Jerry67911
2nd Level Green Feather
- Joined
- Apr 19, 2001
- Messages
- 4,380
- Points
- 38
Here's a story I found on the web. Author unknown
"So," she purred, sliding a bare hand down the inner curve of his thigh. "What's it worth to you?" Stan inhaled sharply, trying to wrest the blindfold from about his eyes. His naked body, stretched taut with the tethers Leann had bound him with, strained tight as an archer's bowstring to the four corners of her bed.
"Uh... I didn't mean that we should go that far tonight..."
"Oh?" She straddled his waist and slid her fingers up his ribcage. Her warm fingers enveloped the skin, causing a shiver to run up his body. Stan had been in bondage before, and had been tickled several times, but never quite like this.
Leann had come out of nowhere on-line and invited him to come and play with her one night. Oddly enough, the woman he always thought he wanted turned up only three blocks from his apartment. They had passed every other day in the grocery stores and shopping malls, and he had often remarked at her attractiveness. Such were the ironies of life... But now, he was beginning to wonder if he should have agreed to the session. Leann had only loosely tied him down until she had all four of the tethers attached, and then she had cranked them tighter--one by one--with a lever he hadn't seen when he agreed to it. And the blindfold was an added bonus as well. So many things they hadn't discussed before... he wondered what he was in for. "What's it worth to you?" she asked again.
"W-What do you mean?" he stammered.
"I mean this..." She began to spread her naked warmth over his body, their two forms fusing for a moment with the silken, quivering skin that communicated much more than words ever could. His body responded instantly, his penis growing erect with much more enthusiasm than his modesty would allow. "Oh!" she chirped, looking down at it. "How lovely a creature it is," she slid a finger up the underneath, causing Stan to gasp. She moved down to sit between his thighs, taking his quickly-swelling member in hand. "You know," she said, "I could just sit here and play with this all night long and you wouldn't have anything to say about it." Stan really didn't want that... "How straight," she commented, "how proud, how arrogantly it stands! What do you say we see how much you can take, Stanley?" She slid her fingertips lightly up his sides, bringing a giggle from her captive.
"What... are you starting now?" he asked, and suddenly she sank her fingers into his ribs, digging deeply and bringing a helpless yelp from her captive man.
"Did I say you could talk?"
"No...no mistress..." he replied. She began to slowly scrape her nails down the smooth, flat plain of his belly. Stan fought to keep control... to not laugh or squirm or beg her... He was obeying quite well so far. But she kept scraping and scraping and scraping, each time harder than the last, each time swirling her fingers in a new, more ticklish location. She searched the curves of his belly, locating every delicious little wellspring of sensation as Stan wriggled and mewled under her ministrations. And then he went completely wild when she began to tickle in earnest. Her fingers flew in all directions, scraping and scratching, whirling like dervishes over his tightly pulled torso. Over and over his belly, investigating every curve and crevice, where pale skin had been protected from the sun and exposure. Her fingernails skittered up his ribs, massaging them one by one and bringing howls of ecstatic pleasure from her victim... all the while her breasts caressed his swollen organ, teasing and tantalizing it within a warm embrace as her fingers drove him wild.
"Having fun?" she cheered, grinning widely. But the poor man could only howl his helpless giggles in response. "I know what you need," she said, and the tickling stopped. Stan caught his breath in a long moment of rest as she did something he could not see.
"Mistress? What are you...?" A hand clamped over his mouth to remind him of the foremost rule: you may not do that which your mistress does not give you permission to.
"So tell me, Stanley," she sing-songed, "do you like..." A long pause, feeling like an eternity as he hung on her voice. "Velvet?" The one word sent shivers all throughout his body, and the touch of a long, soft, velvet glove slid up his breast, followed by another. She pulled off his blindfold and showed him the elbow-length gloves, black as a raven's feather, that she wore. His body caught fire in a moment, the fluids surging through him like molten desire as she laid her whole forearms against his chest and began to tickle again. Stan lost it. His body bucked and strained as the smooth, sensual gloves made jelly of him through his ribs and belly. The poor man couldn't strain very far, and the feeling of helplessness drove him to the very brink of insanity. He couldn't escape! For long minutes, her fingers explored his torso, delving into dimples in between ribs and torturing his poor navel like a savage beast. Now and again she would coo to him that he was her poor, helpless, ticklish little man and that she was never going to let him go. Her fingers swirled down from his ribs to his belly, and the velvet of the gloves began to brush against the straining knob on the end of his penis. Stan gasped, his voice reaching an interesting octave when that happened.
"Oh?" she asked coyly, "do you like that?" Stan had grown winded, but nodded his head. "Then you might like... this?" she began to slide her left hand up and down the shaft. The arousing caress of the velvet glove sent bolts of pleasure speeding through his body like lightning. She smiled at his expression and tightened her grip, stroking him firmly over and over again as he gasped and watched her fingers work with an aplomb that would have done a surgeon proud. She insinuated a finger of her other hand into his navel and began to wiggle it. Stan's head fell back in a squeal as she tortured both his belly and his penis at the same time. Good Heavens! He felt like he was going to die! "Gonna come?" she asked. He managed to nod frantically as her hand grew bolder, longer in its strokes and threatened to finally push him over the edge. His body bowed up tight as he felt a surge of hot pressure begin to build. And then she released him and pulled her hands away. Stan could scarcely grasp it. So close!
"Wha?!" he cried.
"Oh no," she purred, licking gently beneath the crown, "you don't get to come till I **say** you get to come!"
"No!" he howled, "you can't do that!" She shrugged, then dug her fingers back into his ribs again. Stan howled now, overcome with the ticklish sensations as he thrashed his head to and fro against the sheets, tight cords in the thews of his arms pronouncing themselves as he fought for freedom. And again there was the warm, smooth caress of her breasts encircling his organ, almost pressing just so hard--never enough friction to bring him to bear. His laughter was a squeal now, almost silent in its intensity as those practiced, artistic hands played him like a finely tuned instrument.
At long last, she drew her fingers down his ribs back to his inflamed penis. She ran her tongue across its thick, blood-engorged knob. She giggled lightly, then cupped her breasts around the slender shaft. She began to work them up and down, rubbing his organ in the soft, undulating flesh of her bosom as once more the heat built up within him. A twinge of pain, like a single thorn, pricked at the base of his member as he grew closer to orgasm. He began to repeat her name again and again, praising and loving and begging and thanking her as he felt his genitals pull up tight, and a surge of power rumbled from somewhere deep within his belly, threatening to tear him apart with its intensity. He ground his teeth... he held his breath... And she stopped again. Stan screamed. She attacked his ribs and belly again.
And on it went into the night, for nearly five hours before she finally allowed him to come. When she did, she built his orgasm up over fifteen minutes, stroking over and over with just enough pressure to keep him on the verge without driving him over the edge. When poor Stan lay in a sweating, shivering mass on the sheets, weary from his tickle torture and the unbearable inability to come, she took mercy on him and mounted him. The soft, warm, wet folds of her womanhood enveloped him on the verge of orgasm and she rode him like a two bit mule. If he had been able, he would have left his skin.
Never in all his life had his entire body detonated like that night. He howled, he mewled, and he cried like a baby as the semen flooded out of his body, screaming like a banshee in heat as it pulsed out of his body in powerful bolts. Wave after wave, each mightier than the last, till last it left him and he collapsed onto the sheets.
"So..." she purred, running fingertips through the hair of his chest, "was it worth it?" His only response was an incoherent nod. He could not speak; he could barely even move. "Good!" she chirped. "Then I get to do your feet for dessert now!"
"So," she purred, sliding a bare hand down the inner curve of his thigh. "What's it worth to you?" Stan inhaled sharply, trying to wrest the blindfold from about his eyes. His naked body, stretched taut with the tethers Leann had bound him with, strained tight as an archer's bowstring to the four corners of her bed.
"Uh... I didn't mean that we should go that far tonight..."
"Oh?" She straddled his waist and slid her fingers up his ribcage. Her warm fingers enveloped the skin, causing a shiver to run up his body. Stan had been in bondage before, and had been tickled several times, but never quite like this.
Leann had come out of nowhere on-line and invited him to come and play with her one night. Oddly enough, the woman he always thought he wanted turned up only three blocks from his apartment. They had passed every other day in the grocery stores and shopping malls, and he had often remarked at her attractiveness. Such were the ironies of life... But now, he was beginning to wonder if he should have agreed to the session. Leann had only loosely tied him down until she had all four of the tethers attached, and then she had cranked them tighter--one by one--with a lever he hadn't seen when he agreed to it. And the blindfold was an added bonus as well. So many things they hadn't discussed before... he wondered what he was in for. "What's it worth to you?" she asked again.
"W-What do you mean?" he stammered.
"I mean this..." She began to spread her naked warmth over his body, their two forms fusing for a moment with the silken, quivering skin that communicated much more than words ever could. His body responded instantly, his penis growing erect with much more enthusiasm than his modesty would allow. "Oh!" she chirped, looking down at it. "How lovely a creature it is," she slid a finger up the underneath, causing Stan to gasp. She moved down to sit between his thighs, taking his quickly-swelling member in hand. "You know," she said, "I could just sit here and play with this all night long and you wouldn't have anything to say about it." Stan really didn't want that... "How straight," she commented, "how proud, how arrogantly it stands! What do you say we see how much you can take, Stanley?" She slid her fingertips lightly up his sides, bringing a giggle from her captive.
"What... are you starting now?" he asked, and suddenly she sank her fingers into his ribs, digging deeply and bringing a helpless yelp from her captive man.
"Did I say you could talk?"
"No...no mistress..." he replied. She began to slowly scrape her nails down the smooth, flat plain of his belly. Stan fought to keep control... to not laugh or squirm or beg her... He was obeying quite well so far. But she kept scraping and scraping and scraping, each time harder than the last, each time swirling her fingers in a new, more ticklish location. She searched the curves of his belly, locating every delicious little wellspring of sensation as Stan wriggled and mewled under her ministrations. And then he went completely wild when she began to tickle in earnest. Her fingers flew in all directions, scraping and scratching, whirling like dervishes over his tightly pulled torso. Over and over his belly, investigating every curve and crevice, where pale skin had been protected from the sun and exposure. Her fingernails skittered up his ribs, massaging them one by one and bringing howls of ecstatic pleasure from her victim... all the while her breasts caressed his swollen organ, teasing and tantalizing it within a warm embrace as her fingers drove him wild.
"Having fun?" she cheered, grinning widely. But the poor man could only howl his helpless giggles in response. "I know what you need," she said, and the tickling stopped. Stan caught his breath in a long moment of rest as she did something he could not see.
"Mistress? What are you...?" A hand clamped over his mouth to remind him of the foremost rule: you may not do that which your mistress does not give you permission to.
"So tell me, Stanley," she sing-songed, "do you like..." A long pause, feeling like an eternity as he hung on her voice. "Velvet?" The one word sent shivers all throughout his body, and the touch of a long, soft, velvet glove slid up his breast, followed by another. She pulled off his blindfold and showed him the elbow-length gloves, black as a raven's feather, that she wore. His body caught fire in a moment, the fluids surging through him like molten desire as she laid her whole forearms against his chest and began to tickle again. Stan lost it. His body bucked and strained as the smooth, sensual gloves made jelly of him through his ribs and belly. The poor man couldn't strain very far, and the feeling of helplessness drove him to the very brink of insanity. He couldn't escape! For long minutes, her fingers explored his torso, delving into dimples in between ribs and torturing his poor navel like a savage beast. Now and again she would coo to him that he was her poor, helpless, ticklish little man and that she was never going to let him go. Her fingers swirled down from his ribs to his belly, and the velvet of the gloves began to brush against the straining knob on the end of his penis. Stan gasped, his voice reaching an interesting octave when that happened.
"Oh?" she asked coyly, "do you like that?" Stan had grown winded, but nodded his head. "Then you might like... this?" she began to slide her left hand up and down the shaft. The arousing caress of the velvet glove sent bolts of pleasure speeding through his body like lightning. She smiled at his expression and tightened her grip, stroking him firmly over and over again as he gasped and watched her fingers work with an aplomb that would have done a surgeon proud. She insinuated a finger of her other hand into his navel and began to wiggle it. Stan's head fell back in a squeal as she tortured both his belly and his penis at the same time. Good Heavens! He felt like he was going to die! "Gonna come?" she asked. He managed to nod frantically as her hand grew bolder, longer in its strokes and threatened to finally push him over the edge. His body bowed up tight as he felt a surge of hot pressure begin to build. And then she released him and pulled her hands away. Stan could scarcely grasp it. So close!
"Wha?!" he cried.
"Oh no," she purred, licking gently beneath the crown, "you don't get to come till I **say** you get to come!"
"No!" he howled, "you can't do that!" She shrugged, then dug her fingers back into his ribs again. Stan howled now, overcome with the ticklish sensations as he thrashed his head to and fro against the sheets, tight cords in the thews of his arms pronouncing themselves as he fought for freedom. And again there was the warm, smooth caress of her breasts encircling his organ, almost pressing just so hard--never enough friction to bring him to bear. His laughter was a squeal now, almost silent in its intensity as those practiced, artistic hands played him like a finely tuned instrument.
At long last, she drew her fingers down his ribs back to his inflamed penis. She ran her tongue across its thick, blood-engorged knob. She giggled lightly, then cupped her breasts around the slender shaft. She began to work them up and down, rubbing his organ in the soft, undulating flesh of her bosom as once more the heat built up within him. A twinge of pain, like a single thorn, pricked at the base of his member as he grew closer to orgasm. He began to repeat her name again and again, praising and loving and begging and thanking her as he felt his genitals pull up tight, and a surge of power rumbled from somewhere deep within his belly, threatening to tear him apart with its intensity. He ground his teeth... he held his breath... And she stopped again. Stan screamed. She attacked his ribs and belly again.
And on it went into the night, for nearly five hours before she finally allowed him to come. When she did, she built his orgasm up over fifteen minutes, stroking over and over with just enough pressure to keep him on the verge without driving him over the edge. When poor Stan lay in a sweating, shivering mass on the sheets, weary from his tickle torture and the unbearable inability to come, she took mercy on him and mounted him. The soft, warm, wet folds of her womanhood enveloped him on the verge of orgasm and she rode him like a two bit mule. If he had been able, he would have left his skin.
Never in all his life had his entire body detonated like that night. He howled, he mewled, and he cried like a baby as the semen flooded out of his body, screaming like a banshee in heat as it pulsed out of his body in powerful bolts. Wave after wave, each mightier than the last, till last it left him and he collapsed onto the sheets.
"So..." she purred, running fingertips through the hair of his chest, "was it worth it?" His only response was an incoherent nod. He could not speak; he could barely even move. "Good!" she chirped. "Then I get to do your feet for dessert now!"
