Tina was a nice girl.
I tried so hard, Oh, yes, I did.
But sin is oh, so sweet.
Five foot three, she was just nineteen, a giggly American Scots-
Italian, midwestern, straitlaced girl. She smiled so bright, with
dimpled little cheeks, but she bubbled so cute behind that dam...
Every little thing, brought a giggle, giggle, grin, then a
bubble-burst-smile, and it drove me crazy, this sexy little
pixie...she'd be a tickle-torture screamer, but I tried to walk
away...I did, oh, yes, I did.
I tried to leave, headed out and away, but I had to look, just
one more time, just for moment, maybe take my time...
She had little silver sneaks, say about size six, and crew-socks
folded low. Acrobat legs, young, girlish but strong, soft and
warm, supple and sweet, a sun-kissed caramel. Red fleece shorts
wrapped tight and thin, her tenderness encased within. A perfect
ass, so fit and fine, a lonely seam down her centerline. Round
the front it came back up to the drawstring south of tummy.
I looked away, but I couldn't stand up. Slowly, slowly, I turned
to look once more...and more and more and more and more.
Those sweet, soft legs so smooth and silky, flexed and crossed
and toed and swept, and her giggling voice, so sweet and cute,
just bubbling and bubbling and bursting out in joy. I watched
that little drawstring and I had to... got to... GIMME THAT
TOY!!!
She had the tightest little tummy, as tan as were her legs.
Wink, wink, wink went her button 'neath her little grey tee. And
cheery, perky, eager breasts pressed hard 'gainst her shirt.
Wantin' so bad, it was startin' to hurt...
She had golden-bronze hair, cut a little bit short, and a bright
-eyed, pixie-elf, gigglin' face. Friendly as could be, and happy
with her friends...smirk, giggle, burst, laugh, smile, start
again...
Across her tee, announced by tits, her cornbelt alma mater...
And bingo-slamdunk-touchdown-yummy, was the cute little name of
the cuteness corps...
WOMEN'S
GYMNASTICS
TEAM
Oh, my. Oh, my. That poor, poor lil' gigglin' girl...whatever
will she do...
...
Whatever it is, no one will hear...
In a cornfield cabin, oh, dear, oh, dear!
It was spartan inside (or "rustic" says the ad). There was a
table and a chair and an iron poster bed.
That's an iron...poster...bed.
And there upon the mattress, with the pillows stuffed in sheets,
was our helpless little gymnast with her ticklish feets.
Now some say no to sockses, and I really disagree, for they are a
most amusing way to stress your ticklee.
I prefer to fondle, lightly, and therefore found little miss
Tina's selection of cutely folded crew socks quite delightful and
of markedly higher potential than more standard tube-style
athletic socks commonly worn with sneakers.
And I do think Tina's toes agree, the way they waved and curled
and ran from me.
I pulled the cotton to and fro, brushing her toes with a light
caress, here and there and poking about, footsies waving as I
made my route.
And that, of course, is the a most yummy little thing...a
helpless, cutesy, soft little footsie teased and teased and
teased, waving and flexing, and twisting and turning, but the
fingers just play and play.
And it felt so good, 'cause he touched her just right, but she
fought his little touches with every bit of her might, and her
legs, they flexed and stretched and squirmed so slow, but ropes
held her tight with nowhere to go, and he just kept going as her
mind screamed NO, NO, NO, so she squirmed and she wormed, and she
wiggled and she squealed...and her shirt worked up and her belly
button winked, and her shorts showed her movin' and the motion
was sweet so he kept on a-fondlin' her cutesy lil' feet...
And I heard it through her wiffle-gag, oh, yes, her labored
breath, a frantic, panicked, hot-lunged,fit. Not even had I
tickled yet, and Tina's in a tizzy...
And so, I introduced my friend, the magnificent Miss Lizzie!
Lizzie was a pheasant sword, that is a very long tail-feather.
Stiff as a board for most of its shaft, with a tip that's soft
and sharp. And whipped just right, (that's soft and light), it
plays them like a harp.
So.....wiggle, wiggle, flick, flick, flick Lizzie squiggled bout her
tummy, then flicked about her inner thighs, almost upon her
(fleece-bound) yummy.
Giggle, giggle, squeal, and BURST! Did I mention this girl's a
screamer?
Now, on the subject of frantic and desperate ticklees who have
been stimulated into such a mind-blowing frenzy in which they
CAN-NOT-TAKE-IT, there is some debate among tickling
afficionados...it is my belief that such insane psycho torture
tickles are best delivered in bursts, with slower, more sensual
interludes between, so that the ticklee may experience the
deliciously maddening realization that their own will is slowly,
inexorably weakening from within...eventually to produce a
quivering, sweat-slicked, tickle-teased little sex-maniac that
just wants so bad to cum.
But more on this later...
WHAAAEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!! !!!!!
(It was actually very close to sounding exactly like that looks.)
Her little gymnast abs fluttered and shook and trembled and
quaked, and trips to her hips made her jerk and buck.
And he kept on going, but her mind went BANG! and before she
could recover, then BANG! BANG! BANG! as Lizzie worked her flesh
with a flicketty, flicketty, flicketty, flick, each one light and
each one quick...here and there and there and here, every bit of
skin thrilled with fear, and he watched her thrash and he felt
her rage, but he kept her going for another page...
I tried so hard, Oh, yes, I did.
But sin is oh, so sweet.
Five foot three, she was just nineteen, a giggly American Scots-
Italian, midwestern, straitlaced girl. She smiled so bright, with
dimpled little cheeks, but she bubbled so cute behind that dam...
Every little thing, brought a giggle, giggle, grin, then a
bubble-burst-smile, and it drove me crazy, this sexy little
pixie...she'd be a tickle-torture screamer, but I tried to walk
away...I did, oh, yes, I did.
I tried to leave, headed out and away, but I had to look, just
one more time, just for moment, maybe take my time...
She had little silver sneaks, say about size six, and crew-socks
folded low. Acrobat legs, young, girlish but strong, soft and
warm, supple and sweet, a sun-kissed caramel. Red fleece shorts
wrapped tight and thin, her tenderness encased within. A perfect
ass, so fit and fine, a lonely seam down her centerline. Round
the front it came back up to the drawstring south of tummy.
I looked away, but I couldn't stand up. Slowly, slowly, I turned
to look once more...and more and more and more and more.
Those sweet, soft legs so smooth and silky, flexed and crossed
and toed and swept, and her giggling voice, so sweet and cute,
just bubbling and bubbling and bursting out in joy. I watched
that little drawstring and I had to... got to... GIMME THAT
TOY!!!
She had the tightest little tummy, as tan as were her legs.
Wink, wink, wink went her button 'neath her little grey tee. And
cheery, perky, eager breasts pressed hard 'gainst her shirt.
Wantin' so bad, it was startin' to hurt...
She had golden-bronze hair, cut a little bit short, and a bright
-eyed, pixie-elf, gigglin' face. Friendly as could be, and happy
with her friends...smirk, giggle, burst, laugh, smile, start
again...
Across her tee, announced by tits, her cornbelt alma mater...
And bingo-slamdunk-touchdown-yummy, was the cute little name of
the cuteness corps...
WOMEN'S
GYMNASTICS
TEAM
Oh, my. Oh, my. That poor, poor lil' gigglin' girl...whatever
will she do...
...
Whatever it is, no one will hear...
In a cornfield cabin, oh, dear, oh, dear!
It was spartan inside (or "rustic" says the ad). There was a
table and a chair and an iron poster bed.
That's an iron...poster...bed.
And there upon the mattress, with the pillows stuffed in sheets,
was our helpless little gymnast with her ticklish feets.
Now some say no to sockses, and I really disagree, for they are a
most amusing way to stress your ticklee.
I prefer to fondle, lightly, and therefore found little miss
Tina's selection of cutely folded crew socks quite delightful and
of markedly higher potential than more standard tube-style
athletic socks commonly worn with sneakers.
And I do think Tina's toes agree, the way they waved and curled
and ran from me.
I pulled the cotton to and fro, brushing her toes with a light
caress, here and there and poking about, footsies waving as I
made my route.
And that, of course, is the a most yummy little thing...a
helpless, cutesy, soft little footsie teased and teased and
teased, waving and flexing, and twisting and turning, but the
fingers just play and play.
And it felt so good, 'cause he touched her just right, but she
fought his little touches with every bit of her might, and her
legs, they flexed and stretched and squirmed so slow, but ropes
held her tight with nowhere to go, and he just kept going as her
mind screamed NO, NO, NO, so she squirmed and she wormed, and she
wiggled and she squealed...and her shirt worked up and her belly
button winked, and her shorts showed her movin' and the motion
was sweet so he kept on a-fondlin' her cutesy lil' feet...
And I heard it through her wiffle-gag, oh, yes, her labored
breath, a frantic, panicked, hot-lunged,fit. Not even had I
tickled yet, and Tina's in a tizzy...
And so, I introduced my friend, the magnificent Miss Lizzie!
Lizzie was a pheasant sword, that is a very long tail-feather.
Stiff as a board for most of its shaft, with a tip that's soft
and sharp. And whipped just right, (that's soft and light), it
plays them like a harp.
So.....wiggle, wiggle, flick, flick, flick Lizzie squiggled bout her
tummy, then flicked about her inner thighs, almost upon her
(fleece-bound) yummy.
Giggle, giggle, squeal, and BURST! Did I mention this girl's a
screamer?
Now, on the subject of frantic and desperate ticklees who have
been stimulated into such a mind-blowing frenzy in which they
CAN-NOT-TAKE-IT, there is some debate among tickling
afficionados...it is my belief that such insane psycho torture
tickles are best delivered in bursts, with slower, more sensual
interludes between, so that the ticklee may experience the
deliciously maddening realization that their own will is slowly,
inexorably weakening from within...eventually to produce a
quivering, sweat-slicked, tickle-teased little sex-maniac that
just wants so bad to cum.
But more on this later...
WHAAAEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!! !!!!!
(It was actually very close to sounding exactly like that looks.)
Her little gymnast abs fluttered and shook and trembled and
quaked, and trips to her hips made her jerk and buck.
And he kept on going, but her mind went BANG! and before she
could recover, then BANG! BANG! BANG! as Lizzie worked her flesh
with a flicketty, flicketty, flicketty, flick, each one light and
each one quick...here and there and there and here, every bit of
skin thrilled with fear, and he watched her thrash and he felt
her rage, but he kept her going for another page...
