Frostfeather
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Hello, all. Here's a story of a young woman who has discovered the tickling fetish and found it to be a huge turn on. However, she is unsure how to actually get into the tickling scene, personally. This introduction sets the stage for more adventures to come.
This is my first contribution. I've been a member here for some time and greatly enjoyed the various tickling media. Thought it was finally my turn to give back. Please let me know what you think.
1
Emily was frustrated.
Well, not just at that moment. At that particular moment she was flushed, panting, and on the verge of release as she watched the girl in the video on her laptop shriek with laughter. Another female, this one fully dressed, was tickling her nude body, from her underarms to her knees. The naked victim yanked, ineffectually, at restraints that strapped her down to a padded table, twisting and jerking to escape the titillating torture.
Emily sat in her padded desk chair wearing nothing but an old, faded t-shirt. One hand was up under the shirt where she was slowly and gently squeezing her right nipple while the other was between her spraddled legs just as slowly and gently rubbing her clitoris. She had been sitting at her desk in her bedroom teasing herself like that for nearly two hours as she watched one video after another of poor, naked wretches tickle tortured in various forms of bondage. With headphones on and her attention focused on her exquisite state of near orgasm as well as the laughing, naked girl whose plight was helping Emily maintain her self inflicted denial of release, she never noticed as her bedroom door cracked open.
As the torturer in the video dug her fingers into the naked girl's hips just inches above and to either side of her shaven sex Emily could no longer hold back the climax she had been keeping herself on the edge of for nearly half an hour. Another tweak, this time on the left nipple she had switched to moments before as well as one more light fingertip brush up over her clitoris and Emily burst. She clutched her breast and pressed her hand against her mound, trapping it between squeezing thighs, as she shuddered through a powerful orgasm. Her whole body was one big clenched, rocking muscle as she grunted through her ecstacy. She rocked forward in her chair pulling her knees up as wave after wave of pleasure washed over her, then, finally, slumped back in her seat as her climax slowly subsided with many little shivers of orgasmic thrill eliciting intermittent quivers in her body.
She noticed her door clicking shut no more than she had noticed it opening.
As Emily relaxed into post-orgasmic euphoria her frustration slowly returned. The tickling porn was a new thing for her, something she had stumbled across while perusing more vanilla sex and masturbation porn to get in the mood for playing with herself. Finding out that tickling was a fetish had changed everything. Where once she had masturbated a couple times a week to generally satisfying though relatively quick orgasms she now masturbated three to five times a day, often spending at least an hour teasing herself to a massive release as she searched through site after site related to tickling. Stories, pictures, videos, it all aroused her causing her nipples to tingle, her belly to flutter, and her vulva to throb with building pleasure.
Remembered moments of tickling from her past had finally made sense. The strange desire to have the tittilating torture continue when a relative playfully dug fingertips into her ribs. The delightful tingling that had started between her legs and had confused and embarrassed her. At 19 years old she had finally discovered she had a tickling fetish and a world of pleasure seemed to blossom before her.
But she had soon discovered an irksome dilemma. While her new level of arousal was blissful and the frenzied heights her orgasms now reached was exquisite she wanted more.
She wanted tickling.
She wanted to tickle and be tickled. She wanted to elicite giggles, squeals, and screams from her naked prey. The idea of tickling a man or woman each had its draw. And she wanted to be tickled, tied down, nude and vulnerable before her torturer, forced to utter giggles and squeals of her own as feathers, nails, fingertips, and more tormented her skin from head to toe.
Emily had seen videos of women who had supposedly reached orgasm from sitting naked and letting someone tickle their feet. She desperately wanted to find out if she could reach her own peak that way.
Thus entered her frustration. Emily was a year out of high school. She still lived with her parents, the only child of a very well-to-do mother and father. She had no desire to go to college, especially since her interest and skill in computer programming had made it possible to earn good money online. She had been considering moving out of her folks house, an interest which was growing as her desire for privacy to indulge in her new fetish grew. She was smart, capable, and well off, but she was all too aware of how inexperienced with sex she was, both physically and her level of knowledge.
She had, of course, found plenty of sites, forums and personals alike, which offered the opportunity to hook up with other ticklephiles, but she was very leary. Asking a stranger to satisfy her sexual desires, especially ones which required tying her up, seemed too fraught with pitfalls and dangers.
Broaching such a potentially embarrassing subject with people she knew seemed just as out of reach. She had considered bringing it up to her best friend, Coretta. She was closer to Coretta than anyone, including her parents with whom she had a very good relationship. They had known each other since 8th grade when Coretta and her mother had moved in just two doors down. They had become fast friends almost immediately, seeming to be almost a purposeful study in contrasts to anyone who saw them together. Emily's pale skin and flame-orange hair, each a gift of strong Irish roots, was the physical antithesis of Coretta's nearly ebon skin, dark even compared to others who shared her African heritage. Emily's fine features from her upturned button nose to her small, almost pouty, mouth with a cupid's bow could not be more disparate from Coretta's large, round cheeks, wide nostrils and broad, full-lipped mouth. Emily's slender frame, small, pert breasts, and long limbs gaver her an almost ethereal look whereas Coretta was fuller of hip and chest with a more muscular build. Though neither girl was prone to false modesty they were not aware of quite how beautiful they were, either. Their distinct physical differences only served to make each other look exotic by comparison.
There had, of course, been the youthful curiosity that had led to a more intimate comparing of their differences as well as a very recent night when the two had gotten into her parents' liquor cabinet and, under the influence of some fine wine, they had shared a passionate kiss. Yet, Emily was afraid that revealing her new sexual predilection to her best friend would disgust Coretta and drive a wedge in their friendship.
So, Emily sat, half-naked and frustrated. She could think of no way to take her newfound passion for tickling beyond her own masturbatory fantasies, incredible as those had made her solitary playtimes.
Luckily for the stymied redhead events had already begun converging which would solve her problem in ways that would satisfy her every torrid desire.
2
Madison untied her apron and unbuttoned the top two buttons of her blouse. The restaurant storeroom was hot and the black slacks and white shirt she wore as a server were causing her to sweat, not as much as her victim, but, then, she wasn't working as hard as he was.
Jack was the dishwasher at the little Italian eatery where they worked. As such he was usually the last one there, locking up after he had finished cleaning the kitchen and taking out the trash. Madison had decided she wanted Jack to also refill the condiment bottles, a tedious job which currently fell to her as the newest server on staff. Jack, an old hand at the little cafe, had refused, of course. Madison had seemed meek in the face of his indignation, and promptly began planning to bring her secret weapon to bear.
Many people underestimated Madison. Despite her size (she stood 6 feet tall and had the strong build of the athlete she had long been) men tended to underestimate her strength, which was even greater than her physical stature indicated. Men and women often underestimated her intelligence both because they assumed the big basketball player was the stereotypical dumb jock and because Madison culitvated just such a demeanor.
Everyone underestimated how far she would go to get what she wanted. However, since she was not nearly as dumb as people thought she was careful not to let her actions backfire on her. Her secret weapon, along with careful planning, went a long way to making that possible. For it had turned out that Madison had a strong penchant for tickling people, as Jack was discovering, to his dismay.
Madison enjoyed it for many reasons. She liked to be in control. She even had a thin malicious streak that enjoyed torturing others, but she retained enough empathy that she didn't like hurting people. She had also discovered that tickling people's bare skin was arousing. It had gotten to the point that the anticipation of tickling someone naked made her wet and tingly. Last, but far from least, tickling was a fine way to get what she wanted. Since it left no lasting marks and seemed silly to many people her victims were both too embarrassed and too aware of the unlikelyhood of being believed to report what had happened to them. Plus, she usually took pictures.
So, when Jack had refused her, the big, buxom sandy-blond had set plans she had already prepared into action. Two nights later, after she had already tested her target with a few playful work tickles, she had finished her late shift, working hard to be done and out the door before many of the other staff. She had driven her car a couple blocks away and, after getting a pack with some special items from her trunk, she had walked back to the restaurant and hid in the back lot until everyone but Jack was gone.
She went back into the cafe and snuck into the kitchen, creeping up on Jack. She already knew the dishwasher was suitibly ticklish. The 20-something man was an inch shorter than her with a thin, wiry build, so she was sure if it came to an actual fight she was safe. She needn't have worried. When she suddenly burrowed her fingers into his ribs from behind he flung the mop away and doubled over screaming with laughter. His arms shot down, trapping her hands, but she just kept wiggling her fingers. Jack dropped to his knees and tried to shuffle away, but the wet floor left him sliding his knees around in place.
Madison, meanwhile, had planted her feet and continued worming her fingertips into his sides, elliciting screaming laughter from her prey. As she continued her attack relentlessly Jack began to get light-headed. When Madison felt his struggles weaken she yanked a hand free and quickly reached into the open backpack she had dropped next to her and pulled out a set of supple leather manacles.
A dizzy Jack put up no fight as she pulled one hand around and stuffed it into a cuff. He began to struggle feebly as she pulled both arms over his head and restrained the other wrist. With both cuffs tightened down Madison used one hand to hold Jack's arms above his head and drove her other hand into one armpit. The beleaguered dishwasher squealed in a most unmanly fashion and pulled weakly against Madison's restraining grip while arching his hips out in front of him. Madison used that momentum to pull Jack unsteadily to his feet. Giving him little gooses and tickles she marched him into the storeroom where she spun him around and latched the d-ring at the end of a couple of metal links on the manacles to a sturdy wire shelf attached to the wall. The shelf was high enough that she had to stand on tip toes to latch the short chain. This, of course, left Jack standing on tip toe as well.
"Madison, what the . . ." the shaky Jack mumbled. She didn't let him finish, but immediately drove both hands into his belly. Jack erupted with more laughter and began to kick. Madison stepped up close to him, pressing her large breasts into his chest as she continued to skitter her fingers across his abs. With her too close for him to get any leverage his kicks were ineffectual and he soon tired again. She then ran back to her bag and brought it into the storeroom pulling out a metal bar as she returned. She twisted and extended the bar which was equipped with another leather manacle on each end.
When Madison was through prepping her prisoner he was hanging, shoeless, shirt unbuttoned, pants unbuttoned and unzipped with his ankles spread apart by the bar between them. His toes barely touched the floor. Madison had been delighted to find that Jack liked to go "commando". His penis hung out the front of his pants, which she new from previous experience, would make him feel 10 times more vulnerable.
"Now, Jack," she all but purred, "I think we need to discuss you filling the condiments for me, again."
"That's why you did this? Are fucking crazy?! You are so getting fired, you fucking nutjob. I'm gonna . . ."
Madison didn't wait to hear what he thought he was going to do. The tickling she had already subjected Jack to and the sight of his bare torso and hanging penis had excited her to the point that she would have continued her attack even if he had agreed to do the work for her then and there. She thrust her hands up under his shirt into his armpits and danced her fingers all around his sensitive hollows. Jack immediately shrieked out his laughter and bucked in his bonds. His head whipped back and forth and she saw below her his cock bouncing back and forth.
Madison teased his armpits unmercifully. When he needed a breath she slowed down to a giggle-inducing pace. As soon as he seemed recovered she sped up the pace and dug her fingertips in harder. When she was on the fifth slow cycle of this rhythm she noticed something that astounded her and changed the nature of tickling for her forever.
As Jack giggled and squirmed she noticed his cock was no longer hanging quite so low as before. It had thickened and lengthened some and was beginning to raise up.
Madison's mouth dropped open and she stopped tickling her victim for a second. Hearing him subside into snickers she immediately resumed her light torture of his hollows and, as his giggles also resumed, she watched with fascination as his member continued to stiffen.
None of Madison's other male marks had reacted this way. As far as females, without such a visible indication she couldn't be sure if any of them had as she simply hadn't been paying that close attention. The idea that the tickle torture that so turned her on, and by now she was ready to drop her own pants and see to what had become a throbbing need, might also turn on her victim had never occurred to her. Her first reaction was a pulse of pleasure between her legs at the thought of what more she was doing to the suffering dishwasher, and may have been doing to some of her female victims. Then her mind began to race.
"Why, Jack, I think our bit of fun may be getting you a tad excited," she said as she reached down to skitter he fingers across his abs just above his now erect penis. Jack whimpered and wiggled his hips away from her touch. She dropped her other hand down and began dancing her fingers around on either side of the root of Jack's penis, occasionally grazing the sides of his scrotum.
A high-pitched keening emanated from behind Jack's gritted teeth as his hips quivered and his cock bounced in the air.
Madison quickly bent down and reached into her bag, again. After a moment's rooting around she came up with a small hand held device. The handle looked like that of an electric toothbrush. The rubber tip, which the catalog had said was for massaging gums, vibrated when she flipped the switch. Still kneeling Madison reached around and cupped Jack's left butt cheek, pulling him forward. With her right hand she guided the flexible, rubber, vibrating tip of the massager up under Jack's scrotum lightly dancing it along his perineum.
Jack squealed like a young girl and thrust his hips forward and up. His thigh muscles looked as if etched from stone as he raised up onto the very tips of his toes in an effort to escape the tickling rubber tip torturing the sensitive surface under his sack. Madison floated the tip back along his tormented skin until she reached the clenched wrinkles of his anus where she allowed it to flit around like a moth around a flame. The dishwasher made a shrill sound that would have shattered crystal. Madison felt the buttock in her left hand, already tensed, become as hard as a rock and watched a drop of semen ooze up out of the tip of her victim's penis. The sight caused an answering jolt of pleasure between her legs.
Madison let go of Jack's butt. It made no difference to the tormented man. He remained locked in his extreme hip thrust position straining to lift his teased sphincter away from the devilish vibrating, rubber tip which tickled it. Reaching awkwardly across for her bag she dragged it to where she could dig through it with her left hand while keeping Jack's anus titillated with her right.
Jack's legs began to quiver with the strain of his stance and his cock began making little pulsing jumps as the head grew thicker and darker. The drop of semen had swelled and it jiggled with every pulse. With a small triumphant cry Madison finally withdrew a stiff feather from her bag. It was not a tool she used often because she deemed it too soft for the deep torture she liked to inflict, but it seemed perfect for what she had in mind. Leering sadistically she began to draw the tip of the feather ever so slowly up the shaft of Jack's penis.
The wire shelves to which Jack was manacled creaked ominously. Every muscle in his body stood out in stark relief as he labored to break free and/or lift free of his torment. The veins in his member bulged around the shaft as the head turned a dire shade of purple. It pulsed quicker as the feather traveled upward. When the teasing tendrils of its tip reached the tender spot just below the head of his member Jack screamed. His cock began to jerk and shoot ropes of semen into the air. The sticky ejaculate splatted onto his chest, abs and legs with one glob splashing on his cheek.
As the first spurt dishcharged from her captive's cock Madison jumped back grinning gleefully. As she watched Jack's lewd display and listened to him howl and grunt through his orgasm she reached into her pants cupping her own sex. Her vaginal muscles clenched powerfully as her fingers slipped between the sloppy wet folds of her nether lips. Madison held herself reveling in the magnitude of her intense arousal.
Jack slumped in his bonds, spent. His half erect penis hung before him dripping with thin strings of semen. His breath came in gasps and small moans escaped his lips unnoticed.
As he began to settle into his post-orgasmic euphoria Madison suddenly leaped forward, yanking her hand from her pants and dug her fingers into his ribs.
Jack's eyes flew open as he sucked in a great gulp of air and began to wail. Madison tortured his sides for about 30 seconds before letting him hang limp in his bonds.
She dug through her pack again and emerged with a small digital camera. She took a number of pictures from different angles. This was partly for insurance, a fact that did not escape the recovering Jack's imagination as he became aware of the soft clicks of the device, but largely Madison used them to fire her libido when masturbating at home. The memory of her victims' shrieks and struggles was greatly enhanced by the photos of them in their bondage.
Putting the camera away Madison turned back to the dangling Jack (in more ways than one, she noticed with a grin, watching a string of semen drip down from the end of his flaccid penis) who was still panting from his ordeal.
"Condiment containers?" She wiggled her fingers in front of his belly.
"Yes . . . yes, damn it! Whatever you . . . want . . ." he sobbed shrinking with horror from her wiggling appendages.
"Good," she answered. She quickly and efficiently released him from his restraints packing her things as she went. Grabbing her pack she hurried from the restaurant leaving the dishwasher on the floor a half-naked, weeping mess.
She raced the couple blocks back to her car and jumped in the driver's seat throwing her bag in the back. She quickly wiggled out of her work pants and, spreading her legs, pushed her hand under her panties. Fifteen seconds of furious stroking brought her to a shuddering orgasm as she replayed Jack's torture and erupting cock in her mind's eye. After a short while to recover her gasping breath she started her car and headed home.
3
Coretta stood in the little clothing shop absent-mindedly holding a cute crop-top while the morning sun shined through the front windows. She did not see the shirt in her hand as she gazed at nothing with unfocused eyes. She had been in this daze since the previous afternoon. It had caused her mother to wonder at dinner the night before where her mind was. Coretta had mumbled something noncommittal. She wouldn't have told her mother the truth in a million years. Her surroundings were of so little interest because her mind's eye was busy replaying a scene from the previous afternoon that had astounded her, shaking her world like an earthquake.
Coretta had gone to see Emily on that previous afternoon. Her mood had been bright, as it usually was when she anticipated seeing her best friend. Despite a recent conundrum that had arisen for Coretta involving the redhead she still loved being near Emily, spending as much time with the other girl as she could. In fact, the problem stemmed from an increase in that desire rather than any waning of her joy at being with her childhood pal.
For some time Coretta had sensed her feelings for Emily growing into something more than friendship. Subconsciously worried that any change in the status quo could be disasterous Coretta had been unwilling to examine those new feelings, but, then, the girls had shared their recent, inebriated kiss. Emily had joked about it, making it seem no more than a playfull bit of silliness. Coretta had been too overwhelmed by the twin floods of her emotions and her lust to respond coherently and had allowed Emily's valuation of the moment go undisputed, but the kiss had finally made her acknowledge, at least to herself, the depth of her attraction for her best friend.
Unsure what to do about the conscious awareness of her love for Emily Coretta had done nothing. But her time spent with the flame-haired girl now had the added element of Coretta's physical desire underlying the more direct joy of simply being with her closest companion.
The ebon-skinned beauty knew her still growing desire for Emily would have to be addressed, but she wasn't ready, so, she intended her afternoon visit to be nothing more than yet another pleasant hang out. Upon entering the kitchen through the back door Coretta called out for Emily's parents, then for Emily herself, but no one answered. It didn't surprise her that Emily's parents were out. They had busy work and social lives, but she was a little surprised that Emily didn't answer. She hoped her friend was home.
She traipsed up the stairs, her steps muffled by the thick carpet, not that anything short of an explosion was likely to disturb the house's only other, very distracted, occupant. When she reached Emily's door, two doors down the upper hall, she paused, listening. Hearing nothing through the thick wood she turned the knob and slowly cracked it open not sure why she felt the need to be discreet.
There sat Emily at her corner desk, her face and body turned profile to the door. Her left hand was between her spread, naked legs. Though her creamy thigh hid the hand itself there was no mistaking the small movements of arm and wrist. From the writhing of the t-shirt's cloth at Emily's chest Coretta quickly inferred what her unseen right hand was up to. The biting of the lower lip, the sweat trickling down next to her ear, the pink flush of her skin, so much visible skin, and Emily; all of it was her dear, sweet Emily in the obvious throws of passion.
Coretta stood in the half-open doorway mouth agape. A part of her mind noticed the video on the computer screen. Was that woman being tickled? Yes, yes she was. She was strapped down, naked, being tickled, and she was insanely ticklish if her thrashing was any indication. Does Emily have a tickling thing? Well, duh, I guess. That's a naked woman . . . being tickled by another woman. Does Emily want to be tickled by a woman? Does she . . . does she want to tickle a naked woman?
Coretta's body was washed in a wave of arousal as she imagined herself tied down with Emily's hands on her naked body. Her desire doubled as she imagined Emily's nude, vulnerable body stretched before her, ready for her erotic, teasing touch.
Then the tickler in the video dropped her hands to the nude woman's hips and wiggled her fingers and a few moments later Emily stiffened in her seat tremors running over her rigid body as she squeezed her thighs together. Then she curled in on herself, grunting softly with little bucking motions.
Coretta's already blazing arousal surged then burst as, between her legs, her own small orgasm exploded. Her knees trembled and she gripped the doorknob for support as she watched the girl she desperately desired shudder through a colossal climax and her own body quivered through its own empathetic peak.
As Emily unfolded and slumped in her chair and her own, lighter tremors subsided Coretta realized the possible ramifications of being discovered ogling her friend in this very private moment. With a supreme effort, since her whole body felt shaky and weak, she gently pulled the door closed. Then, moving slowly and carefully, both in an attempt at quiet and because she could barely do more in her dizzy state, she crept back down the hall, shuffled down the stairs, and slipped out the back door.
The following morning as she stood in the clothing boutique her mind could not focus on shopping, though she had made this very trip to try to distract herself from the constant replay of yesterday's event as well as her own erotic imaginings of tickling scenarios involving her and Emily. Tickling had always been a playful and momentary thing to her before. However, Emily's obvious interest in it and the video of the bound, naked girl being tormented had changed it in Coretta's mind.
The torrid images her brain continued to conjure left her wandering around in a fog of lust. More people than her mother had asked her if she was alright. When a sales woman approached her asking if she wanted help with the shirt she was holding she started.
"Um, no thanks," she said replacing the garment. She quickly left the store realizing that her shopping trip was doing nothing to distract her from her torrid thoughts of Emily.
As she exited onto the sidewalk she nearly collided with a large, blond woman striding up the way. She quickly stepped back as the woman hopped to the side.
"Oh, um, sorry, Miss . . . wait, Madison?" Coretta recognized her former basketball captain from high school. The angry look on the blond's face evaporated as she also recognized her old teammate.
"Hey, Cor, how are you? Haven't seen you for a couple years. What's going on?"
Madison had been a year ahead of Coretta in school. Though the two had gotten along well on the basketball team they hadn't had much else in common. They had not been close friends, and had not stayed in contact after Madison's graduation.
"Not much. I've been working over at Dalinger and Sons warehouse since graduation. Still living with mom. I figured I'd help her with the bills for a while before moving out. You know how hard she worked while I was in school. What are you up to?"
"Not much, either. Been kind of bouncing around. Right now I'm working at Little Italy. I do have my own place. It's not much, just a little run down, two bedroom, but I've been fixing it up."
The scowl returned to her face. "Right now I'm headed to the Wire Hut. My computer took a dive last night and I need to see if they can save it."
"Wait," said Coretta, automatically, "remember Emily? She knows tons about computers. She makes a living doing programming out of her parent's house, but she knows hardware, too. I could talk to her, see if she would come over and take a look. If it's an easy fix she probably won't even charge you, and if it's not she'd still be cheaper than those guys." Coretta waved a hand toward the Wire Hut store front.
Madison pondered for a moment. Her PC had crashed as she was transferring the photos of Jack over to it last night. She definitely did not want to lose her stash of blackmail/masturbation pictures, but she was afraid to let the techs at the Wire Hut try to restore the computer for fear they would find the very photos she was trying to save. However, if Emily could restore it, especially if she made a house call to do the work Madison might have a solution to such a problem, should it arise.
"Hey, Cor, that sounds great. Here, let me give you my number, and you can let me know what she says." The girls exchanged numbers and chatted for a few more moments before parting ways.
Coretta texted Emily as she headed back to her car asking if she would mind a visit. She was both fearful and relieved that the run-in with Madison had given her the excuse to see her friend though she had no idea how she would react being in the same room with the flame-haired object of her affection after the previous day's intense incident.
Emily grimaced at her phone on the night stand as it buzzed the arrival of a text. She sat, spread-legged on her bed, completely nude. Her laptop was beside her as she read a tickling story while slowly dragging a feather between the lips of her sex. As the individual filaments of the feather caressed her clitoris during the upward sweep of the plume little, intense thrills of titillation shot from her vulva down her thighs and up to her breasts causing her erect nipples to throb. The stimulation to the clitoris itself was so acute that Emily gritted her teeth and held her breath with each pass almost unable to keep her legs open and still with the keen-edged pleasure she inflicted on the tiny, sensitive knob.
Though the blissful feel of each stroke of the feather was incredibly exquisite her climax was building very slowly. She was reveling in the torment she was forcing on herself anticipating at least an hour of the self-teasing both because the peak would be so amazing and because each brush of the plume was so incredibly excruciating in its own right that it was almost a tiny orgasm in itself while the pent up energy of the actual orgasm she denied herself only added to the torturous pleasure of it all.
With a sigh she set down the feather and reached for the phone. Seeing Coretta's message she quickly replied in the affirmative. Though she had been looking forward to the pleasurable agony she had planned for the next hour or more she loved Coretta's company. After putting the phone down she wondered if she should quickly finish herself with a less titillating method of manipulation, but then she blushed with the wicked idea of letting the sensitivity and arousal she had kindled in her body, and which was so slow to ebb, remain while Coretta was with her. How mischievously raunchy would it be to be so aroused while trying to hide it from her friend.
Taking it a step further she began ever so slowly stroking herself with the feather again, reigniting the fever pitch of pleasure. She would keep herself teased with the keenly torturous feather bringing herself as close to climax as she could before she heard Coretta arrive and let her body remain gloriously inflamed while they hung out. Thinking back to the drunken kiss of a some nights ago she even let herself imagine what might happen if she could overcome her fear and reveal her fetish to her best friend. Her legs quivered and her nipples tingled as she leaned back against her pillows letting her imagination fuel the sweet anguish of each stroke across her most sensitive flesh while she awaited Coretta's arrival.
This is my first contribution. I've been a member here for some time and greatly enjoyed the various tickling media. Thought it was finally my turn to give back. Please let me know what you think.
1
Emily was frustrated.
Well, not just at that moment. At that particular moment she was flushed, panting, and on the verge of release as she watched the girl in the video on her laptop shriek with laughter. Another female, this one fully dressed, was tickling her nude body, from her underarms to her knees. The naked victim yanked, ineffectually, at restraints that strapped her down to a padded table, twisting and jerking to escape the titillating torture.
Emily sat in her padded desk chair wearing nothing but an old, faded t-shirt. One hand was up under the shirt where she was slowly and gently squeezing her right nipple while the other was between her spraddled legs just as slowly and gently rubbing her clitoris. She had been sitting at her desk in her bedroom teasing herself like that for nearly two hours as she watched one video after another of poor, naked wretches tickle tortured in various forms of bondage. With headphones on and her attention focused on her exquisite state of near orgasm as well as the laughing, naked girl whose plight was helping Emily maintain her self inflicted denial of release, she never noticed as her bedroom door cracked open.
As the torturer in the video dug her fingers into the naked girl's hips just inches above and to either side of her shaven sex Emily could no longer hold back the climax she had been keeping herself on the edge of for nearly half an hour. Another tweak, this time on the left nipple she had switched to moments before as well as one more light fingertip brush up over her clitoris and Emily burst. She clutched her breast and pressed her hand against her mound, trapping it between squeezing thighs, as she shuddered through a powerful orgasm. Her whole body was one big clenched, rocking muscle as she grunted through her ecstacy. She rocked forward in her chair pulling her knees up as wave after wave of pleasure washed over her, then, finally, slumped back in her seat as her climax slowly subsided with many little shivers of orgasmic thrill eliciting intermittent quivers in her body.
She noticed her door clicking shut no more than she had noticed it opening.
As Emily relaxed into post-orgasmic euphoria her frustration slowly returned. The tickling porn was a new thing for her, something she had stumbled across while perusing more vanilla sex and masturbation porn to get in the mood for playing with herself. Finding out that tickling was a fetish had changed everything. Where once she had masturbated a couple times a week to generally satisfying though relatively quick orgasms she now masturbated three to five times a day, often spending at least an hour teasing herself to a massive release as she searched through site after site related to tickling. Stories, pictures, videos, it all aroused her causing her nipples to tingle, her belly to flutter, and her vulva to throb with building pleasure.
Remembered moments of tickling from her past had finally made sense. The strange desire to have the tittilating torture continue when a relative playfully dug fingertips into her ribs. The delightful tingling that had started between her legs and had confused and embarrassed her. At 19 years old she had finally discovered she had a tickling fetish and a world of pleasure seemed to blossom before her.
But she had soon discovered an irksome dilemma. While her new level of arousal was blissful and the frenzied heights her orgasms now reached was exquisite she wanted more.
She wanted tickling.
She wanted to tickle and be tickled. She wanted to elicite giggles, squeals, and screams from her naked prey. The idea of tickling a man or woman each had its draw. And she wanted to be tickled, tied down, nude and vulnerable before her torturer, forced to utter giggles and squeals of her own as feathers, nails, fingertips, and more tormented her skin from head to toe.
Emily had seen videos of women who had supposedly reached orgasm from sitting naked and letting someone tickle their feet. She desperately wanted to find out if she could reach her own peak that way.
Thus entered her frustration. Emily was a year out of high school. She still lived with her parents, the only child of a very well-to-do mother and father. She had no desire to go to college, especially since her interest and skill in computer programming had made it possible to earn good money online. She had been considering moving out of her folks house, an interest which was growing as her desire for privacy to indulge in her new fetish grew. She was smart, capable, and well off, but she was all too aware of how inexperienced with sex she was, both physically and her level of knowledge.
She had, of course, found plenty of sites, forums and personals alike, which offered the opportunity to hook up with other ticklephiles, but she was very leary. Asking a stranger to satisfy her sexual desires, especially ones which required tying her up, seemed too fraught with pitfalls and dangers.
Broaching such a potentially embarrassing subject with people she knew seemed just as out of reach. She had considered bringing it up to her best friend, Coretta. She was closer to Coretta than anyone, including her parents with whom she had a very good relationship. They had known each other since 8th grade when Coretta and her mother had moved in just two doors down. They had become fast friends almost immediately, seeming to be almost a purposeful study in contrasts to anyone who saw them together. Emily's pale skin and flame-orange hair, each a gift of strong Irish roots, was the physical antithesis of Coretta's nearly ebon skin, dark even compared to others who shared her African heritage. Emily's fine features from her upturned button nose to her small, almost pouty, mouth with a cupid's bow could not be more disparate from Coretta's large, round cheeks, wide nostrils and broad, full-lipped mouth. Emily's slender frame, small, pert breasts, and long limbs gaver her an almost ethereal look whereas Coretta was fuller of hip and chest with a more muscular build. Though neither girl was prone to false modesty they were not aware of quite how beautiful they were, either. Their distinct physical differences only served to make each other look exotic by comparison.
There had, of course, been the youthful curiosity that had led to a more intimate comparing of their differences as well as a very recent night when the two had gotten into her parents' liquor cabinet and, under the influence of some fine wine, they had shared a passionate kiss. Yet, Emily was afraid that revealing her new sexual predilection to her best friend would disgust Coretta and drive a wedge in their friendship.
So, Emily sat, half-naked and frustrated. She could think of no way to take her newfound passion for tickling beyond her own masturbatory fantasies, incredible as those had made her solitary playtimes.
Luckily for the stymied redhead events had already begun converging which would solve her problem in ways that would satisfy her every torrid desire.
2
Madison untied her apron and unbuttoned the top two buttons of her blouse. The restaurant storeroom was hot and the black slacks and white shirt she wore as a server were causing her to sweat, not as much as her victim, but, then, she wasn't working as hard as he was.
Jack was the dishwasher at the little Italian eatery where they worked. As such he was usually the last one there, locking up after he had finished cleaning the kitchen and taking out the trash. Madison had decided she wanted Jack to also refill the condiment bottles, a tedious job which currently fell to her as the newest server on staff. Jack, an old hand at the little cafe, had refused, of course. Madison had seemed meek in the face of his indignation, and promptly began planning to bring her secret weapon to bear.
Many people underestimated Madison. Despite her size (she stood 6 feet tall and had the strong build of the athlete she had long been) men tended to underestimate her strength, which was even greater than her physical stature indicated. Men and women often underestimated her intelligence both because they assumed the big basketball player was the stereotypical dumb jock and because Madison culitvated just such a demeanor.
Everyone underestimated how far she would go to get what she wanted. However, since she was not nearly as dumb as people thought she was careful not to let her actions backfire on her. Her secret weapon, along with careful planning, went a long way to making that possible. For it had turned out that Madison had a strong penchant for tickling people, as Jack was discovering, to his dismay.
Madison enjoyed it for many reasons. She liked to be in control. She even had a thin malicious streak that enjoyed torturing others, but she retained enough empathy that she didn't like hurting people. She had also discovered that tickling people's bare skin was arousing. It had gotten to the point that the anticipation of tickling someone naked made her wet and tingly. Last, but far from least, tickling was a fine way to get what she wanted. Since it left no lasting marks and seemed silly to many people her victims were both too embarrassed and too aware of the unlikelyhood of being believed to report what had happened to them. Plus, she usually took pictures.
So, when Jack had refused her, the big, buxom sandy-blond had set plans she had already prepared into action. Two nights later, after she had already tested her target with a few playful work tickles, she had finished her late shift, working hard to be done and out the door before many of the other staff. She had driven her car a couple blocks away and, after getting a pack with some special items from her trunk, she had walked back to the restaurant and hid in the back lot until everyone but Jack was gone.
She went back into the cafe and snuck into the kitchen, creeping up on Jack. She already knew the dishwasher was suitibly ticklish. The 20-something man was an inch shorter than her with a thin, wiry build, so she was sure if it came to an actual fight she was safe. She needn't have worried. When she suddenly burrowed her fingers into his ribs from behind he flung the mop away and doubled over screaming with laughter. His arms shot down, trapping her hands, but she just kept wiggling her fingers. Jack dropped to his knees and tried to shuffle away, but the wet floor left him sliding his knees around in place.
Madison, meanwhile, had planted her feet and continued worming her fingertips into his sides, elliciting screaming laughter from her prey. As she continued her attack relentlessly Jack began to get light-headed. When Madison felt his struggles weaken she yanked a hand free and quickly reached into the open backpack she had dropped next to her and pulled out a set of supple leather manacles.
A dizzy Jack put up no fight as she pulled one hand around and stuffed it into a cuff. He began to struggle feebly as she pulled both arms over his head and restrained the other wrist. With both cuffs tightened down Madison used one hand to hold Jack's arms above his head and drove her other hand into one armpit. The beleaguered dishwasher squealed in a most unmanly fashion and pulled weakly against Madison's restraining grip while arching his hips out in front of him. Madison used that momentum to pull Jack unsteadily to his feet. Giving him little gooses and tickles she marched him into the storeroom where she spun him around and latched the d-ring at the end of a couple of metal links on the manacles to a sturdy wire shelf attached to the wall. The shelf was high enough that she had to stand on tip toes to latch the short chain. This, of course, left Jack standing on tip toe as well.
"Madison, what the . . ." the shaky Jack mumbled. She didn't let him finish, but immediately drove both hands into his belly. Jack erupted with more laughter and began to kick. Madison stepped up close to him, pressing her large breasts into his chest as she continued to skitter her fingers across his abs. With her too close for him to get any leverage his kicks were ineffectual and he soon tired again. She then ran back to her bag and brought it into the storeroom pulling out a metal bar as she returned. She twisted and extended the bar which was equipped with another leather manacle on each end.
When Madison was through prepping her prisoner he was hanging, shoeless, shirt unbuttoned, pants unbuttoned and unzipped with his ankles spread apart by the bar between them. His toes barely touched the floor. Madison had been delighted to find that Jack liked to go "commando". His penis hung out the front of his pants, which she new from previous experience, would make him feel 10 times more vulnerable.
"Now, Jack," she all but purred, "I think we need to discuss you filling the condiments for me, again."
"That's why you did this? Are fucking crazy?! You are so getting fired, you fucking nutjob. I'm gonna . . ."
Madison didn't wait to hear what he thought he was going to do. The tickling she had already subjected Jack to and the sight of his bare torso and hanging penis had excited her to the point that she would have continued her attack even if he had agreed to do the work for her then and there. She thrust her hands up under his shirt into his armpits and danced her fingers all around his sensitive hollows. Jack immediately shrieked out his laughter and bucked in his bonds. His head whipped back and forth and she saw below her his cock bouncing back and forth.
Madison teased his armpits unmercifully. When he needed a breath she slowed down to a giggle-inducing pace. As soon as he seemed recovered she sped up the pace and dug her fingertips in harder. When she was on the fifth slow cycle of this rhythm she noticed something that astounded her and changed the nature of tickling for her forever.
As Jack giggled and squirmed she noticed his cock was no longer hanging quite so low as before. It had thickened and lengthened some and was beginning to raise up.
Madison's mouth dropped open and she stopped tickling her victim for a second. Hearing him subside into snickers she immediately resumed her light torture of his hollows and, as his giggles also resumed, she watched with fascination as his member continued to stiffen.
None of Madison's other male marks had reacted this way. As far as females, without such a visible indication she couldn't be sure if any of them had as she simply hadn't been paying that close attention. The idea that the tickle torture that so turned her on, and by now she was ready to drop her own pants and see to what had become a throbbing need, might also turn on her victim had never occurred to her. Her first reaction was a pulse of pleasure between her legs at the thought of what more she was doing to the suffering dishwasher, and may have been doing to some of her female victims. Then her mind began to race.
"Why, Jack, I think our bit of fun may be getting you a tad excited," she said as she reached down to skitter he fingers across his abs just above his now erect penis. Jack whimpered and wiggled his hips away from her touch. She dropped her other hand down and began dancing her fingers around on either side of the root of Jack's penis, occasionally grazing the sides of his scrotum.
A high-pitched keening emanated from behind Jack's gritted teeth as his hips quivered and his cock bounced in the air.
Madison quickly bent down and reached into her bag, again. After a moment's rooting around she came up with a small hand held device. The handle looked like that of an electric toothbrush. The rubber tip, which the catalog had said was for massaging gums, vibrated when she flipped the switch. Still kneeling Madison reached around and cupped Jack's left butt cheek, pulling him forward. With her right hand she guided the flexible, rubber, vibrating tip of the massager up under Jack's scrotum lightly dancing it along his perineum.
Jack squealed like a young girl and thrust his hips forward and up. His thigh muscles looked as if etched from stone as he raised up onto the very tips of his toes in an effort to escape the tickling rubber tip torturing the sensitive surface under his sack. Madison floated the tip back along his tormented skin until she reached the clenched wrinkles of his anus where she allowed it to flit around like a moth around a flame. The dishwasher made a shrill sound that would have shattered crystal. Madison felt the buttock in her left hand, already tensed, become as hard as a rock and watched a drop of semen ooze up out of the tip of her victim's penis. The sight caused an answering jolt of pleasure between her legs.
Madison let go of Jack's butt. It made no difference to the tormented man. He remained locked in his extreme hip thrust position straining to lift his teased sphincter away from the devilish vibrating, rubber tip which tickled it. Reaching awkwardly across for her bag she dragged it to where she could dig through it with her left hand while keeping Jack's anus titillated with her right.
Jack's legs began to quiver with the strain of his stance and his cock began making little pulsing jumps as the head grew thicker and darker. The drop of semen had swelled and it jiggled with every pulse. With a small triumphant cry Madison finally withdrew a stiff feather from her bag. It was not a tool she used often because she deemed it too soft for the deep torture she liked to inflict, but it seemed perfect for what she had in mind. Leering sadistically she began to draw the tip of the feather ever so slowly up the shaft of Jack's penis.
The wire shelves to which Jack was manacled creaked ominously. Every muscle in his body stood out in stark relief as he labored to break free and/or lift free of his torment. The veins in his member bulged around the shaft as the head turned a dire shade of purple. It pulsed quicker as the feather traveled upward. When the teasing tendrils of its tip reached the tender spot just below the head of his member Jack screamed. His cock began to jerk and shoot ropes of semen into the air. The sticky ejaculate splatted onto his chest, abs and legs with one glob splashing on his cheek.
As the first spurt dishcharged from her captive's cock Madison jumped back grinning gleefully. As she watched Jack's lewd display and listened to him howl and grunt through his orgasm she reached into her pants cupping her own sex. Her vaginal muscles clenched powerfully as her fingers slipped between the sloppy wet folds of her nether lips. Madison held herself reveling in the magnitude of her intense arousal.
Jack slumped in his bonds, spent. His half erect penis hung before him dripping with thin strings of semen. His breath came in gasps and small moans escaped his lips unnoticed.
As he began to settle into his post-orgasmic euphoria Madison suddenly leaped forward, yanking her hand from her pants and dug her fingers into his ribs.
Jack's eyes flew open as he sucked in a great gulp of air and began to wail. Madison tortured his sides for about 30 seconds before letting him hang limp in his bonds.
She dug through her pack again and emerged with a small digital camera. She took a number of pictures from different angles. This was partly for insurance, a fact that did not escape the recovering Jack's imagination as he became aware of the soft clicks of the device, but largely Madison used them to fire her libido when masturbating at home. The memory of her victims' shrieks and struggles was greatly enhanced by the photos of them in their bondage.
Putting the camera away Madison turned back to the dangling Jack (in more ways than one, she noticed with a grin, watching a string of semen drip down from the end of his flaccid penis) who was still panting from his ordeal.
"Condiment containers?" She wiggled her fingers in front of his belly.
"Yes . . . yes, damn it! Whatever you . . . want . . ." he sobbed shrinking with horror from her wiggling appendages.
"Good," she answered. She quickly and efficiently released him from his restraints packing her things as she went. Grabbing her pack she hurried from the restaurant leaving the dishwasher on the floor a half-naked, weeping mess.
She raced the couple blocks back to her car and jumped in the driver's seat throwing her bag in the back. She quickly wiggled out of her work pants and, spreading her legs, pushed her hand under her panties. Fifteen seconds of furious stroking brought her to a shuddering orgasm as she replayed Jack's torture and erupting cock in her mind's eye. After a short while to recover her gasping breath she started her car and headed home.
3
Coretta stood in the little clothing shop absent-mindedly holding a cute crop-top while the morning sun shined through the front windows. She did not see the shirt in her hand as she gazed at nothing with unfocused eyes. She had been in this daze since the previous afternoon. It had caused her mother to wonder at dinner the night before where her mind was. Coretta had mumbled something noncommittal. She wouldn't have told her mother the truth in a million years. Her surroundings were of so little interest because her mind's eye was busy replaying a scene from the previous afternoon that had astounded her, shaking her world like an earthquake.
Coretta had gone to see Emily on that previous afternoon. Her mood had been bright, as it usually was when she anticipated seeing her best friend. Despite a recent conundrum that had arisen for Coretta involving the redhead she still loved being near Emily, spending as much time with the other girl as she could. In fact, the problem stemmed from an increase in that desire rather than any waning of her joy at being with her childhood pal.
For some time Coretta had sensed her feelings for Emily growing into something more than friendship. Subconsciously worried that any change in the status quo could be disasterous Coretta had been unwilling to examine those new feelings, but, then, the girls had shared their recent, inebriated kiss. Emily had joked about it, making it seem no more than a playfull bit of silliness. Coretta had been too overwhelmed by the twin floods of her emotions and her lust to respond coherently and had allowed Emily's valuation of the moment go undisputed, but the kiss had finally made her acknowledge, at least to herself, the depth of her attraction for her best friend.
Unsure what to do about the conscious awareness of her love for Emily Coretta had done nothing. But her time spent with the flame-haired girl now had the added element of Coretta's physical desire underlying the more direct joy of simply being with her closest companion.
The ebon-skinned beauty knew her still growing desire for Emily would have to be addressed, but she wasn't ready, so, she intended her afternoon visit to be nothing more than yet another pleasant hang out. Upon entering the kitchen through the back door Coretta called out for Emily's parents, then for Emily herself, but no one answered. It didn't surprise her that Emily's parents were out. They had busy work and social lives, but she was a little surprised that Emily didn't answer. She hoped her friend was home.
She traipsed up the stairs, her steps muffled by the thick carpet, not that anything short of an explosion was likely to disturb the house's only other, very distracted, occupant. When she reached Emily's door, two doors down the upper hall, she paused, listening. Hearing nothing through the thick wood she turned the knob and slowly cracked it open not sure why she felt the need to be discreet.
There sat Emily at her corner desk, her face and body turned profile to the door. Her left hand was between her spread, naked legs. Though her creamy thigh hid the hand itself there was no mistaking the small movements of arm and wrist. From the writhing of the t-shirt's cloth at Emily's chest Coretta quickly inferred what her unseen right hand was up to. The biting of the lower lip, the sweat trickling down next to her ear, the pink flush of her skin, so much visible skin, and Emily; all of it was her dear, sweet Emily in the obvious throws of passion.
Coretta stood in the half-open doorway mouth agape. A part of her mind noticed the video on the computer screen. Was that woman being tickled? Yes, yes she was. She was strapped down, naked, being tickled, and she was insanely ticklish if her thrashing was any indication. Does Emily have a tickling thing? Well, duh, I guess. That's a naked woman . . . being tickled by another woman. Does Emily want to be tickled by a woman? Does she . . . does she want to tickle a naked woman?
Coretta's body was washed in a wave of arousal as she imagined herself tied down with Emily's hands on her naked body. Her desire doubled as she imagined Emily's nude, vulnerable body stretched before her, ready for her erotic, teasing touch.
Then the tickler in the video dropped her hands to the nude woman's hips and wiggled her fingers and a few moments later Emily stiffened in her seat tremors running over her rigid body as she squeezed her thighs together. Then she curled in on herself, grunting softly with little bucking motions.
Coretta's already blazing arousal surged then burst as, between her legs, her own small orgasm exploded. Her knees trembled and she gripped the doorknob for support as she watched the girl she desperately desired shudder through a colossal climax and her own body quivered through its own empathetic peak.
As Emily unfolded and slumped in her chair and her own, lighter tremors subsided Coretta realized the possible ramifications of being discovered ogling her friend in this very private moment. With a supreme effort, since her whole body felt shaky and weak, she gently pulled the door closed. Then, moving slowly and carefully, both in an attempt at quiet and because she could barely do more in her dizzy state, she crept back down the hall, shuffled down the stairs, and slipped out the back door.
The following morning as she stood in the clothing boutique her mind could not focus on shopping, though she had made this very trip to try to distract herself from the constant replay of yesterday's event as well as her own erotic imaginings of tickling scenarios involving her and Emily. Tickling had always been a playful and momentary thing to her before. However, Emily's obvious interest in it and the video of the bound, naked girl being tormented had changed it in Coretta's mind.
The torrid images her brain continued to conjure left her wandering around in a fog of lust. More people than her mother had asked her if she was alright. When a sales woman approached her asking if she wanted help with the shirt she was holding she started.
"Um, no thanks," she said replacing the garment. She quickly left the store realizing that her shopping trip was doing nothing to distract her from her torrid thoughts of Emily.
As she exited onto the sidewalk she nearly collided with a large, blond woman striding up the way. She quickly stepped back as the woman hopped to the side.
"Oh, um, sorry, Miss . . . wait, Madison?" Coretta recognized her former basketball captain from high school. The angry look on the blond's face evaporated as she also recognized her old teammate.
"Hey, Cor, how are you? Haven't seen you for a couple years. What's going on?"
Madison had been a year ahead of Coretta in school. Though the two had gotten along well on the basketball team they hadn't had much else in common. They had not been close friends, and had not stayed in contact after Madison's graduation.
"Not much. I've been working over at Dalinger and Sons warehouse since graduation. Still living with mom. I figured I'd help her with the bills for a while before moving out. You know how hard she worked while I was in school. What are you up to?"
"Not much, either. Been kind of bouncing around. Right now I'm working at Little Italy. I do have my own place. It's not much, just a little run down, two bedroom, but I've been fixing it up."
The scowl returned to her face. "Right now I'm headed to the Wire Hut. My computer took a dive last night and I need to see if they can save it."
"Wait," said Coretta, automatically, "remember Emily? She knows tons about computers. She makes a living doing programming out of her parent's house, but she knows hardware, too. I could talk to her, see if she would come over and take a look. If it's an easy fix she probably won't even charge you, and if it's not she'd still be cheaper than those guys." Coretta waved a hand toward the Wire Hut store front.
Madison pondered for a moment. Her PC had crashed as she was transferring the photos of Jack over to it last night. She definitely did not want to lose her stash of blackmail/masturbation pictures, but she was afraid to let the techs at the Wire Hut try to restore the computer for fear they would find the very photos she was trying to save. However, if Emily could restore it, especially if she made a house call to do the work Madison might have a solution to such a problem, should it arise.
"Hey, Cor, that sounds great. Here, let me give you my number, and you can let me know what she says." The girls exchanged numbers and chatted for a few more moments before parting ways.
Coretta texted Emily as she headed back to her car asking if she would mind a visit. She was both fearful and relieved that the run-in with Madison had given her the excuse to see her friend though she had no idea how she would react being in the same room with the flame-haired object of her affection after the previous day's intense incident.
Emily grimaced at her phone on the night stand as it buzzed the arrival of a text. She sat, spread-legged on her bed, completely nude. Her laptop was beside her as she read a tickling story while slowly dragging a feather between the lips of her sex. As the individual filaments of the feather caressed her clitoris during the upward sweep of the plume little, intense thrills of titillation shot from her vulva down her thighs and up to her breasts causing her erect nipples to throb. The stimulation to the clitoris itself was so acute that Emily gritted her teeth and held her breath with each pass almost unable to keep her legs open and still with the keen-edged pleasure she inflicted on the tiny, sensitive knob.
Though the blissful feel of each stroke of the feather was incredibly exquisite her climax was building very slowly. She was reveling in the torment she was forcing on herself anticipating at least an hour of the self-teasing both because the peak would be so amazing and because each brush of the plume was so incredibly excruciating in its own right that it was almost a tiny orgasm in itself while the pent up energy of the actual orgasm she denied herself only added to the torturous pleasure of it all.
With a sigh she set down the feather and reached for the phone. Seeing Coretta's message she quickly replied in the affirmative. Though she had been looking forward to the pleasurable agony she had planned for the next hour or more she loved Coretta's company. After putting the phone down she wondered if she should quickly finish herself with a less titillating method of manipulation, but then she blushed with the wicked idea of letting the sensitivity and arousal she had kindled in her body, and which was so slow to ebb, remain while Coretta was with her. How mischievously raunchy would it be to be so aroused while trying to hide it from her friend.
Taking it a step further she began ever so slowly stroking herself with the feather again, reigniting the fever pitch of pleasure. She would keep herself teased with the keenly torturous feather bringing herself as close to climax as she could before she heard Coretta arrive and let her body remain gloriously inflamed while they hung out. Thinking back to the drunken kiss of a some nights ago she even let herself imagine what might happen if she could overcome her fear and reveal her fetish to her best friend. Her legs quivered and her nipples tingled as she leaned back against her pillows letting her imagination fuel the sweet anguish of each stroke across her most sensitive flesh while she awaited Coretta's arrival.
