Knox The Hatter
2nd Level Indigo Feather
- Joined
- Feb 11, 2003
- Messages
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GITCHIE GOO
By
Knox The Hatter
Copyright 2006 Christopher Khoury. All Rights Reserved.__________________
“Wow,” Missy said, looking at the small, cramped quarters that now presented before her. “Pretty intimate, isn’t it?”
“It seems to do the job for which it was intended.” Michael sat on a bright, red beanbag in the corner of the room, picked up a television remote, and pressed a button. The TV came on. It was tuned to one of those shows that featured home improvement crews fixing up the abodes of two different couples without their knowledge; Michael pressed two more buttons, and ESPN miraculously appeared. “Make yourself at home.”
“Home is a shoe box.” Missy sat down on Michael’s bed, sighed, and kicked off her flats.
“Be it ever so tiny…”
“So, where do you keep refreshments?”
“I have a refrigerator in the hallway.”
Missy got up, and retrieved a plastic bottle of Dr. Pepper from the hallway refrigerator, having asked if he wanted one as well, and receiving a negative reply.
“Would you join me here on the bean bag?”
“There can’t be room on there for the both of us,” she laughed.
“Oh, there is.” Michael moved over, making meager space for Missy, who moved her slender frame onto the beanbag beside him. “I know the beans are kinda mashed, but then, it’s a very old bean bag.”
“A yard sale bean bag, perhaps?”
“Oh, no.” Michael grinned. “A hand-me-down bean bag from my older brother, who had it in his Dartmouth dorm.”
“Oh, God.”
“Yes,” Michael said. “Oh, God.”
He then reached over, and ran his index finger along the back of Missy’s neck, very slowly. She twitched, and jerked her head back. “Jesus! That tickles!”
“It’s supposed to tickle.”
“No, it’s not!”
His fingers continued to caress the area, the girl giggled uncontrollably. “Stop, you’re tickling me!”
“Hmm…” Michael pulled Missy closer to him. Reaching up, he kissed the back of her neck softly, and felt her edge backward to get closer to the tongue’s embrace. He could feel her body quiver softly.
“That’s nice,” she said, slowly.
Michael edged up the left side, and began tonguing Missy’s ear lobe, while his fingers gently caressed the right side of her neck.
“Hahaahahaahahahaha,” squealed Missy. “You’re tickling me again! I’m very ticklish!”
“I see. Well, I just love ticklish women.”
“You do, huh?”
“And, I can tell, that on some deep level, Missy likes being tickled.”
There was silence for a few seconds, while Missy swigged the Dr. Pepper from the maroon-labeled plastic bottle. “Well, you’re wrong.”
“Your eyes tell different stories.”
“No,” she said, half-giggling. “They don’t.”
“Yes, they do.” Michael reached down, and plied his dancing index finger along the sole of her stockinged left foot. Missy bucked and jerked, emitting a high pitched yelp. “See?”
“Stop!” She playfully slapped him on his upper right arm. There was playfulness in her countenance, rather than alarm.
“Oh no. I know you like it.”
She looked at him with a look of wonder in her eyes; she wasn’t entirely sure just where he was going with this. “You know nothing.”
He gingerly brought her down to the carpeted floor, where he kissed and softly licked her neck. Every so often, she burst forth with hastily stifled giggles. As he continued nibbling on her neck and ears, his index fingers found her fleshy sides. This made for an abrupt outburst of laughter. “What are you doing?”
“I’m tickling you!”
“Must you?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because hearing you laugh is what I live for.”
“You wanna hear me laugh? Go put on a speedo right now!”
Michael let all ten of his fingers rip on her upper body, in a range from her underarms down to her navel, and along her abdomen. A high pitched torrent of laughter rang forth, like a tidal wave. “Heeehehheeeheheheheahahahhahhaehehhehehehehehhe!”
“Thou shalt not make jokes about speedos!” Michael teased.
“Please, I can’t take it, please…”
“Oh, all right,” Michael said, resting. Missy took several deep breaths. “You don’t like me hearing your laughter, is that it?”
“Of course not! How could you think that my laughter’s sexy, though?”
“Because it IS. It gets me excited.” Michael’s index finger reached over, pulled the bottom of Missy’s tank top up just a bit, and danced across Missy’s abdomen, bringing laughter and a renewed attempt by her hands to relieve herself of this happy distress.
“What if I did this to YOU?”
“You can’t. I’m not ticklish at all.”
“That’s not fair!”
“Life’s clearly not fair.” Michael’s hands stealthily reached behind Missy’s back, reached under her shirt, and undid her brassiere. Slipping his head under her tank top, he, with the assistance of his hands behind her, put said brassiere within his front teeth, and removed it. Her ample breasts, accented by large aureoles, now lay free. The slightest movement made each jiggle to and fro, in a very contented fashion. Michael began to bite Missy’s left nipple very softly, very slowly, as Missy moaned almost inaudibly. Soon, his index fingers both began to gently caress the fleshy area just under Missy’s underarms. Startled, she jerked from side to side, with a moan. “How can that tickle and feel wonderful at the same time?”
“You haven’t opened your mind, yet.”
“To what?”
“To the possibilities that tickling can make your experience that much better.”
“Really?”
“Yes.” Michael sighed. “I very much believe in this.”
“My experience,” asked Missy, still incredulous, “or yours?”
“Both.”
“Oh, I’m not buying that.”
Michael bent over and kissed Missy deeply. “You’re a great kisser, Michael, do you know that?”
“Fair to middling.”
Missy laughed. “Uh-huh.”
Michael then undid her very short denim pants, and slid them off. Her panties were a bright red, and he could see tufts of hair trying to escape on both sides of her nether region. His probing right index finger slowly reached down, and caressed the area just behind where the hair crowded; she jumped, and emitted a short yip. “Sensitive there, too, huh?”
“Sneaky fuck.”
Michael took Missy’s tongue in for a long kiss; his hands deftly removed her panties. A very faint fragrance, that of Missy’s making, wafted up, and made Michael reach down, to bury his face in the area where she was most sensitive. Lifting her legs up somewhat, he then began to tongue her outer lips. This made her emit a soft, contented moan.
“Very tasty,” he whispered. The remark made her softly slap Michael’s head playfully.
He went back down, and massaged Missy’s clitoris with his tongue, in a rhythmic fashion. As her legs clamped around his head, and as her breathing had become very shallow, he then took the index fingers of both hands, and caressed the creases on each side of her pelvic region, where they both joined the legs. Missy bucked and jerked, the moans interspersed with periodic giggles. While his tongue danced rhythmically, his hands reached up and softly spiderfingered Missy’s hips, and the sounds exiting her throat became more frantic, more gasping; her lower body bucked in short, sharp vibrations. Missy couldn’t believe what was going on. Nevertheless, she did not want it to stop. Ever.
Michael’s tongue, by now, had become a miniature piston, gliding in and out, not losing contact for a second with Missy’s tormented clitoris, while his fingers moved slowly up her sides, aiming for her highly sensitive underarms, doing semi-circles and Half-Nelsons and other motions. The sounds coming out of her being were a mixture of moans and stifled laughter; the fragrances of hormones and Nature and Dr. Pepper happily intermingled in the air. Finally, her legs clamped around Michael’s head, until there was a danger of her cutting off his breathing. His tongue worked even harder, darting in and out, loving her clitoris, while his hands tickled her underarms leisurely. All of this would reach a crescendo; Missy howling in loud gasps, her bodily fluids soaking Michael’s face, his hands gently massaging her sides.
As Michael rose up, with his rock-hard manhood preparing to enter Missy’s portals, she softly said to him, “gitchie goo.”
“Gitchie gitchie goo,” was his reply.
By
Knox The Hatter
Copyright 2006 Christopher Khoury. All Rights Reserved.__________________
“Wow,” Missy said, looking at the small, cramped quarters that now presented before her. “Pretty intimate, isn’t it?”
“It seems to do the job for which it was intended.” Michael sat on a bright, red beanbag in the corner of the room, picked up a television remote, and pressed a button. The TV came on. It was tuned to one of those shows that featured home improvement crews fixing up the abodes of two different couples without their knowledge; Michael pressed two more buttons, and ESPN miraculously appeared. “Make yourself at home.”
“Home is a shoe box.” Missy sat down on Michael’s bed, sighed, and kicked off her flats.
“Be it ever so tiny…”
“So, where do you keep refreshments?”
“I have a refrigerator in the hallway.”
Missy got up, and retrieved a plastic bottle of Dr. Pepper from the hallway refrigerator, having asked if he wanted one as well, and receiving a negative reply.
“Would you join me here on the bean bag?”
“There can’t be room on there for the both of us,” she laughed.
“Oh, there is.” Michael moved over, making meager space for Missy, who moved her slender frame onto the beanbag beside him. “I know the beans are kinda mashed, but then, it’s a very old bean bag.”
“A yard sale bean bag, perhaps?”
“Oh, no.” Michael grinned. “A hand-me-down bean bag from my older brother, who had it in his Dartmouth dorm.”
“Oh, God.”
“Yes,” Michael said. “Oh, God.”
He then reached over, and ran his index finger along the back of Missy’s neck, very slowly. She twitched, and jerked her head back. “Jesus! That tickles!”
“It’s supposed to tickle.”
“No, it’s not!”
His fingers continued to caress the area, the girl giggled uncontrollably. “Stop, you’re tickling me!”
“Hmm…” Michael pulled Missy closer to him. Reaching up, he kissed the back of her neck softly, and felt her edge backward to get closer to the tongue’s embrace. He could feel her body quiver softly.
“That’s nice,” she said, slowly.
Michael edged up the left side, and began tonguing Missy’s ear lobe, while his fingers gently caressed the right side of her neck.
“Hahaahahaahahahaha,” squealed Missy. “You’re tickling me again! I’m very ticklish!”
“I see. Well, I just love ticklish women.”
“You do, huh?”
“And, I can tell, that on some deep level, Missy likes being tickled.”
There was silence for a few seconds, while Missy swigged the Dr. Pepper from the maroon-labeled plastic bottle. “Well, you’re wrong.”
“Your eyes tell different stories.”
“No,” she said, half-giggling. “They don’t.”
“Yes, they do.” Michael reached down, and plied his dancing index finger along the sole of her stockinged left foot. Missy bucked and jerked, emitting a high pitched yelp. “See?”
“Stop!” She playfully slapped him on his upper right arm. There was playfulness in her countenance, rather than alarm.
“Oh no. I know you like it.”
She looked at him with a look of wonder in her eyes; she wasn’t entirely sure just where he was going with this. “You know nothing.”
He gingerly brought her down to the carpeted floor, where he kissed and softly licked her neck. Every so often, she burst forth with hastily stifled giggles. As he continued nibbling on her neck and ears, his index fingers found her fleshy sides. This made for an abrupt outburst of laughter. “What are you doing?”
“I’m tickling you!”
“Must you?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because hearing you laugh is what I live for.”
“You wanna hear me laugh? Go put on a speedo right now!”
Michael let all ten of his fingers rip on her upper body, in a range from her underarms down to her navel, and along her abdomen. A high pitched torrent of laughter rang forth, like a tidal wave. “Heeehehheeeheheheheahahahhahhaehehhehehehehehhe!”
“Thou shalt not make jokes about speedos!” Michael teased.
“Please, I can’t take it, please…”
“Oh, all right,” Michael said, resting. Missy took several deep breaths. “You don’t like me hearing your laughter, is that it?”
“Of course not! How could you think that my laughter’s sexy, though?”
“Because it IS. It gets me excited.” Michael’s index finger reached over, pulled the bottom of Missy’s tank top up just a bit, and danced across Missy’s abdomen, bringing laughter and a renewed attempt by her hands to relieve herself of this happy distress.
“What if I did this to YOU?”
“You can’t. I’m not ticklish at all.”
“That’s not fair!”
“Life’s clearly not fair.” Michael’s hands stealthily reached behind Missy’s back, reached under her shirt, and undid her brassiere. Slipping his head under her tank top, he, with the assistance of his hands behind her, put said brassiere within his front teeth, and removed it. Her ample breasts, accented by large aureoles, now lay free. The slightest movement made each jiggle to and fro, in a very contented fashion. Michael began to bite Missy’s left nipple very softly, very slowly, as Missy moaned almost inaudibly. Soon, his index fingers both began to gently caress the fleshy area just under Missy’s underarms. Startled, she jerked from side to side, with a moan. “How can that tickle and feel wonderful at the same time?”
“You haven’t opened your mind, yet.”
“To what?”
“To the possibilities that tickling can make your experience that much better.”
“Really?”
“Yes.” Michael sighed. “I very much believe in this.”
“My experience,” asked Missy, still incredulous, “or yours?”
“Both.”
“Oh, I’m not buying that.”
Michael bent over and kissed Missy deeply. “You’re a great kisser, Michael, do you know that?”
“Fair to middling.”
Missy laughed. “Uh-huh.”
Michael then undid her very short denim pants, and slid them off. Her panties were a bright red, and he could see tufts of hair trying to escape on both sides of her nether region. His probing right index finger slowly reached down, and caressed the area just behind where the hair crowded; she jumped, and emitted a short yip. “Sensitive there, too, huh?”
“Sneaky fuck.”
Michael took Missy’s tongue in for a long kiss; his hands deftly removed her panties. A very faint fragrance, that of Missy’s making, wafted up, and made Michael reach down, to bury his face in the area where she was most sensitive. Lifting her legs up somewhat, he then began to tongue her outer lips. This made her emit a soft, contented moan.
“Very tasty,” he whispered. The remark made her softly slap Michael’s head playfully.
He went back down, and massaged Missy’s clitoris with his tongue, in a rhythmic fashion. As her legs clamped around his head, and as her breathing had become very shallow, he then took the index fingers of both hands, and caressed the creases on each side of her pelvic region, where they both joined the legs. Missy bucked and jerked, the moans interspersed with periodic giggles. While his tongue danced rhythmically, his hands reached up and softly spiderfingered Missy’s hips, and the sounds exiting her throat became more frantic, more gasping; her lower body bucked in short, sharp vibrations. Missy couldn’t believe what was going on. Nevertheless, she did not want it to stop. Ever.
Michael’s tongue, by now, had become a miniature piston, gliding in and out, not losing contact for a second with Missy’s tormented clitoris, while his fingers moved slowly up her sides, aiming for her highly sensitive underarms, doing semi-circles and Half-Nelsons and other motions. The sounds coming out of her being were a mixture of moans and stifled laughter; the fragrances of hormones and Nature and Dr. Pepper happily intermingled in the air. Finally, her legs clamped around Michael’s head, until there was a danger of her cutting off his breathing. His tongue worked even harder, darting in and out, loving her clitoris, while his hands tickled her underarms leisurely. All of this would reach a crescendo; Missy howling in loud gasps, her bodily fluids soaking Michael’s face, his hands gently massaging her sides.
As Michael rose up, with his rock-hard manhood preparing to enter Missy’s portals, she softly said to him, “gitchie goo.”
“Gitchie gitchie goo,” was his reply.
