dumbledore
TMF Regular
- Joined
- Jul 29, 2003
- Messages
- 226
- Points
- 16
This is part 3 of a real life story. Join me as I uncover the ticklish spots of my new girlfriend - the most gorgeous girl I've ever dated. She's a girl next door type, and has no idea I'm into tickling.
Let me set the picture. We'll call her Amelia. She's twenty-something, was born in France, but grew up in England and has a well-spoken British accent. When she switches to French, all that sultry sexiness is there. She's 5' 5", slim, with long wavy blonde hair and intensely pretty blue eyes. She looks like Rachel McAdams, with a little Kristin Kreuk thrown in. She works part-time in a museum while studying History of Art.
After poking her in the ribs got a delightfully jumpy reaction, a playful exchange of texts ended with her admitting: "OMG! I'm the most ticklish person in the world!" Over the following weeks, I worked up the courage to get her with a full-on upper body tickle attack that proved her words to be unquestionably true. A few weeks later, I managed an EPIC foot tickle that left her in a breathless bundle on the floor.
Just how ticklish is she?
The Tickling Experiment Results So Far:
Underarms: unknown
Sides: 10/10 - extremely ticklish. Squeeze here for instant belly laughter.
Stomach: unknown - pokes have resulted in jumps and squeals. Clearly ticklish, but more info required.
Ribs: unknown - single surprise poke resulted in big jump, and an "Oh my God!". Clearly ticklish, but more info required.
Legs: 12/10 - squeezing the back of her legs results in instant squawking, wailing, laughing and kicking.
Knees: 3/10 - unfortunately not that ticklish. She can handle it for a while, before prolonged knee-squeezing makes her grin and eventually pull away.
Feet: 100/10 - off the charts ticklish. There are no words to explain how ticklish her feet are. It'll be hard to get near them again, but I'm determined to try. I need to try tickling both at the same time, for science, of course.
So then - Let's see where else she's ticklish, shall we? After all, "OMG! I'm the most ticklish person in the world" is a bold statement - it's only fair we test it
Okay, so it's over four weeks since the epic foot tickle, and I'm still buzzing.
I've never experienced a thrill like it. I was desperate to tickle her again, but I knew I had to wait, because I didn't want her realising that tickling was a "thing" for me. And that was a BIG TIME tickle. I'd never pushed her that hard before. She bristled for a few minutes after getting her breath back. It was half playful bristling, but half serious too.
Amelia grew up with two brothers, and underneath the shy, bookish, art-loving exterior is a fiercely competitive girl. She probably saw being turned into a jibbering mess so easily as a big weakness. Here's the thing, though - even as she lay back recovering on the bed, she refused to admit defeat, and vowed to get me back!
This was fine by me. On a scale of 1-10, I'm probably about a 3 for ticklishness. Sometimes she manages to get me, but most of the time she doesn't. Since we first started dating, I've led her to believe my biggest weakness is intensely ticklish knees, and she delights in grabbing them. She sees it as a "secret weapon". She sees it as the key to always beating me in play fights. Really, it's the most brilliant trick in the world, because every time she does it, every play fight she starts, every play fight she "wins" is a chance to tickle her in retaliation without it seeming weird.
After the epic foot tickle, I knew I needed to leave it a while, so I did. By this point, she had won a few play fights, and she was feeling confident. I half-heartedly reached for her ankles a few times, which always resulted in her scrambling away in wide-eyed panic, but other than that I hadn't gone for any more than the occasional stomach poke.
It's time for some revenge.
The day our story starts is a Sunday. It was one of those lazy weekends, and we had nothing to do until around three thirty. We could spend as long as we wanted in bed. Total bliss. Amelia was wearing nothing but one of my plain gray T-shirts and black underpants. She turned to face me, stretching out, breasts pressing against the thin material.
"I'd really love a coffee," she said, grinning playfully.
See, she won another play fight last night. Half way through, she decided there would be some stakes: the loser has to buy the winner a coffee from the shop down the road. Although it was tempting to try a little, I let her win again. Going out to buy a quick coffee was a small price to pay for the plan I was hoping to spring.
"Alright," I said, feigning reluctance. "Alright, I'm going."
I got out of bed and threw on some clothes, then headed out. It was a gray day, heavy clouds, drizzling rain. Grimacing against the cold, I picked up the pace, hoping to get there and back as quick as possible. I ran through the options in my mind. How could I set up a good tickle? I wanted to try an area I hadn't got yet - her ribs, maybe, or, if I could, her underarms.
With the memory of the foot tickle still fresh in my mind, the thought of uncovering more ticklish spots was such a turn on. And she was looking so hot today... it was a good day for tickling, but it had to be natural.
I picked up two drinks - a vanilla latte for her and an Americano with milk for me. Then I headed back, getting more and more excited despite the gloomy weather.
"Thanks," she said, as I got back into bed. She clutched the coffee, hugging it close. She smirked and said, "I could get used to this."
"I bet you could," I said.
She leaned in close, snuggling up to me, kissing my neck and my ear.
"You shouldn't have told me about your knees," she said. "It's too easy."
I liked where this was going. I glanced across at her, saw the playfulness in her eyes. She couldn't believe how easy to was to beat me in a play fight; I couldn't believe how easy it was to get her to set up her own ticklish doom.
"Right," I said, laughing. "Next time, I look forward to you buying me a coffee."
"Not going to happen," she said.
We drank our coffees, browsing the net and reading. Being so close to her only heightened my sense of anticipation. Her bare legs were so warm after the cold walk. She caressed me with her bare feet, so soft, so tempting, and I imagined how amazing it would be to tickle them again. Could she possibly be that ticklish anywhere else?
Before long, I got a chance to find out.
Amelia finished her coffee and rolled onto her stomach. She was still browsing the web, but she was getting bored. After a while, she put the iPad down. She folded her arms across her pillow, and lay on them, facing me. Her eyes were big and blue, and this close, I could see lighter flecks around the edges, like stars.
"My back's aching a bit," she said. "Can you give me a massage?"
"Of course," I said, without hesitation. I sat up, and pulled the duvet down to just below her butt. I swung over her, so that I was kneeling with one leg either side of her body, and started to rub her shoulders.
"Hang on," she said. She lifted herself up, slipped out of my T-shirt, and threw it onto the floor. Now completely naked but for the black underpants, she rested back down on her arms, snuggling up to the pillow. "If you have a look in the top drawer, I think there's one of those bars."
She meant the massage bar she'd picked up from Ann Summers a week previously. It was in a small pink and white box, labelled with something provocative, like Sensitive Touch. I took it out of the drawer, and climbed over her again. My heart beat faster and faster, pounding loudly in my chest. Partly because her gorgeous, naked body was right there beneath me. Partly because I knew what was about to happen, and she didn't expect a thing. Could I really tickle her now? She was content, relaxed. She was expecting a massage. It would be so mean to tickle her in these circumstances. But that just made the prospect even more of a turn on.
I opened the massage bar and let it fall out into my hands. It was solid, off-white, like a bar of soap. I'd never used one before, but assuming I had to let it warm up, I rubbed it between my hands. They were still quite cold from the walk, so the bar took a minute or two to soften, but gradually my palms grew slick and slippery. The bar gave off a sweet smell. Strawberries and cream, the box said.
"It smells so nice," Amelia purred.
She had her eyes closed, and the hint of a smile on her lips. She looked so peaceful she could have been sleeping.
Now that my hands were covered in the waxy, slippery substance, I moved closer to her naked body. My mind was racing. What was the best way of doing this? I wanted to get in a good tickle, and that meant sitting in a way that prevented her escaping. I moved up, sitting on her butt, my knees either side of her ribs.
"I'm not crushing you, am I?" I asked, lowering my hands onto her back.
"No," she said. "Oh, that's nice."
I rubbed her back, moving up to her neck and her shoulders, massaging in the perfumed lubricant. My hands left a shining, shimmering trail on her pale skin. It didn't make her back greasy, like oil would have; it was just warm and slick. The more I worked it in, the more easily my hands slid over her.
Pressing firmly, I moved the heels of my palms up her back, and on the way back down I fanned out my fingers so some of the melting massage bar soaked into her sides. I moved them up again, and out across her shoulders, using my thumbs to rub her relaxing muscles.
Amelia was melting into the bed. She breathed slowly, deeply, sighing in satisfaction. With her eyes closed, she didn't see me reach for the massage bar again. She didn't see as I rubbed it once more in my hands, lubricating my fingers and thumbs.
Time to make this more interesting.
In my head it was so easy, but now I was about to do it the nerves tore through me. I held my breath as I lowered my hands, trying to stop them shaking. I started massaging her shoulders again, then spread out my fingers and slowly, ever so slowly, I traced them down her back, lightly as a feather.
"That tickles," she said, tensing up slightly.
"Sorry," I said, pressing more firmly again, sweeping my palms up her back.
I let her relax again, then lightly traced my fingers down her spine once more. As I reached the small of her back, I flipped my hands so the nails were on her skin rather than the fingertips; I stuck out my little fingers so that they were touching her sides, and stroked them on the way back up.
"That ti-hi-hickles," she giggled. She opened one eye and glared back, making sure I was behaving. "You need to be more firm."
"How can that tickle?" I said, goading her. "I'm barely touching you."
"You need to press hard," she said.
Already grinning, I moved my hands to the sides of her stomach, turning my index fingers into rigid points. Press hard, she said. So I did. Quick as a flash, I jabbed both fingers into her sides. She reared up as if she'd been harpooned, an electric surge shooting through her.
"BLAARGH!" she squealed. "Why did you DO that?"
"You said to press hard."
"Not my sides! Just massage my back, like you were doing before."
"Okay," I said.
I felt myself getting harder by the second, and more confident too. I traced my fingers up and down her back again. It was only the lightest of touches, but she shivered away from it.
"What are you doing?" she said, a spark of outrage in her voice. I kept tracing, kept looping up and down and around her slippery back. "That ti-hi-HI-CKLES!"
My feathery finger strokes didn't stop, and Amelia squirmed a little more.
"How can that tickle?" I said.
"It just DOES!" she said, between fits of reluctant giggles. "Stop being so mean!"
"Okay," I said. "I'll stop."
And I did, for a second. Amelia shivered, as if she'd just been out in the cold morning air. She was still resting on her hands, her arms angled and pointing outwards, exposing her armpits. With so much ticklish territory beneath me, how could I resist exploring a little more?
I shifted my knees forward slightly, so that they were just underneath her triceps, giving her arms nowhere to retreat once the tickling started. I glanced down, admiring her glistening, naked, sexy body, savouring the image of what was coming next.
"Tell me at what point it tickles," I said, running my fingers at first quite firmly and then ever more lightly down her back.
"There!" she said, her voice higher than usual. "That tickles."
"But it's so light. I mean, what if I dig in?"
As I said it, I poked both sides of her stomach. I started quite low, just above her hips, then in quick succession moved my fingers up and jabbed again, and again - three times in total.
"AAYYE!" she yelped.
"NYAAH!"
"Stop!"
But I didn't stop. Keeping my fingers firmly in place, I got my thumbs involved too, grabbing her sides and squeezing in rapid bursts. It's so much easier to tickle someone's sides from behind. My slippery fingertips burrowed into her skin, kneading her stomach beside the abs. With a sudden jolt, Amelia jerked up, but with my full weight on her she couldn't move.
It only took a second for her defences to crumble. A second that played out before me in glorious slow motion. In that second, my fingers scampered and squeezed up and down her shining, strawberry-scented skin. She squirmed at every pinch and prod, and her panicked squeal of a sentence grew longer and louder as fear took hold of her.
"Stoooo - OOOOOOOOPPPP!"
As that single glorious second ticked by and her defences exploded into nothingness, as my fingers squeezed with growing intensity, she lost the ability to finish the word that had been forming on her lips, and it turned into a gabbling screech of laughter:
"Stoooo - OOOOOOOOPPPP - Ha Haaaaaaaaah!"
Then the slow-motion second vanished and suddenly everything happened in a frenetic rush.
I was lost in a tickling frenzy, and she was lost to a world of deep belly laughter. She tried to wriggle out from underneath me, but she had no hope of escaping. I didn't even need to try and restrain her: my position made any chance of real vertical or lateral movement impossible.
I worked my fingers up her body, relishing the ease with which they slid over her slippery naked skin, and arrived hungrily at her ribs. Here I used the first three fingers of each hand to burrow into her ribs and rub over them, up and down, up and down, as if strumming a bucking, twisting musical instrument.
The rib tickling changed her laughter.
Where at first it had been deep and resonated round the room in regular bursts like ticklish clockwork, now it was far more fragmented and broken, riddled with delirious screams.
"Ahhh - Ha Haaah!"
"Naaahh - Ha Ha Ha Haaaah!"
"Aahh!"
"Aaaahhhhhh HAAAAHH!"
All she could do was push up with her hands, half lifting her naked torso off the bed. She reared back like this once, twice, wriggling left and right, but the effort was tremendous and she collapsed after a few seconds in a helpless mess.
Up, my fingers went, rubbing, sliding, digging and darting. Then I stopped quite suddenly, flattening my palms against her ribs and smoothly gliding up as if in cruel mockery of the massage this started out as. It gave Amelia a moment to catch her breath. She breathed loudly, heavily, taking frantic gulps of air.
"Oh my God," she panted, her voice reduced almost to a whisper. "Oh my God, I'm going to kill you. I'm going to get you SO bad."
But my fingers were still gliding up. Slowly but surely, they were approaching her armpits, invading the super-sensitive skin below them.
"What are you doing?" she said, as the realisation dawned on her. "What are you doing? No, not under my arms! Ple-he-hease, not there!"
"What, are you ticklish there too?" I said.
"YES!" she wailed, my fingers closing in and starting, ever so gently, to spider her soft skin. "Please don't!"
"I'll stop if you buy me a coffee next weekend," I said, loving every moment of this.
The words rekindled a fire inside her. She pushed off from the bed again, trying to twist, desperate to escape. But she was in such a precarious position - every movement sapped her flagging energy, and there was nowhere to go. She fell back into the bed, her face pressing up against the pillow.
"I'm going to get you so badly," she spluttered feverishly. "Not under my arms! Not under my AAAAAAAAAAHHH HA HAAAAHHH!"
My fingers found her armpits. Still slick from the massage bar, they easily swept across her exposed, tender skin. What got me in that moment and what still gets me now is the sheer responsiveness of it all. I don't know how to put it into words the feeling of power that took hold of me. In those smooth hollows, everything I did resulted in explosive laughter. It was instant. At every touch. An unstoppable outpouring of utter ticklishness, all because of my wiggling fingers.
Automatically, her arms snapped down, but the plan worked - they hit my knees and could go no further. Again they snapped down, and again, trying instinctively to close off her armpits, but they were blocked every time. They flailed helplessly about as I tickled and tickled.
"Will you get me a coffee?" I said, leaning up against her back, feeling her sticky, shiny skin beneath me. I slowed the tickling to give her a chance to talk.
"Just wait," she said, giggling madly, reluctantly. "I'm going to NNNNAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!"
Using the same three fingers I had on her ribs, I changed tactics. I clenched both bunches of fingers tightly together, as if glued in place alongside each other. I dug them right into her underarms, pressuring the skin there, and I twitched the fingertips back and forth in short, sharp, rapid and forceful movements.
She threw back her head, arching her gleaming back, and screamed. Her despairing wail lasted a good three seconds. Then she collapsed into the bed, completely drained of fight; she collapsed into the covers, and unable to move, she laughed and laughed and laughed. Whether it was the vigour of her previous escape attempts or the position she was in, which made it so hard to move in the first place, she was completely overcome. Her will broken, all she could do was accept the tickling.
There seemed to be no breaths between the bursts of laughter now. Where one ended, the other began, erupting uncontrollably. The only way to tell them apart was the long, tortured drawn out wail at the end of each one, rising and ringing out on the air.
"HA HA HA HA HA HA HAAAAAAH!"
"AAAAHH HA HA HA HA HAAAAAAH!"
"OKAYYY - HA HA HA HA HAAAAAAH,"
"OKAY OKAY OKAAAAAAHH HA HA HAAAHH!"
"I'll do it I'll do it just staaaaahhhh HA HA HAAHHP!"
When I stopped, heart thudding drumbeats, she kept laughing. Gradually, her laughter dwindled to a giggle. Then she just lay there panting, recovering, catching her breath.
"I can't - even -" she said.
And then she stopped, perhaps until she remembered how to speak.
Let me set the picture. We'll call her Amelia. She's twenty-something, was born in France, but grew up in England and has a well-spoken British accent. When she switches to French, all that sultry sexiness is there. She's 5' 5", slim, with long wavy blonde hair and intensely pretty blue eyes. She looks like Rachel McAdams, with a little Kristin Kreuk thrown in. She works part-time in a museum while studying History of Art.
After poking her in the ribs got a delightfully jumpy reaction, a playful exchange of texts ended with her admitting: "OMG! I'm the most ticklish person in the world!" Over the following weeks, I worked up the courage to get her with a full-on upper body tickle attack that proved her words to be unquestionably true. A few weeks later, I managed an EPIC foot tickle that left her in a breathless bundle on the floor.
Just how ticklish is she?
The Tickling Experiment Results So Far:
Underarms: unknown
Sides: 10/10 - extremely ticklish. Squeeze here for instant belly laughter.
Stomach: unknown - pokes have resulted in jumps and squeals. Clearly ticklish, but more info required.
Ribs: unknown - single surprise poke resulted in big jump, and an "Oh my God!". Clearly ticklish, but more info required.
Legs: 12/10 - squeezing the back of her legs results in instant squawking, wailing, laughing and kicking.
Knees: 3/10 - unfortunately not that ticklish. She can handle it for a while, before prolonged knee-squeezing makes her grin and eventually pull away.
Feet: 100/10 - off the charts ticklish. There are no words to explain how ticklish her feet are. It'll be hard to get near them again, but I'm determined to try. I need to try tickling both at the same time, for science, of course.
So then - Let's see where else she's ticklish, shall we? After all, "OMG! I'm the most ticklish person in the world" is a bold statement - it's only fair we test it
* * *
Okay, so it's over four weeks since the epic foot tickle, and I'm still buzzing.
I've never experienced a thrill like it. I was desperate to tickle her again, but I knew I had to wait, because I didn't want her realising that tickling was a "thing" for me. And that was a BIG TIME tickle. I'd never pushed her that hard before. She bristled for a few minutes after getting her breath back. It was half playful bristling, but half serious too.
Amelia grew up with two brothers, and underneath the shy, bookish, art-loving exterior is a fiercely competitive girl. She probably saw being turned into a jibbering mess so easily as a big weakness. Here's the thing, though - even as she lay back recovering on the bed, she refused to admit defeat, and vowed to get me back!
This was fine by me. On a scale of 1-10, I'm probably about a 3 for ticklishness. Sometimes she manages to get me, but most of the time she doesn't. Since we first started dating, I've led her to believe my biggest weakness is intensely ticklish knees, and she delights in grabbing them. She sees it as a "secret weapon". She sees it as the key to always beating me in play fights. Really, it's the most brilliant trick in the world, because every time she does it, every play fight she starts, every play fight she "wins" is a chance to tickle her in retaliation without it seeming weird.
After the epic foot tickle, I knew I needed to leave it a while, so I did. By this point, she had won a few play fights, and she was feeling confident. I half-heartedly reached for her ankles a few times, which always resulted in her scrambling away in wide-eyed panic, but other than that I hadn't gone for any more than the occasional stomach poke.
It's time for some revenge.
The day our story starts is a Sunday. It was one of those lazy weekends, and we had nothing to do until around three thirty. We could spend as long as we wanted in bed. Total bliss. Amelia was wearing nothing but one of my plain gray T-shirts and black underpants. She turned to face me, stretching out, breasts pressing against the thin material.
"I'd really love a coffee," she said, grinning playfully.
See, she won another play fight last night. Half way through, she decided there would be some stakes: the loser has to buy the winner a coffee from the shop down the road. Although it was tempting to try a little, I let her win again. Going out to buy a quick coffee was a small price to pay for the plan I was hoping to spring.
"Alright," I said, feigning reluctance. "Alright, I'm going."
I got out of bed and threw on some clothes, then headed out. It was a gray day, heavy clouds, drizzling rain. Grimacing against the cold, I picked up the pace, hoping to get there and back as quick as possible. I ran through the options in my mind. How could I set up a good tickle? I wanted to try an area I hadn't got yet - her ribs, maybe, or, if I could, her underarms.
With the memory of the foot tickle still fresh in my mind, the thought of uncovering more ticklish spots was such a turn on. And she was looking so hot today... it was a good day for tickling, but it had to be natural.
I picked up two drinks - a vanilla latte for her and an Americano with milk for me. Then I headed back, getting more and more excited despite the gloomy weather.
"Thanks," she said, as I got back into bed. She clutched the coffee, hugging it close. She smirked and said, "I could get used to this."
"I bet you could," I said.
She leaned in close, snuggling up to me, kissing my neck and my ear.
"You shouldn't have told me about your knees," she said. "It's too easy."
I liked where this was going. I glanced across at her, saw the playfulness in her eyes. She couldn't believe how easy to was to beat me in a play fight; I couldn't believe how easy it was to get her to set up her own ticklish doom.
"Right," I said, laughing. "Next time, I look forward to you buying me a coffee."
"Not going to happen," she said.
We drank our coffees, browsing the net and reading. Being so close to her only heightened my sense of anticipation. Her bare legs were so warm after the cold walk. She caressed me with her bare feet, so soft, so tempting, and I imagined how amazing it would be to tickle them again. Could she possibly be that ticklish anywhere else?
Before long, I got a chance to find out.
Amelia finished her coffee and rolled onto her stomach. She was still browsing the web, but she was getting bored. After a while, she put the iPad down. She folded her arms across her pillow, and lay on them, facing me. Her eyes were big and blue, and this close, I could see lighter flecks around the edges, like stars.
"My back's aching a bit," she said. "Can you give me a massage?"
"Of course," I said, without hesitation. I sat up, and pulled the duvet down to just below her butt. I swung over her, so that I was kneeling with one leg either side of her body, and started to rub her shoulders.
"Hang on," she said. She lifted herself up, slipped out of my T-shirt, and threw it onto the floor. Now completely naked but for the black underpants, she rested back down on her arms, snuggling up to the pillow. "If you have a look in the top drawer, I think there's one of those bars."
She meant the massage bar she'd picked up from Ann Summers a week previously. It was in a small pink and white box, labelled with something provocative, like Sensitive Touch. I took it out of the drawer, and climbed over her again. My heart beat faster and faster, pounding loudly in my chest. Partly because her gorgeous, naked body was right there beneath me. Partly because I knew what was about to happen, and she didn't expect a thing. Could I really tickle her now? She was content, relaxed. She was expecting a massage. It would be so mean to tickle her in these circumstances. But that just made the prospect even more of a turn on.
I opened the massage bar and let it fall out into my hands. It was solid, off-white, like a bar of soap. I'd never used one before, but assuming I had to let it warm up, I rubbed it between my hands. They were still quite cold from the walk, so the bar took a minute or two to soften, but gradually my palms grew slick and slippery. The bar gave off a sweet smell. Strawberries and cream, the box said.
"It smells so nice," Amelia purred.
She had her eyes closed, and the hint of a smile on her lips. She looked so peaceful she could have been sleeping.
Now that my hands were covered in the waxy, slippery substance, I moved closer to her naked body. My mind was racing. What was the best way of doing this? I wanted to get in a good tickle, and that meant sitting in a way that prevented her escaping. I moved up, sitting on her butt, my knees either side of her ribs.
"I'm not crushing you, am I?" I asked, lowering my hands onto her back.
"No," she said. "Oh, that's nice."
I rubbed her back, moving up to her neck and her shoulders, massaging in the perfumed lubricant. My hands left a shining, shimmering trail on her pale skin. It didn't make her back greasy, like oil would have; it was just warm and slick. The more I worked it in, the more easily my hands slid over her.
Pressing firmly, I moved the heels of my palms up her back, and on the way back down I fanned out my fingers so some of the melting massage bar soaked into her sides. I moved them up again, and out across her shoulders, using my thumbs to rub her relaxing muscles.
Amelia was melting into the bed. She breathed slowly, deeply, sighing in satisfaction. With her eyes closed, she didn't see me reach for the massage bar again. She didn't see as I rubbed it once more in my hands, lubricating my fingers and thumbs.
Time to make this more interesting.
In my head it was so easy, but now I was about to do it the nerves tore through me. I held my breath as I lowered my hands, trying to stop them shaking. I started massaging her shoulders again, then spread out my fingers and slowly, ever so slowly, I traced them down her back, lightly as a feather.
"That tickles," she said, tensing up slightly.
"Sorry," I said, pressing more firmly again, sweeping my palms up her back.
I let her relax again, then lightly traced my fingers down her spine once more. As I reached the small of her back, I flipped my hands so the nails were on her skin rather than the fingertips; I stuck out my little fingers so that they were touching her sides, and stroked them on the way back up.
"That ti-hi-hickles," she giggled. She opened one eye and glared back, making sure I was behaving. "You need to be more firm."
"How can that tickle?" I said, goading her. "I'm barely touching you."
"You need to press hard," she said.
Already grinning, I moved my hands to the sides of her stomach, turning my index fingers into rigid points. Press hard, she said. So I did. Quick as a flash, I jabbed both fingers into her sides. She reared up as if she'd been harpooned, an electric surge shooting through her.
"BLAARGH!" she squealed. "Why did you DO that?"
"You said to press hard."
"Not my sides! Just massage my back, like you were doing before."
"Okay," I said.
I felt myself getting harder by the second, and more confident too. I traced my fingers up and down her back again. It was only the lightest of touches, but she shivered away from it.
"What are you doing?" she said, a spark of outrage in her voice. I kept tracing, kept looping up and down and around her slippery back. "That ti-hi-HI-CKLES!"
My feathery finger strokes didn't stop, and Amelia squirmed a little more.
"How can that tickle?" I said.
"It just DOES!" she said, between fits of reluctant giggles. "Stop being so mean!"
"Okay," I said. "I'll stop."
And I did, for a second. Amelia shivered, as if she'd just been out in the cold morning air. She was still resting on her hands, her arms angled and pointing outwards, exposing her armpits. With so much ticklish territory beneath me, how could I resist exploring a little more?
I shifted my knees forward slightly, so that they were just underneath her triceps, giving her arms nowhere to retreat once the tickling started. I glanced down, admiring her glistening, naked, sexy body, savouring the image of what was coming next.
"Tell me at what point it tickles," I said, running my fingers at first quite firmly and then ever more lightly down her back.
"There!" she said, her voice higher than usual. "That tickles."
"But it's so light. I mean, what if I dig in?"
As I said it, I poked both sides of her stomach. I started quite low, just above her hips, then in quick succession moved my fingers up and jabbed again, and again - three times in total.
"AAYYE!" she yelped.
"NYAAH!"
"Stop!"
But I didn't stop. Keeping my fingers firmly in place, I got my thumbs involved too, grabbing her sides and squeezing in rapid bursts. It's so much easier to tickle someone's sides from behind. My slippery fingertips burrowed into her skin, kneading her stomach beside the abs. With a sudden jolt, Amelia jerked up, but with my full weight on her she couldn't move.
It only took a second for her defences to crumble. A second that played out before me in glorious slow motion. In that second, my fingers scampered and squeezed up and down her shining, strawberry-scented skin. She squirmed at every pinch and prod, and her panicked squeal of a sentence grew longer and louder as fear took hold of her.
"Stoooo - OOOOOOOOPPPP!"
As that single glorious second ticked by and her defences exploded into nothingness, as my fingers squeezed with growing intensity, she lost the ability to finish the word that had been forming on her lips, and it turned into a gabbling screech of laughter:
"Stoooo - OOOOOOOOPPPP - Ha Haaaaaaaaah!"
Then the slow-motion second vanished and suddenly everything happened in a frenetic rush.
I was lost in a tickling frenzy, and she was lost to a world of deep belly laughter. She tried to wriggle out from underneath me, but she had no hope of escaping. I didn't even need to try and restrain her: my position made any chance of real vertical or lateral movement impossible.
I worked my fingers up her body, relishing the ease with which they slid over her slippery naked skin, and arrived hungrily at her ribs. Here I used the first three fingers of each hand to burrow into her ribs and rub over them, up and down, up and down, as if strumming a bucking, twisting musical instrument.
The rib tickling changed her laughter.
Where at first it had been deep and resonated round the room in regular bursts like ticklish clockwork, now it was far more fragmented and broken, riddled with delirious screams.
"Ahhh - Ha Haaah!"
"Naaahh - Ha Ha Ha Haaaah!"
"Aahh!"
"Aaaahhhhhh HAAAAHH!"
All she could do was push up with her hands, half lifting her naked torso off the bed. She reared back like this once, twice, wriggling left and right, but the effort was tremendous and she collapsed after a few seconds in a helpless mess.
Up, my fingers went, rubbing, sliding, digging and darting. Then I stopped quite suddenly, flattening my palms against her ribs and smoothly gliding up as if in cruel mockery of the massage this started out as. It gave Amelia a moment to catch her breath. She breathed loudly, heavily, taking frantic gulps of air.
"Oh my God," she panted, her voice reduced almost to a whisper. "Oh my God, I'm going to kill you. I'm going to get you SO bad."
But my fingers were still gliding up. Slowly but surely, they were approaching her armpits, invading the super-sensitive skin below them.
"What are you doing?" she said, as the realisation dawned on her. "What are you doing? No, not under my arms! Ple-he-hease, not there!"
"What, are you ticklish there too?" I said.
"YES!" she wailed, my fingers closing in and starting, ever so gently, to spider her soft skin. "Please don't!"
"I'll stop if you buy me a coffee next weekend," I said, loving every moment of this.
The words rekindled a fire inside her. She pushed off from the bed again, trying to twist, desperate to escape. But she was in such a precarious position - every movement sapped her flagging energy, and there was nowhere to go. She fell back into the bed, her face pressing up against the pillow.
"I'm going to get you so badly," she spluttered feverishly. "Not under my arms! Not under my AAAAAAAAAAHHH HA HAAAAHHH!"
My fingers found her armpits. Still slick from the massage bar, they easily swept across her exposed, tender skin. What got me in that moment and what still gets me now is the sheer responsiveness of it all. I don't know how to put it into words the feeling of power that took hold of me. In those smooth hollows, everything I did resulted in explosive laughter. It was instant. At every touch. An unstoppable outpouring of utter ticklishness, all because of my wiggling fingers.
Automatically, her arms snapped down, but the plan worked - they hit my knees and could go no further. Again they snapped down, and again, trying instinctively to close off her armpits, but they were blocked every time. They flailed helplessly about as I tickled and tickled.
"Will you get me a coffee?" I said, leaning up against her back, feeling her sticky, shiny skin beneath me. I slowed the tickling to give her a chance to talk.
"Just wait," she said, giggling madly, reluctantly. "I'm going to NNNNAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!"
Using the same three fingers I had on her ribs, I changed tactics. I clenched both bunches of fingers tightly together, as if glued in place alongside each other. I dug them right into her underarms, pressuring the skin there, and I twitched the fingertips back and forth in short, sharp, rapid and forceful movements.
She threw back her head, arching her gleaming back, and screamed. Her despairing wail lasted a good three seconds. Then she collapsed into the bed, completely drained of fight; she collapsed into the covers, and unable to move, she laughed and laughed and laughed. Whether it was the vigour of her previous escape attempts or the position she was in, which made it so hard to move in the first place, she was completely overcome. Her will broken, all she could do was accept the tickling.
There seemed to be no breaths between the bursts of laughter now. Where one ended, the other began, erupting uncontrollably. The only way to tell them apart was the long, tortured drawn out wail at the end of each one, rising and ringing out on the air.
"HA HA HA HA HA HA HAAAAAAH!"
"AAAAHH HA HA HA HA HAAAAAAH!"
"OKAYYY - HA HA HA HA HAAAAAAH,"
"OKAY OKAY OKAAAAAAHH HA HA HAAAHH!"
"I'll do it I'll do it just staaaaahhhh HA HA HAAHHP!"
When I stopped, heart thudding drumbeats, she kept laughing. Gradually, her laughter dwindled to a giggle. Then she just lay there panting, recovering, catching her breath.
"I can't - even -" she said.
And then she stopped, perhaps until she remembered how to speak.
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