Michael2003
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- Sep 3, 2003
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At least I hope it's erotic. I hope there's a bit of romantic flavour to it.
Maybe not.
Let me know what you think, please.
It’s hard to keep one’s composure at a time like this. I want to be strong and smooth and masculine, but inside it’s like I’m in high school again. My heart is pounding in my chest, my palms are sweaty. I’m all aflutter. I’ll never get used to this.
I fastened the third cuff, the one that held her left ankle. Her slim, lithe ankle. I had lifted it to my lips, tasted her. Then the arch of her foot. Then the biggest of five little toes. That taste lingered. She had giggled at first, partly because it tickled, partly because she loved my fixation with her little feet. It was cute, apparently. Then she moaned in pleasure.
One limb to go. Heart pouding. Excitement building. Her right leg was bent, her foot flat on the white beadspread. It was almost defensive. Almost defiant.
From the foot of the bed, I turned to face her. My heart ached. Her skin was a soft mid-summer bronze, her body clothed in only the bottom of a bikini made of strings and little else. Her legs were slender and long. Her flat tummy was stretched taut, her ribs standing out plainly against her skin. Her breasts weren’t large. In fact, many would say they were small. I loved the way they looked. Her arms were stretched out to opposite corners of the mahogany headboard. They were sleek, long and narrow. Her wrists were encased in cuffs like the one around her left ankle. They were padded and soft and connected to the headboard by short lengths of white rope.
I had insisted on the cuffs. She didn’t think such luxuries were necessary, but she could be quite the struggler. No matter how carefully tied, rope could cut into soft, smooth skin. The cuffs left no ill effect. And they were faster and easier to apply. Always at the ready.
She was grinning now, openly. I often tried to hide my excitement at times like these. Perhaps it has something to do with masculinity. A machoness that I didn’t really possess. Not her. The grin told of unrestrained anxiety and exhilaration. Her head was tilted up to look at me, her green eyes taunting and yearning. I just loved it when she smiled like this.
“I’m going to need that ankle,” I said. Tried to say. I hadn’t spoken since placing the first cuff around her wrist. My voice cracked a bit somewhere between ‘need’ and ‘that’. Like I was in high school again.
“Really?” she asked. “And what do you intend to do with it?” She was teasing me. Defiant. In control.
And she was in control. I was only one step from a blubbering mess. It may be that her body was mostly bound, but she had captured my mind and soul long ago.
“To kiss it.” I said, of course lying. I was more confident now, but short sentences would be easier.
“That doesn’t sound too bad.”
She extended her leg and I caught her ankle. She caught her breathe. Like its twin, I raised it to my lips, kissing the ball of her foot. Then the undersides of her toes. Her head fell back on to the blanket, auburn hair splayed out in cascades. More moaning. I loved her. I could do this all night, but I had an agenda.
The last cuff was lying on the blanket. I took it and wrapped it around her ankle, then fastened it snugly.
Her head snapped up. As though she wasn’t expecting this. As though she had been betrayed. She had ventured the last of her freedom, and I had taken it.
I used the rope tied to the cuff to stretch her leg out, nice and taut. She didn’t resist.
“What are you doing?” Worried. Innocent.
Yeah right.
This was her game. Like she hadn’t been expecting to get tied up. It made her seem all the more helpless, all the more girly. I loved playing along.
Too late. I was already tying the rope around the bed post. She was stretched out, now. Helpless.
“Tying your leg to the bedpost, sweatheart.”
She wiggled her hips, just slightly, exploring.
“But,” she began, glancing all along the length of her stretched body. I envied her view. “Now I’m defenceless.”
A strand of auburn hair fell across her face. She tossed her head but it fell right back over her left eye. It was little episodes like this that were symbols of her helplessness. She giggled.
She was so precious. How often do you meet the perfect girl for you? How often do you meet a girl who pokes you in the ribs and then runs away, squealing in delight when you give chase? Or insists that she be tied down, lest her tickle-induced thrashing results in someone’s injury?
I moved closer, between her spread legs. She seemed to shrink into the bed. Her face showed worry. Except in her eyes. They were on fire. There was an excitement and terror in them that made me breathless. This was the moment I loved so much. This instant when she realized that she couldn’t stop what was about to happen to her.
“What are you gonna do?” she asked, still sounding naive and innocent.
I didn’t respond. I was kneeling between her knees. I reached back, behind me, to her feet and gently dragged my nails along each of her soles. Her back arched just a bit and she let her head fall back onto her pillow. Her jaw dropped but she made no sound. Grinning, eyes wide.
“You can’t tickle me!” she declared, her voice frantic. Of course, right then, I could tickle her. Quite easily, in fact.
“Is that so?” I teased, raising an eyebrow.
She bit her lip, waiting.
I didn’t make her wait long, but instead went back to dragging my nails over the bottoms of her feet. Again her back arched, and her hips twisted. She managed a muffled “No!” before throwing her head back and allowing the laughter to ring throughout the bedroom. Her toes were wiggling and she pulled on her legs, but her body was stretched out enough that she could not avoid this new assault.
The soles of her feet were such a delight to touch, so soft, so smooth. I kept it up, her body twisting in front of me, belying the ecstasy that was now flowing through her. She was so ticklish. It was never long before she was frantic.
“Okay!” she managed to shout between laughs and short shrieks of unbearable delight. She always said ‘Okay’. I had stopped at this signal the first time we had done this. It seemed reasonable. She had apparently had enough. Of course, I would have kept going, but I didn’t know what she could, or couldn’t, take. I didn’t want to turn her off of the whole situation. So I had stopped. And she suddenly looked up at me, a confused look on her face. Why?
She had been disappointed, that was plain to see. As I learned, ‘Okay’ did signify that she had had all the tickling she could take, were she not bound. But there was no fun in skirting the edges of bearability and not going over. I learned that for her, there was no point in taking all that time to tie her up if I wasn’t going to tickle her well past the point of what she could endure.
So ‘Okay’ went unanswered. And this makes her frantic, every time. If struggling doesn’t work, and begging doesn’t work, than she has no options left to her. She’s fully at the mercy of her own ticklishness, and my desire to tickle her.
She was laughing hard now, letting it all out. Screams mixed with that beautiful laughter. Oh, I loved to hear her laugh like that. Helpless, out of control, and without regard to composure or inhibition. I watched her, transfixed as she writhed.
Then I stopped. It was always a challenge. I had to determine the best time to stop before she was in danger of hurting herself with her struggles, or passing out, but I had to keep it up long enough to ensure that she wouldn’t feel cheated out of her delightful torture.
This time, I was pretty sure I was dead on. She was panting, her head turned to the side, her eyes closed. Her body had taken on a light sheen. She turned to look at me, grinning. When her eyes opened, they were burning with excitement. She couldn’t quell that grin. Her breasts rising and falling as she recovered.
I was quite pleased. I had done my job.
“You are evil!” she said, still breathing heavily, still grinning with abandonment.
“You knew that long before you gave your body over to me, my dear.”
I was crawling toward the headboard now, allowing my finger tips to drag over her creamy thighs. I loved the way her legs felt: smooth and cool to the touch. They were ticklish, of course, and I switched from finger tips to finger nails. A twist. A short giggle.
I was moving on, straddling her now. She gasped. I was sitting on her hips. She couldn’t move or twist or struggle. And there were her ribs. Her gorgeous, ticklish, irresistible ribs. Right in front of me, a shimmer of sweat making them glow. She was also examining them, as though trying to will the ticklishness from them.
We looked up to each other at the same time. Her beautiful eyes locked with mine. I was her prisoner. Huge, green eyes. Terrified and excited. They held me.
“What are you going to do to me now?” So lovely and innocent.
I had to laugh. She was so perfect. She played her role so well.
“I’m going to tickle your ribs, of course.”
She gasped again. The word ‘tickle’ seemed to invoke further excitement every time it was uttered. Only a few more occurrences, and I was sure she’d explode.
“You can’t tickle someone’s ribs when they’re tied up,” she said. It was a lecture, but I could hear the nervousness.
“I think that’s the best time.”
I was leaning in, close, my arms moving out to the ready. I was ready to strike, and she was sinking down into the soft blanket. There was no escape, and only so far she could flatten herself down. She was grinning openly.
I pounced, forcing my fingers into her sides. There would be no teasing preamble this time. I felt a fire in me, a desire to send her to the very edges of sanity.
At first, there was no sound from her. She bucked her hips as much as my weight would allow. She tossed her head from side to side, frantically, and pulled in mighty, jerking motions on all of her limbs. This took only an instant, and when that instant was over, she knew fully that there was no escape. That’s when the screaming started.
It was laughter, helpless, uncontrollable laughter, mixed in with frantic screams. There was no pleading or begging or bargaining. Only screaming and laughter. Resignation. There was no escape for my beautiful prisoner.
I tickled and tickled, pressing my finger tips hard, wriggling them. I was light-headed as she bucked and struggled. Intoxicated. I kept going, and she was desperate now. No sound for a short time, just a silent scream of a delight so intense it was terrible. By the time the laughter and the screams returned, I could feel her body weakening. She was only twisting a bit now. Her head still tossed, he flowing, silken mane flying about with abandon.
I didn’t let up. I had never taken it this far before. We were both brave explorers on a new frontier of sensation. I was transfixed by her beauty and her savagery.
My longing for her consumed me. I leaned in closer to her face. One hand removed from those quivering ribs. I had less leverage on her other side now, so the tickling lessened. She recovered just a bit and turned to look at me. Her face was flushed, her mouth open in a grin of delight. Panting, tired. Our eyes met. We were connected and wordless. I could tell she loved me and desired me every bit as much as I did her and I loved her all the more for it.
By now, my fingertips were only grazing the ribs on one side; I was lost in her eyes, the tickling forgotten. Her sweet breath on my neck. I loomed over her, still lost in that sea of green. Her pupils were wide from the adrenaline that lingered in her veins. I loved her so much.
My lips were on hers. Her flesh was sweet, as always. My only subsistence. Her bound body swelled into mine. My fingers entangled in her hair. I had only one desire, one need. She was everything to me and I wanted her to experience all the paramount ecstasy that she instilled in me.
I tasted her cheek and she panted with desire, and my left hand wandered down her soft skin. My finger tips brushed her breasts, her ribs, her hips. Then into the bikini bottoms.
I was being negligent. She had recovered from the previous tickling, but I couldn’t let that go on for long. My right hand returned to its position at her ribs, its fingertips grazing the smooth skin. She gasped. Could she take any more?
I pressed my lips again to hers. I found her clit and pressed in on it, just as I pressed in slightly on her ribs. She pulled away from my lips with a delighted little yelp. Her head fell to the side. She giggled and her breasts thrust into my chest. I could feel her excitement.
My fingers continued their work in her between her legs. Their counterparts continued their teasing tickling of her ribs. I chased her lips with my own and used them to seal her giggles.
We kissed and kissed. I finally stopped the light tickling and used the newly free hand to support her head. The kiss deepened.
She was panting now. My fingers were moving more quickly. I knew her so well. How she would respond to any touch. Twirling, rubbing, pressing. I wouldn’t let up. Her eyes were closed so tight. Ecstasy started to take control of her body. I lifted my head back to watch, leaving her free to toss her own head from side to side in anticipation of the coming orgasm. Her moans were high in pitch now. Short little yelps.
It was happening now. I could feel it. Her trembles transferred to my body. She gasped loudly. Her back arched up, and her head fell back to the bed. It was animalistic. Primitive. That it was me who had subjected her to such incredible pleasure filled me with a pleasure of my own. I watched her as ecstasy consumed her and I didn’t pull my fingers away until it subsided.
Finally, it was over. She was panting, now. Her body began to relax and she settled, exhausted, into the bed. I slid up closer to her and wrapped my arms around her. Our bodies gleamed with sweat and passion. Eventually, she opened her eyes. Our gazes locked.
There was no need for words.
Maybe not.
Let me know what you think, please.
It’s hard to keep one’s composure at a time like this. I want to be strong and smooth and masculine, but inside it’s like I’m in high school again. My heart is pounding in my chest, my palms are sweaty. I’m all aflutter. I’ll never get used to this.
I fastened the third cuff, the one that held her left ankle. Her slim, lithe ankle. I had lifted it to my lips, tasted her. Then the arch of her foot. Then the biggest of five little toes. That taste lingered. She had giggled at first, partly because it tickled, partly because she loved my fixation with her little feet. It was cute, apparently. Then she moaned in pleasure.
One limb to go. Heart pouding. Excitement building. Her right leg was bent, her foot flat on the white beadspread. It was almost defensive. Almost defiant.
From the foot of the bed, I turned to face her. My heart ached. Her skin was a soft mid-summer bronze, her body clothed in only the bottom of a bikini made of strings and little else. Her legs were slender and long. Her flat tummy was stretched taut, her ribs standing out plainly against her skin. Her breasts weren’t large. In fact, many would say they were small. I loved the way they looked. Her arms were stretched out to opposite corners of the mahogany headboard. They were sleek, long and narrow. Her wrists were encased in cuffs like the one around her left ankle. They were padded and soft and connected to the headboard by short lengths of white rope.
I had insisted on the cuffs. She didn’t think such luxuries were necessary, but she could be quite the struggler. No matter how carefully tied, rope could cut into soft, smooth skin. The cuffs left no ill effect. And they were faster and easier to apply. Always at the ready.
She was grinning now, openly. I often tried to hide my excitement at times like these. Perhaps it has something to do with masculinity. A machoness that I didn’t really possess. Not her. The grin told of unrestrained anxiety and exhilaration. Her head was tilted up to look at me, her green eyes taunting and yearning. I just loved it when she smiled like this.
“I’m going to need that ankle,” I said. Tried to say. I hadn’t spoken since placing the first cuff around her wrist. My voice cracked a bit somewhere between ‘need’ and ‘that’. Like I was in high school again.
“Really?” she asked. “And what do you intend to do with it?” She was teasing me. Defiant. In control.
And she was in control. I was only one step from a blubbering mess. It may be that her body was mostly bound, but she had captured my mind and soul long ago.
“To kiss it.” I said, of course lying. I was more confident now, but short sentences would be easier.
“That doesn’t sound too bad.”
She extended her leg and I caught her ankle. She caught her breathe. Like its twin, I raised it to my lips, kissing the ball of her foot. Then the undersides of her toes. Her head fell back on to the blanket, auburn hair splayed out in cascades. More moaning. I loved her. I could do this all night, but I had an agenda.
The last cuff was lying on the blanket. I took it and wrapped it around her ankle, then fastened it snugly.
Her head snapped up. As though she wasn’t expecting this. As though she had been betrayed. She had ventured the last of her freedom, and I had taken it.
I used the rope tied to the cuff to stretch her leg out, nice and taut. She didn’t resist.
“What are you doing?” Worried. Innocent.
Yeah right.
This was her game. Like she hadn’t been expecting to get tied up. It made her seem all the more helpless, all the more girly. I loved playing along.
Too late. I was already tying the rope around the bed post. She was stretched out, now. Helpless.
“Tying your leg to the bedpost, sweatheart.”
She wiggled her hips, just slightly, exploring.
“But,” she began, glancing all along the length of her stretched body. I envied her view. “Now I’m defenceless.”
A strand of auburn hair fell across her face. She tossed her head but it fell right back over her left eye. It was little episodes like this that were symbols of her helplessness. She giggled.
She was so precious. How often do you meet the perfect girl for you? How often do you meet a girl who pokes you in the ribs and then runs away, squealing in delight when you give chase? Or insists that she be tied down, lest her tickle-induced thrashing results in someone’s injury?
I moved closer, between her spread legs. She seemed to shrink into the bed. Her face showed worry. Except in her eyes. They were on fire. There was an excitement and terror in them that made me breathless. This was the moment I loved so much. This instant when she realized that she couldn’t stop what was about to happen to her.
“What are you gonna do?” she asked, still sounding naive and innocent.
I didn’t respond. I was kneeling between her knees. I reached back, behind me, to her feet and gently dragged my nails along each of her soles. Her back arched just a bit and she let her head fall back onto her pillow. Her jaw dropped but she made no sound. Grinning, eyes wide.
“You can’t tickle me!” she declared, her voice frantic. Of course, right then, I could tickle her. Quite easily, in fact.
“Is that so?” I teased, raising an eyebrow.
She bit her lip, waiting.
I didn’t make her wait long, but instead went back to dragging my nails over the bottoms of her feet. Again her back arched, and her hips twisted. She managed a muffled “No!” before throwing her head back and allowing the laughter to ring throughout the bedroom. Her toes were wiggling and she pulled on her legs, but her body was stretched out enough that she could not avoid this new assault.
The soles of her feet were such a delight to touch, so soft, so smooth. I kept it up, her body twisting in front of me, belying the ecstasy that was now flowing through her. She was so ticklish. It was never long before she was frantic.
“Okay!” she managed to shout between laughs and short shrieks of unbearable delight. She always said ‘Okay’. I had stopped at this signal the first time we had done this. It seemed reasonable. She had apparently had enough. Of course, I would have kept going, but I didn’t know what she could, or couldn’t, take. I didn’t want to turn her off of the whole situation. So I had stopped. And she suddenly looked up at me, a confused look on her face. Why?
She had been disappointed, that was plain to see. As I learned, ‘Okay’ did signify that she had had all the tickling she could take, were she not bound. But there was no fun in skirting the edges of bearability and not going over. I learned that for her, there was no point in taking all that time to tie her up if I wasn’t going to tickle her well past the point of what she could endure.
So ‘Okay’ went unanswered. And this makes her frantic, every time. If struggling doesn’t work, and begging doesn’t work, than she has no options left to her. She’s fully at the mercy of her own ticklishness, and my desire to tickle her.
She was laughing hard now, letting it all out. Screams mixed with that beautiful laughter. Oh, I loved to hear her laugh like that. Helpless, out of control, and without regard to composure or inhibition. I watched her, transfixed as she writhed.
Then I stopped. It was always a challenge. I had to determine the best time to stop before she was in danger of hurting herself with her struggles, or passing out, but I had to keep it up long enough to ensure that she wouldn’t feel cheated out of her delightful torture.
This time, I was pretty sure I was dead on. She was panting, her head turned to the side, her eyes closed. Her body had taken on a light sheen. She turned to look at me, grinning. When her eyes opened, they were burning with excitement. She couldn’t quell that grin. Her breasts rising and falling as she recovered.
I was quite pleased. I had done my job.
“You are evil!” she said, still breathing heavily, still grinning with abandonment.
“You knew that long before you gave your body over to me, my dear.”
I was crawling toward the headboard now, allowing my finger tips to drag over her creamy thighs. I loved the way her legs felt: smooth and cool to the touch. They were ticklish, of course, and I switched from finger tips to finger nails. A twist. A short giggle.
I was moving on, straddling her now. She gasped. I was sitting on her hips. She couldn’t move or twist or struggle. And there were her ribs. Her gorgeous, ticklish, irresistible ribs. Right in front of me, a shimmer of sweat making them glow. She was also examining them, as though trying to will the ticklishness from them.
We looked up to each other at the same time. Her beautiful eyes locked with mine. I was her prisoner. Huge, green eyes. Terrified and excited. They held me.
“What are you going to do to me now?” So lovely and innocent.
I had to laugh. She was so perfect. She played her role so well.
“I’m going to tickle your ribs, of course.”
She gasped again. The word ‘tickle’ seemed to invoke further excitement every time it was uttered. Only a few more occurrences, and I was sure she’d explode.
“You can’t tickle someone’s ribs when they’re tied up,” she said. It was a lecture, but I could hear the nervousness.
“I think that’s the best time.”
I was leaning in, close, my arms moving out to the ready. I was ready to strike, and she was sinking down into the soft blanket. There was no escape, and only so far she could flatten herself down. She was grinning openly.
I pounced, forcing my fingers into her sides. There would be no teasing preamble this time. I felt a fire in me, a desire to send her to the very edges of sanity.
At first, there was no sound from her. She bucked her hips as much as my weight would allow. She tossed her head from side to side, frantically, and pulled in mighty, jerking motions on all of her limbs. This took only an instant, and when that instant was over, she knew fully that there was no escape. That’s when the screaming started.
It was laughter, helpless, uncontrollable laughter, mixed in with frantic screams. There was no pleading or begging or bargaining. Only screaming and laughter. Resignation. There was no escape for my beautiful prisoner.
I tickled and tickled, pressing my finger tips hard, wriggling them. I was light-headed as she bucked and struggled. Intoxicated. I kept going, and she was desperate now. No sound for a short time, just a silent scream of a delight so intense it was terrible. By the time the laughter and the screams returned, I could feel her body weakening. She was only twisting a bit now. Her head still tossed, he flowing, silken mane flying about with abandon.
I didn’t let up. I had never taken it this far before. We were both brave explorers on a new frontier of sensation. I was transfixed by her beauty and her savagery.
My longing for her consumed me. I leaned in closer to her face. One hand removed from those quivering ribs. I had less leverage on her other side now, so the tickling lessened. She recovered just a bit and turned to look at me. Her face was flushed, her mouth open in a grin of delight. Panting, tired. Our eyes met. We were connected and wordless. I could tell she loved me and desired me every bit as much as I did her and I loved her all the more for it.
By now, my fingertips were only grazing the ribs on one side; I was lost in her eyes, the tickling forgotten. Her sweet breath on my neck. I loomed over her, still lost in that sea of green. Her pupils were wide from the adrenaline that lingered in her veins. I loved her so much.
My lips were on hers. Her flesh was sweet, as always. My only subsistence. Her bound body swelled into mine. My fingers entangled in her hair. I had only one desire, one need. She was everything to me and I wanted her to experience all the paramount ecstasy that she instilled in me.
I tasted her cheek and she panted with desire, and my left hand wandered down her soft skin. My finger tips brushed her breasts, her ribs, her hips. Then into the bikini bottoms.
I was being negligent. She had recovered from the previous tickling, but I couldn’t let that go on for long. My right hand returned to its position at her ribs, its fingertips grazing the smooth skin. She gasped. Could she take any more?
I pressed my lips again to hers. I found her clit and pressed in on it, just as I pressed in slightly on her ribs. She pulled away from my lips with a delighted little yelp. Her head fell to the side. She giggled and her breasts thrust into my chest. I could feel her excitement.
My fingers continued their work in her between her legs. Their counterparts continued their teasing tickling of her ribs. I chased her lips with my own and used them to seal her giggles.
We kissed and kissed. I finally stopped the light tickling and used the newly free hand to support her head. The kiss deepened.
She was panting now. My fingers were moving more quickly. I knew her so well. How she would respond to any touch. Twirling, rubbing, pressing. I wouldn’t let up. Her eyes were closed so tight. Ecstasy started to take control of her body. I lifted my head back to watch, leaving her free to toss her own head from side to side in anticipation of the coming orgasm. Her moans were high in pitch now. Short little yelps.
It was happening now. I could feel it. Her trembles transferred to my body. She gasped loudly. Her back arched up, and her head fell back to the bed. It was animalistic. Primitive. That it was me who had subjected her to such incredible pleasure filled me with a pleasure of my own. I watched her as ecstasy consumed her and I didn’t pull my fingers away until it subsided.
Finally, it was over. She was panting, now. Her body began to relax and she settled, exhausted, into the bed. I slid up closer to her and wrapped my arms around her. Our bodies gleamed with sweat and passion. Eventually, she opened her eyes. Our gazes locked.
There was no need for words.
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Good stuff Michael! One of the best stories I have read for a long while....you should write some more like that!
