Apologies for the non-tickling teaser! Be assured that tickling does in fact commence below. Feedback appreciated.
Super Bowl Ticklets.
Part 2.
“Wait!” Larissa cried, almost instantly. The man—whose name she didn’t even know—had been scratching at the bottom of her feet for almost 15 full seconds, and already the experience was far worse than she had expected. She didn’t actually know what she had expected, maybe a poke and a laugh, then a pinch and a giggle. But this guy had just set in like he was running a marathon.
At first she hadn’t even really laughed. She had just kind of laid there shocked by what was happening, trying to hold it in. But when he pulled back the toes on her right foot and began skittering his fingers over the base of her toes, she had made a complete effort to hitch her knees to her chest. The result was the bed moved ever so slightly, her feet did not, and she began to laugh uncontrollably.
The ticket possessing man relished in her flailing and the look of her red toes as they splayed. His smile was unabashed, and still for a bit Larissa was shocked that he was continuing. A part of her couldn’t except that what he was auctioning the ticket for was the right to torture someone. As her laughter became desperate and her struggles against the bonds became more adamant, she thought surely he would realize her plight and stop. But instead he just returned a finger to the arch of each foot and wiggled as fast as he could.
“Fuck! Stop!” she said uncontrollably. “Stop!!” she screamed as her ability to breathe was starting to diminish. To her great relief, he did.
///
“But Larissa,” I said, “It’s only been a minute. Do you not want the ticket?” Her flat tummy was heaving with each breath—her cheeks were already bright red. The look of coyness had vanished from her eyes. She was scared and mad. She was still fidgeting with her arms, trying to find a way to escape. She already knew there wasn’t one.
“We agreed to 30 minutes of tickling,” I continued. “What, did you think it would be easy?” Larissa glared at him. “I didn’t think you wanted to fucking torture me. Jesus. There’s a difference between a kinky fetish and just being evil.”
“Is there?” I said. “Let’s find out.” With that I left her feet and climbed on the bed to straddle her. Instantly she began uttering, “Please, no, don’t, don’t don’t” and redoubling her effort to find a way out of the bonds. I grazed a fingertip against her desperately bent elbow, and began a slow descent down the underside of her arm. She flailed as much as she could, but I patiently followed her arm from her elbow to her bicep, up and down, savoring the feel of the smooth skin. She alternated between girlish giggles and chortles and successful attempts to subdue the reactions.
“There I said,” continuing the smooth stroking. “Is that just evil?” As she contemplated the issue, I added another finger to her face and neck, slowly caressing the delicate skin. Finally between hitching breath and sputtering giggles, she squeezed out “Almost.”
////
The sensation still felt awful, right on the edge of unbearable, but this is at least what Larissa had expected. Something sensual the guy could get off on. She returned to efforts to seduce him, doing her best to transfer her giggles to moans, closing her eyes and imagining the caresses of a lover rather than that of a delusional bastard.
Her tenuous fantasy shattered when his fingers kept going past her trembling biceps and entered the hollows of her underarms. When he brushed against her freshly-shaved armpits, the feeling was unlike anything she could’ve imagined. Instantly she shouted “No!” and brought her hands down. Well, brought them down the two inches the bonds would allow. The instinct to protect herself from that very sensation was so strong that she forgot about the bonds and fully expected she would stop the feeling as she shouted no. But she didn’t. She tugged again, and her hollows were still open for the world to explore. He was trailing back up her arm again, over the bicep and up to the elbow—but as he began his return trip, so did she begin her begging in earnest.
“Fuck, no. You can’t. I can’t….I can’t take that! AHHHH!” Again he grazed the sensitive hollows, swirled them once around causing her to writhe uncontrollably and scream with delirious laughter, and then he began the trip up her arm again. Now she knew his game, and realized she had had enough and made every effort to break free from the bed and get the fuck out of there, Super Bowl ticket or not. Her true panic set in when this effort yielded a result no different than her initial reaction to the armpit tickling, and his fingers began to trail back down her arms to her pits.
////
“It’s evil! It’s evil! Oh God, please stop! Please stop!” she screamed as I let my fingers roam in her vulnerable armpits. It’s such an amazing sensation, feeling such delicate skin—skin that is normally so carefully guarded that it can only be grazed for a split second before it is again hidden. And her struggles. The utter desperation on her face, the unabashed begging, the armpits completely hollowed with futile effort. It was better than I had ever dreamed.
I realized that I really wasn’t even making a concerted effort to tickle her—I was kind of just fondling her exposed armpits. And clearly that was adequate. But wanting to make the most of my opportunity, I gathered my focus and drilled my fingers into the very centers of her armpits, wiggling as I went. This elicited a high pitch scream and an arching of the back. “No! No! Please, anything!” she screamed as I continued her underarm massage. “You have to fucking stop! I’m, I….I can’t! STOP!” she screamed with all of her might.
I didn’t stop. I’d never had a girl in this situation—someone I could tickle and not have to worry about their feelings later. It didn’t matter if I drove her insane. It didn’t matter if she hated me afterward. So I didn’t stop. I explored what happens when you forge on past that point when all normal compassion tells you enough is enough. I moved down just a bit from the armpit, to the soft hollow of flesh just above the first rib, at the side of the breast. I reached beneath the bra strap, dug my fingers in and vibrated the hell out of her. Her breasts shook as much as they could inside the bra, and her back arched with such force that she actually lifted me off the bed with her desperation.
////
The feeling was just unbearable. Larissa, when she could form a thought, wondered what the possible evolutionary purpose of these sensations could be. She had never felt something like this for longer than a second, and her brain was reeling to accommodate a feeling that absolutely had to stop, but wouldn’t. If the evolutionary purpose was to not let yourself get tied up, she had made a note of it. Every vibration of his fingers sent jarring waves of magnified sensation through her, and she realized that she was wailing incoherently as she laughed. Her arms burned from the constant effort to free herself, and she felt violently angry for being so toyed with.
Just when she thought she could take the vibrating feeling no longer, when she thought she would literally pass out, he returned to her armpits, which were now slick with sweat. After a few more minutes of endless torture, she resigned herself to an inescapable plight, ceased her efforts to free herself or beg, and having long forgotten her Bears were playing in the Super Bowl, lay awaiting death.
//
I decided to give her a break. She had held in there for 15 of the 30 minutes negotiated. It was only when I finally stopped that we both heard a knock at the door. For a moment I feared the neighbors had heard her pleading and called the police. I stood there somewhat sheepishly, unsure of what to do.
“Look,” she said, trying ton conjure her girlish charm as she gathered her breath. “I see why this is on a par with $10,000 now, and I really don’t think I can take it anymore. I really think it’s going to kill me if you keep on the way you are. Do you think maybe if I help you out with that rocket in your pocket we could call it even?”
“Hello?” someone called from the other room. “Hello? The door was open, I don’t mean to barge in.” Quickly I ran to the other room, instantly trying to hide what I had been doing. It was a gut reaction. I doubted Larissa would be any more eager to call attention to herself, either. What I saw when I entered the front room stopped me in my tracks.
It was a stunning blond, tall with piercing blue eyes. She was holding a printed out version of my ad about the ticket, and she was wearing a Peyton Manning Colts jersey. “Hi,” she said. “I tried calling a couple of times about your ad, but I couldn’t get a hold of you. I back-traced the number to this address, though, so here I am. I’ll literally do anything to go to that game. Is it too late?”
I was dumbfounded. Literally dumbfounded. What should I do? Finally, having thought about and I’m sure gawking like a complete idiot for a while, I said, “Well, there is already one applicant for the ticket. Umm…bearing in mind you said you do anything, come in the bedroom and let me show you what anything is.”
Doubtlessly the Colts fan had had similar expectations about my desires, and I assumed that if told she had to square off with some chick to see who could give the best BJ, she could do that. As we entered the room, her eyes widened a bit, but she wasn’t really surprised. “Uh, Larissa” I said, “This is…..”
“Jen,” she said. Larissa wasn’t sure what to think, but she wasn’t wild about seeing a Colts fan in the room. “What’s he having you do?” Jen couldn’t help but ask.
“He’s been tickling me,” Larissa said. “30 minutes for the ticket. It’s awful. But I think I’ve just about got it won, don’t I?” she asked, looking in my direction. “Well, Larissa, you still have 15 minutes. And even though I’m flattered by your re-negotiation, I don’t have to give away Super Bowl tickets for sex. You have to finish your time to get the ticket.”
“Tickling?” Jen interjected with a cocky tone. “She couldn’t handle a little tickling?” Without thinking twice Jen pulled her shirt over her head, revealing a set of breasts that made both me and Larissa stop and gape. “I’ll give you 35 minutes right now,” she said.
“The hell you will!” Larissa shouted, obviously feeling a little feisty in the presence of a blonder, bigger-chested, Colts fan. “I think you were on my underarms, there, Chief. I’ll be damned if she’s getting that ticket.”
Suddenly I had more than I had bargained for.
Super Bowl Ticklets.
Part 2.
“Wait!” Larissa cried, almost instantly. The man—whose name she didn’t even know—had been scratching at the bottom of her feet for almost 15 full seconds, and already the experience was far worse than she had expected. She didn’t actually know what she had expected, maybe a poke and a laugh, then a pinch and a giggle. But this guy had just set in like he was running a marathon.
At first she hadn’t even really laughed. She had just kind of laid there shocked by what was happening, trying to hold it in. But when he pulled back the toes on her right foot and began skittering his fingers over the base of her toes, she had made a complete effort to hitch her knees to her chest. The result was the bed moved ever so slightly, her feet did not, and she began to laugh uncontrollably.
The ticket possessing man relished in her flailing and the look of her red toes as they splayed. His smile was unabashed, and still for a bit Larissa was shocked that he was continuing. A part of her couldn’t except that what he was auctioning the ticket for was the right to torture someone. As her laughter became desperate and her struggles against the bonds became more adamant, she thought surely he would realize her plight and stop. But instead he just returned a finger to the arch of each foot and wiggled as fast as he could.
“Fuck! Stop!” she said uncontrollably. “Stop!!” she screamed as her ability to breathe was starting to diminish. To her great relief, he did.
///
“But Larissa,” I said, “It’s only been a minute. Do you not want the ticket?” Her flat tummy was heaving with each breath—her cheeks were already bright red. The look of coyness had vanished from her eyes. She was scared and mad. She was still fidgeting with her arms, trying to find a way to escape. She already knew there wasn’t one.
“We agreed to 30 minutes of tickling,” I continued. “What, did you think it would be easy?” Larissa glared at him. “I didn’t think you wanted to fucking torture me. Jesus. There’s a difference between a kinky fetish and just being evil.”
“Is there?” I said. “Let’s find out.” With that I left her feet and climbed on the bed to straddle her. Instantly she began uttering, “Please, no, don’t, don’t don’t” and redoubling her effort to find a way out of the bonds. I grazed a fingertip against her desperately bent elbow, and began a slow descent down the underside of her arm. She flailed as much as she could, but I patiently followed her arm from her elbow to her bicep, up and down, savoring the feel of the smooth skin. She alternated between girlish giggles and chortles and successful attempts to subdue the reactions.
“There I said,” continuing the smooth stroking. “Is that just evil?” As she contemplated the issue, I added another finger to her face and neck, slowly caressing the delicate skin. Finally between hitching breath and sputtering giggles, she squeezed out “Almost.”
////
The sensation still felt awful, right on the edge of unbearable, but this is at least what Larissa had expected. Something sensual the guy could get off on. She returned to efforts to seduce him, doing her best to transfer her giggles to moans, closing her eyes and imagining the caresses of a lover rather than that of a delusional bastard.
Her tenuous fantasy shattered when his fingers kept going past her trembling biceps and entered the hollows of her underarms. When he brushed against her freshly-shaved armpits, the feeling was unlike anything she could’ve imagined. Instantly she shouted “No!” and brought her hands down. Well, brought them down the two inches the bonds would allow. The instinct to protect herself from that very sensation was so strong that she forgot about the bonds and fully expected she would stop the feeling as she shouted no. But she didn’t. She tugged again, and her hollows were still open for the world to explore. He was trailing back up her arm again, over the bicep and up to the elbow—but as he began his return trip, so did she begin her begging in earnest.
“Fuck, no. You can’t. I can’t….I can’t take that! AHHHH!” Again he grazed the sensitive hollows, swirled them once around causing her to writhe uncontrollably and scream with delirious laughter, and then he began the trip up her arm again. Now she knew his game, and realized she had had enough and made every effort to break free from the bed and get the fuck out of there, Super Bowl ticket or not. Her true panic set in when this effort yielded a result no different than her initial reaction to the armpit tickling, and his fingers began to trail back down her arms to her pits.
////
“It’s evil! It’s evil! Oh God, please stop! Please stop!” she screamed as I let my fingers roam in her vulnerable armpits. It’s such an amazing sensation, feeling such delicate skin—skin that is normally so carefully guarded that it can only be grazed for a split second before it is again hidden. And her struggles. The utter desperation on her face, the unabashed begging, the armpits completely hollowed with futile effort. It was better than I had ever dreamed.
I realized that I really wasn’t even making a concerted effort to tickle her—I was kind of just fondling her exposed armpits. And clearly that was adequate. But wanting to make the most of my opportunity, I gathered my focus and drilled my fingers into the very centers of her armpits, wiggling as I went. This elicited a high pitch scream and an arching of the back. “No! No! Please, anything!” she screamed as I continued her underarm massage. “You have to fucking stop! I’m, I….I can’t! STOP!” she screamed with all of her might.
I didn’t stop. I’d never had a girl in this situation—someone I could tickle and not have to worry about their feelings later. It didn’t matter if I drove her insane. It didn’t matter if she hated me afterward. So I didn’t stop. I explored what happens when you forge on past that point when all normal compassion tells you enough is enough. I moved down just a bit from the armpit, to the soft hollow of flesh just above the first rib, at the side of the breast. I reached beneath the bra strap, dug my fingers in and vibrated the hell out of her. Her breasts shook as much as they could inside the bra, and her back arched with such force that she actually lifted me off the bed with her desperation.
////
The feeling was just unbearable. Larissa, when she could form a thought, wondered what the possible evolutionary purpose of these sensations could be. She had never felt something like this for longer than a second, and her brain was reeling to accommodate a feeling that absolutely had to stop, but wouldn’t. If the evolutionary purpose was to not let yourself get tied up, she had made a note of it. Every vibration of his fingers sent jarring waves of magnified sensation through her, and she realized that she was wailing incoherently as she laughed. Her arms burned from the constant effort to free herself, and she felt violently angry for being so toyed with.
Just when she thought she could take the vibrating feeling no longer, when she thought she would literally pass out, he returned to her armpits, which were now slick with sweat. After a few more minutes of endless torture, she resigned herself to an inescapable plight, ceased her efforts to free herself or beg, and having long forgotten her Bears were playing in the Super Bowl, lay awaiting death.
//
I decided to give her a break. She had held in there for 15 of the 30 minutes negotiated. It was only when I finally stopped that we both heard a knock at the door. For a moment I feared the neighbors had heard her pleading and called the police. I stood there somewhat sheepishly, unsure of what to do.
“Look,” she said, trying ton conjure her girlish charm as she gathered her breath. “I see why this is on a par with $10,000 now, and I really don’t think I can take it anymore. I really think it’s going to kill me if you keep on the way you are. Do you think maybe if I help you out with that rocket in your pocket we could call it even?”
“Hello?” someone called from the other room. “Hello? The door was open, I don’t mean to barge in.” Quickly I ran to the other room, instantly trying to hide what I had been doing. It was a gut reaction. I doubted Larissa would be any more eager to call attention to herself, either. What I saw when I entered the front room stopped me in my tracks.
It was a stunning blond, tall with piercing blue eyes. She was holding a printed out version of my ad about the ticket, and she was wearing a Peyton Manning Colts jersey. “Hi,” she said. “I tried calling a couple of times about your ad, but I couldn’t get a hold of you. I back-traced the number to this address, though, so here I am. I’ll literally do anything to go to that game. Is it too late?”
I was dumbfounded. Literally dumbfounded. What should I do? Finally, having thought about and I’m sure gawking like a complete idiot for a while, I said, “Well, there is already one applicant for the ticket. Umm…bearing in mind you said you do anything, come in the bedroom and let me show you what anything is.”
Doubtlessly the Colts fan had had similar expectations about my desires, and I assumed that if told she had to square off with some chick to see who could give the best BJ, she could do that. As we entered the room, her eyes widened a bit, but she wasn’t really surprised. “Uh, Larissa” I said, “This is…..”
“Jen,” she said. Larissa wasn’t sure what to think, but she wasn’t wild about seeing a Colts fan in the room. “What’s he having you do?” Jen couldn’t help but ask.
“He’s been tickling me,” Larissa said. “30 minutes for the ticket. It’s awful. But I think I’ve just about got it won, don’t I?” she asked, looking in my direction. “Well, Larissa, you still have 15 minutes. And even though I’m flattered by your re-negotiation, I don’t have to give away Super Bowl tickets for sex. You have to finish your time to get the ticket.”
“Tickling?” Jen interjected with a cocky tone. “She couldn’t handle a little tickling?” Without thinking twice Jen pulled her shirt over her head, revealing a set of breasts that made both me and Larissa stop and gape. “I’ll give you 35 minutes right now,” she said.
“The hell you will!” Larissa shouted, obviously feeling a little feisty in the presence of a blonder, bigger-chested, Colts fan. “I think you were on my underarms, there, Chief. I’ll be damned if she’s getting that ticket.”
Suddenly I had more than I had bargained for.
]
