickled around the base of her mounds up and around towards the tops. With her arms bound up I came dangerously close to her underarms and I noticed that Mrs. Tuttle flinched as I passed by them. But, I continued to tickle down between her breasts and then around again, only a little closer to her nipples. Her areola quickly began to pucker as I neared them and by the time I’d started to tickle them they were tightly puckered and had pushed her nipples out to their full height. They were quite tall, when erect.
“Are you ticklish here?” I inquired as I lightly tickled underneath both of her stiff nipples. She moaned even louder.
“You know where else I’m ticklish?” she said seductively.
“Where’s that? I asked, continuing to tickle just the tips of her fully aroused nipples and lightly pinching them a little.
“Why don’t you unzip my shorts and find out?” she responded.
“I’ll bet I can find out even before I unzip your shorts” I said as I moved my hands to her oh so vulnerable waist and gave her a tickling that would have made the least ticklish person in the world double over in laughter. But, bound as she was, Mrs. Tuttle couldn’t double over. She could only lie there and endure it as I tickle-massaged her waist and her ticklish ribs all over.
“STOP…STAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA…” she thrashed and squirmed beneath my fingers, her naked breasts bouncing every which way, and laughed even harder and louder than before. Her ticklishness was so beautiful that I just couldn’t get enough. Once I had her laughing with such wild abandon, I didn’t want to stop, so I reached down with one hand to see if she was ticklish on her thighs above her knees as well like so many girls are. She squealed and bucked like a mad woman, laughing harder and harder. The laughter consumed her as my hands squeezed and tickled her vulnerable waist and thighs relentlessly. She shook with laughter and squeezed her eyes shut as tears lolled down her cheeks from it all. I loved seeing her pulling with all her might at all four of her bindings as I just effortlessly reached into the center and drove her utterly insane with tickle induced laughter. I even reached underneath her thighs and tickle-squeezed them from behind, which did not agree with her if the deafening squeals were any sign. I got a similar response when I goosed her between her legs, more high-pitched laughter as she tried to buck my hands off her body.
My manhood finally got the better of me and I decided to stop and remove her shorts. As she began to calm down, I untied both of her bare feet and then removed her cut-offs. She willingly lifted and wiggled her hips to aid in their removal along with her panties. Once they were off, I could see why. Her pussy was aroused and wet with her clitoris poking out, begging for attention.
“Is this were you wanted me to tickle you, Mrs. Tuttle?” I asked as I very lightly tickled the top of her clit with a finger.
“…….unnnnh……” was all she could manage and I saw more of her juices leak from her opening.
“What about down here?” I asked her. “Are you ticklish down here?” And I started to very gently tickle the outermost parts of her labia with the tips of my fingers. Mrs. Tuttle spread her tanned legs wide apart, closed her eyes, and moaned her approval.
I shed my clothes, quickly, and entered her welcoming womanhood. She wrapped her legs around me as I slowly moved in and out of her.
As she lay there with her wrists still bound above her head and her eyes closed, I decided to have a little more fun. I reached forward and very lightly began to spider tickle the poor ticklish woman’s bare and smoothly shaven underarms. A toothy grin shot across her face as she realized what I was doing. I continued to gently stroke right in the centers of both her ticklish hollows with every fingertip and, in the middle of our love making, she started to thrash around and laugh out loud.
“No Tom! Don’t! Nooohohohahahaha..not like that…ahahahahahaHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA…” and as she squirmed and bucked she really started grinding into very hard. Suddenly, a kind of surprised expression came over Mrs. Tuttle’s face in the midst of her laughter and she half whined half giggled, “I-I’mm going to cooommmeheehee…” and she bucked into meet me even harder than before. As I watched her pleasure overtake her, whilst I tickled her vulnerable underarms, I was quite overcome myself and suddenly had to withdraw to finish across her perfectly tanned tummy.
I untied her and was soon scooted out the door because of the late hour, but not before I repeated my promise to her. I just told her that the promise only counted for this ONE secret. If anything else should come up, I told her, we would have to renegotiate!
By the time I had turned eighteen and was a senior in high school, I was well aware of my love for tickling girls. However, I had never had the opportunity to fully indulge that love until the day that this account took place. Sure, I had exploited many an opportunity to “goose” a ticklish waist or tickle a bare foot when the chance arose. But, what I longed to do most, was to systematically explore EVERY possible tickle spot on a fully restrained girl. It was a dream I’d fantasized about long before I even knew what sex was and it was a dream that I had quite nearly lost all hope of ever living out because of how unusual it is. That was until this day.
I lived in a small town way down South and was working at the only grocery store around. At that time, they still provided home deliveries, which was my primary job. Now, Mrs. Tuttle’s order was one that I always looked forward to delivering because she’d invariably flirt with me while I was at her house and she was actually kind of cute for her age. I’d say she was over 40, but with her long blond hair and enormous breasts on her curvy tan figure, I always welcomed her flirtatious teasing.
I never thought it would amount to anything, really. After all, she’d been married for many years, had a kid who’d already gone off to college, and she was probably more than twice my age…but that didn’t make it any less fun, for some reason. On this particular day, I was delivering her standard order at the same time I did every week, so she should have been expecting me. She didn’t answer my knocks at the door, though, so I went around to tap on a side window because I didn’t want to leave without making the delivery. As it turned out, it was to the main bedroom. However, it wasn’t until I had already rapped my knuckles against the pane that I realized that Mrs. Tuttle was in right in front of me, completely naked, and in the process of having an affair with a man whom I recognized as one of her neighbors. I remember being struck by how white her large breasts were, in contrast to the rest of her body.
Well, she saw me right away and the expressions on both their faces were of complete shock as they scrambled to cover themselves. I think the guilt of the situation surpassed the embarrassment, though, because when I told her that I would just leave the bags on the front step, she didn’t seem upset at all that I had peeked in on them. Instead, she instantly pleaded to me through the closed window to wait for her to get dressed so that she could talk to me. She seemed so intent on my staying (almost desperate, actually), that I just couldn’t refuse her.
As I stood out front waiting and smoking a cigarette, I began to hear intense whispering just before the door opened and the man emerged quickly, then departed without even making eye contact. With a smirk on my face, I glanced up at Mrs. Tuttle, who was now clothed and standing in the doorway looking up and down the street to see if any of this was being observed. She then quickly waved me inside and into the front room. Once she had closed the door and seen my grin, she slapped my arm and started scolding me for looking in her window. But, she did it in kind of a teasing manner, because she couldn’t very well be mad at me for her predicament. She even laughed a little as everything began to sink in.
“You got busted, Mrs. Tuttle”, I said, teasing her a little.
“Tom”, she said pleadingly again, “you can’t tell ANYONE about this. PLEASE!!!” But, what she said next really got my attention. “PLEASE, Tom, I’ll do anything! Please promise to keep this a secret for me, pleeease.”
As she spoke, she reached out and grasped my arm to make sure that I was getting her message. I was getting it. My heart had started to race, but I wasn’t bold enough to make a serious move on such a mature woman. I was no virgin, but this was a little intimidating, because I was uncertain whether or not she was just playing a game with me.
“I don’t know…” I continued to tease, hoping that she’d follow suit and be even more forward.
“Come on Tom, there must be something I could do for you” she said seductively. “Isn’t there anything you’ve always wanted to do?” She waited a few seconds, as I appeared to think it over and then said, “I’ll do it, Tom, whatever it is. You just have to promise, OK?”
My courage was building. “Well…” I said with feigned uncertainty, “there is something.”
“What?” she chimed in enthusiastically.
I dropped my eyes and continued a little nervously, “I’ve always wanted to tie a girl up and t-touch her…all over?” Some how, it turned into a question at the end.
Mrs. Tuttle raised an eyebrow and put her hand on her hip. “Well, you are a naughty boy aren’t you?” I could tell that I’d surprised her a bit, but she played right along. “And you want me to be tied up while you…touch me all over?” I just shrugged and smiled a little. She smiled back. “Well, OK, but you have to promise not to tell. Do you promise?”
My heart nearly stopped. “OK.” I said as I ogled her figure. She was wearing cut-off denim shorts that perfectly framed her womanly hips. Her deeply tanned thighs and calves, so firm and shapely that they had caught my attention before, looked smooth and almost shiny as I glanced down to see that her tan feet disappeared into fuzzy powder blue slippers. She had also put on a blue sleeveless button-down shirt, the tails of which she had tied together in a knot so that her bare tummy was showing. “I promise.”
She turned and began to lead me to the bedroom, glancing over her shoulder to make sure I was following. I was.
Mrs. Tuttle grabbed a handful of her husband’s ties and tossed them onto the bed. Then, she plopped down next to them and threw her hands above her head. “Ok,” she said, “but be gentle.”
“I will,” I responded, taking up one of the neck ties, “hurting you is the last thing I want to do.”
I used the ties to bind her hands and feet firmly into a spread-eagle position to all four posts of her bed. When I was done, she thrust out her chest a little and spoke.
“What are you going to do to me…now that you have me all tied up?” she said with a fake worry in her voice. She shook her breasts a little in invitation.
She had no idea what was coming. Much to her surprise, I ignored the temptation to feel her beautiful mountains of flesh and went down to the foot of the bed where her furry blue slippers still covered her little tan feet.
“Oh, are you going to take my clothes off?” she inquired.
I answered by inserting my fingertips between the bottom of her right slipper and her bare foot so that I could touch the center of her high arch. She flinched, trying to pull her foot away, but she was too well restrained.
“CAREFUL,” she said quickly, “that tickles!”
“It does?” I said sarcastically. “Then, I guess you wouldn’t want me to do this?” And I started to scrabble my fingertips around the bottom of her foot inside her slipper. “Tickle, tickle, tickle.”
“Quit it, quit it, quit, quit, heeheeheehee…STOP….heeheeheehee…” she twisted and pulled more frantically than I had anticipated, trying to get her ticklish foot away from my wiggling fingers, but there wasn’t anything she could do. I just slowly stroked across the smooth skin of her arch as she shook her right leg violently and started pulling at the necktie with more force. She nearly kicked off her bedroom slipper with her struggling, but I relented before she did.
“Oh my God,” she said giggling as she caught her breath, “OK no more tickling. I’m WAY too ticklish. Oh my God.”
“No more tickling?” I said, sounding disappointed. “But, it’s fun.” And with that, I removed both of her blue slippers, leaving her tan pedicured feet bare and vulnerable.
“DON’T YOU DARE!!!” she nearly yelled. “My feet are ticklish. Don’t tickle me anymore, please.”
“Would you rather I tell your husband what I saw today, then?” I teased her.
She whimpered and started to whine her response, “No, but…”
Before she went any farther, I started to lightly tickle the bottom of Mrs. Tuttle’s toes with the tips of my fingers.
She quickly left off what she was saying and squealed like a little girl, “NO!! No, no…EEEEEHEEHEEHEEHEE…STOP…heeheehee…”
She shook her toes back and forth, but I followed right along with them, tickling back and forth underneath every one and especially within that trench lying between the tips of her toes and the balls of her feet, which seemed to drive her absolutely crazy. She clenched her toes into fists and I went on to tickle-scratch both of her arches with all of my fingers. “…ahhhahahaha…oh no, oh nahahahahahahahaha…”
Mrs. Tuttle obviously wasn’t used to going around bare foot, because despite the her dark tan skin, the insteps and arches of her feet were quite fair in color. She also had strips of lighter colored skin across the tops of her small feet that were clearly tan lines from a favorite pair of sandals. I approved of her purple nail polish as she alternately clenched and then spread her little toes apart in response to having me tickle her bare feet. Tickling and touching her high, fair skinned arches while she was bound and unable to stop me was about the most erotic thing I’d ever done in my life and my member was feeling the effect as it strained against the inside of my pants.
“…hahaha…haha…hahahahahaha…Quit tickling meheeheehee…hahahahaha…”
I could tell that she was really trying to get loose at that point, because she was pulling forcefully at her wrist bindings. She had been unable to escape the tickling of her feet for so long, even though she was thrashing her legs around and yanking at the ties around her ankles. From the way she was moving, while she continued to laugh pretty darn hard, it looked like she was working on getting her hands loose, so that she could sit up and grab my hands away. There was no hope of that, though. I had spent five years in the scouts.
I tickled on, up and down the white bottoms of her feet and even on her bare heels and around the sun tanned tops as she tittered, giggled, and laughed in response, pulling and flinching all the while. In a moment of sudden inspiration, I snatched a bottle of skin lotion from her dresser and began to squirt it out over toes and down the soles of her soft feet.
“Oh my God! What are you doing?” she begged. “What are you dooohhoohahahahahahahahahahaha…”
I started to thoroughly massage the lotion into the skin of her feet, but I put kind of ticklish twist on it. I was able to tickle her tender soles a little harder, because of the reduced friction, and I dug in with the tips of all my fingers. I tickle-attacked the peaks of her arches and between her ticklish little toes and she went completely bizerk.
“AHHHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA…neeheeheeheehee….STOP…STAHAHAHAHAHA…”
Attempting to escape my tickling fingers, she contorted her poor ticklish feet in a display that would have made the performers in the Cirque du Soliel proud. Her large bosom shook beneath her form-fitting blouse that was tied beneath them. She was no longer shaking them to seduce me though, but because she couldn’t help it. As she laughed and struggled to cope with having her bare feet tickled, her large bulbous mounds bounced and wiggled in a most appealing way.
“I’ve got too much lotion here.” I said, finally easing up.
“…heeheehee…quit tickling my feet!” she pleaded.
“Well, I’ve got to get rid of some of this lotion” I said climbing up beside her on the bed. “I want to find out where all you’re ticklish, Mrs. Tuttle. “Oh no! I’m ticklish all over! No more tickling!” she demanded and she punctuated it weakly by commencing to giggle.
“Don’t you want to take my shirt off?” she added, clearly trying to redirect me.
“Why? Are you ticklish under your shirt?”
With her shirt tied up, her tummy caught my attention. “Is your belly-button ticklish” I inquired as I inserted my lotion-coated index finger right into her navel and wiggled it vigorously.
“EEEEEEEEEEEEEHEEEHEEEHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE…” she squealed loudly and bucked her denim covered hips around on the bed.
“I guess so,” I said retracting my finger. I untied the knot in her shirttails and unbuttoned her blouse to reveal her queen size breasts. Mrs. Tuttle moaned and sighed approvingly as I did. She had a very distinct tan line which left her bountiful boobies as white as snow. Her nipples were dark brown in contrast and were quite big. At this point, however, they were not yet erect, so I set to work.
“Are these ticklish?” I asked, tickling the undersides of her fair breasts. She just moaned and closed her eyes.
I lightly tickled around the base of her mounds up and around towards the tops. With her arms bound up I came dangerously close to her underarms and I noticed that Mrs. Tuttle flinched as I passed by them. But, I continued to tickle down between her breasts and then around again, only a little closer to her nipples. Her areola quickly began to pucker as I neared them and by the time I’d started to tickle them they were tightly puckered and had pushed her nipples out to their full height. They were quite tall, when erect.
“Are you ticklish here?” I inquired as I lightly tickled underneath both of her stiff nipples. She moaned even louder.
“You know where else I’m ticklish?” she said seductively.
“Where’s that? I asked, continuing to tickle just the tips of her fully aroused nipples and lightly pinching them a little.
“Why don’t you unzip my shorts and find out?” she responded.
“I’ll bet I can find out even before I unzip your shorts” I said as I moved my hands to her oh so vulnerable waist and gave her a tickling that would have made the least ticklish person in the world double over in laughter. But, bound as she was, Mrs. Tuttle couldn’t double over. She could only lie there and endure it as I tickle-massaged her waist and her ticklish ribs all over.
“STOP…STAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA…” she thrashed and squirmed beneath my fingers, her naked breasts bouncing every which way, and laughed even harder and louder than before. Her ticklishness was so beautiful that I just couldn’t get enough. Once I had her laughing with such wild abandon, I didn’t want to stop, so I reached down with one hand to see if she was ticklish on her thighs above her knees as well like so many girls are. She squealed and bucked like a mad woman, laughing harder and harder. The laughter consumed her as my hands squeezed and tickled her vulnerable waist and thighs relentlessly. She shook with laughter and squeezed her eyes shut as tears lolled down her cheeks from it all. I loved seeing her pulling with all her might at all four of her bindings as I just effortlessly reached into the center and drove her utterly insane with tickle induced laughter. I even reached underneath her thighs and tickle-squeezed them from behind, which did not agree with her if the deafening squeals were any sign. I got a similar response when I goosed her between her legs, more high-pitched laughter as she tried to buck my hands off her body.
My manhood finally got the better of me and I decided to stop and remove her shorts. As she began to calm down, I untied both of her bare feet and then removed her cut-offs. She willingly lifted and wiggled her hips to aid in their removal along with her panties. Once they were off, I could see why. Her pussy was aroused and wet with her clitoris poking out, begging for attention.
“Is this were you wanted me to tickle you, Mrs. Tuttle?” I asked as I very lightly tickled the top of her clit with a finger.
“…….unnnnh……” was all she could manage and I saw more of her juices leak from her opening.
“What about down here?” I asked her. “Are you ticklish down here?” And I started to very gently tickle the outermost parts of her labia with the tips of my fingers. Mrs. Tuttle spread her tanned legs wide apart, closed her eyes, and moaned her approval.
I shed my clothes, quickly, and entered her welcoming womanhood. She wrapped her legs around me as I slowly moved in and out of her.
As she lay there with her wrists still bound above her head and her eyes closed, I decided to have a little more fun. I reached forward and very lightly began to spider tickle the poor ticklish woman’s bare and smoothly shaven underarms. A toothy grin shot across her face as she realized what I was doing. I continued to gently stroke right in the centers of both her ticklish hollows with every fingertip and, in the middle of our love making, she started to thrash around and laugh out loud.
“No Tom! Don’t! Nooohohohahahaha..not like that…ahahahahahaHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA…” and as she squirmed and bucked she really started grinding into very hard. Suddenly, a kind of surprised expression came over Mrs. Tuttle’s face in the midst of her laughter and she half whined half giggled, “I-I’mm going to cooommmeheehee…” and she bucked into meet me even harder than before. As I watched her pleasure overtake her, whilst I tickled her vulnerable underarms, I was quite overcome myself and suddenly had to withdraw to finish across her perfectly tanned tummy.
I untied her and was soon scooted out the door because of the late hour, but not before I repeated my promise to her. I just told her that the promise only counted for this ONE secret. If anything else should come up, I told her, we would have to renegotiate!
Holy crap!
