Captain Satan
TMF Regular
- Joined
- Mar 24, 2011
- Messages
- 195
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Masculinity has never meant very much to me. It wasn't until college that I even learned what the parameters of so-called 'masculinity' were. That being said, if I had even a modicum of tough guy in my genetic makeup - then it was totally dissolved in fits of laughter months ago.
It was right before covid-19 hit and my (ex) girlfriend and I were settling in for the night. She was aware of my tickling fetish because...well, there were plenty of reasons for her to be aware of that, but it's not a conversation we ever really had until this night.
So we drank a few cans of beer in her Dublin apartment with the intention of going to bed with one of those cheap (You guys will laugh at this one) "bondage 101" kits with a flogger, feather duster, and just a generally cheaply-produced assortment of 50 Shades box-tickers. I'd used more stringent and useful bondage gear before, but I didn't want to make fun of her bag of tricks.
Ellen was 28 years old, 5'1, blonde, short-haired, and her hourglass shape was hypnotic. I don't regret that we broke things off, but I certainly could use her warming up the bed right now. Her curvy, cuddly body was something to behold, and she had two very cute little feet that she took care of, despite rarely slipping them outside of a sock.
Anyway, above all of this, Ellen had a sadistic streak, and she let me know all about it this night in early March. Firey shiteballs from hell, would I learn.
'Eh, I'm not going in the cuffs until you've gone in them first' she spat in her strong Dublin accent, which I find hilarious to this day.
Fine, whatever, not like I've...
The next thing I know I've been stripped down to my boxers and handcuffed to the bedpost. All in two shakes of a lamb's tail.
Ellen tried out some of the laughable toys on me, including a paddle and flogger that barely stung due to the painkilling effects of the alcohol I'd just been enjoying (notice how ALL my stories involve alcohol. Crazy, eh?), but then we came to the feather.
She brushed the feather on my chest and stomach, to no avail. I cringed at her, almost goading her to try harder. She dusted it over my legs and feet until she realised it was a total waste of €30, but then she got a look in her eye, and her mouth twitched into a grin. She danced her red finger nails in front of my face.
'Yeah not so tough now are ye?' she laughed as those same fingernails scraped gently up and down my torso, from neck to the hem of my boxer shorts. I didn't give her the satisfaction at first, but the tracing of her nails on my bare skin, coupled with her seemingly endless taunting, was enough to break me within about 30 FUCKING SECONDS.
She traced my bellybutton, my nipples, my neck, my underarms, my arm pits, one by one testing different areas until she was satisfied that she could pretty much torture me anywhere and I'd give her the reaction she wanted.
She blew raspberries on my stomach, went under my knees, and then flicked her nails in my armpits until I was virtually crying.
She only stopped because her phone rang. My fucking saving grace was the sound of a Samsung default ringtone. She looked pissed off that she had to take the call and let her captive have a breather, but it was someone important to both of us, so she took the call.
Anyway, I thought this was me out of the game, so I began to fiddle with the handcuffs, but nope. It wasn't over her yet.
She hung up the phone and said 'eh, where are you goin?' and it was on all over again. This time she lightly dusted me with her finger from waist to armpits for longer than I can to remember.
Ellen soon discovered that I was rock hard, so she slid down on the bed and pulled my boxers down to reveal my proud-standing cock (I was quite happy with how it looked on this occasion because I'd shaved my pubes a week or so before - don't fucking @ me.). She wiped a dot of pre-cum off and licked it. Then it was on from there.
I could tell you the rest, but no.
When we talked about it in the morning, Ellen told me how I was giggling and screaming 'like a girl' and that tickling me was 'addictive'. Unfortunately we did not continue seeing each other after covid-19 seperated us, but oh well. It was, like so many times before, fun while it lasted.
It was right before covid-19 hit and my (ex) girlfriend and I were settling in for the night. She was aware of my tickling fetish because...well, there were plenty of reasons for her to be aware of that, but it's not a conversation we ever really had until this night.
So we drank a few cans of beer in her Dublin apartment with the intention of going to bed with one of those cheap (You guys will laugh at this one) "bondage 101" kits with a flogger, feather duster, and just a generally cheaply-produced assortment of 50 Shades box-tickers. I'd used more stringent and useful bondage gear before, but I didn't want to make fun of her bag of tricks.
Ellen was 28 years old, 5'1, blonde, short-haired, and her hourglass shape was hypnotic. I don't regret that we broke things off, but I certainly could use her warming up the bed right now. Her curvy, cuddly body was something to behold, and she had two very cute little feet that she took care of, despite rarely slipping them outside of a sock.
Anyway, above all of this, Ellen had a sadistic streak, and she let me know all about it this night in early March. Firey shiteballs from hell, would I learn.
'Eh, I'm not going in the cuffs until you've gone in them first' she spat in her strong Dublin accent, which I find hilarious to this day.
Fine, whatever, not like I've...
The next thing I know I've been stripped down to my boxers and handcuffed to the bedpost. All in two shakes of a lamb's tail.
Ellen tried out some of the laughable toys on me, including a paddle and flogger that barely stung due to the painkilling effects of the alcohol I'd just been enjoying (notice how ALL my stories involve alcohol. Crazy, eh?), but then we came to the feather.
She brushed the feather on my chest and stomach, to no avail. I cringed at her, almost goading her to try harder. She dusted it over my legs and feet until she realised it was a total waste of €30, but then she got a look in her eye, and her mouth twitched into a grin. She danced her red finger nails in front of my face.
'Yeah not so tough now are ye?' she laughed as those same fingernails scraped gently up and down my torso, from neck to the hem of my boxer shorts. I didn't give her the satisfaction at first, but the tracing of her nails on my bare skin, coupled with her seemingly endless taunting, was enough to break me within about 30 FUCKING SECONDS.
She traced my bellybutton, my nipples, my neck, my underarms, my arm pits, one by one testing different areas until she was satisfied that she could pretty much torture me anywhere and I'd give her the reaction she wanted.
She blew raspberries on my stomach, went under my knees, and then flicked her nails in my armpits until I was virtually crying.
She only stopped because her phone rang. My fucking saving grace was the sound of a Samsung default ringtone. She looked pissed off that she had to take the call and let her captive have a breather, but it was someone important to both of us, so she took the call.
Anyway, I thought this was me out of the game, so I began to fiddle with the handcuffs, but nope. It wasn't over her yet.
She hung up the phone and said 'eh, where are you goin?' and it was on all over again. This time she lightly dusted me with her finger from waist to armpits for longer than I can to remember.
Ellen soon discovered that I was rock hard, so she slid down on the bed and pulled my boxers down to reveal my proud-standing cock (I was quite happy with how it looked on this occasion because I'd shaved my pubes a week or so before - don't fucking @ me.). She wiped a dot of pre-cum off and licked it. Then it was on from there.
I could tell you the rest, but no.
When we talked about it in the morning, Ellen told me how I was giggling and screaming 'like a girl' and that tickling me was 'addictive'. Unfortunately we did not continue seeing each other after covid-19 seperated us, but oh well. It was, like so many times before, fun while it lasted.