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An Education in Privilege part 2 (m/f)

Kid Indy

TMF Expert
Joined
Oct 12, 2001
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365
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Part 1: http://www.ticklingforum.com/showthread.php?324284-An-Education-in-Privilege-part-1-(m-f)

Here's part two of this trilogy. Be sure to write a comment when you've finished reading, and then leave a comment on another writer's story!

An Education in Privilege part 2 (m/f)

by

Kid Indy

Lucia Castillo took the neatly-written tuition check from Mrs. Fleming and thanked her for her timely payment. The check went into the safe, the deposit went into the accounting software, and Lucia went on to her next task. She had started asking people to call her Castillo before it was legally the case; her cheating ex-husband Douglas Wilson had forfeited the right to name her when he ran off with the new hire at his bank. Next was a phone call to thank one of the local businesses that donated to the school. She punched in the numbers and waited for the dial tone.

Across her desk, coming from behind her right shoulder, a small piece of paper slid into her field of vision. “TONIGHT. MATEO ALREADY HAS CHILD CARE. DINNER AND LATE WORK.” She looked up as the phone chirped, smiling. Dr. Walter Adams, the school’s headmaster, smiled back at her and went back into his office. For seven weeks now Dr. Adams had kept his word, keeping Lucia late one night a week and tickling her crazy every time. In the meantime she had picked up on the work at the school pretty handily, becoming familiar with the rhythm of the school’s business operation: monthly tuition deposits, weekly email reports to parents, daily reports on different facets of the school’s operations.

And of course weekly late nights.

Lucia knew now just how many ways an intelligent degenerate could use office chairs, desktops, and other office furniture to tickle a woman. And she also knew that, with each evening of tickling, he was exploring her body, finding just how to touch her to make her scream and laugh until she could hardly breathe. He never took her clothes off, and yet he knew her in ways that her ex had never taken the time to know her. She finished up another email and leaned back in her chair, holding the note between her fingers, remembering what his hands had done to her the week before, wondering what they would do this time.

The hours, full as they always were, rolled by, and 5:00 came. Adams came to his office door. “What do you think about Thai curry tonight?”

Lucia took public transit to work every day, so they rode in his car as they did on late nights. Dinner was good, and their conversation ranged from work matters to the new exhibits at the neighborhood’s museums, and Adams covered the check and tipped well, as he did. The time approached 7:00 as they climbed back into his car, and Lucia started to get herself ready for another tickling in her office chair.

But Adams took a different turn. They headed not towards the north side and St. James School but out towards the suburbs.

“Did you take a wrong turn?”

“No, I want to change things up a bit.”

So this was going to be it: they were going to a motel, and he was finally going to do what she knew he was leading up to. But now, seven weeks into their ticklish evenings, it felt not like a boss coercing an employee but a relationship taking its next step. (For that matter, once she thought about it, seven weeks was a longer time to get to this particular step than she remembered taking with Doug.) Now she was into some familiar territory: a little tickling, to be sure--even Doug knew she was ticklish-- but then more familiar ways to end the night.

They drove out to the chain restaurants and broad highways of the suburbs. The hotel was nicer than she feared it might be: a chain hotel, not many cars in the parking lot. Adams opened their trunk and lifted a black duffle bag to his shoulder before they went in.

“Should I have packed an overnight bag?”

“No, we’ll have you home tonight.”

“Then why do you need a bag?”

He smiled at her and gestured towards the automated front door. The sliding glass opened onto a clean lobby, and the teenager working the front desk gave Adams a magnetic card to open the door. They boarded an elevator to ride to the place’s top floor, floor three.

The elevator hummed quietly as it climbed. “Seriously, Dr. Adams, what’s in that bag?”

Adams chuckled. “Lucia, as well as we know each other, you can call me Walt, you know.”

“But what’s in the bag?”

“Nothing that’s going to hurt you. You know me pretty well at this point, right?”


Lucia was not entirely sure. And the bag was making her very nervous. “I really think I should go home and get an overnight bag.”

As the elevator’s door opened onto their floor, Adams smiled broadly. “We’re not staying overnight. You’re going to be home to see Mateo, and he won’t miss his bedtime by much.”

They walked down the silent carpeted hall to the room, and Adams let them in. Now must have been the time: Lucia watched Adams with bated breath, waiting for their first kiss. Once again the strangeness of this struck her: he had tickled every inch of her feet, tormented her legs, left her gasping for breath tickling her belly, made her squeal with pleasure with his fingers under her arms, but they had never yet kissed. And he wasn’t making his move.

He set the bag down on the small table by the television and turned to face her. “He must want me to kiss him first,” she whispered to herself, and she walked up to him, turned her face up towards his, and closed her eyes as she leaned in.

But the first touch was not on her lips but on her sides. His hands were on her, finding the spots between her hips and her ribs that always made her jump, and this was no exception: her knees got weak, and her shoes turned on their sides on the hotel room’s carpet as he grabbed and squeezed at her. This was not what she was expecting, and her fantasizing had gotten her body good and ready to be ticklish. As her body weight lowered, Adams took a gliding step past her and wrapped his arms around her midsection. With a smooth motion he rolled backwards, carrying both of their bodies onto the mattress. She rolled onto her side, and immediately his hand was on her hip, and she twisted and writhed on the soft bedspread, cackling at the ticklish squeezes he was putting on her side from the hip to the bottom of her ribs. Her thrashing carried part of her body up off the mattress, and into that gap his other hand slid. Now her torment swelled as two tickling hands went to all the spots that turned her arms and legs to jelly and left her a giggling girl on that mattress. The empty parking lot came to her mind as his hand grabbed the back of her thigh and she shrieked at the new tickling squeeze: nobody would hear any of this at seven in the evening, when most people aren’t back to their hotels yet. His hand pinched and adjusted, pinched and adjusted, until it was pulsing in the most ticklish possible spot on the back of her upper leg while the other hand continued to dig under her arm. Her flesh, expecting a romantic grand finale to all of the tickling before, had no way to resist even more tickling, and she giggled uncontrollably as his hands found and worked and tortured all of the spots that she had learned over the weeks, discovering things about her own body that nothing in her life before had taught her.

His arms slowed and wrapped around her from behind in an embrace, and she gasped as one of them brushed her breast. This was what she dreamed of, but in her dream it was not after another round of tickling. She panted as she felt him lean in to whisper in her ear.

“Do you want to see what’s in the bag now?”

She had forgotten about the bag; all she could think about in those long, torturous moments was the betrayal, what she had wanted and what he had wanted and just how readily her body had betrayed her to his desires. But curiosity was too powerful, and she nodded her head.

“While I open the bag, take off your panty hose.” She obeyed silently as she watched him unzip the bag and reach inside. What emerged made her gasp: at first glance it looked like a men’s brown leather belt, but one end looked like a police officer’s handcuff, and the other end terminated in a brown leather cuff, as wide as a boxing glove’s wrist strap, but inside the cuff looked like brown fur. One by one he removed four such straps from the bag, setting them in front of her on the bed. She started to glance nervously at the door. “Lucia! You know I’m not going to hurt you. I paid for this room with my personal credit card. If you tell anyone we were here, they’ll be able to verify it immediately.”

Lucia started breathing again. He was right--he had introduced her to the front desk worker, and he had made sure to make himself visible instead of invisible. Her shoulders started to relax again, and she took off her hose as he told her, tossing them over to the side of the bed.

“Now lie down for me, and give me your foot.” Lucia felt a tinge of fear, but she wanted to see what would happen next. She moved her bottom around on the bed and gave him her foot. He took her ankle gently and wrapped the fur-lined cuff around it. She gasped as she heard the cuff’s clasp lock into place, but she had a feeling that this was finally going to be it, so once again she breathed deeply, trying to get herself to relax, as he locked the handcuff end around the hotel bed’s leg. He restrained her other ankle, and her legs pointed at the corners of the mattress. When he had clasped it in place, he sat on the bed next to her leg, and his hand started high on her ankle, where the cuff ended, and started to trace a line up the side of her calf, then her knee, then inside her thigh. Lucia’s eyes closed as the sensation raced ahead of his hand and between her legs, and she wondered how he was going to get her skirt and panties off now that those cuffs were on her ankles.

But he was not going to take those off tonight. Instead his hand jumped into action just inches below her panties, suddenly tickling inside her thigh, higher than he had gone before. Lucia screamed at the sudden ambush, and she tried to sit up and grab for that hand. But her legs were in no position to get leverage, and the tickling took away any power to sit up, so her hands hammered at the mattress and her long, curly hair thrashed on the pillows as he scratched and pinched, tickling flesh that nobody had touched for years. Lucia’s faint memories of Doug touching her there as he moved in for a moment of intercourse could not hold up to the sustained, tormenting touches that Adams had in store for her. She thrashed on the mattress, and now both of his hands were up her skirt and tickling her legs so very close to the panties that she so desperately wanted him to take off. Between her legs she felt a pulsing, synchronized to her galloping heartbeat, and she screamed between laughs as he tortured what she knew now must be the most sensitive skin on her body.

Time stood still while he tickled, but when he stopped, she could feel herself breathing and even looked over at the hotel alarm clock, realizing that what seemed like an eternity had only been a few minutes. She felt his hand on hers, and a terror leaped up in her throat as she felt him lifting the arm up above her head. She doubted whether she could have fought him off even at her strongest--he was bigger than her--but weakened from the demonic tickling, she could only whimper as he held her forearm in place with his knee and latched the leather cuff around her wrist, then connected the police end to the bed’s leg above her head. He picked up the fourth cuff but then hesitated.

“No, I want you to be able to fight back a little bit.” He set the cuff down and put a terrible hand on her stretched-out side. He began to squeeze, and the horror grasped Lucia immediately: without being able to put her arm down, she could not stop him from touching every ticklish spot on her side. Her free hand did try to reach across her body, but even when it could wrap fingers around his arm, she had no leverage to pull his hand away from her underarm or her hip or her ribs, and he tickled her at will as her hand flailed at him. Again the tickling took the strength out of her, but when he paused she looked at the clock, and only two more minutes had passed.

But now he had the fourth cuff in his hand, and he was walking around the foot of the bed towards her only free shoulder. She crossed her arm over her body, trying in vain to keep it from him, but he grabbed her wrist readily enough, and pinned it, and cuffed it, and restrained it.

Now Lucia was outstretched on the mattress, unable to cover any part of her ticklish body, and Adams towered over her, her wildest fantasies running wild in her mind.

“Now we’re going to find out just how ticklish you are, Lucia. I have my ideas, but even I don’t know what’s going to happen next.”

“Please… touch me…”

“Oh, I’m going to touch you. No need to fear there.” Adams ran fingertips from her upper arm down into her underarm, and she squealed and twisted. He was right: she was more ticklish right now than she could ever remember being, and she had no way to cover up any of the spots that Adams had spent two months exploring and testing and learning. He took a step towards her waist, and she shut her eyes. She felt his familiar hand sliding up under her blouse, a useless protection now that it had come untucked as she stretched out. His fingertips rested in a line descending from her navel, and her breathing quickened as she anticipated the next touch. When the hand curled into a claw, Lucia screamed: her arms tugged against the leather straps to cover up, to grab at his wrists, to do anything to stop this devil from tickling her, but nothing was going to slow him down now. As those fingertips wandered wherever they pleased on her belly, his other hand continued to torture her underarm. Lucia twisted and squealed and giggled, and every sound she made seemed to make the fingertips more eager to rub and poke and glide over her ticklish skin. She tugged against the restraints with all the strength she had left, her hands dying to cover up, to grab his wrists, to finish off what he perpetuated with each tickling touch.

Adams stroked her skin slowly, tracing the top of her skirt, until she moaned; then he would begin pinching at her hips and poking under her ribs until she screamed and cackled under the tickling. He could feel her strength dwindling, hear her laughing voice begin to grunt in frustration as her body waited for the release that was supposed to follow the tickling, the end of the game. But he had no plans to stop yet, and he drank in her giggling and her panting and her groaning as each agonized, delicious moment passed.

Then he heard her squeak, and she let loose a loud breath, and he stopped. Her chest heaved with the exertion of laughing that long, and her hips told a story of deferred release as they rolled this way and then that way on the mattress. He stood up and walked to the end of the bed, by her feet.

“Please untie me! I’m ready to give you what you want!”

“Are you so sure what I want?” He dragged a finger from her heel up across her sole, and those hips jumped off the mattress with her shriek. “I’ve been working you up to this moment, Lucia. What you’re about to feel on your feet is going to be like nothing you’ve ever experienced before.” Another finger traced a zig-zag down her other sole, from the toes to the heel. Lucia bit her lip and tried not to squeal. “Now let’s see where we can take you!”

Lucia wanted to protest, wanted to beg him to release the cuffs so that she could finish the same release that she had just started and feel his release. Instead she heard her own voice leap into high pitches she had not made for years, and her leg turned traitor on the rest of her body. Adams was tickling her foot, fast, his fingers darting her and there across her heel, along the instep, up the ball of the foot to the base of her toes. She could not even moan as the frenzied fingertips danced here and there--she could only shriek and giggle and feel her own body perform a dance that his fingers were teaching to her legs. She felt another surge, not on her foot but through her hips and thighs into her lower abdomen, and she this time she did let out a moan that could not even finish as the giggles overwhelmed her again. Her body wanted to take him, to absorb him in the fire that was burning up from her feet into the rest of her body, but the restraints would only let her burn.

Adams, deliberate as ever, moved from that foot across the bed to the other, and this time his fingers started out moving so slowly, so smoothly, so deliberately over the skin and the nerves of her foot that she could not even exhale without groaning. As she breathed her ecstasy into the air above the bed, she knew that the next time he sped up the tickling she would lose her mind. He continued his slow, luxurious, sensual touches, watching her desire and her terror build, and he smiled at her as the inevitable moment approached. She shook her head from side to side feebly just before he sped up.

* * * * * * *

Lucia was quiet as Adams drove her home. They had not had sex. He had not taken off her clothes. He just finished tickling her out of her mind, untied her, and put away his restraints. He stayed in the hotel’s bathroom as she put her shoes back on and straightened her hair. Now, as they rode quietly, she had no idea what to accuse him of, even what question to ask.

They approached her mother’s place, and as she stepped out, she finally found words. “Are we ever going to do it?”

Adams gave a small smile. “Is that what you think this is about?”

“You had me in a hotel room. Why didn’t we have sex?”

“Let me step out of the car.” He opened his door and stepped onto the sidewalk. Lucia followed him. He looked her square in the eye and spoke seriously. “I’m not a young man, Lucia. If you want someone to be your next husband, you need to find someone your own age.”

“Then what have we been doing?”

“I’ve been tickling, and you’ve been laughing.”

Lucia’s confusion twisted her brow. “How can I have another boyfriend if we’re still hooking up after work?”

“We’re not hooking up. And you either decide to tell him or not to tell him.”

“What?”

“Our arrangement lets me do precisely what I want to do. I already have a family, and I’ve already tried being married. My former wife and my two daughters live in Florida, and the kids visit me periodically. I don’t want any more of that. What I want is to make you laugh, to tickle every part of you that will get that wonderful laughter.”

Lucia took a step backwards from him.

“As long as you keep staying late after work, Mateo’s tuition is covered. If you ever find some other way to pay, I can stop tickling you or not. Your choice.”

Lucia could not even find words. She turned away from him and ran inside her mother’s building. She heard his car start up as she climbed the stairs.
 
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