Captain Satan
TMF Regular
- Joined
- Mar 24, 2011
- Messages
- 195
- Points
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If you've been following my previous stories then you may be familiar with my current situation, but just for the sake of a brief recap:
Old timey showreel...5...4...3...2...1...
I was dating an older woman who kept me as her "dirty little secret", but who also kept my dirty little secret...while simultaneously indulging it as often as we could.
Notice how I presented that in past tense? That's because we are, of very recently, no longer seeing each other.
Studio audience aww's
Don't worry about me, guys. I'm a young stallion with a meager salary, an apartment that smells like old beer, two pairs of shoes (total), and penchant for recreational Xanax. I'm gonna be a-okay.
Studio audience applause and cheering
But before our relationship came to an end (which we both knew was coming for a long time), Niamh decided to finally let me have my villainous way with her - as she had with me on a number of occasions. And when she agreed to this over a phone conversation two days before we were due our little "date", I spent those 48 hours really planning it all out. I felt like a supervillain plotting. Household items suddenly looked like torture devices. I even bought some feathers from an arts and crafts shop and hardened their tips with glue.
I was in my fucking element, baby.
I love to add detail and build-up to my stories but I'm going to spare you the sing-song and get right to the bedroom, because this is a tale of two feathers and you didn't come here to read about my nightly routine.
She was naked all but for a pair of black panties and a pair of white ankle socks (Left on by my request). Her mid-length red hair seemed to blossom out from behind her head as she lay on the white pillow, her arms restrained to the bedpost with a pair of handcuffs that I found all too familiar. Her ankles were unbound, but I enjoy the kicking.
I danced like Mr. Blonde at the foot of the bed, a sharpened little pink feather in my hand. I love Reservoir Dogs and had been watching Happy! on Netflix, so it seemed like the right thing to do. She just lay there, laughing with just a hint of nervousness.
"Are we doin' this or wha?" she jeered, to which I climbed onto the bed and wasted no time in spidering my fingers under her arms.
She began wailing from the very first touch. Her legs kicking behind me and her beautiful breasts bouncing hypnotically before my eyes. I never like to linger on one spot for too long, I personally hate it when ticklers focus on one spot before moving to another, like drawing by numbers - I like to shake it up. So her entire upper bod was being poked, prodded, incy-wincy spidered, lickled, fingered - you name it - from her neck to her pubic line.
I had never tickled her like this before, so her reaction was pure tickler's ecstasy. Helpless laughter mixed with the odd snort for good measure. Her eyes watered and she'd let out little remarks like "Oh god, I deserve this hahaha!" every now and again. I spent most of the tickle torture talking to her, keeping her mind active while I explored her underarms, ribs, and belly button. She wasn't doing very much talking though.
The feather soon came into play, but apart from the odd nervous giggle as I brushed it under her neck, she seemed to be fairly unphased.
Studio audience boo loudly
But now it was time to really turn the heat up.
I'd tried to tickle her feet in the past, to no avail But this time I felt lucky. This time I'd keep the pressure on for long until until she broke - and she did.
She let out a sweet little "noooo" as I slid down the bed towards her feet, laying across her legs for maximum incapacitation. I began by lightly teasing her with her socks on, starting at her toes and working down. She twitched slightly, but I could hear the light snorts beginning to build in the background.
"Oh no, you're in so much trouble now." I mocked.
"I know! I deserve this!" she giggled. She did.
Her repressed snorting and squeals began to rise in tension as I slid her ankle socks off from the hem, popping them off at the toes like some kind of twisted magician's reveal.
When I say that I tickled this woman's feet like I've never tickled anything before in my life, you can call that fucking gospel, my friends.
She refused to laugh for me until it grew too much for her. A lady's foot can only bear the burden of eight scribbling fingers for so long. The sight of her toes wiggling helplessly in their black nail polish was practically heaven to behold. I'm a really nice guy, but I've never felt more like a turn-of-the-century railroad villain in my entire life.
She alternated between giggles and booming laughter depending on the speed of my fingers or the site of her foot. Her toes were absolutely her downfall, but I had her in complete stitches as I tickled her from heel to toes, up and down, up and down, like the playing of a gigglish squeezebox.
I then brought the feather out, hoping that this effort would prove more fruitful. I love the aesthetic quality of feather on human flesh.
But as the tendrils glided between her toes, and as I held her toes back to brush up and down her defenseless soles...all I could get were a few awkward giggles and the sound of her mocking me from her binds.
"That feather is fucking thick." (Thick = Irish slang for "stupid, useless")
Studio audience boo and riot in their seats
I gave up on my feathers and returned to her upper body for a little while longer, milking this session for all I could. Until eventually she asked me to stop, and so I immediately hopped off the bed and untied her. We shared a long kiss.
Then she told me it was my turn.
It takes two to tango.
Old timey showreel...5...4...3...2...1...
I was dating an older woman who kept me as her "dirty little secret", but who also kept my dirty little secret...while simultaneously indulging it as often as we could.
Notice how I presented that in past tense? That's because we are, of very recently, no longer seeing each other.
Studio audience aww's
Don't worry about me, guys. I'm a young stallion with a meager salary, an apartment that smells like old beer, two pairs of shoes (total), and penchant for recreational Xanax. I'm gonna be a-okay.
Studio audience applause and cheering
But before our relationship came to an end (which we both knew was coming for a long time), Niamh decided to finally let me have my villainous way with her - as she had with me on a number of occasions. And when she agreed to this over a phone conversation two days before we were due our little "date", I spent those 48 hours really planning it all out. I felt like a supervillain plotting. Household items suddenly looked like torture devices. I even bought some feathers from an arts and crafts shop and hardened their tips with glue.
I was in my fucking element, baby.
I love to add detail and build-up to my stories but I'm going to spare you the sing-song and get right to the bedroom, because this is a tale of two feathers and you didn't come here to read about my nightly routine.
She was naked all but for a pair of black panties and a pair of white ankle socks (Left on by my request). Her mid-length red hair seemed to blossom out from behind her head as she lay on the white pillow, her arms restrained to the bedpost with a pair of handcuffs that I found all too familiar. Her ankles were unbound, but I enjoy the kicking.
I danced like Mr. Blonde at the foot of the bed, a sharpened little pink feather in my hand. I love Reservoir Dogs and had been watching Happy! on Netflix, so it seemed like the right thing to do. She just lay there, laughing with just a hint of nervousness.
"Are we doin' this or wha?" she jeered, to which I climbed onto the bed and wasted no time in spidering my fingers under her arms.
She began wailing from the very first touch. Her legs kicking behind me and her beautiful breasts bouncing hypnotically before my eyes. I never like to linger on one spot for too long, I personally hate it when ticklers focus on one spot before moving to another, like drawing by numbers - I like to shake it up. So her entire upper bod was being poked, prodded, incy-wincy spidered, lickled, fingered - you name it - from her neck to her pubic line.
I had never tickled her like this before, so her reaction was pure tickler's ecstasy. Helpless laughter mixed with the odd snort for good measure. Her eyes watered and she'd let out little remarks like "Oh god, I deserve this hahaha!" every now and again. I spent most of the tickle torture talking to her, keeping her mind active while I explored her underarms, ribs, and belly button. She wasn't doing very much talking though.
The feather soon came into play, but apart from the odd nervous giggle as I brushed it under her neck, she seemed to be fairly unphased.
Studio audience boo loudly
But now it was time to really turn the heat up.
I'd tried to tickle her feet in the past, to no avail But this time I felt lucky. This time I'd keep the pressure on for long until until she broke - and she did.
She let out a sweet little "noooo" as I slid down the bed towards her feet, laying across her legs for maximum incapacitation. I began by lightly teasing her with her socks on, starting at her toes and working down. She twitched slightly, but I could hear the light snorts beginning to build in the background.
"Oh no, you're in so much trouble now." I mocked.
"I know! I deserve this!" she giggled. She did.
Her repressed snorting and squeals began to rise in tension as I slid her ankle socks off from the hem, popping them off at the toes like some kind of twisted magician's reveal.
When I say that I tickled this woman's feet like I've never tickled anything before in my life, you can call that fucking gospel, my friends.
She refused to laugh for me until it grew too much for her. A lady's foot can only bear the burden of eight scribbling fingers for so long. The sight of her toes wiggling helplessly in their black nail polish was practically heaven to behold. I'm a really nice guy, but I've never felt more like a turn-of-the-century railroad villain in my entire life.
She alternated between giggles and booming laughter depending on the speed of my fingers or the site of her foot. Her toes were absolutely her downfall, but I had her in complete stitches as I tickled her from heel to toes, up and down, up and down, like the playing of a gigglish squeezebox.
I then brought the feather out, hoping that this effort would prove more fruitful. I love the aesthetic quality of feather on human flesh.
But as the tendrils glided between her toes, and as I held her toes back to brush up and down her defenseless soles...all I could get were a few awkward giggles and the sound of her mocking me from her binds.
"That feather is fucking thick." (Thick = Irish slang for "stupid, useless")
Studio audience boo and riot in their seats
I gave up on my feathers and returned to her upper body for a little while longer, milking this session for all I could. Until eventually she asked me to stop, and so I immediately hopped off the bed and untied her. We shared a long kiss.
Then she told me it was my turn.
It takes two to tango.
I would like to read more about you and her. 
