laughter_n_love
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Here's a link to Part 1. http://www.ticklingforum.com/showthread.php?281317-Girls-Night-In-Part-1-(f-f)
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Liz followed me into my bedroom. She wanted something to throw back on, so I let her borrow a t-shirt and pair of shorts. As she was getting dressed, I found myself suddenly the awkward one, unsure of how to move things forward. It was so much easier being the one in control.
Liz hadn't failed to notice that on top of my queen-sized brass bed with a sturdy brass frame lay the toys I had purchased from the fetish show, including a collection of fur-lined cuffs. She picked one up and toyed with it. "When did you get these?"
"Remember the creepy guy with the ponytail? I went back to his booth when you were talking with the organizers about when to start packing everything up. I think he was imagining me wearing them because he cut me a huge deal on them. I don't think that it hurt that I flirted with him a little. He even gave me a business card and told me to call him any time if I needed anything else."
Liz grinned. "Maybe I'll take some pictures of you wearing these and send them to him. That will blow his mind."
I felt the heat rising to my face and realized that now I was the one blushing. How had our roles become so reversed? I tried to think of something witty to say, but the thought of Liz taking pictures of me in cuffs and sharing them with a stranger was titillating in a dangerous sort of way. In the end, the best I could come up with was, "Mmmm, I bet."
Liz patted the bed for me to join her, still fondling the cuff. "I see you've planned all this out for me. Probably smart, since I have no idea how to tie someone up." She glanced at the brass frame. "I think I'll manage though."
My heart was beating faster as I joined her on the bed. A nervous excitement like I've never known enveloped me from head to toe. I peeled off my hoodie and took a seat beside her, now only wearing my favorite bra to cover my top. She gave my chest a quick inspection and said something like, "Mmmm, nice," about either my breasts or my bra, or maybe it was my obviously stiffened nipples on which she was commenting. I can't be sure because at that moment, a rush of embarrassment filled my ears and my face.
She opened the first cuff and I obligingly extended my wrist towards her. I watched as she wrapped it around my arm and locked it into place with a belt-like adjustable strap. It's an interesting thing to watch yourself be tied up, it's almost too surreal to believe that it's actually happening. I turned my arm over and examined it locked in the cuff from multiple angles as she worked on my other wrist. When they were both encased in the leather cuffs, I have to admit it felt more than a little erotic. Maybe I'd call Ponytail Guy and thank him for real.
"Pants," she said. I was ready for this, so no blushing this time. I scooted out of my sweatpants without ever getting off the bed. Liz knelt down off the edge of the bed with two of the cuffs and started to place one around my left ankle. I could have put these on myself, but it was more stimulating to allow her to do it for me. Or to me, to be more accurate. Now that she was more dressed than I in just my bra and panties, another sense of the shift in the power exchange between was washed over me. My head was swimming with feelings of submissiveness that I was enjoying immensely.
She put a cuff around my right ankle. As soon as she was done locking it into place with the adjustable strap, I felt a single fingernail dragging up my sole. I jumped and yanked my foot away, squeaking in surprise. "Oh, you are in so much trouble," Liz said, grinning at me like the Cheshire Cat. A flash of panic washed over me. That single nail had REALLY tickled, and that was nothing compared to what she was going to do to me. I've always enjoyed being tickled, but it had always been in a playful sense. Liz was going to torture me with tickling like I had done to her, of that I was certain, and while a part of me was truly looking forward to it, I started to doubt if I'd be able to stand it. If that one nail up my foot had me panicking already, what would it be like when all ten of her nails were attacking me and I couldn't pull away?
Liz stood up and moved the rest of my toys off the bed and to the floor. "Okay, lay back," she said.
I lay on my back, watching her to see if she'd tell me how she wanted me. I could see her mentally trying to figure out the best way to tie me down. "You could cuff me directly to the frame," I offered helpfully.
That seemed to set off a light bulb in her head. "Scoot down," she said, indicating the frame at the foot of the bed. I had been thinking the headboard, but in an instant I realized what she intended to do, and it made my mouth go dry. I shuffled down until my feet were able to reach the brass frame. "More," she said, confusing me. I obliged, not sure where she was going with this.
She took my ankle and guided it to the brass bedpost. The frame had horizontal bars running the width of the bed, and she used the one of the clips that came with my cuffs (I think Ponytail Guy had called them carabiners) to clip my ankle directly to this horizontal bar so that my foot was hanging down just under the bar. But she wasn't done there. She grabbed a piece of my rope and threaded it through the D-ring of the cuff and then started wrapping it around and around the bedpost, pulling my ankle trapped in the leather directly to the bedpost. Her rope work was amateurish but that didn't matter, because when she was done, my foot was slightly elevated, hanging out in the free space beyond the end of the bed, and completely unable to move. My loins throbbed as I realized how effectively my ankle was bound, but I felt that panic rising again. She hadn't left me any wiggle room at all.
Without being asked, I guided my other leg towards the far bedpost. I wasn't sure I'd be able to reach both posts, but Liz made sure I did, and I felt utterly exposed as she cuffed my ankle off like she'd done before. My legs were spread almost painfully wide, and with my ankles so tightly lashed to the frame, there was no chance I'd be able to close them even a little.
Liz knelt on the bed beside my head. She didn't say anything as she took my wrist cuffs and locked them together using those carabiner clips. She pulled my arms up over my head and I held them there while she used another piece of rope to tie my wrists off to the head board. "Is that too tight?" she asked as she pulled against the slack.
"No," I said, but my voice sounded far away to my own ears. "You can go tighter." Despite the fear growing inside me about what Liz was going to do to me, I was loving the feeling of being helpless, as I knew I would. This might be my only chance to ever be tied up like this, and I wanted everything ratcheted up to 11. "Tighter," I repeated as she pulled my arms more and more taut. When she was finished, I was on the edge of pain, mostly in my wrists and shoulders, but even this I found I was loving.
"Let me get my camera," Liz joked.
Suddenly I found my voice again. "Make sure I look good," I joked back, matching her grin.
"Are you serious?" she asked. For the moment, I had hand again.
"Sure, why not? Might as well have something to remember this by."
Liz didn't question my sincerity. She fetched her cell phone from the living room while I lay there, tied up and mostly naked on my own bed, about to have my picture taken. I was starting to wonder just how hard my heart could beat in my chest before it burst through my breast plate.
She came back in and pointed the camera at me. "You gonna smile?"
"Nah," I said. "I can't lift my head very far anyways." It was true. My arms were so taut, I didn't need any extra strain in my shoulders and neck from trying to look at the camera. I saw the flash of her camera going off as she moved around the bed, taking pictures of me from different angles.
"Oh, he's gonna love these," Liz giggled, once again bringing up Ponytail Guy. She turned the camera around and held it over my face so I could look up at the screen. One by one she scrolled through the pictures I had taken, showing me what I looked like tied up like that. I won't lie; that might have been when I felt the need between my legs at it's most pronounced.
"Thank you," I said, but what was I thanking her for? For taking my picture while I was semi-nude and bound? For doing such a good job at rendering me helpless? For threatening to shame me in front of Ponytail Guy? Or maybe, for all the things she was about to do to me?
Liz put down the camera and came back holding my ball gag and blindfold. Unlike her, I was ready for everything. Without a word exchanged between us, I lifted my head as much as I could so she could apply them both to me. I was painfully aware of how close she was as she loomed over me to get the gag strap buckled behind my head. I could smell her skin and remembered how strong her body was, now hidden under my t-shirt. I couldn't wait for her to dominate me. The need inside me was so pronounced I was physically aching.
And then, total darkness. And my mouth full of rubber. My arms and legs stretched painfully tight. My body on display, utterly exposed, totally at her mercy. God how I wanted the moment to last forever.
I was aware of the bed shifting, my only indication that Liz had either changed positions or was no longer beside me. My ears shifted into high gear, trying to pick up on any sound that might give me warning as to where she was or what was about to happen. I tried to calm my own breathing, but my excitement was palatable. I felt like a dog waiting impatiently for it's master to take it for a walk. I heard a pathetic mewling sound and realized it had come from me.
"Someone's ready to play, huh?" I heard Liz's voice, but it was coming from the end of the bed, down by where my bare feet lay waiting for her to torture. Her words rang true in my ears. I was a bondage slut finally free from my closet, and I couldn't hold back my eagerness any longer. I mumbled some kind of affirmation around the gag. No point in denying it. It's why were were there on that Friday night in the first place.
"Well then, since you tickled me until I almost passed out, I'd say it's time you felt what that's like yourself, don't you think?" My toes reflexively scrunched down at these words. I wasn't sure it was possible to long for something as much as you dreaded it, but that's exactly where I found myself. I'd seen for myself how much fun it was to tickle torture Liz, and how she'd obviously been loving every minute of it, even though it had been torture for her. I'd felt jealousy at what she had gone through. And now, to use her own words, I was about to find out what that felt like myself. Who knew something like tickling could have me soaked with desire?
I waited. And waited. And waited. Liz was messing with my head, making me wait, knowing it was driving me nuts. I started to giggle around the gag. Nervous giggles. The anticipation was killing me. I felt like I was going to burst if she didn't just get on with it already. My feet twitched and flailed in the cuffs, avoiding fingernails that hadn't even touched them yet. Damn her, she was killing me already, and we hadn't even officially started.
And then I felt her grab my big toe and stretch my foot taut. I yelped in surprise, even though I knew it was coming. And again she made me wait, and this time it was worse. because now it was those last tense moments before the starter fires his pistol. I held my breath, anticipating that first touch, and still it would not come. My heart pounded in my ears, but still it would not come. I struggled in her grip, but my foot was not going anywhere, and still it would not come. "JUGHHMG...!"
As soon as I started to protest something garbled around the rubber ball between my teeth, she launched her sneak attack. I felt a single nail squiggling down my sole, and that was all it took to cut my words off completely. If I could have leaped out of my skin, I would have, but unfortunately, that wasn't an option. I jerked my leg hard, but there was no movement to be found. I tried to wrench my foot in her grasp, but that didn't work either. Another nail teased my arch. I was beaten already and I knew it. The laughter started flowing from me. It's all I could do, even if I had no control over that either. Another nail tracing my sole. My leg trembled, desperate to pull back. My foot twitched. My laughter got a little louder. And so my introduction to tickle torture had begun.
Liz wasn't about to make it easy on me. I could hear her chuckling over my own laughter. "You know, someone as ticklish as you really should have been more careful about tickling me first." It was true. I had known it from the moment I had started tickling Liz in her hogtie that it would be revisited back on me, and though her single nail treatment was starting to get to me, I didn't regret that decision of mine one bit.
One nail became two nails. My head lurched to one side, burying my blindfolded and gagged face against my biceps. I've always been ticklish, but all the buildup, from my tickling Liz, to this being the first time I've ever really been tied up, to how teasingly she had made me wait had the bottom of my foot way more sensitive to touch than I'd remembered. Then again, I'd never been tickled while so helpless before, so maybe being unable to avoid it even a little bit was a contributing factor.
"Do my nails tickle?" she taunted me, just like I had done to her earlier. "Is this torture for you? Maybe if your foot wasn't so ticklish, I'd stop. So tell you what...you show me that your foot isn't ticklish, and I'll stop. Deal?"
Two nails became five nails. I bucked in my bondage, my hips twisting on the bed, though that offered absolutely no relief for my trapped sole. That I could pretend I wasn't ticklish was preposterous, and she knew it. A totally rigged game. I laughed and squealed behind the gag. She hadn't offered me the 'grapes' safety word, not that I would have used it anyway. My foot was desperate for relief, and my lungs were starting to burn, but there was nothing on earth that would have made me stop her from doing what she was doing.
I felt the death grip on my toes shift a little, but it was false hope. Her nails were now attacking my toes. Under them. In between them. The tops of them. The pads. Even my own pink toenails. And she was really into it, from the tone of her taunting. "My toes are so ticklish, but I think yours might be worse. Too bad, because now I have to tickle them even longer. You are okay with that, right?"
Tickle torture. Now I understood. Ten times worse than my soles. Maybe a hundred. Now I really wanted her to stop, to leave my ticklish toes alone, but I knew if she actually did, I'd be missing that torture immediately. Such a Catch-22. And that's the secret...that's how you can love and dread something at the same time.
I flopped around on the bed in my limited mobility. I had been pulling on my arms and legs harder than I realized, and already I was getting tired. All my struggling was getting me nowhere, but I couldn't stop myself from trying. My lungs were starting to burn as I was robbed of air from laughing and trying to scream behind the gag. I didn't feel like I was going to pass out, but I knew I'd be as sore as hell once this was over. What a workout!
Luckily, Liz was done with that foot. I lay limply on the bed, still flustered with giggles and trying to gulp in air while I had the chance. I knew I probably didn't have much time before my torture started again, and I wanted to take advantage of every precious second.
"That's it...catch your breath." I could her voice now coming from where my other foot lay helpless and waiting. The nervous giggles started all over again. My foot flailed in the cuff, knowing this is where the torture was coming next and trying to postpone it as long as possible. My antics must have amused her. "You should really save your strength, don't you think?"
I tried to give her a playful 'fuck you' through the gag, but it came out so garbled even I couldn't understand myself. It was my foot, dammit, and if I wanted to flop it around like an idiot, that was my choice.
Her nails started to drag across my sole. I freaked out and flopped my foot around even faster. She was letting me resist, letting me try to escape that which could not be escaped. "Come on...you can move it faster than that," she teased. I could feel her both her hands surrounding my foot, as nails managed to touch some part of my skin no matter which way I twisted it. She had me giggling against my will again. Some how this might have been worse, this false sense of freedom she was allowing me. I knew it was pointless, but my reflexes wouldn't allow me to stop fighting for relief. I tried to curse at her again, but the damn gag made everything I tried to say sound like mush-mouth.
Her hands were closing in on my foot, at least it felt that way. What was happening is I was tiring, and I couldn't keep up the frantic pace of trying to escape forever. As my foot slowed, her nails found more skin available for tickling. And it wasn't just my sole and toes she was attacking. Her nails were everywhere all at once. I hated her nails.
I was running low on struggle power, so I decided to try a different tactic. I saved my energy, as she suggested I should have done earlier, and just let her tickle my foot as much as I could without trying to escape it. This presented its own challenges, because it was an entirely different kind of effort to hold still when someone is tickling your ticklish foot than it is to use your muscles to try and avoid it. I was successful...
...for all of three seconds. It was just too much, and as I lost this particular battle with myself, my desperation kicked up a notch, and I screamed in ticklish frustration.
This must have really tickled Liz, no pun intended, because she burst out laughing at my theatrics. "That was a good try. You almost had it."
I couldn't stand her nails on my foot any more, and of course, she zeroed in on my toes again. That's when my flailing muscles truly found their second wind, because she was forced to hold my toes in place again in order to torture me like she had with my other foot. I squealed behind the gag like a stuck pig, unable to contain even a shred of dignity as she tickled me past my limits. I didn't care how pathetic I must have sounded. It was liberating to just let it all out.
Finally it stopped again. I panted, my forehead sweaty from exertion. My poor feet had never experienced anything like this. I had a new respect for the power of tickling, both giving and receiving. I remember hearing once about how foot tickling had been used a legit form of torture, back centuries ago in China I think. I believed it now. Even I, a person who enjoys being tickled, would confess to crimes I hadn't committed under this kind of torture. It was just too much.
"Break is over," she announced, to my horror, still down at the foot of the bed. More foot tickling? I wailed, loudly, announcing my frustration. She had me in the palm of her hand and she knew it. I thought I had been a pretty good tickler, but Liz had me beat hands down. I felt all her wicked nails torturing both my soles at once. She must have been standing or kneeling at the foot of the bed, reaching out to tickle both of my feet at the same time.
I exploded, writhing in my bonds from side to side. I wanted to pull the foot board to pieces with sheer force of my leg muscles alone. I tried to pull the head board off the frame and smash her in the skull with it. I screamed as loud as I could, hoping her ears would bleed from the sound. I hated Ponytail Guy for selling me these cursed cuffs, but I hated Liz more. I hated her with every fiber of my being. I momentarily wondered if she was free next weekend to do this again.
She giggled as she tickled me, but I could barely hear her over my own tortured laughs and screams. I can only imagine how much fun she was having with my sensitive feet just hanging there, almost begging to be tickled. I remembered how turned on she got when I tortured her with tickles, and I'd be lying if I said my lustful needs hadn't reached new heights from the combination of being bound and tickled. Maybe I was more than just a closet bondage slut...maybe I was a closet tickle slut as well.
But I also remember how worked up I'd gotten as the tickler, at watching and hearing Liz squirm and protest under my tickling fingers, and I wondered if Liz was feeling that too. I certainly hoped so.
I don't know how long she tortured my feet, but at long last it ended. I felt the bed shift again beside me, and my sweaty hair being patted. "Feel bad about torturing me now?" she asked.
I didn't even hesitate a second as I shook my head side to side and mumbled a "Nnnpphh."
She giggled at that, dancing her fingertips into the hollows of my underarms. "No, I didn't think you would. You were having the time of your life tickling me." I twisted from side to side, once again in the throes of ticklish agony. I'd hardly gotten any break since the foot tickling ended, but I suppose it was my own fault for not feeling bad. My hips twisted from side to side, but my upper body hardly moved at all. I couldn't avoid her tickling under my arms hardly at all, and so she had me back to screaming and squealing in record time. "God you are ticklish!"
She was right. I hadn't realize how ticklish I was until tonight. I was utterly, hopelessly, and wonderfully ticklish.
"You have no idea how hot you look. Tonight was such a good idea." Her hands had moved to my ribs, where my skin was pulled tight against the bones. She had switched from exclusively torturing me with her nails to kneading and squeezing my sides. I had a lot of experience with this kind of tickling from past tickle fights with friends and lovers, and I knew how helpless it made me even without the cuffs and ropes. All I wanted to do was curl up into a protective ball, to pull back into my shell like a frightened turtle, but it wasn't meant to be. I wailed, my forced laughter coming out in hoarse bursts that only ended when I sucked in a breath for the next one.
She attacked my lower torso with a mixture of squeezes and pokes and dancing fingernails. It was all too much. Too many different kinds of stimulation, all tickling me rotten in their own unique ways. I tried to suck in my belly, but that only provided momentary relief before the next wave of laughter was forced out of me and I had no choice but to breathe to survive. She attacked my navel, which in addition to tickling like mad, almost made me want to pee, which I really didn't want to happen. Thankfully she didn't linger there. She'd discovered my hip bones and the area just above the line of my panties were excellent tickle targets. As tormented as I was, in the back of my brain, I couldn't help but get excited because she was getting closer and closer to my throbbing sex.
She must have read my mind, or maybe we were just on the same page, which wouldn't have surprised me at all given how the night had unfolded so far. I felt her patting my pussy, over my panties. "Oh my....you are soaked through," she said, a hint of wonder in her voice.
I was way beyond being embarrassed by this revelation. I moaned loudly at the pat, as hungry for stimulation as a wild animal in heat. I knew she understood, having been where I was not that long ago, so why pretend I didn't find being tied and tickle tortured every bit as erotic as she?
"Let me just take care of that," she said, and I felt the bed shifting again. I sincerely hoped this wasn't another head game, and as the moments passed, I suspected it was. I tensed up reflexively, expecting her to start tickling me somewhere all over again. And then I heard a drawer open to my left, the top drawer to my nightstand, followed by Liz's weight beside me on the bed again. "I knew I'd find this in there," she said, turning on my vibrator, "because that's where I keep mine."
The sound made me swoon. She pressed it between my legs and I moaned into that gag as loud as I had been screaming earlier. Never, and I do mean never, had that vibrator felt so good against my pussy. I was so ready to cum, it wasn't going to take hardly any time to push me over that edge.
Her tickling nails attacked my inner thighs, and I screeched in frustration. This brought a whole new meaning to torture. I felt myself backing away from that edge, consumed again by the need to escape those wicked fingernails. I had never been tickled in my groin before, and it was unbearable. Like tickling on steroids. I fought it with whatever strength I had left.
But the vibrator followed me wherever I squirmed, giving my aching womanhood no relief, and slowly the tide began to shift in the other direction. It would be a fallacy to say my inner thighs became less ticklish, because they didn't. Not even a little bit. But the vibrator was clinically effective, stoking the glowing embers between my legs until it was a raging fire again. And so I experience another first that night; I came harder than I've ever cum in my life, all the while thrashing like I was literally on fire.
I think I passed out, or at least browned out. It's really hard to say. Coherent thoughts escaped me. I can recall tingling, all over, like every inch of my skin was alive with pleasure. I vaguely remember arching my back so hard I almost dislocated both my shoulders. I only know for sure that my brain short circuited somewhat, and that for a short time, I was a babbling, drooling shell of a woman with hardly any functioning motor skills.
Liz untied the ropes holding me to the bed, but she made no move to take the cuffs off my limbs. I didn't care. I liked the way they felt on my arms and legs. Like they belonged there. Like they had always belonged there.
I was so tired and spent and satisfied, I didn't even reach for the blindfold and gag to remove them. I just wanted to lay there and bask in the glow of the orgasm that had not only made all previous orgasms pale in comparison, but had set a new bar that might never be reached again.
Liz had other ideas. I felt her hands under my arms, pulling me up towards the pillows. She rested my head on them, and I felt a flutter of affection run through me as I thought she wanted to cuddle me like this, me still in my symbols of bondage, and her still with all the power. But I was wrong about that.
She cuffed my wrists to the bar running along the bottom of the headboard, spreading my arms out straight on either side. I was initially alarmed, thinking our game was over, but after what she had just done to me, I wasn't about to refuse her anything she wanted. I still felt very submissive, and though I was beyond satisfied, maybe Liz still had tricks up her sleeve, and I was more than ready to see them.
I felt her tugging at the hem of my drenched panties, so I lift my ass off the bed with what little strength I had so she could peel them off me. If you'd asked me two weeks ago how I felt about my coworker Liz pulling off my panties while I was cuffed to my bed, I'd have called you crazy. But right now, I was 110% on board with that idea.
Liz really surprised me then. I felt myself being folded in half with my ankles being pulled up towards the headboard. She clipped my ankle cuffs the top bar of my bed frame and then to each other, effectively keeping my feet suspended in mid air somewhere over my head while forcing my legs to be bowed in an inviting fashion.
"Oh, this calls for more pictures," I heard her say. I was glad she thought of that, as I wanted to see what this looked like from her perspective. I certainly felt exposed and vulnerable in ways being stretched out hadn't made me feel.
What she said next shocked me. "Next time I'll bring my strap on." It took a moment for my beleaguered brain to process all those words entailed. First, that there would be a next time, which I had found myself wondering about throughout the night. Second, that Liz owned a strap on, which really made my question how well I knew her, as well as wondering just how kinky she was and hadn't been letting on. Maybe her booking the fetish show was more personal than I realized. Third, the idea that I might get fucked in this position, regardless of who from, had me starting to moisten all over again. My body and brain were ready to shut down, but my loins found a way to still be hungry.
Whatever my reaction was, she must have found it amusing. "I went to an all-girl college. There was a lot of experimentation going on," she said, as if this explained everything.
Once again, my heart was starting to thump in my chest. I guess my body has more endurance than I give it credit for. I felt Liz popping open the clasp on my front closure bra and my tits came tumbling out. Her fingers found those hard points that were my nipples and she rolled them between her fingertips. "Glad to see you are still excited. I have one more surprise for you." I mewled at her touch and then again at her words. If I could have said, "Yes Mistress," I might have...and I might have meant it.
Her touch around my stiffened nipples grew lighter and lighter, until it went from "mmmmm" pleasurable to "tickly" pleasurable. Goosebumps broke out all over my arms and chest as the giggles returned. I absolutely love having my nipples played with, but this was an altogether a new experience for me. I giggle-moaned again like the ticklish bondage slut that was.
And that's when I felt her mouth along my sex. It was the last thing I was expecting, to be honest, but it had me squirming with pleasure at once. Her breath felt so good on me down there, and she knew what she was doing with her lips and tongue. That college education of hers was paying dividends.
The combination of her fingernails lightly teasing my engorged nipples and her experienced mouth teasing and pleasing my engorged pussy had me panting behind the gag in no time. I wasn't sure I could handle another orgasm so soon after that last earth-shattering one, but she wasn't going to leave me much choice. I began to wonder if that was her plan; to tickle me to orgasm after orgasm until I was ready for a straight jacket and padded cell. The thought sent a surge of pleasure to my loins, and I curled my hips towards her to the best of my ability, ready to be sent over that edge again.
But Liz is a one-upper. It's subtle, but it's there. Like at work, when she makes sure she brings in more revenue than me. Or when we swap dating stories, and dates always sound a bit better than mine. So it shouldn't have surprised me that when it came to tickle torture, she was going to one-up me there too.
As her tongue coaxed me to a second orgasm, she pulled away and started tickling my feet again, which were just hanging there, all but forgotten. I growled loudly in protest and frustration but that gave way to more forced laughter. My feet had had plenty of time to 'recharge', and they were every bit as sensitive to tickling as they were when we started. Maybe even more so, since the orgasm that had pleasured me from head to toe had seemed to ignite all of my nerve endings.
I found myself waving my feet in defense, disbelieving that she could be so cruel as to get me to the edge of cumming and then deny me with more foot tickle torture. The hatred returned in a heartbeat, and I squirmed in the cuffs, my body finding itself once again on high alert and with resources to struggle for freedom.
The fingers on my feet backed off, and her mouth was back on my sex, lapping at my clitoris. My eyes rolled back in my head under the blindfold. What was she doing to me? This was inhumane. No one could be expected to switch back and force between extremes like this. It was cruel and unusual punishment. I wish I'd thought of it first.
Once again, she worked me up to that edge, but this time I approached it with trepidation. I suspected another trap. She was luring me in again, ready to steal away my prize at the last minute, ready to pull that football away just before I kicked it. I tried to hide how close I was to cumming. I struggled to keep my moaning in check. I tried to keep the escalating desperation out of my panting. But dammit if I didn't give myself away by bucking my hips towards her again at the last minute.
The foot tickling returned, and I screamed in frustration. Or maybe it was in agony. God I hated her. She had broken me down so thoroughly that I felt like crying, but I was still too ticklish for time to do anything other than flail and screech laughter and flap my hands uselessly. Was there no end to how much tickling my poor feet could take?
The mouth returned, and I was too angry to care. I didn't want to cum any more. I just wanted no more tickling. At least that's how I felt for maybe a second or two, because as before, her lips and tongue had me racing back to the edge again. I retracted all my thoughts of anger and venom and rescinded all vows of hatred. I now understood this is how she was building me up to another massive orgasm. Tickle, pleasure. Tickle, pleasure. Again and again. It was like constructing a layered cake, one that must be up to the ceiling by now. Back and force she switched on me, so many times that I lost count.
My legs started to tremble. My fingers clenched and unclenched uncontrollably. I started to shudder so much that the sounds coming out of my drooling mouth vibrated against the rubber ball. I was lost again, aware of only two things. The first was that I was beyond desperate to cum, and the second was that I suspected she wasn't going to let me. Ever.
But I was wrong. I reached that edge yet again, and as before, my hips bucked towards her heavenly mouth. But this time, she didn't stop. She kept going. Her tongue lapped at my sexual core, rolling it around the tip, and pushed me over the edge like a runaway train going over the broken bridge and into the canyon at top speed. I full-body spasmed, hard, and then went as still as a statue as the orgasm raced through me and lit up all of my nerve endings like a Christmas tree. For the second time that night, I experience a release like I didn't know was possible, all thanks to a little bondage and a lot of tickling.
She uncuffed my legs from the headboard and helped lower them back to the bed. I felt my wrists being freed from the headboard as well, and this time I did reach for the gag and blindfold. She pushed my hands away. I let her. The blindfold came off first, and I stared into her eyes intently as she reached around my head to remove the gag. The rubber ball was barely out my mouth before I grabbed her head and pulled my face to hers, smashing my lips against her and kissing her as hard as I could. I didn't care that my jaw ached, or that my chin was covered in drool, or that I could taste my own juices on her lips and tongue. I had to show her how I felt, and that was the only way I knew how.
She didn't fight the kiss, but when we finally parted lips, her eyes blinked in pleasure and surprise. "Well that was unexpected!"
I did tear up then. My eyes puddled before drops spilled down my cheeks. "I don't know how to thank you." I said weakly, still holding her head in my hands. I has just been on an emotional roller coaster, and I wasn't prepared how to handle the aftermath. Or maybe I was still on it.
She used her thumbs to wipe my cheeks dry before leaning in to kiss me back. I was more than happy to let her. She broke the kiss and pulled me in for a tight hug that I realize I really needed. It felt so good to be enveloped in her strong arms. "I think we are even," she said.
I started to tear up again, overcome by the need to just unload in her embrace. She let me, just holding me and not saying anything in return.
"Liz?"
"Yeah?"
"Next time.....I go first."
"Deal."
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Liz followed me into my bedroom. She wanted something to throw back on, so I let her borrow a t-shirt and pair of shorts. As she was getting dressed, I found myself suddenly the awkward one, unsure of how to move things forward. It was so much easier being the one in control.
Liz hadn't failed to notice that on top of my queen-sized brass bed with a sturdy brass frame lay the toys I had purchased from the fetish show, including a collection of fur-lined cuffs. She picked one up and toyed with it. "When did you get these?"
"Remember the creepy guy with the ponytail? I went back to his booth when you were talking with the organizers about when to start packing everything up. I think he was imagining me wearing them because he cut me a huge deal on them. I don't think that it hurt that I flirted with him a little. He even gave me a business card and told me to call him any time if I needed anything else."
Liz grinned. "Maybe I'll take some pictures of you wearing these and send them to him. That will blow his mind."
I felt the heat rising to my face and realized that now I was the one blushing. How had our roles become so reversed? I tried to think of something witty to say, but the thought of Liz taking pictures of me in cuffs and sharing them with a stranger was titillating in a dangerous sort of way. In the end, the best I could come up with was, "Mmmm, I bet."
Liz patted the bed for me to join her, still fondling the cuff. "I see you've planned all this out for me. Probably smart, since I have no idea how to tie someone up." She glanced at the brass frame. "I think I'll manage though."
My heart was beating faster as I joined her on the bed. A nervous excitement like I've never known enveloped me from head to toe. I peeled off my hoodie and took a seat beside her, now only wearing my favorite bra to cover my top. She gave my chest a quick inspection and said something like, "Mmmm, nice," about either my breasts or my bra, or maybe it was my obviously stiffened nipples on which she was commenting. I can't be sure because at that moment, a rush of embarrassment filled my ears and my face.
She opened the first cuff and I obligingly extended my wrist towards her. I watched as she wrapped it around my arm and locked it into place with a belt-like adjustable strap. It's an interesting thing to watch yourself be tied up, it's almost too surreal to believe that it's actually happening. I turned my arm over and examined it locked in the cuff from multiple angles as she worked on my other wrist. When they were both encased in the leather cuffs, I have to admit it felt more than a little erotic. Maybe I'd call Ponytail Guy and thank him for real.
"Pants," she said. I was ready for this, so no blushing this time. I scooted out of my sweatpants without ever getting off the bed. Liz knelt down off the edge of the bed with two of the cuffs and started to place one around my left ankle. I could have put these on myself, but it was more stimulating to allow her to do it for me. Or to me, to be more accurate. Now that she was more dressed than I in just my bra and panties, another sense of the shift in the power exchange between was washed over me. My head was swimming with feelings of submissiveness that I was enjoying immensely.
She put a cuff around my right ankle. As soon as she was done locking it into place with the adjustable strap, I felt a single fingernail dragging up my sole. I jumped and yanked my foot away, squeaking in surprise. "Oh, you are in so much trouble," Liz said, grinning at me like the Cheshire Cat. A flash of panic washed over me. That single nail had REALLY tickled, and that was nothing compared to what she was going to do to me. I've always enjoyed being tickled, but it had always been in a playful sense. Liz was going to torture me with tickling like I had done to her, of that I was certain, and while a part of me was truly looking forward to it, I started to doubt if I'd be able to stand it. If that one nail up my foot had me panicking already, what would it be like when all ten of her nails were attacking me and I couldn't pull away?
Liz stood up and moved the rest of my toys off the bed and to the floor. "Okay, lay back," she said.
I lay on my back, watching her to see if she'd tell me how she wanted me. I could see her mentally trying to figure out the best way to tie me down. "You could cuff me directly to the frame," I offered helpfully.
That seemed to set off a light bulb in her head. "Scoot down," she said, indicating the frame at the foot of the bed. I had been thinking the headboard, but in an instant I realized what she intended to do, and it made my mouth go dry. I shuffled down until my feet were able to reach the brass frame. "More," she said, confusing me. I obliged, not sure where she was going with this.
She took my ankle and guided it to the brass bedpost. The frame had horizontal bars running the width of the bed, and she used the one of the clips that came with my cuffs (I think Ponytail Guy had called them carabiners) to clip my ankle directly to this horizontal bar so that my foot was hanging down just under the bar. But she wasn't done there. She grabbed a piece of my rope and threaded it through the D-ring of the cuff and then started wrapping it around and around the bedpost, pulling my ankle trapped in the leather directly to the bedpost. Her rope work was amateurish but that didn't matter, because when she was done, my foot was slightly elevated, hanging out in the free space beyond the end of the bed, and completely unable to move. My loins throbbed as I realized how effectively my ankle was bound, but I felt that panic rising again. She hadn't left me any wiggle room at all.
Without being asked, I guided my other leg towards the far bedpost. I wasn't sure I'd be able to reach both posts, but Liz made sure I did, and I felt utterly exposed as she cuffed my ankle off like she'd done before. My legs were spread almost painfully wide, and with my ankles so tightly lashed to the frame, there was no chance I'd be able to close them even a little.
Liz knelt on the bed beside my head. She didn't say anything as she took my wrist cuffs and locked them together using those carabiner clips. She pulled my arms up over my head and I held them there while she used another piece of rope to tie my wrists off to the head board. "Is that too tight?" she asked as she pulled against the slack.
"No," I said, but my voice sounded far away to my own ears. "You can go tighter." Despite the fear growing inside me about what Liz was going to do to me, I was loving the feeling of being helpless, as I knew I would. This might be my only chance to ever be tied up like this, and I wanted everything ratcheted up to 11. "Tighter," I repeated as she pulled my arms more and more taut. When she was finished, I was on the edge of pain, mostly in my wrists and shoulders, but even this I found I was loving.
"Let me get my camera," Liz joked.
Suddenly I found my voice again. "Make sure I look good," I joked back, matching her grin.
"Are you serious?" she asked. For the moment, I had hand again.
"Sure, why not? Might as well have something to remember this by."
Liz didn't question my sincerity. She fetched her cell phone from the living room while I lay there, tied up and mostly naked on my own bed, about to have my picture taken. I was starting to wonder just how hard my heart could beat in my chest before it burst through my breast plate.
She came back in and pointed the camera at me. "You gonna smile?"
"Nah," I said. "I can't lift my head very far anyways." It was true. My arms were so taut, I didn't need any extra strain in my shoulders and neck from trying to look at the camera. I saw the flash of her camera going off as she moved around the bed, taking pictures of me from different angles.
"Oh, he's gonna love these," Liz giggled, once again bringing up Ponytail Guy. She turned the camera around and held it over my face so I could look up at the screen. One by one she scrolled through the pictures I had taken, showing me what I looked like tied up like that. I won't lie; that might have been when I felt the need between my legs at it's most pronounced.
"Thank you," I said, but what was I thanking her for? For taking my picture while I was semi-nude and bound? For doing such a good job at rendering me helpless? For threatening to shame me in front of Ponytail Guy? Or maybe, for all the things she was about to do to me?
Liz put down the camera and came back holding my ball gag and blindfold. Unlike her, I was ready for everything. Without a word exchanged between us, I lifted my head as much as I could so she could apply them both to me. I was painfully aware of how close she was as she loomed over me to get the gag strap buckled behind my head. I could smell her skin and remembered how strong her body was, now hidden under my t-shirt. I couldn't wait for her to dominate me. The need inside me was so pronounced I was physically aching.
And then, total darkness. And my mouth full of rubber. My arms and legs stretched painfully tight. My body on display, utterly exposed, totally at her mercy. God how I wanted the moment to last forever.
I was aware of the bed shifting, my only indication that Liz had either changed positions or was no longer beside me. My ears shifted into high gear, trying to pick up on any sound that might give me warning as to where she was or what was about to happen. I tried to calm my own breathing, but my excitement was palatable. I felt like a dog waiting impatiently for it's master to take it for a walk. I heard a pathetic mewling sound and realized it had come from me.
"Someone's ready to play, huh?" I heard Liz's voice, but it was coming from the end of the bed, down by where my bare feet lay waiting for her to torture. Her words rang true in my ears. I was a bondage slut finally free from my closet, and I couldn't hold back my eagerness any longer. I mumbled some kind of affirmation around the gag. No point in denying it. It's why were were there on that Friday night in the first place.
"Well then, since you tickled me until I almost passed out, I'd say it's time you felt what that's like yourself, don't you think?" My toes reflexively scrunched down at these words. I wasn't sure it was possible to long for something as much as you dreaded it, but that's exactly where I found myself. I'd seen for myself how much fun it was to tickle torture Liz, and how she'd obviously been loving every minute of it, even though it had been torture for her. I'd felt jealousy at what she had gone through. And now, to use her own words, I was about to find out what that felt like myself. Who knew something like tickling could have me soaked with desire?
I waited. And waited. And waited. Liz was messing with my head, making me wait, knowing it was driving me nuts. I started to giggle around the gag. Nervous giggles. The anticipation was killing me. I felt like I was going to burst if she didn't just get on with it already. My feet twitched and flailed in the cuffs, avoiding fingernails that hadn't even touched them yet. Damn her, she was killing me already, and we hadn't even officially started.
And then I felt her grab my big toe and stretch my foot taut. I yelped in surprise, even though I knew it was coming. And again she made me wait, and this time it was worse. because now it was those last tense moments before the starter fires his pistol. I held my breath, anticipating that first touch, and still it would not come. My heart pounded in my ears, but still it would not come. I struggled in her grip, but my foot was not going anywhere, and still it would not come. "JUGHHMG...!"
As soon as I started to protest something garbled around the rubber ball between my teeth, she launched her sneak attack. I felt a single nail squiggling down my sole, and that was all it took to cut my words off completely. If I could have leaped out of my skin, I would have, but unfortunately, that wasn't an option. I jerked my leg hard, but there was no movement to be found. I tried to wrench my foot in her grasp, but that didn't work either. Another nail teased my arch. I was beaten already and I knew it. The laughter started flowing from me. It's all I could do, even if I had no control over that either. Another nail tracing my sole. My leg trembled, desperate to pull back. My foot twitched. My laughter got a little louder. And so my introduction to tickle torture had begun.
Liz wasn't about to make it easy on me. I could hear her chuckling over my own laughter. "You know, someone as ticklish as you really should have been more careful about tickling me first." It was true. I had known it from the moment I had started tickling Liz in her hogtie that it would be revisited back on me, and though her single nail treatment was starting to get to me, I didn't regret that decision of mine one bit.
One nail became two nails. My head lurched to one side, burying my blindfolded and gagged face against my biceps. I've always been ticklish, but all the buildup, from my tickling Liz, to this being the first time I've ever really been tied up, to how teasingly she had made me wait had the bottom of my foot way more sensitive to touch than I'd remembered. Then again, I'd never been tickled while so helpless before, so maybe being unable to avoid it even a little bit was a contributing factor.
"Do my nails tickle?" she taunted me, just like I had done to her earlier. "Is this torture for you? Maybe if your foot wasn't so ticklish, I'd stop. So tell you what...you show me that your foot isn't ticklish, and I'll stop. Deal?"
Two nails became five nails. I bucked in my bondage, my hips twisting on the bed, though that offered absolutely no relief for my trapped sole. That I could pretend I wasn't ticklish was preposterous, and she knew it. A totally rigged game. I laughed and squealed behind the gag. She hadn't offered me the 'grapes' safety word, not that I would have used it anyway. My foot was desperate for relief, and my lungs were starting to burn, but there was nothing on earth that would have made me stop her from doing what she was doing.
I felt the death grip on my toes shift a little, but it was false hope. Her nails were now attacking my toes. Under them. In between them. The tops of them. The pads. Even my own pink toenails. And she was really into it, from the tone of her taunting. "My toes are so ticklish, but I think yours might be worse. Too bad, because now I have to tickle them even longer. You are okay with that, right?"
Tickle torture. Now I understood. Ten times worse than my soles. Maybe a hundred. Now I really wanted her to stop, to leave my ticklish toes alone, but I knew if she actually did, I'd be missing that torture immediately. Such a Catch-22. And that's the secret...that's how you can love and dread something at the same time.
I flopped around on the bed in my limited mobility. I had been pulling on my arms and legs harder than I realized, and already I was getting tired. All my struggling was getting me nowhere, but I couldn't stop myself from trying. My lungs were starting to burn as I was robbed of air from laughing and trying to scream behind the gag. I didn't feel like I was going to pass out, but I knew I'd be as sore as hell once this was over. What a workout!
Luckily, Liz was done with that foot. I lay limply on the bed, still flustered with giggles and trying to gulp in air while I had the chance. I knew I probably didn't have much time before my torture started again, and I wanted to take advantage of every precious second.
"That's it...catch your breath." I could her voice now coming from where my other foot lay helpless and waiting. The nervous giggles started all over again. My foot flailed in the cuff, knowing this is where the torture was coming next and trying to postpone it as long as possible. My antics must have amused her. "You should really save your strength, don't you think?"
I tried to give her a playful 'fuck you' through the gag, but it came out so garbled even I couldn't understand myself. It was my foot, dammit, and if I wanted to flop it around like an idiot, that was my choice.
Her nails started to drag across my sole. I freaked out and flopped my foot around even faster. She was letting me resist, letting me try to escape that which could not be escaped. "Come on...you can move it faster than that," she teased. I could feel her both her hands surrounding my foot, as nails managed to touch some part of my skin no matter which way I twisted it. She had me giggling against my will again. Some how this might have been worse, this false sense of freedom she was allowing me. I knew it was pointless, but my reflexes wouldn't allow me to stop fighting for relief. I tried to curse at her again, but the damn gag made everything I tried to say sound like mush-mouth.
Her hands were closing in on my foot, at least it felt that way. What was happening is I was tiring, and I couldn't keep up the frantic pace of trying to escape forever. As my foot slowed, her nails found more skin available for tickling. And it wasn't just my sole and toes she was attacking. Her nails were everywhere all at once. I hated her nails.
I was running low on struggle power, so I decided to try a different tactic. I saved my energy, as she suggested I should have done earlier, and just let her tickle my foot as much as I could without trying to escape it. This presented its own challenges, because it was an entirely different kind of effort to hold still when someone is tickling your ticklish foot than it is to use your muscles to try and avoid it. I was successful...
...for all of three seconds. It was just too much, and as I lost this particular battle with myself, my desperation kicked up a notch, and I screamed in ticklish frustration.
This must have really tickled Liz, no pun intended, because she burst out laughing at my theatrics. "That was a good try. You almost had it."
I couldn't stand her nails on my foot any more, and of course, she zeroed in on my toes again. That's when my flailing muscles truly found their second wind, because she was forced to hold my toes in place again in order to torture me like she had with my other foot. I squealed behind the gag like a stuck pig, unable to contain even a shred of dignity as she tickled me past my limits. I didn't care how pathetic I must have sounded. It was liberating to just let it all out.
Finally it stopped again. I panted, my forehead sweaty from exertion. My poor feet had never experienced anything like this. I had a new respect for the power of tickling, both giving and receiving. I remember hearing once about how foot tickling had been used a legit form of torture, back centuries ago in China I think. I believed it now. Even I, a person who enjoys being tickled, would confess to crimes I hadn't committed under this kind of torture. It was just too much.
"Break is over," she announced, to my horror, still down at the foot of the bed. More foot tickling? I wailed, loudly, announcing my frustration. She had me in the palm of her hand and she knew it. I thought I had been a pretty good tickler, but Liz had me beat hands down. I felt all her wicked nails torturing both my soles at once. She must have been standing or kneeling at the foot of the bed, reaching out to tickle both of my feet at the same time.
I exploded, writhing in my bonds from side to side. I wanted to pull the foot board to pieces with sheer force of my leg muscles alone. I tried to pull the head board off the frame and smash her in the skull with it. I screamed as loud as I could, hoping her ears would bleed from the sound. I hated Ponytail Guy for selling me these cursed cuffs, but I hated Liz more. I hated her with every fiber of my being. I momentarily wondered if she was free next weekend to do this again.
She giggled as she tickled me, but I could barely hear her over my own tortured laughs and screams. I can only imagine how much fun she was having with my sensitive feet just hanging there, almost begging to be tickled. I remembered how turned on she got when I tortured her with tickles, and I'd be lying if I said my lustful needs hadn't reached new heights from the combination of being bound and tickled. Maybe I was more than just a closet bondage slut...maybe I was a closet tickle slut as well.
But I also remember how worked up I'd gotten as the tickler, at watching and hearing Liz squirm and protest under my tickling fingers, and I wondered if Liz was feeling that too. I certainly hoped so.
I don't know how long she tortured my feet, but at long last it ended. I felt the bed shift again beside me, and my sweaty hair being patted. "Feel bad about torturing me now?" she asked.
I didn't even hesitate a second as I shook my head side to side and mumbled a "Nnnpphh."
She giggled at that, dancing her fingertips into the hollows of my underarms. "No, I didn't think you would. You were having the time of your life tickling me." I twisted from side to side, once again in the throes of ticklish agony. I'd hardly gotten any break since the foot tickling ended, but I suppose it was my own fault for not feeling bad. My hips twisted from side to side, but my upper body hardly moved at all. I couldn't avoid her tickling under my arms hardly at all, and so she had me back to screaming and squealing in record time. "God you are ticklish!"
She was right. I hadn't realize how ticklish I was until tonight. I was utterly, hopelessly, and wonderfully ticklish.
"You have no idea how hot you look. Tonight was such a good idea." Her hands had moved to my ribs, where my skin was pulled tight against the bones. She had switched from exclusively torturing me with her nails to kneading and squeezing my sides. I had a lot of experience with this kind of tickling from past tickle fights with friends and lovers, and I knew how helpless it made me even without the cuffs and ropes. All I wanted to do was curl up into a protective ball, to pull back into my shell like a frightened turtle, but it wasn't meant to be. I wailed, my forced laughter coming out in hoarse bursts that only ended when I sucked in a breath for the next one.
She attacked my lower torso with a mixture of squeezes and pokes and dancing fingernails. It was all too much. Too many different kinds of stimulation, all tickling me rotten in their own unique ways. I tried to suck in my belly, but that only provided momentary relief before the next wave of laughter was forced out of me and I had no choice but to breathe to survive. She attacked my navel, which in addition to tickling like mad, almost made me want to pee, which I really didn't want to happen. Thankfully she didn't linger there. She'd discovered my hip bones and the area just above the line of my panties were excellent tickle targets. As tormented as I was, in the back of my brain, I couldn't help but get excited because she was getting closer and closer to my throbbing sex.
She must have read my mind, or maybe we were just on the same page, which wouldn't have surprised me at all given how the night had unfolded so far. I felt her patting my pussy, over my panties. "Oh my....you are soaked through," she said, a hint of wonder in her voice.
I was way beyond being embarrassed by this revelation. I moaned loudly at the pat, as hungry for stimulation as a wild animal in heat. I knew she understood, having been where I was not that long ago, so why pretend I didn't find being tied and tickle tortured every bit as erotic as she?
"Let me just take care of that," she said, and I felt the bed shifting again. I sincerely hoped this wasn't another head game, and as the moments passed, I suspected it was. I tensed up reflexively, expecting her to start tickling me somewhere all over again. And then I heard a drawer open to my left, the top drawer to my nightstand, followed by Liz's weight beside me on the bed again. "I knew I'd find this in there," she said, turning on my vibrator, "because that's where I keep mine."
The sound made me swoon. She pressed it between my legs and I moaned into that gag as loud as I had been screaming earlier. Never, and I do mean never, had that vibrator felt so good against my pussy. I was so ready to cum, it wasn't going to take hardly any time to push me over that edge.
Her tickling nails attacked my inner thighs, and I screeched in frustration. This brought a whole new meaning to torture. I felt myself backing away from that edge, consumed again by the need to escape those wicked fingernails. I had never been tickled in my groin before, and it was unbearable. Like tickling on steroids. I fought it with whatever strength I had left.
But the vibrator followed me wherever I squirmed, giving my aching womanhood no relief, and slowly the tide began to shift in the other direction. It would be a fallacy to say my inner thighs became less ticklish, because they didn't. Not even a little bit. But the vibrator was clinically effective, stoking the glowing embers between my legs until it was a raging fire again. And so I experience another first that night; I came harder than I've ever cum in my life, all the while thrashing like I was literally on fire.
I think I passed out, or at least browned out. It's really hard to say. Coherent thoughts escaped me. I can recall tingling, all over, like every inch of my skin was alive with pleasure. I vaguely remember arching my back so hard I almost dislocated both my shoulders. I only know for sure that my brain short circuited somewhat, and that for a short time, I was a babbling, drooling shell of a woman with hardly any functioning motor skills.
Liz untied the ropes holding me to the bed, but she made no move to take the cuffs off my limbs. I didn't care. I liked the way they felt on my arms and legs. Like they belonged there. Like they had always belonged there.
I was so tired and spent and satisfied, I didn't even reach for the blindfold and gag to remove them. I just wanted to lay there and bask in the glow of the orgasm that had not only made all previous orgasms pale in comparison, but had set a new bar that might never be reached again.
Liz had other ideas. I felt her hands under my arms, pulling me up towards the pillows. She rested my head on them, and I felt a flutter of affection run through me as I thought she wanted to cuddle me like this, me still in my symbols of bondage, and her still with all the power. But I was wrong about that.
She cuffed my wrists to the bar running along the bottom of the headboard, spreading my arms out straight on either side. I was initially alarmed, thinking our game was over, but after what she had just done to me, I wasn't about to refuse her anything she wanted. I still felt very submissive, and though I was beyond satisfied, maybe Liz still had tricks up her sleeve, and I was more than ready to see them.
I felt her tugging at the hem of my drenched panties, so I lift my ass off the bed with what little strength I had so she could peel them off me. If you'd asked me two weeks ago how I felt about my coworker Liz pulling off my panties while I was cuffed to my bed, I'd have called you crazy. But right now, I was 110% on board with that idea.
Liz really surprised me then. I felt myself being folded in half with my ankles being pulled up towards the headboard. She clipped my ankle cuffs the top bar of my bed frame and then to each other, effectively keeping my feet suspended in mid air somewhere over my head while forcing my legs to be bowed in an inviting fashion.
"Oh, this calls for more pictures," I heard her say. I was glad she thought of that, as I wanted to see what this looked like from her perspective. I certainly felt exposed and vulnerable in ways being stretched out hadn't made me feel.
What she said next shocked me. "Next time I'll bring my strap on." It took a moment for my beleaguered brain to process all those words entailed. First, that there would be a next time, which I had found myself wondering about throughout the night. Second, that Liz owned a strap on, which really made my question how well I knew her, as well as wondering just how kinky she was and hadn't been letting on. Maybe her booking the fetish show was more personal than I realized. Third, the idea that I might get fucked in this position, regardless of who from, had me starting to moisten all over again. My body and brain were ready to shut down, but my loins found a way to still be hungry.
Whatever my reaction was, she must have found it amusing. "I went to an all-girl college. There was a lot of experimentation going on," she said, as if this explained everything.
Once again, my heart was starting to thump in my chest. I guess my body has more endurance than I give it credit for. I felt Liz popping open the clasp on my front closure bra and my tits came tumbling out. Her fingers found those hard points that were my nipples and she rolled them between her fingertips. "Glad to see you are still excited. I have one more surprise for you." I mewled at her touch and then again at her words. If I could have said, "Yes Mistress," I might have...and I might have meant it.
Her touch around my stiffened nipples grew lighter and lighter, until it went from "mmmmm" pleasurable to "tickly" pleasurable. Goosebumps broke out all over my arms and chest as the giggles returned. I absolutely love having my nipples played with, but this was an altogether a new experience for me. I giggle-moaned again like the ticklish bondage slut that was.
And that's when I felt her mouth along my sex. It was the last thing I was expecting, to be honest, but it had me squirming with pleasure at once. Her breath felt so good on me down there, and she knew what she was doing with her lips and tongue. That college education of hers was paying dividends.
The combination of her fingernails lightly teasing my engorged nipples and her experienced mouth teasing and pleasing my engorged pussy had me panting behind the gag in no time. I wasn't sure I could handle another orgasm so soon after that last earth-shattering one, but she wasn't going to leave me much choice. I began to wonder if that was her plan; to tickle me to orgasm after orgasm until I was ready for a straight jacket and padded cell. The thought sent a surge of pleasure to my loins, and I curled my hips towards her to the best of my ability, ready to be sent over that edge again.
But Liz is a one-upper. It's subtle, but it's there. Like at work, when she makes sure she brings in more revenue than me. Or when we swap dating stories, and dates always sound a bit better than mine. So it shouldn't have surprised me that when it came to tickle torture, she was going to one-up me there too.
As her tongue coaxed me to a second orgasm, she pulled away and started tickling my feet again, which were just hanging there, all but forgotten. I growled loudly in protest and frustration but that gave way to more forced laughter. My feet had had plenty of time to 'recharge', and they were every bit as sensitive to tickling as they were when we started. Maybe even more so, since the orgasm that had pleasured me from head to toe had seemed to ignite all of my nerve endings.
I found myself waving my feet in defense, disbelieving that she could be so cruel as to get me to the edge of cumming and then deny me with more foot tickle torture. The hatred returned in a heartbeat, and I squirmed in the cuffs, my body finding itself once again on high alert and with resources to struggle for freedom.
The fingers on my feet backed off, and her mouth was back on my sex, lapping at my clitoris. My eyes rolled back in my head under the blindfold. What was she doing to me? This was inhumane. No one could be expected to switch back and force between extremes like this. It was cruel and unusual punishment. I wish I'd thought of it first.
Once again, she worked me up to that edge, but this time I approached it with trepidation. I suspected another trap. She was luring me in again, ready to steal away my prize at the last minute, ready to pull that football away just before I kicked it. I tried to hide how close I was to cumming. I struggled to keep my moaning in check. I tried to keep the escalating desperation out of my panting. But dammit if I didn't give myself away by bucking my hips towards her again at the last minute.
The foot tickling returned, and I screamed in frustration. Or maybe it was in agony. God I hated her. She had broken me down so thoroughly that I felt like crying, but I was still too ticklish for time to do anything other than flail and screech laughter and flap my hands uselessly. Was there no end to how much tickling my poor feet could take?
The mouth returned, and I was too angry to care. I didn't want to cum any more. I just wanted no more tickling. At least that's how I felt for maybe a second or two, because as before, her lips and tongue had me racing back to the edge again. I retracted all my thoughts of anger and venom and rescinded all vows of hatred. I now understood this is how she was building me up to another massive orgasm. Tickle, pleasure. Tickle, pleasure. Again and again. It was like constructing a layered cake, one that must be up to the ceiling by now. Back and force she switched on me, so many times that I lost count.
My legs started to tremble. My fingers clenched and unclenched uncontrollably. I started to shudder so much that the sounds coming out of my drooling mouth vibrated against the rubber ball. I was lost again, aware of only two things. The first was that I was beyond desperate to cum, and the second was that I suspected she wasn't going to let me. Ever.
But I was wrong. I reached that edge yet again, and as before, my hips bucked towards her heavenly mouth. But this time, she didn't stop. She kept going. Her tongue lapped at my sexual core, rolling it around the tip, and pushed me over the edge like a runaway train going over the broken bridge and into the canyon at top speed. I full-body spasmed, hard, and then went as still as a statue as the orgasm raced through me and lit up all of my nerve endings like a Christmas tree. For the second time that night, I experience a release like I didn't know was possible, all thanks to a little bondage and a lot of tickling.
She uncuffed my legs from the headboard and helped lower them back to the bed. I felt my wrists being freed from the headboard as well, and this time I did reach for the gag and blindfold. She pushed my hands away. I let her. The blindfold came off first, and I stared into her eyes intently as she reached around my head to remove the gag. The rubber ball was barely out my mouth before I grabbed her head and pulled my face to hers, smashing my lips against her and kissing her as hard as I could. I didn't care that my jaw ached, or that my chin was covered in drool, or that I could taste my own juices on her lips and tongue. I had to show her how I felt, and that was the only way I knew how.
She didn't fight the kiss, but when we finally parted lips, her eyes blinked in pleasure and surprise. "Well that was unexpected!"
I did tear up then. My eyes puddled before drops spilled down my cheeks. "I don't know how to thank you." I said weakly, still holding her head in my hands. I has just been on an emotional roller coaster, and I wasn't prepared how to handle the aftermath. Or maybe I was still on it.
She used her thumbs to wipe my cheeks dry before leaning in to kiss me back. I was more than happy to let her. She broke the kiss and pulled me in for a tight hug that I realize I really needed. It felt so good to be enveloped in her strong arms. "I think we are even," she said.
I started to tear up again, overcome by the need to just unload in her embrace. She let me, just holding me and not saying anything in return.
"Liz?"
"Yeah?"
"Next time.....I go first."
"Deal."
