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Night of the Living Bed (ff/m short)

Captain Satan

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Mar 24, 2011
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My mate Brian's house is where we always go after a night out, and the night always gets a little darker when we do.

The five of us stumbled out of the local nightclub and shifted past the other drunks that had begun to spill onto the street at 3:00 am. It's essential to travel undetected at this hour because every single person you meet will ask you "where's the house party at, lads?" or follow you under the assumption that you know where it's at. On this occasion we came out unscathed, and our little gang hurried into Brian's apartment without any cling-ons.

There was Emily, a brunette of about 5'4 with a slim build, cheeky smile, and very much of the hippie persuasion with her loose-fitting clothes and aversion to shoes whenever she entered a house. She wasn't air-headed or anything, but she definitely loved to talk utter madness and get nice n' goofy.

Then there was Lorna, another brunette of about 5'1 who wore glasses and cut a kind of librarian shape if you didn't know her well. She was the girlfriend of one of the other guys in the room, but they never seemed to be intimate. They never seemed to get along, so I can only imagine they're held together by brain-melting sex.

And then there were Brian and the other guy, but you're not interested in them and they play absolutely no role in my story. We'll leave them in the corner.

We were all lounging about like Victorian pigs in Brian Bedroom, drinking vodka and coke and generally being total bums, when I start feeling relaxed enough to lay down on the bed next to Emily, who had fallen asleep the moment we got into the room. The poor sod.

I kicked off my boots and lay back, listening to the insane ramblings of my other friends; their cackling and their chitter-chatter. I don't know how much time passed by, but it didn't feel long before I felt two fingers pinching my big toe - followed by three more fingers fluttering from my socked heel to my instep. I laughed quietly for a few seconds before jerking my foot back. It was Lorna at the foot of the bed.

"Are ye alright?" she asked.

"That tickled, you bitch!"

"Yeaaah" she said, sounding like someone talking in their sleep.

She then immediately dug her fingers into stomach and danced them all the way up to my neck in a speedy motion that I had zero time to counteract. I still don't know how a human can tickle that fast.

I let out a sort of half-laugh and then she quit it. Her boyfriend was probably watching, and wanted no part in their romantic turbulence.

LATER THAT MORNING

I've given up on sleeping but I'm laying down face-first on the other side of the bed. Emily has just woken up and is now full of energy while the rest of us are either still kind of drunk or hoping for a quick death. Out of nowhere I start to feel a full set of fingernails dancing and tapping on the arch of my socked foot.

I hold the laughter in, but she is surprisingly persistent for someone who (I assume) doesn't have the fetish.

I start to laugh silently, keeping my feet steady but wiggling my toes as some form of release. She keeps at it, eventually apply another set of fingers to my other foot, her own sinister giggling mixing with my own genuine, sheet-biting one. I'm toast after about a minute and I sit up on the bed, pulling my feet away from Emily, whose eyebrow is raised with an evil little grin on her face.

I stayed at our little party for another hour before getting a taxi back home to nurse my hangover and wonder why I was such a lucky target.
 
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