oneonthefence
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...so I thought I'd start with a story as the best way to introduce myself 
My name is Manda, and this is the first part of my tickling story (which is currently untitled): some of this is true (all the the tickling has happened to me at some point in life), but some of it is not, hence why I decided to post it in the fiction section.
Please let me know what you think!
Thanks!
When the concert ended, I leaned back against the metal railing, an electric shock passing through my body. What I had just heard! Were there words to describe the intricate beauty of the haunting melodies, the rapturous harmonies, the soul-possessing lyrics? The music was so stimulating that it was nothing short of sexual: I was quivering from the sheer desire of aural stimulation.
Of course, it did not help that the band’s lead singer also sent me into daydreams of a different sort of desire. A 27 year-old with shoulder-length black curly hair and deep brown eyes, he unknowingly plucked the guitar strings within my heart, causing it to sound only his name. And since he was actually a guitar player as well, I’d thought of those quick-moving fingers - how easily they strummed the most difficult of chords with ease. If only those fingers could play me, could strum and dance over my body...
But he was a famous musician, respected and admired by a fan base so large that I couldn’t get near him even if I tried. Not that I had tried before - I feared the disappointment that would befall me if his eyes merely passed over me but failed to notice how much desire I had in my heart for him. Besides, I’d read in countless interviews that he was shy, and therefore wouldn’t initiate the sort of sexual encounter that I so desperately coveted from his fingertips.
However, the more I thought about it after that concert, the more I knew that I had to try. I had to do everything within my power to get near to him, to let our eyes connect - to let him see not only my respect for him as a man, but my desire for him as well. So when the crowds started to thin out, I walked out of the club, and around the side of the building, hoping that the roadies would still be loading up the equipment from the band’s performance.
I was in luck; they were still loading up the bus. But I didn’t see any of the band members anywhere. Obviously, I wasn’t the only person back there looking for the lead singer: I was outnumbered by teenage fan-girls and band-member-hopefuls. How would he know that I was true in my feelings and needs when outnumbered by a crowd that thought they wanted his attention as much as I KNOW that I did? How could I outdo those younger bodies, those teenagers willing to flash their breasts in the fleeting hope of a moment’s glance?
Not to say that I find myself unattractive. By society’s standards, I’m not the “typical” looking girl, but I’m not ugly, either. I’m 24 - no longer a child, and not too far off of the lead singer’s age of 27. Although I’m only 5'1, I’m extremely well-proportioned: larger-sized breasts (36D), a narrow waist, and round hips. People tell me that I wear my clothes well, and that I look good in my olive-colored skin tone. My hair is dyed black, and my natural eye color is emerald-green: my eyes are, from what I’ve been told, what draw people in. As does my laugh. I love to laugh. I love to be MADE to laugh. I WANTED to be made to laugh tonight. I wanted to feel his fingertips dance rapidly over the soles of my size 6 feet, causing me to giggle hysterically and shudder in exquisite pleasure. How much longer should I be made to wait?
Call it fate. Call it divine intervention. Call it whatever you want, but at that moment, the lead singer walked out of the building. My heart stopped: this was my chance, and I had to take it. Who knew when I’d have it again? So I left the crowd as quietly as possible, and tiptoed behind the tour bus. A roadie saw me, but only winked, as if to let me know that my actions were perfectly acceptable. I blew him a kiss, an extension of my gratitude, and leaned back against the door of the bus, hoping that no one had seen me. And, judging by the time I waited - nearly 20 minutes - I was sure no one was aware of my presence beside the bus.
And then, he was there. He walked around from behind the other side of the bus, and stopped in his tracks when he saw me. He gave a small smile, looked down at the ground shyly, and stammered, “well... hi. I didn’t know anyone was back here.”
He really WAS shy. But that made my mission all the more challenging, and I felt a rush of pleasure run through my veins. Here we were, together. I was GOING to do this. I had to.
“Get a lot of girls waiting back here for you, huh?” I teased gently. I had to be careful in my approach. Too forward, and he wouldn’t be interested. Too nonchalant, and he’d think I was another 13 year-old fan-girl.
“Nah,” he blushed. “Usually, the roadies scare them away.”
“I wonder why they didn’t this time?” I asked, slightly flirtatiously. He looked me in the eye, and went to give me an answer, but then stopped short.
“I saw you, you know,” he said instead. “You were one of the first people into the club tonight. I saw you from behind the curtain.”
I was shocked. “You did?”
“Yes. I - well, being onstage is like another persona for me, really. I do things - act in a way that I wouldn’t normally act. Really, I’m just the guy who hides behind the curtain in real life.”
”Like the Wizard of Oz?” I joked. He laughed - a deep, hearty laugh, straight from the belly. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t turn me on.
“Yeah, like him. So I was kind of afraid to approach you - well, to get someone to kind of, you know, have you come backstage. I wanted to talk to you. I don’t know. There is just something - different about you. I want to know what it is.”
I walked over to him at that moment, and stood close. I put my hand on his arm - electrical shocks flew through my body - and looked him straight in the eye.
“I won’t play any games with you,” I said. “There is nothing about you that I don’t respect and admire. And I’d like to get to know more. I’d like to know more tonight. I’d like to show you some of the hidden reasons why you were maybe drawn to me. And if what happens tonight carries over past tonight, I’d like that, too.” My heart was pounding. Had I just said THAT to one of the biggest up-and-coming vocalists of our age? How could I be so egotistical?
But he took my hand, and, blushing, said, “okay. I’d like that, too.”
**********************************************************
Tour buses, generally speaking, are not exactly the ideal places for romantic encounters. They are dirty, filled with old Nintendo gaming systems and gallons of expired milk and used socks. They are not the fantasy location for any two people to be having a conversation, let alone for two people trying to get into the mood. But it’s what we had, and it was the best we could do.
“Do you want a drink?” he asked me, going over to the small fridge after making sure that the bus door was securely locked behind us.
“Absolutely.” I peered into the fridge. It was an alcoholic’s delight - hard liquors, beers from all over the world, wines with impressive ages. He was such a laid-back guy that I forgot where I was, and that these sorts of luxuries were afforded to those who could, in fact, afford them. So I went for the best wine that he had. I wanted to be lucid for our encounter, not intoxicated. I wanted to remember every detail for the rest of my life.
He poured our drinks, and we went over to sit on the small couch - he sat normally, and I leaned back onto an armrest, my feet near his legs. It was an obvious move, but I didn’t know how much time we had, and I needed to be ready to act. As we drank, we talked - and it wasn’t just small talk. It was good, solid, human communication. We had a bond, and I was ecstatic to see that he was liking me as much as I was liking him.
Three glasses of wine later, he leaned over my legs, and toward my face. “Can I kiss you now?” He asked. HE ASKED. I was floored by the sheer - courtesy of it all. He wasn’t just taking from me. He was asking. And at that moment, I knew he could have EVERYTHING that he possibly wanted from me.
My heart pounded. I’d been dreaming of this for years. But the words wouldn’t come out. So I gazed into his eyes with as much passion as I possibly could, pouted my lower lip ever so slightly, and nodded slowly. With that, he took my face into his hands, rubbed my cheekbone with his thumb, and connected his lips to mine. And I was blown away by the intensity of his lips, of his kiss, of how in that moment he actually was. I knew that I could kiss him forever, should such a life be granted to me.
After a few minutes of spectacular kissing, he sat back up, and upon doing so, accidentally brushed my kneecap with his fingers. I giggled, despite myself, and then clamped a hand over my mouth. That was NOT how I wanted to start things. No, no, in my head it was all very clear, we were naked and primed to make love and THEN it would start, but not this accidental maneuver...
But, to my shock and surprise, his eyes sparkled.
“I see you are slightly ticklish, huh?” he asked, eyebrow raised. I decided to play it off, to see if he would pursue it any further.
“No, you just startled me!” I said coyly. “I’m not THAT easy to break.” With that statement, he took my legs into his lap, and started to unlace my knee-high black boots. I giggled just a little.
“Awfully advanced of you, isn’t it?” I mocked. “I thought you were shy!” He only winked at me.
“I am,” he replied. “But as long as you are willing and I am able - well, I’ve always wanted to see what this would do to a girl, and I really like you, and want to try this with you.” My heart soared. This was going to happen. He was going to tickle me. I thought I was going to orgasm on the spot, and nothing had even happened yet.
He pulled my boots off, letting them drop to the floor, revealing my size 6 feet, clad in black and white striped tights. He nodded in approval, and then, with a wicked grin, wiggled all ten of his fingers. I giggled again, causing him to laugh.
“This is great,” he said. “But this will be even better.” And with that, he ran a finger straight down my foot, from the toes to the heel. I squealed - tights, or pantyhose, always make things so much worse! But he did it again, with much more pressure. I could feel his nail scrape against the sole of my foot, and I laughed whole-heartedly. It was killing me - but I was already painfully stimulated. After a moment, he used all five fingers, and danced them across my sole rapidly, trying to be funny by saying, “aww, this really must tickle, huh? Aww, poor thing...” He was really letting another side of him out, and I loved it.
“NOOO, STOP!” I laughed, shaking as his other hand started tickling my other foot. He had my legs trapped, and I couldn’t move. All I could do was feel his ten fingers stroke the soles of my feet. “STOP!” But he wouldn’t stop. We were both laughing, and as my wiggling foot brushed against his jeans, I could feel that he was turned on as well.
When I did that, he stopped, and blushed. “Sorry - I didn’t know that was going to happen.” I sat up, and climbed onto his lap, straddling him. Looking straight into his eyes, I let him know the truth:
“Tickling turns me on. I WANT you to do this. This feels so good to me. I want you to tickle me to orgasm.” His mouth dropped open, but was soon back upon my lips, kissing me with such fury that I barely could breathe. Still kissing, he picked me up, and we walked back to his bed. He laid me down on my back, and looked down at me.
“You’re beautiful,” he said.
“No, I’m not,” I stammered.
“Yes, you definitely are,” he stated. “But you know what?”
“What?”
“You’re even more beautiful when you are laughing.” And with that, he straddled me with his legs, and dug his fingers into my ribs. I shook with laughter, feeling those fingers playing my ribs with an intensity that I had once only imagined.
“STOP! NOOOO!” I squealed. “OH MY GOD, STOP!” I could barely breathe as his fingers walked in a spider-like manner across my tender ribs. But he was relentless.
“Aww, poor little baby, can’t take it? Well, then, this will be worse!” He lifted up my shirt, and brought his lips down to my smooth belly. After taking a deep breath, he exhaled right onto my stomach, blowing furiously. Between the vibration of his lips and the bristle of his goatee, it was too much. I laughed uncontrollably; he took that as a sign to run his fingernails along my ribs on BOTH sides as he blew.
“AHAHAHAHA, NO, PLEASE!” I begged. “IT’S TOO MUCH!” But the scratching against my ribs continued in slow, deep strokes, and the raspberries against my belly were unbearable.
“Beg me to stop,” he said, laughing with his newfound control. “Beg me!”
“OKAY, OKAY, PLEASE STOP! PLEASE STOP!” I sputtered. “I CAN’T TAKE ANYMORE!” He sat up, completely stopping all of his tickling for a moment.
“You okay?” he asked, noticing that I was starting to sweat, and that I was still giggling. Truth was, I was MORE than okay. This was the best night of my life, and if he kept tickling me much longer, I was going to lose all control.
“Yeah, I’m good,” I replied. “I’m great.” He smiled, and leaned down to kiss me again.
“Well, if you’re so great...” he started, leaning down to remove the tights from both of my legs “... then I guess this will just make you perfect.” He straddled both of my legs, his back to me, and with the fingers of one hand, held back the big toes of both of my feet. I was amazed by his strength. It made me fear what I knew was going to happen.
My feet are by far one of my worst ticklish spots, and I was starting to laugh already. “No, not there yet, please no,” I begged. “On the couch was enough, come on, please?” He turned his head back to me, and shook it from side to side.
“I’m ignoring you now,” he said. “Feel free to plead all you want.” And suddenly, I felt all five of his fingers scratch down the bare sole of my right foot. I screamed in laughter. He just kept stroking his nails down my tightly stretched sole, over and over again, taunting me not only physically but verbally: “aww, poor little thing, she’s so ticklish, ohh, I bet this drives her CRAZY...”
“NO, AHAHAHAHA!” I squealed. “NO, PLEASE!” When I started begging, the tickling switched feet. His fingers scribbled all over my sole, rapidly flicking about. I started crying - it was so strong. It was too much.
It was exactly enough.
“Aww, my little baby, aww, tickle tickle tickle!” He exclaimed, now using his one hand to tickle both bare feet. I screamed, laughing at the top of my lungs.
“STOP IT, NO, AHAHAHAHA, NO!” I exclaimed. But he kept going, at a nearly sadistic pace, wiggling his fingers quickly over my tight soles. I couldn’t move, could barely breathe. I had never expected this in my wildest dreams. It was amazing.
After ten straight minutes of foot-tickling, he released my toes, and turned to face me. I took the chance to breathe, and he sat back, looking at me with amazement.
“You like this?” he questioned. “I feel almost - sadistic - doing this.” I looked down at the bulge in his jeans, desperately aching to be set free. I sat up, knelt by him, and kissed him firmly, my hand lightly trailing along the waistband of his jeans. He flinched, and laughed ever so slightly, the bulge in his pants growing even larger.
“Yes,” I replied. “I love this. And so do you.” I placed my lips at his collarbone, and lightly nibbled down from there to his chest, straight down to his stomach, causing him to shudder. As I nibbled along his stomach, I undid his fly, and slid his jeans down. He groaned with what he knew was to eventually come.
“Yes,” he moaned. “I do love this.”
“Say you want to tickle me.”
“I want to tickle you.”
“Say it again.”
“Oh my God,” he groaned, rubbing himself up against me. “You have no idea. I want to tickle you into submission. I want to hear you scream. I want to tickle you until you cum, I have to. Please. I have to do this with you. We have to do this together.”
That was enough for me. We kissed again, and I laid back on the bed. And I decided to up the stakes a notch.
“Got a rope?” I asked. He blushed, nearly reverting back into his old shy self. But I held his eye contact. “Well, do you?” I asked again.
“Yes,” he said. “In the storage cabinet.” And he ran over to get it as quickly as he could. When he brought it back over, he said, “I want to tie you with your hands above your head.”
“Tell me what you are going to do.”
More firmly, he stated, “I am going to tie your arms over your head so that you are completely helpless, and I’m going to straddle your lower body with my legs so that you cannot move.” A shiver went through me.
We were in for a very long night.
**********************************************************
He stripped me of my black tank top before he tied me securely to the base of the bed - arms stretched tightly over my head, leaving my smooth armpits unguarded from any possible attacks, and ribs stretched tight. I was easy to take over now. He could do anything that he wanted to me, and I would be powerless.
“You’re gonna regret this,” he said, chuckling. I was shivering in anticipation, teeth actually chattering from sheer excitement.
“Do your worst,” I taunted. “You don’t scare me at all.”
That was the WRONG thing to say, because, without mercy, he grabbed at my ribs, squeezing them, kneading them with his strong fingers. I shrieked in surprise.
“NOOOO, NOOOO, HAHAHAHAHAHA!” The fingers pinching and grabbing the ribs, and the spaces between the ribs, were unbearable. Then, he started alternating between pinching and scratching, and I was hysterical, squirming relentlessly against my ropes. My full breasts bounced, restrained by my black lace bra. What was worse was that my nipples were fully erect, painfully and erotically rubbing against the lace. He happened to notice.
“Well, you weren’t joking about being turned on, were you?” he laughed, and, still tickling me with one hand, leaned over with the other hand and pinched a nipple. I moaned between laughs, feeling my panties growing even wetter from the sudden sensation. As his one hand spider-tickled my ribs, his other kept pinching my nipple, twisting it gently between the thumb and pointer finger. I couldn’t decide if I needed to laugh or moan. Both sounds escaped my lips in twisted torrents of pleasure.
“That’s enough of that,” he decided, his hands coming off of my body. I was writhing in ticklish agony, needing to be touched.
“Don’t - stop,” I whimpered. “Please, no...” He winked at me, and placed his hands at my waist, one on each side.
“You’ll wish I’m done once I begin this!” he exclaimed, and tickled lightly up along my sides. I giggled, but wasn’t sure what he was thinking - until he reached the hollows of my smooth armpits. He lightly stroked one finger into each armpit, causing me to laugh hysterically and shudder against the touch.
“OKAY, NO, I CHANGED MY MIND!” I screamed. But it was too late. He placed all five fingers into the hollow of each armpit, and begin to swirl them about, running them along the smooth surface in unbearable ticklish torment.
“NO, NO, HAHAHAHA, STOP!” I cried, desperately trying to escape the ticklish scribbles circling in each armpit. But there was no escape - my arms were too tight over my head, only making the sensations even worse. I was helpless to the torture.
And this time, it really was torture. It ticked so much, and all I could do was scream and laugh myself breathless, to the point where my screams weren’t even audible. Tears ran down my cheeks as his fingers scratched and scribbled along my underarms. He dragged the nails in the hollows, around the sides, and up along the underside of my arms, only to scrape them back down again. I gasped for breath, thinking I wouldn’t be able to deal with anymore of this torture.
He stopped right at about that time, and took my head in his hands. With a worried look, he wiped the tears from my cheeks, and kissed my forehead. “Are you okay?” he asked.
I could barely breathe. My body was on fire. I was GREAT.
“Yeh,” I stammered. “Yeh. This is - all I wanted.” He glanced down, and saw that my nipples were still very firm. He pulled the cups of my bra down, exposing my bare breasts. Then he straddled me and took one nipple into his mouth, sucking lightly. His tongue flicked across the top of my nipple, sending shock waves through my body, when he decided to reach down and tickle my bare armpits again, scribbling his fingers rapidly.
“OH NO, OH I...” but I gave up pleading. I just laughed and moaned, the sounds interchangeable, until I knew I was going to orgasm. What else could I do, tied up so firmly that every sensation was unstoppable? I bucked against him, thrusting my hips up into his body, letting the tickling overcome me.
“HAHAHAHAHA, oohhhh, nooooo,” and with one firm, final scratch down the surface of my underarm, I came - hard. I screamed, and bucked up against him, yanking one hand painfully out of the restraints and clawing down his back with my nails. He moaned as well, and pulled down my wet panties so that he could put himself inside of me. He shuddered, and came up to kiss me as we fell into a rhythm, hips grinding together. I thought that maybe, just maybe, I could make him come as hard as I did if I would tickle him as well. After all, he didn’t seem to shy about trying that with me... so as he rocked inside of me, I took my free hand and ran it along his side, squeezing his ribs one by one as I worked my way up. He looked surprised, but started laughing, and lowered his lips back to my nipple. I moaned as his tongue drew circles against my nipple, and giggled as I felt his giggling coming from his lips and onto me. We both were laughing as we came together, and after a moment, the laughing turned into moaning, and screaming, as we released all of the energy that had built up inside of us.
When we finished, he lay on top of me, gasping for air. My one hand was still firmly tied, the other lightly stroking his back as our hearts pounded together. “Wow,” he said. “That was...”
“...intense?” I finished. He could only sigh, and nod in agreement. I kissed the top of his head, his dark curly hair wild and unruly, tickling my lips lightly. I smiled.
“So now what?” I asked. He looked up, and, as if his passion for me had never left his body, kissed me fully on the lips. Then, he chuckled, and pinched my side, causing me to giggle.
“What?” I asked again. His eyes twinkled, and right before he went to kiss me again, he said:
“Now, we give me something to REALLY write a song about.”
My name is Manda, and this is the first part of my tickling story (which is currently untitled): some of this is true (all the the tickling has happened to me at some point in life), but some of it is not, hence why I decided to post it in the fiction section. Please let me know what you think!
Thanks!
When the concert ended, I leaned back against the metal railing, an electric shock passing through my body. What I had just heard! Were there words to describe the intricate beauty of the haunting melodies, the rapturous harmonies, the soul-possessing lyrics? The music was so stimulating that it was nothing short of sexual: I was quivering from the sheer desire of aural stimulation.
Of course, it did not help that the band’s lead singer also sent me into daydreams of a different sort of desire. A 27 year-old with shoulder-length black curly hair and deep brown eyes, he unknowingly plucked the guitar strings within my heart, causing it to sound only his name. And since he was actually a guitar player as well, I’d thought of those quick-moving fingers - how easily they strummed the most difficult of chords with ease. If only those fingers could play me, could strum and dance over my body...
But he was a famous musician, respected and admired by a fan base so large that I couldn’t get near him even if I tried. Not that I had tried before - I feared the disappointment that would befall me if his eyes merely passed over me but failed to notice how much desire I had in my heart for him. Besides, I’d read in countless interviews that he was shy, and therefore wouldn’t initiate the sort of sexual encounter that I so desperately coveted from his fingertips.
However, the more I thought about it after that concert, the more I knew that I had to try. I had to do everything within my power to get near to him, to let our eyes connect - to let him see not only my respect for him as a man, but my desire for him as well. So when the crowds started to thin out, I walked out of the club, and around the side of the building, hoping that the roadies would still be loading up the equipment from the band’s performance.
I was in luck; they were still loading up the bus. But I didn’t see any of the band members anywhere. Obviously, I wasn’t the only person back there looking for the lead singer: I was outnumbered by teenage fan-girls and band-member-hopefuls. How would he know that I was true in my feelings and needs when outnumbered by a crowd that thought they wanted his attention as much as I KNOW that I did? How could I outdo those younger bodies, those teenagers willing to flash their breasts in the fleeting hope of a moment’s glance?
Not to say that I find myself unattractive. By society’s standards, I’m not the “typical” looking girl, but I’m not ugly, either. I’m 24 - no longer a child, and not too far off of the lead singer’s age of 27. Although I’m only 5'1, I’m extremely well-proportioned: larger-sized breasts (36D), a narrow waist, and round hips. People tell me that I wear my clothes well, and that I look good in my olive-colored skin tone. My hair is dyed black, and my natural eye color is emerald-green: my eyes are, from what I’ve been told, what draw people in. As does my laugh. I love to laugh. I love to be MADE to laugh. I WANTED to be made to laugh tonight. I wanted to feel his fingertips dance rapidly over the soles of my size 6 feet, causing me to giggle hysterically and shudder in exquisite pleasure. How much longer should I be made to wait?
Call it fate. Call it divine intervention. Call it whatever you want, but at that moment, the lead singer walked out of the building. My heart stopped: this was my chance, and I had to take it. Who knew when I’d have it again? So I left the crowd as quietly as possible, and tiptoed behind the tour bus. A roadie saw me, but only winked, as if to let me know that my actions were perfectly acceptable. I blew him a kiss, an extension of my gratitude, and leaned back against the door of the bus, hoping that no one had seen me. And, judging by the time I waited - nearly 20 minutes - I was sure no one was aware of my presence beside the bus.
And then, he was there. He walked around from behind the other side of the bus, and stopped in his tracks when he saw me. He gave a small smile, looked down at the ground shyly, and stammered, “well... hi. I didn’t know anyone was back here.”
He really WAS shy. But that made my mission all the more challenging, and I felt a rush of pleasure run through my veins. Here we were, together. I was GOING to do this. I had to.
“Get a lot of girls waiting back here for you, huh?” I teased gently. I had to be careful in my approach. Too forward, and he wouldn’t be interested. Too nonchalant, and he’d think I was another 13 year-old fan-girl.
“Nah,” he blushed. “Usually, the roadies scare them away.”
“I wonder why they didn’t this time?” I asked, slightly flirtatiously. He looked me in the eye, and went to give me an answer, but then stopped short.
“I saw you, you know,” he said instead. “You were one of the first people into the club tonight. I saw you from behind the curtain.”
I was shocked. “You did?”
“Yes. I - well, being onstage is like another persona for me, really. I do things - act in a way that I wouldn’t normally act. Really, I’m just the guy who hides behind the curtain in real life.”
”Like the Wizard of Oz?” I joked. He laughed - a deep, hearty laugh, straight from the belly. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t turn me on.
“Yeah, like him. So I was kind of afraid to approach you - well, to get someone to kind of, you know, have you come backstage. I wanted to talk to you. I don’t know. There is just something - different about you. I want to know what it is.”
I walked over to him at that moment, and stood close. I put my hand on his arm - electrical shocks flew through my body - and looked him straight in the eye.
“I won’t play any games with you,” I said. “There is nothing about you that I don’t respect and admire. And I’d like to get to know more. I’d like to know more tonight. I’d like to show you some of the hidden reasons why you were maybe drawn to me. And if what happens tonight carries over past tonight, I’d like that, too.” My heart was pounding. Had I just said THAT to one of the biggest up-and-coming vocalists of our age? How could I be so egotistical?
But he took my hand, and, blushing, said, “okay. I’d like that, too.”
**********************************************************
Tour buses, generally speaking, are not exactly the ideal places for romantic encounters. They are dirty, filled with old Nintendo gaming systems and gallons of expired milk and used socks. They are not the fantasy location for any two people to be having a conversation, let alone for two people trying to get into the mood. But it’s what we had, and it was the best we could do.
“Do you want a drink?” he asked me, going over to the small fridge after making sure that the bus door was securely locked behind us.
“Absolutely.” I peered into the fridge. It was an alcoholic’s delight - hard liquors, beers from all over the world, wines with impressive ages. He was such a laid-back guy that I forgot where I was, and that these sorts of luxuries were afforded to those who could, in fact, afford them. So I went for the best wine that he had. I wanted to be lucid for our encounter, not intoxicated. I wanted to remember every detail for the rest of my life.
He poured our drinks, and we went over to sit on the small couch - he sat normally, and I leaned back onto an armrest, my feet near his legs. It was an obvious move, but I didn’t know how much time we had, and I needed to be ready to act. As we drank, we talked - and it wasn’t just small talk. It was good, solid, human communication. We had a bond, and I was ecstatic to see that he was liking me as much as I was liking him.
Three glasses of wine later, he leaned over my legs, and toward my face. “Can I kiss you now?” He asked. HE ASKED. I was floored by the sheer - courtesy of it all. He wasn’t just taking from me. He was asking. And at that moment, I knew he could have EVERYTHING that he possibly wanted from me.
My heart pounded. I’d been dreaming of this for years. But the words wouldn’t come out. So I gazed into his eyes with as much passion as I possibly could, pouted my lower lip ever so slightly, and nodded slowly. With that, he took my face into his hands, rubbed my cheekbone with his thumb, and connected his lips to mine. And I was blown away by the intensity of his lips, of his kiss, of how in that moment he actually was. I knew that I could kiss him forever, should such a life be granted to me.
After a few minutes of spectacular kissing, he sat back up, and upon doing so, accidentally brushed my kneecap with his fingers. I giggled, despite myself, and then clamped a hand over my mouth. That was NOT how I wanted to start things. No, no, in my head it was all very clear, we were naked and primed to make love and THEN it would start, but not this accidental maneuver...
But, to my shock and surprise, his eyes sparkled.
“I see you are slightly ticklish, huh?” he asked, eyebrow raised. I decided to play it off, to see if he would pursue it any further.
“No, you just startled me!” I said coyly. “I’m not THAT easy to break.” With that statement, he took my legs into his lap, and started to unlace my knee-high black boots. I giggled just a little.
“Awfully advanced of you, isn’t it?” I mocked. “I thought you were shy!” He only winked at me.
“I am,” he replied. “But as long as you are willing and I am able - well, I’ve always wanted to see what this would do to a girl, and I really like you, and want to try this with you.” My heart soared. This was going to happen. He was going to tickle me. I thought I was going to orgasm on the spot, and nothing had even happened yet.
He pulled my boots off, letting them drop to the floor, revealing my size 6 feet, clad in black and white striped tights. He nodded in approval, and then, with a wicked grin, wiggled all ten of his fingers. I giggled again, causing him to laugh.
“This is great,” he said. “But this will be even better.” And with that, he ran a finger straight down my foot, from the toes to the heel. I squealed - tights, or pantyhose, always make things so much worse! But he did it again, with much more pressure. I could feel his nail scrape against the sole of my foot, and I laughed whole-heartedly. It was killing me - but I was already painfully stimulated. After a moment, he used all five fingers, and danced them across my sole rapidly, trying to be funny by saying, “aww, this really must tickle, huh? Aww, poor thing...” He was really letting another side of him out, and I loved it.
“NOOO, STOP!” I laughed, shaking as his other hand started tickling my other foot. He had my legs trapped, and I couldn’t move. All I could do was feel his ten fingers stroke the soles of my feet. “STOP!” But he wouldn’t stop. We were both laughing, and as my wiggling foot brushed against his jeans, I could feel that he was turned on as well.
When I did that, he stopped, and blushed. “Sorry - I didn’t know that was going to happen.” I sat up, and climbed onto his lap, straddling him. Looking straight into his eyes, I let him know the truth:
“Tickling turns me on. I WANT you to do this. This feels so good to me. I want you to tickle me to orgasm.” His mouth dropped open, but was soon back upon my lips, kissing me with such fury that I barely could breathe. Still kissing, he picked me up, and we walked back to his bed. He laid me down on my back, and looked down at me.
“You’re beautiful,” he said.
“No, I’m not,” I stammered.
“Yes, you definitely are,” he stated. “But you know what?”
“What?”
“You’re even more beautiful when you are laughing.” And with that, he straddled me with his legs, and dug his fingers into my ribs. I shook with laughter, feeling those fingers playing my ribs with an intensity that I had once only imagined.
“STOP! NOOOO!” I squealed. “OH MY GOD, STOP!” I could barely breathe as his fingers walked in a spider-like manner across my tender ribs. But he was relentless.
“Aww, poor little baby, can’t take it? Well, then, this will be worse!” He lifted up my shirt, and brought his lips down to my smooth belly. After taking a deep breath, he exhaled right onto my stomach, blowing furiously. Between the vibration of his lips and the bristle of his goatee, it was too much. I laughed uncontrollably; he took that as a sign to run his fingernails along my ribs on BOTH sides as he blew.
“AHAHAHAHA, NO, PLEASE!” I begged. “IT’S TOO MUCH!” But the scratching against my ribs continued in slow, deep strokes, and the raspberries against my belly were unbearable.
“Beg me to stop,” he said, laughing with his newfound control. “Beg me!”
“OKAY, OKAY, PLEASE STOP! PLEASE STOP!” I sputtered. “I CAN’T TAKE ANYMORE!” He sat up, completely stopping all of his tickling for a moment.
“You okay?” he asked, noticing that I was starting to sweat, and that I was still giggling. Truth was, I was MORE than okay. This was the best night of my life, and if he kept tickling me much longer, I was going to lose all control.
“Yeah, I’m good,” I replied. “I’m great.” He smiled, and leaned down to kiss me again.
“Well, if you’re so great...” he started, leaning down to remove the tights from both of my legs “... then I guess this will just make you perfect.” He straddled both of my legs, his back to me, and with the fingers of one hand, held back the big toes of both of my feet. I was amazed by his strength. It made me fear what I knew was going to happen.
My feet are by far one of my worst ticklish spots, and I was starting to laugh already. “No, not there yet, please no,” I begged. “On the couch was enough, come on, please?” He turned his head back to me, and shook it from side to side.
“I’m ignoring you now,” he said. “Feel free to plead all you want.” And suddenly, I felt all five of his fingers scratch down the bare sole of my right foot. I screamed in laughter. He just kept stroking his nails down my tightly stretched sole, over and over again, taunting me not only physically but verbally: “aww, poor little thing, she’s so ticklish, ohh, I bet this drives her CRAZY...”
“NO, AHAHAHAHA!” I squealed. “NO, PLEASE!” When I started begging, the tickling switched feet. His fingers scribbled all over my sole, rapidly flicking about. I started crying - it was so strong. It was too much.
It was exactly enough.
“Aww, my little baby, aww, tickle tickle tickle!” He exclaimed, now using his one hand to tickle both bare feet. I screamed, laughing at the top of my lungs.
“STOP IT, NO, AHAHAHAHA, NO!” I exclaimed. But he kept going, at a nearly sadistic pace, wiggling his fingers quickly over my tight soles. I couldn’t move, could barely breathe. I had never expected this in my wildest dreams. It was amazing.
After ten straight minutes of foot-tickling, he released my toes, and turned to face me. I took the chance to breathe, and he sat back, looking at me with amazement.
“You like this?” he questioned. “I feel almost - sadistic - doing this.” I looked down at the bulge in his jeans, desperately aching to be set free. I sat up, knelt by him, and kissed him firmly, my hand lightly trailing along the waistband of his jeans. He flinched, and laughed ever so slightly, the bulge in his pants growing even larger.
“Yes,” I replied. “I love this. And so do you.” I placed my lips at his collarbone, and lightly nibbled down from there to his chest, straight down to his stomach, causing him to shudder. As I nibbled along his stomach, I undid his fly, and slid his jeans down. He groaned with what he knew was to eventually come.
“Yes,” he moaned. “I do love this.”
“Say you want to tickle me.”
“I want to tickle you.”
“Say it again.”
“Oh my God,” he groaned, rubbing himself up against me. “You have no idea. I want to tickle you into submission. I want to hear you scream. I want to tickle you until you cum, I have to. Please. I have to do this with you. We have to do this together.”
That was enough for me. We kissed again, and I laid back on the bed. And I decided to up the stakes a notch.
“Got a rope?” I asked. He blushed, nearly reverting back into his old shy self. But I held his eye contact. “Well, do you?” I asked again.
“Yes,” he said. “In the storage cabinet.” And he ran over to get it as quickly as he could. When he brought it back over, he said, “I want to tie you with your hands above your head.”
“Tell me what you are going to do.”
More firmly, he stated, “I am going to tie your arms over your head so that you are completely helpless, and I’m going to straddle your lower body with my legs so that you cannot move.” A shiver went through me.
We were in for a very long night.
**********************************************************
He stripped me of my black tank top before he tied me securely to the base of the bed - arms stretched tightly over my head, leaving my smooth armpits unguarded from any possible attacks, and ribs stretched tight. I was easy to take over now. He could do anything that he wanted to me, and I would be powerless.
“You’re gonna regret this,” he said, chuckling. I was shivering in anticipation, teeth actually chattering from sheer excitement.
“Do your worst,” I taunted. “You don’t scare me at all.”
That was the WRONG thing to say, because, without mercy, he grabbed at my ribs, squeezing them, kneading them with his strong fingers. I shrieked in surprise.
“NOOOO, NOOOO, HAHAHAHAHAHA!” The fingers pinching and grabbing the ribs, and the spaces between the ribs, were unbearable. Then, he started alternating between pinching and scratching, and I was hysterical, squirming relentlessly against my ropes. My full breasts bounced, restrained by my black lace bra. What was worse was that my nipples were fully erect, painfully and erotically rubbing against the lace. He happened to notice.
“Well, you weren’t joking about being turned on, were you?” he laughed, and, still tickling me with one hand, leaned over with the other hand and pinched a nipple. I moaned between laughs, feeling my panties growing even wetter from the sudden sensation. As his one hand spider-tickled my ribs, his other kept pinching my nipple, twisting it gently between the thumb and pointer finger. I couldn’t decide if I needed to laugh or moan. Both sounds escaped my lips in twisted torrents of pleasure.
“That’s enough of that,” he decided, his hands coming off of my body. I was writhing in ticklish agony, needing to be touched.
“Don’t - stop,” I whimpered. “Please, no...” He winked at me, and placed his hands at my waist, one on each side.
“You’ll wish I’m done once I begin this!” he exclaimed, and tickled lightly up along my sides. I giggled, but wasn’t sure what he was thinking - until he reached the hollows of my smooth armpits. He lightly stroked one finger into each armpit, causing me to laugh hysterically and shudder against the touch.
“OKAY, NO, I CHANGED MY MIND!” I screamed. But it was too late. He placed all five fingers into the hollow of each armpit, and begin to swirl them about, running them along the smooth surface in unbearable ticklish torment.
“NO, NO, HAHAHAHA, STOP!” I cried, desperately trying to escape the ticklish scribbles circling in each armpit. But there was no escape - my arms were too tight over my head, only making the sensations even worse. I was helpless to the torture.
And this time, it really was torture. It ticked so much, and all I could do was scream and laugh myself breathless, to the point where my screams weren’t even audible. Tears ran down my cheeks as his fingers scratched and scribbled along my underarms. He dragged the nails in the hollows, around the sides, and up along the underside of my arms, only to scrape them back down again. I gasped for breath, thinking I wouldn’t be able to deal with anymore of this torture.
He stopped right at about that time, and took my head in his hands. With a worried look, he wiped the tears from my cheeks, and kissed my forehead. “Are you okay?” he asked.
I could barely breathe. My body was on fire. I was GREAT.
“Yeh,” I stammered. “Yeh. This is - all I wanted.” He glanced down, and saw that my nipples were still very firm. He pulled the cups of my bra down, exposing my bare breasts. Then he straddled me and took one nipple into his mouth, sucking lightly. His tongue flicked across the top of my nipple, sending shock waves through my body, when he decided to reach down and tickle my bare armpits again, scribbling his fingers rapidly.
“OH NO, OH I...” but I gave up pleading. I just laughed and moaned, the sounds interchangeable, until I knew I was going to orgasm. What else could I do, tied up so firmly that every sensation was unstoppable? I bucked against him, thrusting my hips up into his body, letting the tickling overcome me.
“HAHAHAHAHA, oohhhh, nooooo,” and with one firm, final scratch down the surface of my underarm, I came - hard. I screamed, and bucked up against him, yanking one hand painfully out of the restraints and clawing down his back with my nails. He moaned as well, and pulled down my wet panties so that he could put himself inside of me. He shuddered, and came up to kiss me as we fell into a rhythm, hips grinding together. I thought that maybe, just maybe, I could make him come as hard as I did if I would tickle him as well. After all, he didn’t seem to shy about trying that with me... so as he rocked inside of me, I took my free hand and ran it along his side, squeezing his ribs one by one as I worked my way up. He looked surprised, but started laughing, and lowered his lips back to my nipple. I moaned as his tongue drew circles against my nipple, and giggled as I felt his giggling coming from his lips and onto me. We both were laughing as we came together, and after a moment, the laughing turned into moaning, and screaming, as we released all of the energy that had built up inside of us.
When we finished, he lay on top of me, gasping for air. My one hand was still firmly tied, the other lightly stroking his back as our hearts pounded together. “Wow,” he said. “That was...”
“...intense?” I finished. He could only sigh, and nod in agreement. I kissed the top of his head, his dark curly hair wild and unruly, tickling my lips lightly. I smiled.
“So now what?” I asked. He looked up, and, as if his passion for me had never left his body, kissed me fully on the lips. Then, he chuckled, and pinched my side, causing me to giggle.
“What?” I asked again. His eyes twinkled, and right before he went to kiss me again, he said:
“Now, we give me something to REALLY write a song about.”
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