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  1. #1
    Join Date
    Nov 2007
    Los Angeles

    Cool My Gift To You (MF/F...sort of)

    ďWhat weíve got here is...failure to communicate.Ē

    - The Captain. Cool Hand Luke.

    Öand if youíre listening to this right now, you must be a little confused as to whatís happening. I donít need to be with you to know youíre afraid.
    I want you to know itís okay. Itís okay to be upset. Angry. Hurt. I want you to know itís normal to feel something.
    I know. Itís probably a little difficult for you to admit to yourself that you actually feel anything. Through all that tough, impenetrable armor you call a personality, underneath it all right now, youíre probably scared shitless.
    But Iím here. With you. Sort of.
    If what youíre thinking is, This is your fault. Youíre the one who set this up. Youíre right. But, Iím not sorry.
    By the time this is all over, by the time youíre put through what youíre going to be put through, youíll understand.
    Well, I hope you do. If you donít, well hey, itís like what they say Ė sometimes you just have to do something for a good story.
    So, if youíre still angry after all this is over, if youíre still seething with rage like I know you are right now, someday, youíll laugh about all this.
    I wonít be in your life, probably, but still, whatever.
    I just want you to let go.
    I just want you to enjoy yourself. I know. Itís going to be hard because of the type of woman you are but, youíll see.
    Youíll learn.
    Iíve made sure of it...

    Letís start with what we know. Just to calm you down a little. People always say the more you know about something, the less you fear it.
    So, letís start with what we know. Youíre right now lying, facedown, on a table. Iíve only been there once, to pay for all this, so the details might be off a little.
    My instructions were to only have one ear piece in your ear. If you have two and you canít hear anything else, Iím asking for a percentage of my money back.
    But, if you can hear out your other ear, I want you to pay attention.
    Really listen.
    Listen close, to the sounds all around you. That little manmade waterfall, the same as every spa has, thereís a reason for that.
    Itís a calming effect.
    The sound of water, cascading down smooth slate polished rock and into a little bed of stone pebbles below. Itís there to calm you.
    Everything here is. The same as every spa. Itís all meant to coax you into letting go. Itís all engineered to make you relax.
    Force you to submit.
    Okay, I should really stay away from words thatíll piss you off even more than you probably are right now. Sorry.
    So, where were we? Right. Let me try and remember all this...

    That little waterfall by the front desk. I know you canít see it from the room youíre in right now, but I know you can hear it.
    That little reminder of nature.
    The lights in your room, those arenít dimmers or mood lights or track lights, those are a new thing, or, new to me at least, called fiber optics.
    If used correctly, shining just the right amount of light in all the right places, you should soon feel at peace.
    There is no music.
    Maybe a few whispers from other rooms. Of other clients saying, ďThank youĒ for a wonderful massage or some deep tissue relaxation technique thing that just happened.
    People pay a lot of money for this sort of thing. To learn how to relax. Theyíre all so wound up they forget.
    Those smells around you Ė lavender, lemongrass, sage and cinnamon Ė every scent is present to take you someplace else:

    Youíre lying in the grass, underneath the shade of your favorite tree. Your fingers are laced behind your head. Your ankles, crossed.
    Youíre looking up at the sky, finding the shapes of animals and faces of friends in the cotton ball clouds above you. The smell of the sea kissing your senses.
    Youíre on a swing, someplace where you used to play as a child. The only cares you have are whether or not there really is a Santa Claus.
    Youíre on vacation somewhere. Everything from your past life slipping, falling away like dust Ė bills, your job, your habits...
    This is a new you. A better you.
    The real you.

    Whatís about to happen to you is a combination of a few things.
    Most people call it Acupressure.
    This is where different areas of your body are manipulated to stimulate other parts of yourself that make up who you are.
    This will be much, much more than just a massage.
    Take for example, the reason why you canít move right now. I donít need to be with you to know that you canít.
    I asked about this. I tried to warn them about you and how much of a fighter you are. I even asked if this was the kind of place that had orderlies.
    You know, those big strong guys who wear white pajama tops and loose drawstring pants as a uniform that chase mental patients down the hallways of asylums.
    I had this whole idea of you being wrestled down to the floor and put in some sort of straitjacket or something.
    I said, No really, you donít know her like I do.
    And they said...
    Well...I couldnít really understand what they said since it was all in a different language. Chinese or Japanese, Iím really not sure.
    What I gathered though, was that theyíd immobilize you using pressure points. It would take just a few seconds and you wouldnít know it until it was too late.
    From what I remember, theyíd ask you to strip down. Naked. This can be explained to anyone without using actual words.
    Just using gestures.
    Take off your shirt, your jeans, take off your shoes, those damned high heels that are so bad for your posture but look so fucking hot.
    Put on a towel and lie down.
    And, Iím sure you did. Otherwise you wouldnít be listening to this right now. To me on this recording. And right now, I know you donít have much of a choice.
    I hope they donít have the volume turned up too loud.

    I never really asked about how it would happen, I just know the woman whoís about to work you over pinched me in the shoulder. Just a little demonstration.
    Just her index finger and her thumb Ė clasped over my shoulder. I know that she squeezed, gently, and that was that.
    My arm went dead.
    I couldnít move it at all.
    I donít know how it happened exactly, maybe you can tell me later because Iíd love to know, but I remember the woman showing me with hand gestures what she would do.
    Youíd lie down, facedown, on the padded leather massage table youíre lying on right now. Youíd close your eyes because, you know, thatís what people do in those things.
    Everyone in the world it seems, knows how to go through the motions. They all know how to pretend to let go.
    Two quick pinches on each shoulder, probably simultaneously, and I know you werenít able to get up again. Thatís all it would take.
    Both your arms, limp. Just like that.
    The same thing wouldíve happened to your legs immediately afterwards to make sure you couldnít get up and run. I donít know whereabouts she pinched you - probably someplace above the backs of your thighs. Stop the flow of energy in your legs.
    Maybe she pinched your knees.
    To stop your feet from moving, maybe she applied a little pressure to the tendons in your ankles.
    And in under just a few seconds, I know you were probably helpless. Kept prisoner in your own beautiful body. Your brain probably screaming orders at all your muscles and them just not listening to you.
    They couldnít.
    One by one, every limb, every muscle being put to sleep.
    Forced to shut down.
    Your arms, your stomach muscles, that finely toned set of abs you worked out and dieted so hard for, everything powering off.
    Your legs, your fingers and toes, everything unplugged.
    You, unplugged.
    This is so much better than having to tie you down. At least I think so. This way, you know thereís no chance of you escaping.
    There is no hope.
    And I donít mean that in a sadistic way. I just mean now you can really focus on what youíre about to find out is really important to you.
    You can truly focus on letting go.
    On learning to love what Iíve paid a lot of money for.
    Now, instead of trying to untie a knot, youíre going to have to just endure this. Now, instead of waiting for just the right moment to get up and run, youíre going to have to just lie here and wait for her to decide when youíve had enough.
    Now, I know you. I know how you work Pretty Lady, and, knowing you, the poor woman probably had to stop you from talking as well.
    That beautiful mouth of yours.
    Those pink lips.
    All those cuss words...tsk, tsk.
    Her, probably having to immobilize your vocal chords so you couldnít scream, in my opinion, is so much better than just gagging you.
    This way, you wonít have to spend any time trying to form those words over a scarf tied between your teeth. You wonít have to try and make yourself understood through that ball-gag wedged in your jaws.
    And besides, Iím sure youíre much more comfortable how you are right now. Lying where you are, still, perfectly motionless. That beautiful, naked body of yours, facedown, and lifeless, waiting for all its secrets to be unlocked.
    Secrets you donít even know about.

    So, letís just be clear on a few things, because Iím sure I gave the instruction to see to you after however long it might take you to listen to this.
    To get this far.
    And, congratulations by the way, on being so patient.
    So, submissive.
    Oops. There I go again.
    Letís be clear, Pretty Lady, Jessica. Letís be clear on whatís what. You canít move at all right now. I donít need to be there to know that.
    There is nothing, and I do mean nothing, you can do to will your muscles awake right now. Unless you can manipulate your own lifeforce, or ďChiĒ as some call it, youíre shit out of luck. And, I donít believe you know how to do that yet.
    You canít speak. Try as you might and I know you are, naughty girl, you canít and you wonít be able to utter a sound.
    There is no getting out of this.
    So, lie here, take it all.
    Learn to let go.
    Iíve taken away all your choice.
    Iíve stripped you of whatever power you thought you had.
    Of whatever strength you thought you possessed.
    Whatís going to happen to you, Pretty Lady, Jessica, is youíre about to put through something you hate.
    But Iím not doing this to be a sunuvabitch.
    Iím doing this because I love you.

    Letís begin...

    Her name is Zhang. Or shit, I donít know. I could be totally wrong and Iím butchering her name right now because I canít pronounce it.
    Thatís what it sounded like.
    Anyway, in case you canít see her from how she has you lying down, sheís Asian. That straight, glossy long black hair you always see in hair commercials.
    That same flawless skin that doesnít age.
    China Dolls.
    Anyway, sheís whoís going to be your masseuse tonight.
    If I remember correctly, she wonít be starting with a massage. As the brochure explained (oddly enough, written in English even though no one there seems to know any), the act of a massage is, in itself, an artificial path to enlightenment.
    Itís temporary.
    Itís someone else giving you pleasure. Itís someone else finding your happiness for you and bringing it back to you.
    Itís cheating.
    Whatís about to happen to you, in just a few seconds perhaps, well, youíll have to learn how to find pleasure on your own without it being given to you.
    There is, people say, no substitute.
    When you find that peace within yourself, Iíve heard, youíll never be the same. My Pretty Lady, my Jessica, look at you, youíll be forever changed.
    Isnít that a good thing?

    I donít know exactly whereabouts sheís starting on you right now but I donít have to be there to know what sheís doing.
    Looking up Acupressure, I know sheís right now reawakening all your senses except movement. Sheís focused on arousing your sense of touch.
    Your sense of feeling.
    Unless Iím wrong, she should be right now massaging what they call your ďJing.Ē This is a rebalancing of your Ying and your Yang.
    Sheís restoring what they call your ďMeridian.Ē
    This, basically, is sort of like replacing your battery. And, after just a few minutes of her stimulating the tips of your fingers...
    ...and right now the pads of your toes...
    You should feel like a million bucks.
    There now, isnít that so much better? I hope you feel good. According to this, you should feel like you have a brand new body, inside and out.
    Every nerve, wide awake, alive, ready and crackling.
    All your senses, flooded with so much all at once. In fact, you not being able to move right now is probably a good thing.
    Especially because of what happens next.
    If I remember correctly, the woman whoís working on you right now, sheís been doing this sort of thing for years. Sheís an expert.
    Sheíll find what sheís looking for.
    All those sensitive places on that smoldering body of yours, sheíll find each and every one by locating what they call your ďShu-Stream.Ē
    This is where the Chi, all that wonderful radiant lifeforce of yours is flowing in one direction. Her hands, right now rubbing against your skin.
    Soft. Slow.
    Up and down the smooth skin of your back, up and down your spine. The middle of your back. The groove right between your shoulder blades.
    Her hands, now becoming her nails.
    Becoming one nail.
    One nail, manicured and shiny like you see in nail polish commercials, dragging down slow and precise, slow and deliberate...
    ...right down the center of your spine. Right down the groove between your shoulder blades.
    And unless Iím wrong, she mustíve found something.
    And I know you, I know. You want to scream. You want to cry out or at least raise your arms up and pound your fists into the padded table.
    You want to thrash your legs about behind you because you. Just. Canít. Stand. This. But, you canít move. You canít even twitch.
    And I know. Itís killing you.
    Itís okay. I promise youíll get used to it.
    She wonít stop until you do.

    Thereís your Shu-Stream and then thereís your Ju-River. This is where little pools of what sheís looking for collect in certain places.
    Energy, lifeforce, Chi.
    I donít know if she can see these, or feel these but it makes no difference. I know you can feel them and thatís all that matters.
    I could be off, but her nails should right now be digging into all those places I love so much. All those places that make you squeal.
    Sheís finding them, all of them, one by one.
    The back of your neck, I can imagine her nails, those sharp, manicured nails being dragged down the soft skin of your neck.
    The fine, fine hairs on your neck standing up in reaction. Her nail just barely making contact and twirling in light, tiny little Zen garden circles.
    The equivalent of someone blowing on you. Making you want to hunch your shoulders and cringe. Make that hissing sound through your teeth.
    I know you can blink your eyes. I know youíre probably blinking them real hard right now. I know because this is what you do when I pin you down.
    When you tie you down.
    Pretty Lady, Jessica, isnít this so much better? You just lying here, unable to shy away from the sensation of touch.
    Of pleasure.
    Youíll see. Youíll learn to enjoy this. I promise.
    Or perhaps, more importantly, before things get any worse for you, maybe you should promise yourself.
    Go ahead, find some pleasure in this. You kind of have to now.

    Iím taking a wild guess here but you should be getting chills right about now. This is an unfortunate side-effect of having your Xi-Cleft places stirred.
    Those places where your blood flows. Those sensitive, ticklish places on that body of yours. The insides of your arms, the palms of your upturned hands, the sides and underneath of your ass.
    That beautiful, beautifully shaped butt of yours.
    Zhangís hands, and tell me later if Iím wrong, circling, trailing nails all over your body and making you want to groan.
    Making you want to moan and cry out and bite your lower lip.
    Her nails tickling the smooth, tight skin of your back just below where your shoulder blades resemble folded angelís wings.
    Her nails dragging up the channel of your spine. Tickling like spiders, dozens of them scrambling lightly all over your back.
    Tickling the insides of your arms.
    Her one nail running circles against the lines of your palm.
    Those beautiful hands of yours.
    And I know, Sweet Thing, you can let it all out when you get home. You can scream and cry and bawl as much as you want to for me making this happen.
    For doing this to you.
    Right now, and someday maybe youíll figure this out, youíll realize it was all worth it. All this tickling. All this, torture.
    Youíll love it. Every gentle stroke.
    You donít, but trust me.

    My best guess is, because youíre facedown right now, Zhang probably wonít want to flip you onto your back just yet.
    Donít take this as an insult, but youíre a lot of deadweight right now no matter how light you think you are.
    So, I guess consider yourself lucky she probably wonít be tickling any places on your front just yet. No finding your Jiquan, your Oingling or your Shaohai.
    What sheís probably noticed, right about now, are the soles of your bare feet. How theyíre upturned and just slightly hanging off the edge of the table.
    I know, I know. In your head right now, I canít even begin to imagine how loud youíre being. All those cuss words and death threats and God knows what else.
    I know your feet are two of the worst places and youíll hate me for it but hey, Iíve gone this far, might as well go all the way.
    Besides, whatíre you going to do about it?

    Let me guess, sheís probably gripped a hand around your ankle. Could be your right foot, could be your left foot, whichever it is, Iím sure sheís stopped.
    For just a second.
    You canít see it right now, because of how youíre laying but, she probably has that same look in her eyes she had when I showed her a picture of you.
    Me, pointing at the picture and saying, ďJess-i-ca.Ē Me saying, ďThis is the girl Iím sending here.Ē
    Me saying to them, ďThis is the girl I want you to torture.Ē
    I know, Iím being dramatic but hey, Iíve gone to a lot of trouble and spent a lot of money to do this to you so I can pretend Iím in a movie all I want.
    And no, itís nothing to do with the money.
    This is about what Iím guessing is running through Zhangís head right now. How Iím sure sheís noticed every part of you Ė from the top of your head to the soles of your feet Ė is just so damn fucking beautiful.
    Her, holding onto your ankle, lifting your lifeless limp leg up off the table so she can properly examine what sheís about to torture and admiring its beauty.
    Those beautifully, perfectly shaped bare feet.
    Those suckable toes.
    The shape, the arch, the natural curves. The smoothness and softness of your soles. Everything about your feet saying, ďFuck the rest of my body. But start down here.Ē
    Come on, you know Iíve always had a thing for your feet. Drives me fucking crazy and you know they do. You with those patterned silk screened nylon ankle socks.
    Your high heels.
    Your pedicures and anklets and...

    Oops, oh well, nevermind. Iíve rambled on for too long.
    Iím sure right about now sheís cleared her throat, gone back to being a professional. Sheís probably laid your leg back down. Put it back where it was.
    Your left leg right next to your right leg. Your ankles a few inches apart from each other and each bare foot hanging just slightly off the edge of the table and showing off the curves of each foot. Slightly splaying your toes apart.
    I donít know, I could be wrong, I donít know exactly whatís happening right now but sheís probably lifting your foot up, just a little this time.
    Just a little cupping of her hands on the top of your foot to flex it back a bit more and show off your arch even further.
    That smooth, beautiful, flawless arch of yours.

    And, yeah, here we go, thereís that nail.

    Thereís that nail running down the length of your foot. Right along the side. Iím just guessing here of course, but that is what controls your circulation.
    Her nail, following the natural curve of your arch Ė up, smooth, smooth, smooth, and back down again, slow, gentle, smooth, precise, and excruciating Iím sure.
    Poor Pretty Lady, poor Jessica. I know. Youíre probably wanting so damn bad right now to just jerk your leg away. To kick.
    To maybe just swing your legs away and dropkick this woman in the face. I know how hard this must be for you. Poor thing.
    Poor, sweet little thing just laying where you are and having to not do anything while this woman works your foot over.
    Tickling your sole. That smooth, soft bare sole of yours.
    That small, beautiful little foot.
    Her, lifting your foot up just a little and scuttling her nails along the ball of your foot. The area that makes your heart beat faster.
    And faster.
    Her nail, finding all the right spots on the bottom of your sole and making sure she doesnít miss an inch.
    The bottom of your heel. That smooth, round heel of yours. Her nails tickling over and around and along the sides of it. Her nail going in circles one way, then the other way, right into the skin. Deep. Leaving marks.
    Then gently.
    Then fast. Then slow.
    Then your arch itself. The inside. The part that always makes you make that wailing sound. You know the one. From someplace deep, deep in your guts.
    Deep, like youíre someplace else.
    Her hand, twisting your ankle slightly to angle your foot and making it easier for her to run her nail, scratch, at the soft, sensitive skin.
    That beautiful sole of yours, that beautiful foot, a shade lighter than the rest of your tanned everything else.
    Her nail now, angled and running down the center of your foot. Right down the very middle of it. This usually makes you want to explode.
    Scream at least.
    Cry and howl and struggle against whatever Iíve had to use to restrain you. Swear at me and tell me all about your plans for revenge.
    Isnít this so much nicer?
    Poor thing. Her switching now, to the outside curve of your foot. Her nail trailing slow and practiced up and along the outside bend of your arch.
    The soft skin up and along the arc of your foot.
    I know. I know, but she hasnít even gotten to your toes yet.

    You know what, just for fun, because I know sheís been doing this for years now and sheís a professional and all that, but Iím sure, Iím sure every once in a while sheíll come across someone like you.
    Someone so full of life. Of lifeforce.
    All this trapped potential just screaming to be let out.
    To be toyed with.
    Iím just guessing here, but she mightíve right now switched feet. You know, a just to fuck with you sort of thing.
    And I know. Youíre probably screaming in your head right now. Seething with blinded rage and exhilaration and hatred and passion and humiliation and lust all at once.
    You, screaming and crying and shouting in your head, ďTHIS ISNíT FAIR!! JUST LET ME UP! PLEASE FUCKING LET ME UP!! LET ME MOVE!! PLEASE JUST LET ME MOOOVE!!Ē
    You, crying, sobbing now. Probably real tears welling up in those beautiful hazel shined eyes of yours, your vision clouded, sniffing, bawling, ďPLEEEEEEEEEEASE!! PLEASE NOT MY OTHER FOOT!!Ē
    Iím not one for an impression of how you laugh, but I do love hearing it. It gives me such a sonic rush. Such a high I canít even tell you.
    And once all those screams and cries and pleas are ripped clean away from you, once all of your fears and self-implicated protections are stripped away, itís nothing left but the pure liberated resonance of someone whoís completely, and utterly, free.
    Free of everything, of everyone including themselves.
    Us, always getting in our own ways.
    Always cutting off our own Chiís and wondering, Whatís the right thing to say. To do. To behave. All these masks and shields and social rituals and shouldíves and couldíves.
    Here, now, whatís happening to you is your being cleansed.
    Youíre being stripped truly naked.
    So, dear sweet Pretty Lady, Jessica, get past all that. Get past your useless words and language. Get past your tears. Tear through every emotion you have until you get to whatís real. Rip down to everything until you find whatís pure.
    Get past all that anger and hate and love and find out whatís really inside you. Find out what youíre really, truly made of.
    The fabric of You.
    Go ahead, Sweet Thing, let it all out. Let it all go.
    Just be.
    What Iím doing, Jess, is introducing you, for the first time, to your own soul.
    Zhangís not going to stop until you at least say Hi.

    I donít know how long itís been...
    I may be jumping the gun here by continuing to speak but hey, I figure it took her however long it took her to tickle whichever foot she started with...
    Sheís probably working your toes over now.
    And wow. I can only imagine. I mean, I know all the right places Ė the pads of your toes and how tickling each one will produce a different reaction.
    Your big toe, circling just a single nail into a swirly pattern will make you giggle. And my God do I love that cute sound you make when I drive it out of you.
    Then I move onto your second toe. I have to pinch it still so you canít wriggle it or any of your others around much. My finger, my one nail just tickling them all from your big toes down to your cute little baby toes like piano keys.
    Itís like that saying Ė tickling the ivories.
    Ah, hell, youíre probably not even paying attention to me right now. Itís okay. Itís not your fault. I know how much you must be hating this.
    Hopefully soon, youíll be making some breakthroughs.
    Maybe after she applies enough gentle pressure to the ball of your foot, whichever foot sheís working on right now. You know, just a thumb, pressed down in the middle of the top of your arch to spread all your toes out.
    Now she can probably see what happens if she tickles underneath each toe. Just right below the pad of each one.
    Right in between.
    Your big toe, your second, third and forth toe, your little toe.
    Then, switch feet.
    Then, tickling whatever she missed.
    Your ankles.
    The backs of your heels.
    The bottoms.
    Tickling hard and soft and fast and slow and...
    Oh, Iím sorry. I should give you a little rest from me. All that wonderful forced out silent screaming sound in your head right now.
    How can you possible hear me?

    There now. How do you feel sweetheart? No doubt sheís probably flipped you over by now. She mightíve used help. Iím not sure.
    Iím just guessing because Zhangís a small girl. Like most Asians.
    Small, cute.
    Iím sorry. I know. But hey, she is. So are you. Especially like how Iím guess you are right now.
    You, lying on your back, looking up.
    Looking up at the ceiling or looking up at heaven and praying to angels to make this stop, I canít tell.
    In any case, I love how you look naked. Those beautiful breasts of yours, small but just big and full and round enough to lean to either side of you when youíre on your back.
    Your chest, I know you must be breathing hard. All that hyperventilating. Itís bad enough when I tickle you, I canít imagine the damage an expert has done.
    But, Iím not sorry. Youíre just however closer you are right now to finding what you mightíve lost within yourself.
    Remember now, Iím doing all this because I love you.
    So letís see. Letís start with what we know. Youíre lying there, on your back. Moved from facedown so you must have table marks on your cheeks which probably make you look even more flushed.
    You, with movie sex scene sweat in all the right places on your face, your body from all that awful foot tickling. Dripping off you. Beads, rolling down your face.
    Your chest, heaving up and down. Your breasts rising and falling up and sideways just slightly. Your breath, coming through, going in, soft, fast, quiet.
    You blinking your eyes and looking around, probably finding Zhang standing over you and smiling. Sheís trying to comfort you Iím sure.
    In all her years of this sort of therapy, this special form of Ashiatsu, Iím sure sheís seen many people, many expressions.
    All her clients brought here by their loved ones to save relationships and marriages or as a special gift, all of them with that same look in their eyes.
    I can only imagine that look on yours, Jessica. Those big eyes of yours calling out for mercy. Pleading for some sort of stop to all this.
    Demanding with your eyes for an explanation Iíve already given you.
    This strong willed, spirited woman. This flawless body of yours laid out and naked in more ways than one. Lying out, helpless. Vulnerable.
    Yeah, I said it Jess. You just lay there until you see the You that I see in you. The You Iím totally, through-and-through head-over-heels madly love with.
    Are you ready for some upper body?

    Looking this up, this Acupressure Ashiatsu thing, it doesnít say where sheíll start but it does say that your Shenmen is connected to your heart Meridian.
    This is the crease of your wrist and at any second now, after a little gentle rubbing, you should start to feel this warm, soothing sensation wash over you from the inside.
    This is your heart beating a little faster, like before, but flooding all your special Chi channels with everything sheíll need.
    You know. All those usual places like your sides and your stomach and those abs of yours. You know, that thin sheath of skin by your pelvic bone.
    And yes, I could be wrong, but Iím also guessing youíre feeling something tingling right now between your legs.
    You know what Iím talking about. Donít pretend.
    Now, youíre not more ticklish. It doesnít work that way. Youíre just right now much more sensitive. Much more open to any sort of stimulus.
    God, wouldnít it be wonderful if she could fix you to stay like this?
    Anyway, the good thing is now that youíre on your back, you can watch Zhang at work. You can watch her do what sheís been trained to.
    You know that look in her eyes, those beautiful Asian eyes of eyes darting from one place on your body to the next, to another. Almost like sheís in a trance.
    Sheís finding all your weak spots.
    Finding one...right...Iím going to say your collar bone. That smooth, smooth skin of your collar bone. Iíve always loved how graceful that part of you makes you look.
    Like, regal, almost.
    Her nail, probably right now trailing along the edge of your bone. From left to right and down the middle. Tickling, tickling and just gently, gracefully, skating that one nail over your skin and causing your nerve endings to light up.
    In your head, just gritted imaginary teeth and growling Iím sure.
    In your head, with her nails scuttling down your chest and circling her nails around and over and across those beautiful breasts of yours, just a whole lot of shouting.
    You, thrashing about the table, all in your head.
    You, shaking all that wonderful dark hair from side to side.
    You, violently pounding at the table and struggling in your own body. Struggling to get out. To escape. To move.
    Her fingers, Iím going to say, just her left hand Ė scratching gently down the side of your body from under your arm, slowly down



    your side and across your lower abs. That smooth round little bump of muscle above your waistline and making your convulse in your own imagination.
    Her other hand, her right hand, slowly drawing lines underneath the curve of your left breast. One line from right to left. Her finger dragging sideways.
    From right to left.
    From right to left.
    Then back again. Left to right.
    Then left to right.
    Then pinching your nipple. Then tickling your nipple. The edges. Making it harden. Stiff. Your body reacting to this unlocking.
    Her other hand, just her nails dancing across your stomach. Swirling circles and scratching, lightly, gently at the edges of your belly button.
    Tickling inside.
    Tickling around it. Tickling your abs one by one and all in between them. Tickling the inner shape of your front. That silhouette of another figure on your stomach and chest.
    The kind you get when you really work out.
    And you, poor sweet Jessica, Pretty Lady, youíve worked so hard. You look so strong and tough and formidable.
    You look so fucking hot.
    Zhangís just tickling all this away, isnít she? This false self-image. The real you. The you inside, you shouldnít have to work at.
    Your Self, your I, itís perfect just the way it is.
    Sexy Girl, Jessica, have you found Her yet?

    Iím going to stand a few feet away from the mic now while I do this impression of you. I donít want to hurt your ears or anything.
    Later on you can tell me where I went wrong but Iím guessing sheís moved your arms up by now. Lifted them up above your head so your arms hang off the edge of the table.
    Those smooth, waxed underarms...

    Oh yeah...

    So, in your head youíre probably likeÖ


    Am I right? Am I right? Like I said, I donít want to do an impression of you laughing because my voice doesnít go that high.
    God, all those high pitched screams and squeals.
    Making my ears hurt just imagining them.
    Wait, let me try again.


    Am I close?

    Okay, I know. Iím just being a jerk now. Iím sorry Love. I just always know tickling your armpits makes you really laugh. Like youíre enjoying it.
    I know you canít stand it having it done to your feet but there was always something about how tickling you under the arms made you laugh that I love.
    So much.
    All that wonderful, happy, bubbling laughter coming up from God knows where. I donít hear it that much and I miss it.
    Tickling that smooth skin. Taking one nail, and Zhangís probably doing this right now, just one nail and sliding it sloooow across the inside curve of your underarm.
    You know, that muscle part. That smooth edge.
    Making you almost cackle with laughter. Iím sure, if you could move right now youíd be all over the place flopping and crashing about everywhere.
    That beautiful body just having a carefree fit that looks like a seizure.
    Her nails, drawing circles from smaller, just around your belly button now and getting bigger and bigger, up and out across your front.
    Across your breasts and your chest. The middle of your breastplate. That smooth skin. Up across your collar bone and back down...

    ...and up your sides again, tickling all your ribs as she moves her fingers, gliding them across your body.
    All up to your armpits again and then digging in.
    Like, DIGGING IN. Real deep. Making your shriek and howl. If you could move right now, youíd just be losing it.
    Just going apeshit.
    Good thing you canít, right?
    Yeah, I like you like this.
    Nothing you can do about it. You just lying there, lying still, forced to endure this for however long it takes her.
    Zhang, tickling your armpits and the insides of your arms and the crooks of your elbows. All that wonderful ticklish, sensitive skin and Chi flowing right underneath it.
    Pooling in places.
    Your stomach, your abs. Your ribs and sides and your waistline. Her nails tickling the skin just above Ė slicing from left to right.
    Then down, down and tickling your pelvic bones. The tight skin between where your thighs start. Right next to your vagina.

    Hold on hon, I need a moment...

    God, I would really fucking LOVE to be there with you right now.
    Or hey, maybe Iím just saying that to throw you off because maybe Iím on my way right now, ready to take you home.
    Might have to re-think that putting you in straitjacket idea first again before I ask Zhang to allow you to move again. You know, just in case youíre REALLY pissed off.
    I donít see how you could be though. Not right now anyway.
    Not with Zhang probably working your legs right now. Probably tickling the insides of your thighs. Those, long, beautiful legs of yours.
    Being tortured.
    Being tickled.
    Her nails flowing in the direction of whatever only she sees, slow and precise, along the insides of both thighs.
    Those fucking beautiful legs of yours.
    Her nails then switching direction and going against the current. Driving you insane.
    Propping your legs up on the table, ticking the backs of your knees and squeezing your calf muscles hard, gentle, HARD, gentle, tickling
    pinching at your lower leg muscles and thigh muscles and tickling your kneecaps and smooth places like your shins.
    Her nails like water trickling down your legs.
    Naturally, this leads her down again, to your feet. Your feet, now right side up and exposed and ready all over again like the rest of you.
    Zhang just working you all kinds of ways in all kinds of places.
    Making you scream. Making you cry. Making you laugh and find yourself.
    Find inside, somewhere, my gift to you.
    The gift, of You.

    The funny thing is, with three thousand nerve endings all lit up like Christmas lights in just your feet, Iím willing to bet sheís probably taking advantage of this.
    Her holding your one leg up, resting your ankle on her shoulder and reaching with her other hand and tickling different places on that fucking crazy beautiful foot.
    Making you feel it in other places on and in your body.
    On your skin.
    The crackling sparks and electric fault line splinters of sensation surging all through you from the soft sole of your foot through the rest of your reawakened body.
    Your sciatic nerve detonating and coursing nothing but pure feeling through all your swollen veins. Your brain, lighting up and shutting down at the same time.
    I donít remember how, I donít remember when, but they told me that this could and would happen. What youíre feeling right now.
    Between your legs.
    That feeling, you know the one, itís coming isnít it?
    Itís coming hard, fast, itís fucking throbbing and throwing off all your senses and everything you thought you knew all at this right now very second making you...
    Making you jump.
    For real.
    I donít have to be with you to know youíre orgasming right now. To know youíre fucking cumming your brains out and you just. Canít. Help. It.
    Can you?
    It wonít stop. The feeling. Right now flooding your muscles with so much blood and lifeforce and Chi and whatever else, youíre moving on that table for real.
    Just slightly.
    And this, dear, sweet, Jessica, is Pleasure.
    This is real.
    This is Pleasure in its purest, purest form.
    This, Lady Love, is what I wanted for you.
    My gift.
    This is what you are to me. What youíre feeling, right now, everywhere, crashing through every thought, every fiber of your being, every memory, is how much I love you.
    Now then, wasnít this worth it?


  2. #2
    Join Date
    Apr 2005
    Twilight Zone, NC!!!!!

    Exclamation Wow

    Mr. De Sade, What to call this one. How do I describe what I just read? Would it be tickling in the third person? No, that's not right. I dunno. I just know that I loved it. Your descriptive writing went into my brain and then onto my 3-D theater screen. I could see the action in my mind.

    The only question: Did he tape his narritive ahead of time, or was he there watching and just talking into a mike that fed into her earpiece? Was this really happening to her, or was he just imagining what he wanted to do to her?

    So many questions, so little time. If I could only write a third as well as you!

    To the master.

    Thanks for a masterpiece! Now I just want MORE!

    As always...one of your greatest fans!

    I am jerry606, CrystalLight, AnnieHall, Black Widow, C.A.B., Dave2112, Jersy Tickler, ElFewja's, and the Marquis De Sade's biggest fan.



  3. #3
    Join Date
    Nov 2007
    Los Angeles
    Quote Originally Posted by jm157 View Post
    Mr. De Sade, What to call this one. How do I describe what I just read? Would it be tickling in the third person? No, that's not right. I dunno. I just know that I loved it. Your descriptive writing went into my brain and then onto my 3-D theater screen. I could see the action in my mind.

    The only question: Did he tape his narritive ahead of time, or was he there watching and just talking into a mike that fed into her earpiece? Was this really happening to her, or was he just imagining what he wanted to do to her?

    So many questions, so little time. If I could only write a third as well as you!

    To the master.

    Thanks for a masterpiece! Now I just want MORE!

    As always...one of your greatest fans!
    I really need to learn to come in here more. That way I avoid year old replies and thank yous.

    Or maybe it's my ADHD.

    Anyway, thank you so much jm, most of it I'll leave up to your imagination. I wrote it with the specifics in mind but now that you have questions, I'll leave it up to whichever scenario you like best.

    Glad you enjoyed it. There is more coming. Soon...ish.

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