Hello all,
I really enjoy stories where the reader can dive into an experience. I hope you enjoy that, too.
If you find any grammar issues or improper words, please let me know. I'm always trying to improve my English.
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Yes. This is how I imagine a perfect chill-out at the end of the day. The screen at the wall shows some movie or series, the speakers in the corners are set to a medium low volume. It doesn’t really matter what’s on, as long as I have my company. Cuddled together on the couch. My arms enclose your upper body, our legs are tangled into limbs spaghetti, my cheek resting by your neck. Your hands rest on mine and your toes softly play with my feet. Every now and then you shift a little. And so do I. Not too much though. Just getting into a slightly more comfortable position. This can go on for hours. Until it starts. It starts how it always starts. There is no visible or audible signal that can be observed from anybody else. There is no rule or indicator for the game to begin, or a countdown that runs out. The game just starts.
Until now my arms around your midriff made you feel cozy and protected. My calves huddled against your ankles, my lips casually kissed your cheek. Just a moment ago we breathed the same air, shared this place, enjoyed the calm. Suddenly, everything changes. There is electricity in the air, like an aura. We become rather still and silent, talk less, hardly move or shift anymore. I feel like holding you tight. And you feel trapped. Both of us realize, my tender lips are just a curtain for my teeth, resting right next to your neck. Our bodies are tenser. Our breathing is becoming slightly less relaxed. Your heart is not beating in sync anymore. Instead it’s pumping adrenalin through your veins – preparing for the unavoidable. There is no point of return. Even if one of us gets up, fetches something to drink or leaves a minute to pee – we always get back into position. When I return to the sofa, I feel like a predator hunting down a paralyzed pray. And whenever you return to the sofa you look like a cautious animal, sensing the danger, but still approaching carefully the bait I laid out for you. Every time you will find me holding up the blanked, providing the place for your body to be shackled in. My arms snap back into position, my legs wind around yours, until my knees accidently push your knees apart. You have no reason to resist, because there is this unspoken consent that none of us admits even the existence of the very game we are playing right now.
I love the way you try to hide your shyness, when you cover up the weakness in your voice. I love the moments when you blush while acting casually. And I love the moment when you give the signal that you are ready for the first round. At some point you declare the clothes you are waring are not comfortable anymore. Of course, it’s the blankets’ fault. The heat under it makes you sweat so much. The movie gets paused. You disappear into the bedroom, have a stop in the bathroom. You slip into a tracksuit, pajamas or just any sort of fabric hanging loosely on your body. I look up when you enter the room. Smiling. Knowing, no matter where you go, how much time you take, and what you do. You always have to return to the trap waiting on the sofa. I love everything about these moments, just as much as you love the thrill you dive into. I can see the need in your eyes. I hear the silent moans waiting in your lungs. And I feel your muscles shiver while your instincts are fighting against your will to stay calm. The sofa is our arena. I am the predator. You are the pray. And I am going to play with my toy.
You agree with my opinion that there is nothing comfier than just a little bit of skin contact. Therefore, you don’t have a chance to mind my hands disappearing under your shirt. And while one of my hands is now resting on your stomach like a snake on a warm rock, the other hand firmly grabs your side and pulls you even closer. Your arms remain on mine, keeping them in check. You start caressing my arms as if you didn’t worry about my fingertips on your sensitive skin, as if you haven’t noticed what could start any second now. My hands are enjoying your attempts to tame them. My fingertips sense every spasm of your abdominals whenever you giggle because of something funny happening on the screen. With every breath your belly moves up, pushes against the weight of my palm. I yawn and stretch my limbs a little bit. And it just happens that my hands end up in more threatening positions. The thumb of my belly-hand settles down on your stomach near your lower ribs, while the index fingertip slightly slips into your bellybutton. The other hand is softly grabbing your ribs, moving up until the thumb ends up near your nipple. My fingers spread wider. You feel one small finger reaching the waistband of your pants. At the same time the other hand is getting dangerously close to your armpit. You inhale and tense up, pressing your elbows to the side of your chest. You try to close your legs and protect your hips by holding the wristband in your fists.
We are both frozen. I am in siege position, waiting for your arms to move up. You know that I have my favorite spots, where my hands get “most comfortable”. And you know I like to caress your skin when I’m a little bored. It’s okay, I can wait a little. Feel the palm on your belly getting hot and sweaty. Let your arms get tired. You cannot trap my hands by pressing them on your upper body. I give your elbow a slight nudge to move. But you keep still. All right then. Silently I count to ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Another nudge at five. Still no comply from your side. Four. At three, my hand tries to push higher with a little force. Not much, just to make clear that my hand on your ribs is really uncomfortable there and I really want to move it up a little. You completely ignore my wish, so I picture the number two in my head. All right. It looks like as I need to remember you what hostage I am holding. One. Last nudge, last chance. Zero.
My index finger on your stomach slides into your bellybutton. The sensation shoots trough your body like an electrical shock. You can’t help but whimper. As a reflex one of your hands slip under your shirt and hold my hand. It’s too late. And you wouldn’t dare to pull my hand away. This spot is mine now. And you have to give up the other one, too. I give you another reminder, that the hand on your chest is still not where I want it to be. I start to pinch the ribs under my grab, just very softly. It’s enough to make you squirm a bit to your side, trying to wiggle free. But you know I cannot accept that. As you bend forward, I decide to conquer your navel for good. My finger nail reaches the very bottom and starts stirring into the tender knobs inside. A storm of noises builds up in your lungs and you hardly manage to suppress them. Just a helpless snort escapes your throat. It stops as quick as it started. Case-fire. Truce. I return to silent diplomacy as I give another kind nudge to your elbow. I can feel your inner fight, as you try to convince your arms to move up. I understand, It’s not easy acting against all instincts. But we both know it’s necessary. To make it easier for you I pull out my index finger out of your bellybutton. Just a bit, of course. Ready to move back at any time.
You take a deep breath. Good. And a sigh. Very good. I feel your arms getting loose. You try to relax. I respect that and also loosen my grip as well. Then, after another deep breath you lift your arms. Finally. That’s all I asked for. Is it really that hard? Well, I guess it is. However, the only thing that counts is that we got this little issue settled. You shake as I slowly start crawling up. The first hand reaches your armpit where you are allowed to trap it with your arm for a short moment. That’s fair. But you have to relax again. We are not done as long as not both armpits are occupied. That’s it. Relax, raise your arm. I won’t tickle you. Very good. Now my second hand tingles over your stomach, higher and higher. I can tell it takes all your concentration. You tense and shiver, though I don’t really tickle you. I make sure my fingers only move delicately over your ribs. Everything is over as soon as my left palm settles on your right breast and my right hand reaches your left. Then my fingertips touch the soft underarm hair, give it a soft pinch and you are allowed to lower your arms again. There we go. We made it. This is one of my favorite hugs. The excitement, your nervous breathing… That’s how we enjoy the next few minutes. We are motionless. You wait for the tickle hell to begin while I try to find the right moment to start. I’m sorry. I rally can’t help it. It’s not my fault that your skin is so very soft.
The best thing about that situation is the game we are able to play now. The name of the game is “the twitch amplifier”. Whenever I move a finger, your whole-body spasms. From head to toe. It’s amazing. All I need to do is a little innocent twitch. Ready? Great. Let’s play. First, I wait for you to relax. Breath in, one, two… Breath out, one, two. Think of something else. And now, since you are ready … twitch. Nice. Again. Relax, wait for it, and … … twitch. You start giggling, even though I don’t do anything. And the fact that you can’t stop giggling makes you even more gigglish. Except when you twitch. Then you squeak a bit, tense up for a moment and relax again into giggles. Because you know this game is about to last a while. Twitch. Relax. Wait giggling. Another twitch. You moan in frustration, but I can’t hear a single complaint. Twitch. And you know why? We both know the reason. Relax. Because you love it. Twitch. And you relax again, giving into the giggles. Because you want this sensation so bad. Right? Prove me right and don’t twitch. See? You twitched. Even twice. I only give you something you can’t get on your own. And I enjoy the fact that I can play you like and instrument. Twitch left... Twitch right… I also can wiggle all fingers on both sides. Not for long, just a second. And all you need is to bend left… bend right… and lean back again. Because that is where you stay. You are my twitching giggle-instrument. Giggle music to my ears interrupted by random squeaks and twitches.
You start whimpering. From the outside it might look cruel to you, like you’ve had enough and you’re begging me to stop. And part of it is kind of true. But I do know your little secret. And you know that I know, because you told me more than once. Half the reason you make those resignation noises is because you want me to really start. Right? Twitch. All right. Let’s bring it up a notch. I cannot really tickle your armpits as long as you have them trapped there like this. For a real treatment I need your hands all the way up. And this is something I would come back to later. I pull my hands out of your armpits. You tense up as my fingers start dancing over your breasts. Right over your nipples, up and down your ribs. You squirm from left to right. That’s what you were waiting for, right? Unfortunately, you don’t have any control over your limbs anymore. You hug yourself, defending your skin as good as you can. I have to navigate my hands through your arms to get to the really juicy parts or find the places your arms and hands are not present. That’s not real tickling. Its teasing here and there, just a split second and fighting another few seconds to find another spot. That’s also fun, but not for very long. Let me grab your wrists. I know, now that my fingers are occupied holding your hands down, they cannot do any work. I kiss your neck, showing that I really care about you. It’s true. I know you enjoy it. And you know I enjoy you. So, what about the idea that I use one hand holding both of your hands, while my second hand can go to work. Hmm?
It doesn’t take much for you to understand. You grab my wrists, too. Now this road leads nowhere. I wait. Maybe you need a second to think about it. While you think I loosen my grip and kindly start pulling your hands over your head. You let it happen, because you know, as long as you keep holding my wrists, I cannot do anything. And I know that you actually want your arms above your head. Isn’t that right? Well? Be honest. What would you give for a nice pair of sturdy leather shackles attached to the bedposts? That’s what you are waiting for. I know it. Because then you don’t have to do any work anymore. Then you can just shut down your brain and let your limbs go amok. I feel you. I think this is nice, too. But we are not there yet. Right now, you have to keep your arms up and let one of my hands go down on you. Okay? Just one. I softly try to wiggle my hands free, not with force, but with persistence. Finally, you let go and Let me grab both of your wrists with my right hand. We both know it’s very easy for you to break free. This is not me holding you tight, this is me, helping you keeping your arms up. My second hand softly strokes down your arm. I know how sensitive your armpits are, so I am generous and make a detour over your collarbones. Your arms tense up now and then, but you manage to keep your cool. Very good work. Your control is outstanding today. As a reward I sent some tingles over your nipples. You moan and your spine snakes around to the rhythm of my fingertips. You can’t decide whether you want to suck your abdomen in or tense it up. However, the spider crawling continues, no matter what. We carefully count your ribs and make sure they are still properly aligned. First your right side. One, two, three… four, five, six… Okay, this is very close to your armpit. Moving to your left. One, two three… four… squirm… five… you know what? I don’t care about number six. I rather check something else. Okay? The spider walks down, slowly and carefully, on its exciting expedition into your bellybutton. So very soft and squirming, and still under control. Well, almost. Your arms start moving lower and lower, pulling my hand with them. Finally, you break free and squirm back into a defensive posture. You did well. Not your best time, but still. I guess I hit that nasty spot again. You are right. Such things should be saved for the tied-up-part.
I give you a moment to catch your breath. But when I suggest to grab your wrists again, you make a fierce mistake. Like a snake your hands shoot down to my hipbones and knee, trying to get some revenge. I admit, for a second or two you got me. But unfortunately, I know that I always win an endurance test. And while your hands are busy finding my sweet spots, I am having the luxury of picking any spot of yours. How about your hipbones? Or your groin? While you pinch the hollows of my knees let me get comfortable in your private parts area. It doesn’t matter how much you fight now. You gave up your defense and tried a counter attack. It’s brave, I give you that. But not very smart. And since you never learn from your mistakes, you will get the consequences. Same as last time, and the time before. You are convulsed with laughter as my fingers disappear between your legs. I take this chance to lean forward too, letting both of us fall to the side. I trap your body between myself and the arm rest, create a chaotic knot out of eight limbs and happily notice that your fingers got entangled in your own sleeves and are now trapped between my arms. This is the time to let my fingertips destroy any sanity in your head. My legs manage to spread yours further apart, more than enough to provide the necessary working space. No mercy. And since you cannot lean back, you don’t have a chance to unwind your hands. Your pants have become a circus tent, the show has started and you are not invited. No. The real star of the show is… not your hipbones… not your groin… and not your thighs – even though they turn out to be an awesome attraction – the real star is … *drum roll over your pubic hair* … of course that wet spot over there, between your legs! Congratulations! You are making a mess! In your own pants! And I am helping! While you cannot do anything about it. How does that feel? Isn’t that what you were waiting for? Have you ever felt that defenseless and sensitive, even though you are neither nude, nor strapped spread eagle? I could go on for hours, let you orgasm as many times as I want, even give you some post orgasmic extra care.
Your high pitch screams quickly turn into silent laughter. It is very convenient having this auto mute feature during high stimulation. The down side is that I cannot enjoy this all to long. You are human after all and this means you have to breathe from time to time. Let’s count down together, then I stop. Okay? Ten. Dancing over your pubic bone. Nine. Down to your anus. Eight. Visiting your inner thighs – since we are already here. Seven. Dancing up and down your groin. So much space… like a dance floor! Six. Drawing circles around the center. Five. Coming closer. Four. Going right for the center. Three. Welcome in Genetalila City, population: Agony. Two. Just a little more. Three. Because I am vengeful. Four. And you love it. Five! Let’s try random numbers. Fifty-five? You gasp for air. Sixty-nine? Maybe later. Nine thousand! Almost over… Zero. Enjoy some rest. Breathe in, breathe out. Feel the excitement. That was only the appetizer. Let me serve you the main dish. With both hands I start ramping up your sensitivity of your genitals. Soft strokes, massages and mean spider tickles up and down, left and right, that make you scream into the pillow. I play with your anus, crawl though your pubic hair and let you cool down while softly kneading your hipbones. I like the idea that inner thighs have much in common with armpits. This delicate spot that connects your groin with your legs, the same way your armpits connect your arms with your chest. Correct me if I’m wrong, but aren’t those the spots where your body keeps some of its lymph knots? However, let’s not get lost in small stuff. Better focus on your arousal. Back and forth, back and forth, and always keep up some nasty spider tickles around and over your crotch. By now you have turned into a pitiful little piece of ticklish flesh. No way to escape, no alternative but enduring and suffering the heavenly hell I drive you trough. That’s the spirit. No coherent thoughts in your head, just spasms, shaking muscles and resignation. You start moaning. I’m not sure if you signal me a “not yet” or if you can’t help it. But nevertheless, I take that hint. As a reward you get a rest. I place my hands on your lap and let both of us catch some breath. What a nice, intimate, tickle hug we ended up in… I feel like an iron maiden enclosing your body. You are my prisoner. And the only body parts in this pile of flesh that have some freedom to move are my hands.
And since you try to wiggle yourself free anyway, why don’t we finish this with some dessert? My fingers start moving through your pubic hair, encircle the main attraction once again. You struggle and fight, try to kick and wrestle out of your fate. The intensity grows the closer they wander. Another pinch, and one more stroke, and we are back in blissful agony. With one dedicated hand massaging up and down, over and over, while the other hand keeps tickling left and right. Breath in madness, laugh out your sanity. There we go. Inhale the power to endure another second, exhale all hope for me to stop. Breath in as I give you a moment to do so, let the laughter out for this is what I want to hear. Inhale another time, let your scream discharge into the pillow. When the moans return, I tickle. When the laughs come back, I continue working on that wet mess you produce. It’s obvious, you are getting more and more sensitive. You get near climax more and more easily. When I start tickling your genitals near orgasms, you seem indecisive whether you are supposed to hump my fingers or flinch away. I enjoy your confusion for a while, then deliver your mind right back into tickle fancy. I don’t give you real breaks anymore. My hands and fingers are always moving. You are allowed to breath when I start simulating your privates. Once again you feel that charge between your legs building up. You can moan and flinch when you are getting close. You fear how intense that orgasm would be. And you cannot tell whether I would stop. You may climax anytime you want. But this does not define the time to stop. Especially since we are still in foreplay mode. Better hope for me to notice, so you can force yourself to inhale when I tickle your groin. Hipbones and thighs, anus and groin… Stroking to the left, returning to the right. Spider tickle down your pubic hair, massaging your genitals upwards. At some point I feel you can’t take much more. And to be honest, my limbs are getting tired, too. I pull my hands out of your pants and give you a tender hug. You still twitch and spasm, because your instinct is afraid of another attack. But your mind understands this signal. This hug means resting. You earn this phase of catching breath as much as you deserved the punishment of tickling me back.
I give you another kiss and signal you that I need to get up. You shift aside an let me go to the bathroom. I really need to wash my hands. And since I’m already here, it’s time for me to get more comfortable clothes. My underwear ends up in the laundry basket. It’s dirty now, too. And I get into my pajamas. I choose the gray ones, because they can be undressed very easily. Before I leave the bedroom, I pick up some rope and the leather shackles. I make sure you hear the drawer closing shut. While I let you fantasize about all the stuff, I might do to you next, I take my time making sure I didn’t forget anything. Oh yes, a snap hook would help a lot when it’s time for light bondage.
Again, like a predator I return to my hunting grounds. And again my pray is waiting for me, paralyzed and shy. You are wrapped up in the blanket, coiled up into a bulky ball of ticklishness. From the corner of my eyes I notice your clothes somehow got into under the sofa. I guess you felt too warm under the blanket. Understandable. After all that squirming. This can be very exhausting. And that nasty pair of pants turned out to be a very nasty tickle trap. I smile as I slowly approach the sofa. You shift to the side, inviting me to take my place. Before I sit down, I place my bondage utensils within reach and get rid of my pullover. Knowing you are nude, I highly prefer sensing your sweaty back on my body when I enclose you again. I am ready for the next round. And based on the look on your eyes I guess you have been ready since I left the room. Let’s get dirty.
I really enjoy stories where the reader can dive into an experience. I hope you enjoy that, too.
If you find any grammar issues or improper words, please let me know. I'm always trying to improve my English.
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Yes. This is how I imagine a perfect chill-out at the end of the day. The screen at the wall shows some movie or series, the speakers in the corners are set to a medium low volume. It doesn’t really matter what’s on, as long as I have my company. Cuddled together on the couch. My arms enclose your upper body, our legs are tangled into limbs spaghetti, my cheek resting by your neck. Your hands rest on mine and your toes softly play with my feet. Every now and then you shift a little. And so do I. Not too much though. Just getting into a slightly more comfortable position. This can go on for hours. Until it starts. It starts how it always starts. There is no visible or audible signal that can be observed from anybody else. There is no rule or indicator for the game to begin, or a countdown that runs out. The game just starts.
Until now my arms around your midriff made you feel cozy and protected. My calves huddled against your ankles, my lips casually kissed your cheek. Just a moment ago we breathed the same air, shared this place, enjoyed the calm. Suddenly, everything changes. There is electricity in the air, like an aura. We become rather still and silent, talk less, hardly move or shift anymore. I feel like holding you tight. And you feel trapped. Both of us realize, my tender lips are just a curtain for my teeth, resting right next to your neck. Our bodies are tenser. Our breathing is becoming slightly less relaxed. Your heart is not beating in sync anymore. Instead it’s pumping adrenalin through your veins – preparing for the unavoidable. There is no point of return. Even if one of us gets up, fetches something to drink or leaves a minute to pee – we always get back into position. When I return to the sofa, I feel like a predator hunting down a paralyzed pray. And whenever you return to the sofa you look like a cautious animal, sensing the danger, but still approaching carefully the bait I laid out for you. Every time you will find me holding up the blanked, providing the place for your body to be shackled in. My arms snap back into position, my legs wind around yours, until my knees accidently push your knees apart. You have no reason to resist, because there is this unspoken consent that none of us admits even the existence of the very game we are playing right now.
I love the way you try to hide your shyness, when you cover up the weakness in your voice. I love the moments when you blush while acting casually. And I love the moment when you give the signal that you are ready for the first round. At some point you declare the clothes you are waring are not comfortable anymore. Of course, it’s the blankets’ fault. The heat under it makes you sweat so much. The movie gets paused. You disappear into the bedroom, have a stop in the bathroom. You slip into a tracksuit, pajamas or just any sort of fabric hanging loosely on your body. I look up when you enter the room. Smiling. Knowing, no matter where you go, how much time you take, and what you do. You always have to return to the trap waiting on the sofa. I love everything about these moments, just as much as you love the thrill you dive into. I can see the need in your eyes. I hear the silent moans waiting in your lungs. And I feel your muscles shiver while your instincts are fighting against your will to stay calm. The sofa is our arena. I am the predator. You are the pray. And I am going to play with my toy.
You agree with my opinion that there is nothing comfier than just a little bit of skin contact. Therefore, you don’t have a chance to mind my hands disappearing under your shirt. And while one of my hands is now resting on your stomach like a snake on a warm rock, the other hand firmly grabs your side and pulls you even closer. Your arms remain on mine, keeping them in check. You start caressing my arms as if you didn’t worry about my fingertips on your sensitive skin, as if you haven’t noticed what could start any second now. My hands are enjoying your attempts to tame them. My fingertips sense every spasm of your abdominals whenever you giggle because of something funny happening on the screen. With every breath your belly moves up, pushes against the weight of my palm. I yawn and stretch my limbs a little bit. And it just happens that my hands end up in more threatening positions. The thumb of my belly-hand settles down on your stomach near your lower ribs, while the index fingertip slightly slips into your bellybutton. The other hand is softly grabbing your ribs, moving up until the thumb ends up near your nipple. My fingers spread wider. You feel one small finger reaching the waistband of your pants. At the same time the other hand is getting dangerously close to your armpit. You inhale and tense up, pressing your elbows to the side of your chest. You try to close your legs and protect your hips by holding the wristband in your fists.
We are both frozen. I am in siege position, waiting for your arms to move up. You know that I have my favorite spots, where my hands get “most comfortable”. And you know I like to caress your skin when I’m a little bored. It’s okay, I can wait a little. Feel the palm on your belly getting hot and sweaty. Let your arms get tired. You cannot trap my hands by pressing them on your upper body. I give your elbow a slight nudge to move. But you keep still. All right then. Silently I count to ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Another nudge at five. Still no comply from your side. Four. At three, my hand tries to push higher with a little force. Not much, just to make clear that my hand on your ribs is really uncomfortable there and I really want to move it up a little. You completely ignore my wish, so I picture the number two in my head. All right. It looks like as I need to remember you what hostage I am holding. One. Last nudge, last chance. Zero.
My index finger on your stomach slides into your bellybutton. The sensation shoots trough your body like an electrical shock. You can’t help but whimper. As a reflex one of your hands slip under your shirt and hold my hand. It’s too late. And you wouldn’t dare to pull my hand away. This spot is mine now. And you have to give up the other one, too. I give you another reminder, that the hand on your chest is still not where I want it to be. I start to pinch the ribs under my grab, just very softly. It’s enough to make you squirm a bit to your side, trying to wiggle free. But you know I cannot accept that. As you bend forward, I decide to conquer your navel for good. My finger nail reaches the very bottom and starts stirring into the tender knobs inside. A storm of noises builds up in your lungs and you hardly manage to suppress them. Just a helpless snort escapes your throat. It stops as quick as it started. Case-fire. Truce. I return to silent diplomacy as I give another kind nudge to your elbow. I can feel your inner fight, as you try to convince your arms to move up. I understand, It’s not easy acting against all instincts. But we both know it’s necessary. To make it easier for you I pull out my index finger out of your bellybutton. Just a bit, of course. Ready to move back at any time.
You take a deep breath. Good. And a sigh. Very good. I feel your arms getting loose. You try to relax. I respect that and also loosen my grip as well. Then, after another deep breath you lift your arms. Finally. That’s all I asked for. Is it really that hard? Well, I guess it is. However, the only thing that counts is that we got this little issue settled. You shake as I slowly start crawling up. The first hand reaches your armpit where you are allowed to trap it with your arm for a short moment. That’s fair. But you have to relax again. We are not done as long as not both armpits are occupied. That’s it. Relax, raise your arm. I won’t tickle you. Very good. Now my second hand tingles over your stomach, higher and higher. I can tell it takes all your concentration. You tense and shiver, though I don’t really tickle you. I make sure my fingers only move delicately over your ribs. Everything is over as soon as my left palm settles on your right breast and my right hand reaches your left. Then my fingertips touch the soft underarm hair, give it a soft pinch and you are allowed to lower your arms again. There we go. We made it. This is one of my favorite hugs. The excitement, your nervous breathing… That’s how we enjoy the next few minutes. We are motionless. You wait for the tickle hell to begin while I try to find the right moment to start. I’m sorry. I rally can’t help it. It’s not my fault that your skin is so very soft.
The best thing about that situation is the game we are able to play now. The name of the game is “the twitch amplifier”. Whenever I move a finger, your whole-body spasms. From head to toe. It’s amazing. All I need to do is a little innocent twitch. Ready? Great. Let’s play. First, I wait for you to relax. Breath in, one, two… Breath out, one, two. Think of something else. And now, since you are ready … twitch. Nice. Again. Relax, wait for it, and … … twitch. You start giggling, even though I don’t do anything. And the fact that you can’t stop giggling makes you even more gigglish. Except when you twitch. Then you squeak a bit, tense up for a moment and relax again into giggles. Because you know this game is about to last a while. Twitch. Relax. Wait giggling. Another twitch. You moan in frustration, but I can’t hear a single complaint. Twitch. And you know why? We both know the reason. Relax. Because you love it. Twitch. And you relax again, giving into the giggles. Because you want this sensation so bad. Right? Prove me right and don’t twitch. See? You twitched. Even twice. I only give you something you can’t get on your own. And I enjoy the fact that I can play you like and instrument. Twitch left... Twitch right… I also can wiggle all fingers on both sides. Not for long, just a second. And all you need is to bend left… bend right… and lean back again. Because that is where you stay. You are my twitching giggle-instrument. Giggle music to my ears interrupted by random squeaks and twitches.
You start whimpering. From the outside it might look cruel to you, like you’ve had enough and you’re begging me to stop. And part of it is kind of true. But I do know your little secret. And you know that I know, because you told me more than once. Half the reason you make those resignation noises is because you want me to really start. Right? Twitch. All right. Let’s bring it up a notch. I cannot really tickle your armpits as long as you have them trapped there like this. For a real treatment I need your hands all the way up. And this is something I would come back to later. I pull my hands out of your armpits. You tense up as my fingers start dancing over your breasts. Right over your nipples, up and down your ribs. You squirm from left to right. That’s what you were waiting for, right? Unfortunately, you don’t have any control over your limbs anymore. You hug yourself, defending your skin as good as you can. I have to navigate my hands through your arms to get to the really juicy parts or find the places your arms and hands are not present. That’s not real tickling. Its teasing here and there, just a split second and fighting another few seconds to find another spot. That’s also fun, but not for very long. Let me grab your wrists. I know, now that my fingers are occupied holding your hands down, they cannot do any work. I kiss your neck, showing that I really care about you. It’s true. I know you enjoy it. And you know I enjoy you. So, what about the idea that I use one hand holding both of your hands, while my second hand can go to work. Hmm?
It doesn’t take much for you to understand. You grab my wrists, too. Now this road leads nowhere. I wait. Maybe you need a second to think about it. While you think I loosen my grip and kindly start pulling your hands over your head. You let it happen, because you know, as long as you keep holding my wrists, I cannot do anything. And I know that you actually want your arms above your head. Isn’t that right? Well? Be honest. What would you give for a nice pair of sturdy leather shackles attached to the bedposts? That’s what you are waiting for. I know it. Because then you don’t have to do any work anymore. Then you can just shut down your brain and let your limbs go amok. I feel you. I think this is nice, too. But we are not there yet. Right now, you have to keep your arms up and let one of my hands go down on you. Okay? Just one. I softly try to wiggle my hands free, not with force, but with persistence. Finally, you let go and Let me grab both of your wrists with my right hand. We both know it’s very easy for you to break free. This is not me holding you tight, this is me, helping you keeping your arms up. My second hand softly strokes down your arm. I know how sensitive your armpits are, so I am generous and make a detour over your collarbones. Your arms tense up now and then, but you manage to keep your cool. Very good work. Your control is outstanding today. As a reward I sent some tingles over your nipples. You moan and your spine snakes around to the rhythm of my fingertips. You can’t decide whether you want to suck your abdomen in or tense it up. However, the spider crawling continues, no matter what. We carefully count your ribs and make sure they are still properly aligned. First your right side. One, two, three… four, five, six… Okay, this is very close to your armpit. Moving to your left. One, two three… four… squirm… five… you know what? I don’t care about number six. I rather check something else. Okay? The spider walks down, slowly and carefully, on its exciting expedition into your bellybutton. So very soft and squirming, and still under control. Well, almost. Your arms start moving lower and lower, pulling my hand with them. Finally, you break free and squirm back into a defensive posture. You did well. Not your best time, but still. I guess I hit that nasty spot again. You are right. Such things should be saved for the tied-up-part.
I give you a moment to catch your breath. But when I suggest to grab your wrists again, you make a fierce mistake. Like a snake your hands shoot down to my hipbones and knee, trying to get some revenge. I admit, for a second or two you got me. But unfortunately, I know that I always win an endurance test. And while your hands are busy finding my sweet spots, I am having the luxury of picking any spot of yours. How about your hipbones? Or your groin? While you pinch the hollows of my knees let me get comfortable in your private parts area. It doesn’t matter how much you fight now. You gave up your defense and tried a counter attack. It’s brave, I give you that. But not very smart. And since you never learn from your mistakes, you will get the consequences. Same as last time, and the time before. You are convulsed with laughter as my fingers disappear between your legs. I take this chance to lean forward too, letting both of us fall to the side. I trap your body between myself and the arm rest, create a chaotic knot out of eight limbs and happily notice that your fingers got entangled in your own sleeves and are now trapped between my arms. This is the time to let my fingertips destroy any sanity in your head. My legs manage to spread yours further apart, more than enough to provide the necessary working space. No mercy. And since you cannot lean back, you don’t have a chance to unwind your hands. Your pants have become a circus tent, the show has started and you are not invited. No. The real star of the show is… not your hipbones… not your groin… and not your thighs – even though they turn out to be an awesome attraction – the real star is … *drum roll over your pubic hair* … of course that wet spot over there, between your legs! Congratulations! You are making a mess! In your own pants! And I am helping! While you cannot do anything about it. How does that feel? Isn’t that what you were waiting for? Have you ever felt that defenseless and sensitive, even though you are neither nude, nor strapped spread eagle? I could go on for hours, let you orgasm as many times as I want, even give you some post orgasmic extra care.
Your high pitch screams quickly turn into silent laughter. It is very convenient having this auto mute feature during high stimulation. The down side is that I cannot enjoy this all to long. You are human after all and this means you have to breathe from time to time. Let’s count down together, then I stop. Okay? Ten. Dancing over your pubic bone. Nine. Down to your anus. Eight. Visiting your inner thighs – since we are already here. Seven. Dancing up and down your groin. So much space… like a dance floor! Six. Drawing circles around the center. Five. Coming closer. Four. Going right for the center. Three. Welcome in Genetalila City, population: Agony. Two. Just a little more. Three. Because I am vengeful. Four. And you love it. Five! Let’s try random numbers. Fifty-five? You gasp for air. Sixty-nine? Maybe later. Nine thousand! Almost over… Zero. Enjoy some rest. Breathe in, breathe out. Feel the excitement. That was only the appetizer. Let me serve you the main dish. With both hands I start ramping up your sensitivity of your genitals. Soft strokes, massages and mean spider tickles up and down, left and right, that make you scream into the pillow. I play with your anus, crawl though your pubic hair and let you cool down while softly kneading your hipbones. I like the idea that inner thighs have much in common with armpits. This delicate spot that connects your groin with your legs, the same way your armpits connect your arms with your chest. Correct me if I’m wrong, but aren’t those the spots where your body keeps some of its lymph knots? However, let’s not get lost in small stuff. Better focus on your arousal. Back and forth, back and forth, and always keep up some nasty spider tickles around and over your crotch. By now you have turned into a pitiful little piece of ticklish flesh. No way to escape, no alternative but enduring and suffering the heavenly hell I drive you trough. That’s the spirit. No coherent thoughts in your head, just spasms, shaking muscles and resignation. You start moaning. I’m not sure if you signal me a “not yet” or if you can’t help it. But nevertheless, I take that hint. As a reward you get a rest. I place my hands on your lap and let both of us catch some breath. What a nice, intimate, tickle hug we ended up in… I feel like an iron maiden enclosing your body. You are my prisoner. And the only body parts in this pile of flesh that have some freedom to move are my hands.
And since you try to wiggle yourself free anyway, why don’t we finish this with some dessert? My fingers start moving through your pubic hair, encircle the main attraction once again. You struggle and fight, try to kick and wrestle out of your fate. The intensity grows the closer they wander. Another pinch, and one more stroke, and we are back in blissful agony. With one dedicated hand massaging up and down, over and over, while the other hand keeps tickling left and right. Breath in madness, laugh out your sanity. There we go. Inhale the power to endure another second, exhale all hope for me to stop. Breath in as I give you a moment to do so, let the laughter out for this is what I want to hear. Inhale another time, let your scream discharge into the pillow. When the moans return, I tickle. When the laughs come back, I continue working on that wet mess you produce. It’s obvious, you are getting more and more sensitive. You get near climax more and more easily. When I start tickling your genitals near orgasms, you seem indecisive whether you are supposed to hump my fingers or flinch away. I enjoy your confusion for a while, then deliver your mind right back into tickle fancy. I don’t give you real breaks anymore. My hands and fingers are always moving. You are allowed to breath when I start simulating your privates. Once again you feel that charge between your legs building up. You can moan and flinch when you are getting close. You fear how intense that orgasm would be. And you cannot tell whether I would stop. You may climax anytime you want. But this does not define the time to stop. Especially since we are still in foreplay mode. Better hope for me to notice, so you can force yourself to inhale when I tickle your groin. Hipbones and thighs, anus and groin… Stroking to the left, returning to the right. Spider tickle down your pubic hair, massaging your genitals upwards. At some point I feel you can’t take much more. And to be honest, my limbs are getting tired, too. I pull my hands out of your pants and give you a tender hug. You still twitch and spasm, because your instinct is afraid of another attack. But your mind understands this signal. This hug means resting. You earn this phase of catching breath as much as you deserved the punishment of tickling me back.
I give you another kiss and signal you that I need to get up. You shift aside an let me go to the bathroom. I really need to wash my hands. And since I’m already here, it’s time for me to get more comfortable clothes. My underwear ends up in the laundry basket. It’s dirty now, too. And I get into my pajamas. I choose the gray ones, because they can be undressed very easily. Before I leave the bedroom, I pick up some rope and the leather shackles. I make sure you hear the drawer closing shut. While I let you fantasize about all the stuff, I might do to you next, I take my time making sure I didn’t forget anything. Oh yes, a snap hook would help a lot when it’s time for light bondage.
Again, like a predator I return to my hunting grounds. And again my pray is waiting for me, paralyzed and shy. You are wrapped up in the blanket, coiled up into a bulky ball of ticklishness. From the corner of my eyes I notice your clothes somehow got into under the sofa. I guess you felt too warm under the blanket. Understandable. After all that squirming. This can be very exhausting. And that nasty pair of pants turned out to be a very nasty tickle trap. I smile as I slowly approach the sofa. You shift to the side, inviting me to take my place. Before I sit down, I place my bondage utensils within reach and get rid of my pullover. Knowing you are nude, I highly prefer sensing your sweaty back on my body when I enclose you again. I am ready for the next round. And based on the look on your eyes I guess you have been ready since I left the room. Let’s get dirty.
