ticklishscribe
3rd Level Violet Feather
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The Shadow’s Erotic Touch- part two is after this
The shadow’s erotic touch.
Inspired by Emberr
written by Ticklishscribe
c.
I surf you in the dim light; tied spread-eagle, an x marking the spot of my ticklish booty. I see you try to lift your head, but my padded head restraint keeps it down, but allows you freedom, the movement from side to side. I hear swishing as you squirm on the sheets; you, trying to see anything. But all I am to you now is a shadow, a dark luminous shadow; a shadow of things to come and a darkness that you fear. I grip your left sneakered foot and instantly it jolts itself from my grasp and you hiss fuck and shit and flail it all over.
"Naughty and nice my sweetness, swearing at me. That might cost you. Of course, the fact your reactions include swearing, please me no end. Would you care for some nibbling tonight? I see a neck just sensually and sensuously begging for a sickie of two."
You quickly utter more words when you squeal oh my god, no, and you are squirming even more now, arms and legs tugging at the bonds that hold you. I can hear illegible words and hear a frantic tone to your voice. Have I total control of you, mind, body and soul? Are you frantically wishing you were anywhere but here? Are you frantically and repeatedly asking yourself why you put your total trust in me?
Those questions and a lot more are now moot, and I am thoroughly enjoying your delicious visual and audio forebodings. You have it bad right now, and things are about to go from black to black hole.
"Arching your back doesn't do you any good sweetness. Did I mention that any time my lees arched their backs, I tickled their ribs. I was, and still am very delighted that they gave and give them up for me. And I am even more delighted that you want to do the same. You do please me."
Your squirming has now evolved into writhing and I can tell that your mind is on the verge of imploding. You want to scream, but your voice has been silenced, and any sound you make from here on in, will be totally illegible. The only voice I want from you is laughter, from guttural to screaming to silent. There is only one language I want from you and you can talk a blue streak all you want, for it will please me no end.
"Is there something you want to say? Shall I let you collect your thoughts, while I clinically inspect your left armpit?"
I slowly slide myself onto the left side of the bed and turn toward you. The name Jesus is suddenly hissed from your lips and I smile in the darkness like Alice's Cheshire cat.
"Jesus here, you called? Are you frantically searching and praying for a miracle? Would you like an immaculate conception of tickles? Would you like me to turn your laughter into wine; for I would love to drink up all the laughter you can offer and more."
You are squirming and swishing up a storm now, and I know my restraints are getting a good solid workout. I am ravenously delighted that even my words hold you in the palm of my hand. I reach out and begin to ever so lightly tease your hair, and your head rocks from side to side.
"Such soft hair you have; does it tickle the back of your neck? I know I would."
You flinch and squeal as I begin the first ever strokes of you and ever so lightly stroke of my feather at the top of your left short sleeve, then slowly insert it inside there to lightly caress your armpit, and I giggle back at you. The feather silently short flits on the deepest recess, and already you are squirming up a storm. Your skin is taught, satiny soft and oh so helpless, and I just can't help but silently thank you and plan my tickles to come here and on your right one as well. It’s as though I have come upon a sleepy lagoon and have silently dipped my feathery toe into it. Your senses are subtly awakened, and silent alarms on every nerve ending, are going off everywhere. The feather slowly flits, ballet like, to tease you.
“Don’t feathers do wonders to awaken the soul;” I whisper, “And the other sole too, as you shall find out.”
Your eyes open wider than before, but in the dim light, very little is offered for you to see. The feather is casual, yet methodical, caring and uncaring, sensual, sensuous and sinister, and creeping you out personified. This is mind music and the tune that I am playing, is barely whispering to you, with strokes that are causing you to have your first psychological orgasm.
"Your skin is so creamy, silky, like the inside of a shell and oh so exquisite. It's like finding a pearl at the bottom of an oyster. This is virgin territory if I ever felt it, and it's my fervid passion to christen it with tickles. Would you like that?”
Again the question is moot, but you have now found words, guttural at best, and are now begging me to stop, now promising me anything, and this has me gutturally giggling back at you once more. You are now in a jenga situation as I have discovered the first of your many jengas.
"I can feel your heart pounding and racing, your blood running hot and cold, and beads of sweat forming, ready to ever so slowly meander all over your body, and tickle you in their own way. The feather pebble that I have silently dropped into the pond, is now causing ripples upon ripples, upon ripples, and this is all to surreal to you.
"Are your nipples erect... No bra then, as they are practically ripping holes in your shirt. They look like two shells on a lonely and desolate beach. If I put my ear to them, will I hear the ocean? Will I hear you calling to me, your voice beckoning to me, or have your words left you, like a receding tide. Would you care for me to nibble them?"
I blow softly on your armpit and you instantly rock from side to side and I can tell you want to scream in the worst way. I stop blowing and give you a long, soft and passionate kiss there as well, and again you arch your back in to almost the breaking point and rock some more. Another Jenga has been discovered and I am delighted no end, and deliciously imagining the all the possibilities to come. I blow softly on your armpit again and again begin to whisper.
"Your armpit cries out for some nibbling. Can you see me this close up? I was thinking of you all the time you were traveling up here and wondering what you were thinking. Were you constantly asking yourself why are you doing this? Were you thinking, I must be crazy to do this? I can only imagine how you wanted to bolt from the aircraft, just before take off. It's a shame that your flight didn't have an in-flight movie and that it was a tickling video. Well; you're here now, and you're going to bolt and take off many times over. And you're not crays, but being tickled to insanity is a deliciously exquisite possibility."
The feather begins to slowly, and ever so lightly with a whisper’s touch, trace the outer edges of your left armpit, and your eyes open even larger than ever imaginable, and then suddenly clench tightly shut. while I can't see it, I can tell that the hair on the back of your neck is standing at attention, straighter than a marine. You are continuously squirming, and every time you touch me you squirm even more. This the first of the many moments that I have been waiting for, and you definitely do not disappoint.
Sempre Fi.
"Well Ember,” I whisper again, “are you smoldering inside, an ember ready to erupt into a wildfire, or erupt into a volcanic sea of fervid and earthy love lava. Is that why your sweating, is that why your sweat is so tasty and delicious to look at. And later on, when I get to your cauldron, will you be bubbling over with lava love and love honey? Cum, cum now, can't you answer, or will your orgasms speak louder than words. Will an eruption tell me everything I need to know, leaving you desolate like the beach?"
I continue lightly stroking your left armpit with the feather, and teasing your hair, and your intense squirming never lets up. You are too delicious for words, too delicious in your squirming, I hear barely audible and illegible words, as your shallow breath makes an appearance. I definitely don't want you out of breath, as breath play is one of your hard limits, and I totally respect those as written in stone. Those are your commandments, and I will follow them religiously and devoutly. I don't want you out of breath, but out of your mind is a totally different, and delicious matter indeed.
I have to stop and gaze at you, for you are so beautiful, and I find, that even if the sea were of ink and the sky parchment, I could not even begin to find the words to describe you. Your beauty is almost leaving me breathless, and I want to say so much to let you know, and so I let my feather bring forth the words that I cannot speak.
"You are more delicious then a cream horn, drizzled in chocolate, a buttery croissant, and the plans that I have carefully hand crafted, will have me ravenously devouring every tasty tidbit of you. Consider yourself my cuisine, my appetizer, my hors d'oeuvres and my desert all in one, and when I'm done, there won't be even a crumb left on my plate. You are totally creamylicious and I will definitely set off eruptions of love honey and love lava that will make you even more creamylicious."
I think I hear the name Jesus spoken again.
"How do I love thee, let me tickle the ways."
I can see your eyes open as wide as anything, then instantly shut tightly and your head rapidly shaking no. The air sizzles and crackles, and your mind still wants to scream, as loud as possible. I can tell that you want out of the restraints more than ever, and that you're cursing yourself for even wanting this in the first place, let alone agreeing to it. More feather strokes to your armpit and hair teasing set you off even further, and I can tell that my feather has you in the palm of its hand.
"Do I smell a wetness? Do I smell the fragrant wafting aroma of a wetness?" Am I witness to a wetness. Do I smell pussy perfume? Is it Panther's Breath? Chanel number 69, Erotica or dare I* say it; ravenous. Either way, the aroma is driving me and my dirges of urges wild."
A squeal erupts from you, and your squirming intensifies.
"I want to see your pussy in micro detail for real. The picture you sent me was erotically molten, and gripped my gaze with its clinically vivid colour, and micro detail, and I could almost count every hair. Are you so warm and moist that your pussy is a hot tub? For two perhaps? Dare I lick it, taste it and yes, even nibble it?, Do you need a shaving?" I want your pussy shaved so smooth I can surf it, I am very thorough as a shaver, making sure I get every hair. And after shaving it, I micro stroke and feel it to make sure. If not, I have to reshave those areas, and I won't stop until the hair is all gone."
Your head is shaking from side to side and your squirming is beyond my wildest dreams. I know all to well that there is a raging war going on inside of you; one side wanting to hide any and all reactions from me, the other, giving in and letting me know how out of your mind you are right now.
"It seems you forgot you sent it to me didn't you. Then again, having a rethink, would your pussy hair help me tickle you?"
Divide and conquer is one of my hallmarks.
"Is your garden of earthy delights, your garden of good and evil, ready to sprout a fountain? Do you like my pussy pillow talk?"
You are whispering and uttering streams of unintelligible words, running together like a raging river, and your body's reactions have given you up. I lightly pat your jean and panty covered pussy and your legs pump like crazy. You know what's coming, and you can't stop it. You know the mind wrenching avalanches of orgasms that will surround you, that will overpower you, imprison you and bring you to the very edge of the black hole. I wriggle your sneakered left foot again, then the right, and your legs continue pump insanely.
"When I'm planning on tickling someone, I create a binder file on them, and yours is so thick and detailed, pics and all, I could write a book and sell it on fetlife. I so love chapters six and nine, as they made me hard. But again, do not worry, for I will not degrade you by having sex with you, for I care about you too much. So consider yourself safe, but also remember that chapter six, is about edging you and chapter nine, avalanches of orgasms yes, yes, yes. I will have you purring like the tickle kitten you secretly are. After all, you've been swishing your tail on the bed for over an hour.
I wriggle your feet once more.
"And remember, I'm the one with the paws and claws, and they do wonders to firmly grip and immobilize a foot and spider the sole for all it's worth. Perhaps some feet, soles and toes nibbling?"
Your voice has suddenly found itself again, and I hear the word no being uttered so many times it almost runs together. But the last question is moot. I can't resist sitting in the bed again, and you squeal as I lightly grip your chin and begin kissing you once more. Your lips are so soft and warm and your reactions, more cuisine for me to devour. There is love here, there is lust, there is a molten urgency to orgasm, and another molten urgency to not let me orgasm you. You are shredding inside, the battle of wills raging to all out almost nuclear war. Will you be a Chernobyl when I am done, will you be radiating; overheated, like a shell of your former self, fulfilled but still lying on that desolate beach.
I begin ever so softly, nibbling your neck and you shriek and yell the words, no, fuck, shit and the phrase mother of god.
"I shall have to consult your file to see where best to start. Are we still purring? Of course we are."
I giggle again, lightly spider your left armpit and you shriek and writhe.
Suddenly there is silence for what appears to be an eternity, then the occasional rustling of pages and short, barely audible comments from me. You know the opening move will soon be upon you, and as most of the time I like to start with the armpits, This chess game could now be a chest game.
“Relax Ember."
I slowly begin to tease and play with the bottom of your shirt and you continue squirming. I slowly begin pulling it out from the inside of your jeans, teasing you with it and I smile as I watch your writhing begin again.
"OOOH... You're just going to be so exquisite. So shall we begin by unbuttoning this shirt and seeing those silky shells? How about we play piggies with your shirt."
You are now intensely bucking and writhing, straining at the bonds that held you. The icy grip that had practically frozen you has now imprisoned you, and you are desperately trying to break out.
“This little button went to market.”
I slowly tease and flick at the top button to undo it and as it comes undone, I open your shirt a little.
"And this little button stayed home, but got unbuttoned.”
I open the shirt a little more and get the first look at your breasts.
“Something in there looks ready for me.”
You writhe more.
“This little button got unbuttoned as well, to expose some deliciously surf able ribs.”
You are bucking and writhing with all the strength you've got, but can’t get away from me. You are becoming totally hysterical as I e-ver so slow-ly expose your upper body for my pleasure. You now jerk wildly, as you feel my fingers tease your other buttons and lightly graze your chest. The sensations are horrible; my teasing fingers torture and the shirt rhyme taunting you at every turn. I am taunting, teasing you at every turn, letting my fingers do the talking as well as the rhyme, and you are going out of your mind because of it.
“And this little button came undone to expose some more deliciousness. And oh how I can see just a hint of ribs, which is what I like best.”
No matter where I even slightly touch your chest, you writhe and try to back away. But the bed prevents that, and allows my feather to continue its teasing and merciless assault.
“And this little button let us peek at a very taught and tender tum-mmy, which makes you even more alluring in my mind”
I pause.
“And finally this little button, this little button at the very bottom, allowing me to see your entire chest.” I open the shirt to reveal another jenga, and can't resist lightly brushing my feather over your now totally erect nipples.
“Such erect and very alluring and exotic shells… and so I thank you for allowing me the opportunity to explore, play with, and pleasure them.
I come around behind your head and begin pulling your shirt up your arms and leave it around your wrists. It is now time to make another strike and so I lightly feather both of your armpits. This has you bucking immediately and screaming inside even louder, and I am really beginning to enjoy myself. Now I feather in the deepest recesses of your pits personified and now you’re acting like you’re out of your mind. This suits me just fine and I continue feathering. Your pits are virginally soft and smooth and I take great delight in their depth. I feather continuously, watching you buck, your head and bum slamming into the mattress, hearing your now intense non stop giggles and begging.
"I'm not tickling you. I'm not doing anything to you, I'm just feeling the deepest recesses of this ultra exquisitely smooth and freshly shaved skin.")
Then suddenly stop.
The room goes silent for what seems to you like and eternity, but barely audible and illegible words now come from you, and a squeal definitely erupts from you as I change position and lay beside you again. I blow softly on your left nipple and your squirming reappears.
"Dare I divide and conquer once more? Would some nibbling do it?"
The word no is uttered several times and I giggle back at you. The elongated version of the word shit is uttered, as my left thumb and forefinger lightly begin to tease and pinch your right nipple, and you squirm more intensely. Now I take a bold step and lightly begin to kiss your left nipple at the same time. Still again, another shit is hissed from your lips and I giggle back. But I am not finished as I want to divide and conquer three ways. My feather again begins to softly and slowly spider tickle your left armpit, and instantly you are now bucking and writhing again.
"I have you now don't I, and I wonder if this is a good spot to nibble. And of course there's still your ribs, I'll count those; your tummy and button and pussy, they are good nibble spots too. And in regard to your possible shaving, and hellooooo tender bud, did I mention that I have a technique whereby I simultaneously and rapidly stroke your labia and perineum? Such a body rocker that is. And so, I must have towels standing by for Niagara Fells.
You are so on edge, you are almost insane, and you are desperately trying anything to make me stop.
"Oh and I haven't even talked about your feet yet; but that's a big surprise from chapter thirteen; a very appropriate chapter number for your feet, and the second largest chapter in your binder file. The largest I won't reveal with words."
I continue with your nipples and left armpit and you continue bucking, writhing and guttural giggling. I have you in the palm of my hand and you have no say over it. I am delicately holding your sanity, your psyche and your nerve system in my hand; cradling it, kissing it, caressing it, stroking and undressing it. Your body, every micrometre of it is ticklish, and there is absolutely no way to tickle you wrong. I have made notes from the very beginning, when I met you online, that when you're good, you're very good. But when you're bad, you're exquisite.
"Time for another break." I whisper, and get off the bed.
Again you are squirming up a storm, and I can imagine your toes clenching then splaying open to show me your signature spread, feet flailing all over, back arching, hands desperately trying to unfasten the cuffs around your wrists. Frantic is a word I could describe you as right now, but I’m too busy reading your binder file and intently and intensely scrutinizing every picture in it. The pics of your feet, soles and toes, reveal stories unto themselves and make you even more naked then you will be without your clothes. The wrinkles, outer edges, and the balls of your feet, all provide me with a route 69, not route 66 scenic tour. And I intend to make ALL the stops along the way.
I’ve always wanted to drive a racing Ferrari.
I sit on the bed again, causing another long elongated shit to come from you, and gently place my feather on your top left rib then ever so slowly slide it from side to side. Instantly you scream “Not the ribs,” and give me intense cackling, and this has me continue. I trace the rib back and forth ever so slowly and methodically, and you rock from side to side, squealing to cackling to squealing, back arching as if almost if to receive and follow my feather. I move onto the second rib and you continue to beg me to stop.
“Shall I put my feather on cruise control, four-wheel drive, or would you like your syncromesh gearbox, giving me all you’ve got.”
I can tell very well that you don’t want any of the above, as all you can do is gutturally cackle the word no. This has me giggling inside no end.
“Let’s take a break shall we?” I whisper. “I don’t want you overheating.”
Your chest is heaving, your writhing is now combined with squirming, and spurts of violent flinching and jerking. There are no words from you, only audible sounds that give away your delirium. You are short circuiting, your nervous system is running rampant, and you are slowly making words again. I on the other hand, are rustling more pages of your binder file and am getting bad ideas.
“Are we starting to make sense now? Any ideas as to what I should do next, keeping in mind that freedom, release and not tickling you, are definitely off the table. If fact the only thing that is on the table, or in your case bed, is you. A gag perhaps? Blindfold? Some intensive and extensive nibbling?”
You yell mother of god no, jerk at the restraints now, and the words suddenly disappear. I can imagine that a blindfold is suddenly on your no list, and while you fear the shadows that I have created, they are still better than the unknown black hole I could plunge you in.
“One blackened ski mask coming up.”
You squeal and writhe intensely, and I approach the bed very slowly and sit beside you, letting the mask caress your left cheek. Your head is jerking from side, and I begin to slip the strap over your head, and around the back of it. Your head writhes even more as I slip the mask over your eyes and fit it on.
“Want to visit the black hole, as I tickle, titillate and feather torture your tender bud.”
You are definitely ready to blow every sense you have and them some, and I am definitely ready to proceed. My feather resumes its erotic caressing of your ribs, ever so slowly tracing, teasing and repeating, up one side and down the other. I can’t remember which rib I did last, and so my feathering is also a meandering with no methodical movement whatsoever.
Your tummy is my next delicious and erotic horizon, and I see your button, ever so lonely, as if the only shell on the desolate beach. I slowly begin tracing the outer edges of your tummy, to encircle it, surround it, and eventually overwhelm it and take it prisoner. Within it is my next goal, your button, and I am ravenous for the erections to come. The feather flits and dances over your tummy, as if to be lightly tossed by the gentle sea winds, and your giggles are non stop and guttural. This is sheer, erotic heaven to me, and sheer erotic hell to you, and as the feathery waves lap on your shore, you are giggling more than ever now, and this tells me that another Jenga has arrived, only this time like a message in a bottle.
The ever decreasing circles are now right down around your button and I lightly flit it across your soft knot, causing you to buck and writhe and beg me to stop once more. Your shell is so soft and virgin, and I want to pick it up, caress it to my ear, and hear the ocean. The flitting is driving you insane, rocking your world and your body, and I giggle to myself and whisper the word Jenga.
Time for a nanosecond break-
I slowly and silently begin to unbuckle your belt, making to sure to unbuckle it one notch at a time. You gasp and your legs start pumping again, feet flailing all over and some words returning.
“You can’t believe this is happening? Even on the plane, this didn’t enter your wildest nightmares? You do please me, even though you face the unknown, face the black hole, and what you don’t know what lies behind it.
A sudden giggle erupts from you.
“Yessssssss, I can see that sweat trickling into your left armpit, and this is pure erotic bliss that you are being tickled, and I’m not even touching you. You have my total permission to sweat profusely sweetness, for as long as I like. After all, tied you, was never, and is, not in charge.”
Suddenly your belt is unbuckled and you feel it being pulled from your jeans just as slowly. I drop it on the floor and the noise it makes, causes you jerk and writhe intensely. I begin to slowly tease you by spidering across the bottom of your tummy, where it meets your jeans. You immediately arch your back and hiss no and then immediately continue writhing. My fingers slowly slide their way into your jeans and I get the first hint of what lies below and in the deepest recesses of your psyche and mind. This is a very private place, where solitude lives, and secrets hide; hidden in the shadows and in the recesses of your past and secret, sensually explicit lives.
I slowly pull my hand out, and begin to tease the metal button on your jeans. It silently pops open, and you gasp again, knowing you have only one more defense, and that it is weak at best. You are squirming to writhing to screaming, but screaming only in your mind, and oh how I wish I could hear that, even for just a few seconds. You are now erotically hot and I e-ver so lightly and slowly begin to tease your zipper.
“Going down, basement, ladies lecherous lingerie, dungeon and fetish supplies, black holes.”
I can see that this is it, the moment that you never even dreamed about, even in your wildest nightmares, the moment that has not just popped into your head, but has overtaken your mind, body and soul with a full-bore invasion, a tsunami of sensual ext reams, stop kidnap and silence any thoughts of mercy and freedom. You are bucking, writhing and wrenching on the cuffs with all the strength you have left. Judging by your violent reactions and the words fuck, shit and the phrase Mother of God no, being loudly hissed at me I know that this is your last sensual refuge, before the hunt for your tender and oh so innocent bud begins. You are violently straining at the bonds even more now and i want to stop and thank you for this raw, gut-wrenching, honest and brutal sincerity, that you are giving me right now. I had said to you, that you are one of the most intelligent people on fetlife that I had ever met, and I mean it even more now. This is no playtime, this is no fantasy, this is pure gut wrenching and mind and orgasm blowing realism and I breathlessly thank you from the bottom of my heart.
I e-ver so slow-ly, slide my fingers inside your jeans, and slowly and lightly begin spider massaging your mound. Here I feel a subtle moistness, the beginnings of your downfall, the beginnings of the hunt, the stalking of, the encirclement, the take-down, capture and imprisonment of your tender bud. Even though you are bucking and writhing more than ever, I can tell that the steel realization of no freedom or mercy has presented itself to you, and I continue my spidering; feeling more moistness, settling in like a fog shrouding you.
“Cotton boyshorts, and I was envisioning silk bikinis, even tanga. Thong or g-string would have been out of this world. But never the less my ticklish little tomboy, I can turn even these against you. And I haven’t done a panties gag: yet.”
You shriek.
“You continue to erotically please me and I am so speechless of that. So my actions will have to be my words of earthy and fervid appreciation. And you WILL; erotically please me no end, and for some time to come too. For up until now” I have only set the scene, and so, now comes the fifty shades of tickles. Or in your case, the 69 shades of tickles.”
A humming starts and you hiss what the fuck and squeal as my dolphin shaped vibrator starts cruising along the waist of your tummy, clockwise first then counter-clockwise. You hiss shit, as it always slows down, passing over the top edge of your mound, stopping for a brief moment, tilting 20 degrees, then moving on.
“I knew I could use your boy shorts against you, and boy oh boy is it working. Hello little bud, come out, come out where ever you are. It’s time for you to blossom and grow.”
This is too surreal for you, and I know that at any moment you will utter a scream that will rock the world off its axis, let alone the neighborhood. Your moistness is about to be come Niagara Falls, and I don’t want that, so I move up on the bed. As the sound gets closer you writhe intensely and squeal loudly as the first touch enters the deepest recess of your armpit and begins slowly stroking. The words fuck, shit and the phrase mother of god returns, and another nightmare is revealed to you with a fervid, earthy and ravenous passion. Another humming starts and you squeal once more as your right armpit is similarly tickled. The vibes circle the outer edges of your pits, then swoop in to claim their prize, ballet dancing a victory dance and totally decimating your nerve endings there. You squeal again and hiss mother of god no, as the vibes suddenly go lower.
“You didn’t think I’d finished with these did you? I’ll rock their world shall I?”
I barely touch your nipples with the vibes, but instantly they go erect and you freeze with fear.
“Semper Fi Marines.”
The vibes now move away and begin circling your breasts ever so slowly, like buzzards circling their next prey, one going clockwise and the other counter clockwise, to confuse you. Your head is violently rocking from side to side, and I can tell that you know you’re screwed in no uncertain terms. Now the vibes ballet dance around to their own tune. Swan Lake? The Dance of the Sugarplum Fairy? Or Wagner’s Ride of the Valkyries. In any case they are erect, and are almost looming over you, casting giant shadows that will overpower your mind with my bad ideas. To add to this and confuse you, I ballet the right one only, and begin softly kissing your left breast and nipple, making you squeal and hiss again.
“Could this be the cherry on your parfait?”
You are going wild as I take the vibe on your left breast and return it to your left armpit and stroke it lightly. You are writhing to thrashing, guttural giggling to all out laughing. Who would have have known your nipples and breasts were this ticklish, but I know now and am planning on a return engagement. I leave this area (for the moment) after a sensual and sensuous two-minute vibing of your nipples, then give you a break, and move to the foot of the bed
You are again squirming up a storm, repeatedly arching your back, and as I watch this intently, I notice that as you arch, the sweat on your ribs outlines them with a sparkly opalescence. This has me giggle silently and make a mental note to add this to the map of your tickles. Route 69 will be even more fun now.
Relaxing are we? You look like a supermodel in an erotic ad. Perfume, A scent for attracting men? An erotic ad for tickles perhaps? For restraints? A movie perhaps. Fifty Shades of Ember Grey. Now I’d definitely go see that one, and sit front row centre with a big bag of popcorn, dripping in sweaty butter.”
I see you suddenly still, again frozen in fear, hearing my erotically whispered words, and so I reach out and wriggle your feet.
“Later for these my sweetness. Perhaps an ad of their own. Complete with a picture of me nibbling them?”
I return to your ribs, and easily and slowly follow their contuses with ten fingers barely touching them, making each nerve ending there stand at attention then want to run from this slow and erotic obliteration of their senses. Your sweat is definitely working against you. Your chest is tight, and the hint of ribs you are showing and teasing me with, is overheating me, and ravenously driving me cosmically onward. Behold; you the specimen, and me the dissector of your tickles.
Your laughter returns full bore, preceded by a long, loud utterance of the words fuck and shit. Your writhing is almost getting away from me, and so I have to cling to your ribs and tickle with little, short strokes from tips to back to tips again. Your head and bum repeatedly pounding against the pillow and mattress, and in the dim light, I catch flashes of sweat, running all over you like Niagara Falls; tickling you more and more, and I can definitely see that I have you over a barrel. And as I watch your chest expand and contract, I am ravenously delighted at the many victories and jengas that you have given me, and I’m ravenously anticipating the many more to come.
“These are so soft and tender and definitely giving me bad ideas. You may arch your back for me.”
My fingers quickly and abruptly leave your ribs and spider over your taught tummy and your giggling returns. Tracing the outer edges clockwise then counter-clockwise, and then tracing your button in ever decreeing circles. You are squirming to writhing up a storm and the sweat on your tummy is racing every where, tickling you even further. My left index finger enters your button, and begins to kneed the soft knot below, much to your squealing, and another victory has come of age. I rapidly piston my finger in your button, and instantly you hiccup into spurts of jagged guttural laughter and writhe more. Fuck and shit, followed by mother of god no, are repeatedly hissed at me and I cannot resist pistoning it more. Yours is the panic button personified.
Each one of your nightmares is coming true in the surrealist of senses, and new ones are constantly being created nanosecond by nanosecond. You want to scream louder than ever before; you want to scream the word no, but your voice has been kidnapped, and silenced by your laughter.
Suddenly there is silence, and you squeal, feeling cold steel on your tummy, as I lay my scissors on you. As quickly as they are on they are off and I get off the bed. Moving to your feet, I take hold of your left pantleg and begin snipping up the outside of it. You squeal and your leg pumps, then immediately freezes as the scissors snip higher and higher, with each snip going off like a gunshot. Your leg jerks each time you feel cold steel against it. Then I stop and you hear that chainsaw again, as I begin slowly ripping the denim up your leg, I finish by snipping the outer waist portion. Again you are hissing no, and still frozen with fear, knowing one side has gone.
“That was a lovely side one wasn’t it? And now side two is all you.”
I am almost clinical, surgical, as I slowly and mechanically bare the other side, and you are still frozen in fear. You know now, that any defense your jeans were, is gone, obliterated and useless to you, and as I lift the front portion off you, your moist boyshorts are having their coming out party. Or is it, their cumming out party. I lean forward and softly smell the wetness, and my nose is tickled by your earthy fragrance, and I whisper ‘Hello tender bud, are you waiting for me, fearing me, or have unconditionally surrendered to me,’ just loud enough for you to hear.
I softly blow on your wetness and am rewarded with more wafting fragrance. You begin squirming again, and I take a moment to slowly finger and trace the outer edges of your boyshorts and the very centre where your tender bud lies. The words shit and no are hissed at me once more, followed by mother of god no, and I giggle and reply in a mocking hiss of mother of god yes.
Cold steel makes you squeal again and you hear the first slow methodical, almost surgical and cruel snips of your boyshorts. Again with a methodical silence, and also making sure to let you feel the surgical steel on your thigh. It is oh so easy to snip these and this surreal fact is driving you wild with fear. The last snip starts you writhing again and as I slowly remove them, you know that another defense has been abruptly stolen from you, and replace with another shadow.
I lean forward and softly blow on your tender bud and my hot breath has your lips and quiver and glisten.
The shadow’s erotic touch.
Inspired by Emberr
written by Ticklishscribe
c.
I surf you in the dim light; tied spread-eagle, an x marking the spot of my ticklish booty. I see you try to lift your head, but my padded head restraint keeps it down, but allows you freedom, the movement from side to side. I hear swishing as you squirm on the sheets; you, trying to see anything. But all I am to you now is a shadow, a dark luminous shadow; a shadow of things to come and a darkness that you fear. I grip your left sneakered foot and instantly it jolts itself from my grasp and you hiss fuck and shit and flail it all over.
"Naughty and nice my sweetness, swearing at me. That might cost you. Of course, the fact your reactions include swearing, please me no end. Would you care for some nibbling tonight? I see a neck just sensually and sensuously begging for a sickie of two."
You quickly utter more words when you squeal oh my god, no, and you are squirming even more now, arms and legs tugging at the bonds that hold you. I can hear illegible words and hear a frantic tone to your voice. Have I total control of you, mind, body and soul? Are you frantically wishing you were anywhere but here? Are you frantically and repeatedly asking yourself why you put your total trust in me?
Those questions and a lot more are now moot, and I am thoroughly enjoying your delicious visual and audio forebodings. You have it bad right now, and things are about to go from black to black hole.
"Arching your back doesn't do you any good sweetness. Did I mention that any time my lees arched their backs, I tickled their ribs. I was, and still am very delighted that they gave and give them up for me. And I am even more delighted that you want to do the same. You do please me."
Your squirming has now evolved into writhing and I can tell that your mind is on the verge of imploding. You want to scream, but your voice has been silenced, and any sound you make from here on in, will be totally illegible. The only voice I want from you is laughter, from guttural to screaming to silent. There is only one language I want from you and you can talk a blue streak all you want, for it will please me no end.
"Is there something you want to say? Shall I let you collect your thoughts, while I clinically inspect your left armpit?"
I slowly slide myself onto the left side of the bed and turn toward you. The name Jesus is suddenly hissed from your lips and I smile in the darkness like Alice's Cheshire cat.
"Jesus here, you called? Are you frantically searching and praying for a miracle? Would you like an immaculate conception of tickles? Would you like me to turn your laughter into wine; for I would love to drink up all the laughter you can offer and more."
You are squirming and swishing up a storm now, and I know my restraints are getting a good solid workout. I am ravenously delighted that even my words hold you in the palm of my hand. I reach out and begin to ever so lightly tease your hair, and your head rocks from side to side.
"Such soft hair you have; does it tickle the back of your neck? I know I would."
You flinch and squeal as I begin the first ever strokes of you and ever so lightly stroke of my feather at the top of your left short sleeve, then slowly insert it inside there to lightly caress your armpit, and I giggle back at you. The feather silently short flits on the deepest recess, and already you are squirming up a storm. Your skin is taught, satiny soft and oh so helpless, and I just can't help but silently thank you and plan my tickles to come here and on your right one as well. It’s as though I have come upon a sleepy lagoon and have silently dipped my feathery toe into it. Your senses are subtly awakened, and silent alarms on every nerve ending, are going off everywhere. The feather slowly flits, ballet like, to tease you.
“Don’t feathers do wonders to awaken the soul;” I whisper, “And the other sole too, as you shall find out.”
Your eyes open wider than before, but in the dim light, very little is offered for you to see. The feather is casual, yet methodical, caring and uncaring, sensual, sensuous and sinister, and creeping you out personified. This is mind music and the tune that I am playing, is barely whispering to you, with strokes that are causing you to have your first psychological orgasm.
"Your skin is so creamy, silky, like the inside of a shell and oh so exquisite. It's like finding a pearl at the bottom of an oyster. This is virgin territory if I ever felt it, and it's my fervid passion to christen it with tickles. Would you like that?”
Again the question is moot, but you have now found words, guttural at best, and are now begging me to stop, now promising me anything, and this has me gutturally giggling back at you once more. You are now in a jenga situation as I have discovered the first of your many jengas.
"I can feel your heart pounding and racing, your blood running hot and cold, and beads of sweat forming, ready to ever so slowly meander all over your body, and tickle you in their own way. The feather pebble that I have silently dropped into the pond, is now causing ripples upon ripples, upon ripples, and this is all to surreal to you.
"Are your nipples erect... No bra then, as they are practically ripping holes in your shirt. They look like two shells on a lonely and desolate beach. If I put my ear to them, will I hear the ocean? Will I hear you calling to me, your voice beckoning to me, or have your words left you, like a receding tide. Would you care for me to nibble them?"
I blow softly on your armpit and you instantly rock from side to side and I can tell you want to scream in the worst way. I stop blowing and give you a long, soft and passionate kiss there as well, and again you arch your back in to almost the breaking point and rock some more. Another Jenga has been discovered and I am delighted no end, and deliciously imagining the all the possibilities to come. I blow softly on your armpit again and again begin to whisper.
"Your armpit cries out for some nibbling. Can you see me this close up? I was thinking of you all the time you were traveling up here and wondering what you were thinking. Were you constantly asking yourself why are you doing this? Were you thinking, I must be crazy to do this? I can only imagine how you wanted to bolt from the aircraft, just before take off. It's a shame that your flight didn't have an in-flight movie and that it was a tickling video. Well; you're here now, and you're going to bolt and take off many times over. And you're not crays, but being tickled to insanity is a deliciously exquisite possibility."
The feather begins to slowly, and ever so lightly with a whisper’s touch, trace the outer edges of your left armpit, and your eyes open even larger than ever imaginable, and then suddenly clench tightly shut. while I can't see it, I can tell that the hair on the back of your neck is standing at attention, straighter than a marine. You are continuously squirming, and every time you touch me you squirm even more. This the first of the many moments that I have been waiting for, and you definitely do not disappoint.
Sempre Fi.
"Well Ember,” I whisper again, “are you smoldering inside, an ember ready to erupt into a wildfire, or erupt into a volcanic sea of fervid and earthy love lava. Is that why your sweating, is that why your sweat is so tasty and delicious to look at. And later on, when I get to your cauldron, will you be bubbling over with lava love and love honey? Cum, cum now, can't you answer, or will your orgasms speak louder than words. Will an eruption tell me everything I need to know, leaving you desolate like the beach?"
I continue lightly stroking your left armpit with the feather, and teasing your hair, and your intense squirming never lets up. You are too delicious for words, too delicious in your squirming, I hear barely audible and illegible words, as your shallow breath makes an appearance. I definitely don't want you out of breath, as breath play is one of your hard limits, and I totally respect those as written in stone. Those are your commandments, and I will follow them religiously and devoutly. I don't want you out of breath, but out of your mind is a totally different, and delicious matter indeed.
I have to stop and gaze at you, for you are so beautiful, and I find, that even if the sea were of ink and the sky parchment, I could not even begin to find the words to describe you. Your beauty is almost leaving me breathless, and I want to say so much to let you know, and so I let my feather bring forth the words that I cannot speak.
"You are more delicious then a cream horn, drizzled in chocolate, a buttery croissant, and the plans that I have carefully hand crafted, will have me ravenously devouring every tasty tidbit of you. Consider yourself my cuisine, my appetizer, my hors d'oeuvres and my desert all in one, and when I'm done, there won't be even a crumb left on my plate. You are totally creamylicious and I will definitely set off eruptions of love honey and love lava that will make you even more creamylicious."
I think I hear the name Jesus spoken again.
"How do I love thee, let me tickle the ways."
I can see your eyes open as wide as anything, then instantly shut tightly and your head rapidly shaking no. The air sizzles and crackles, and your mind still wants to scream, as loud as possible. I can tell that you want out of the restraints more than ever, and that you're cursing yourself for even wanting this in the first place, let alone agreeing to it. More feather strokes to your armpit and hair teasing set you off even further, and I can tell that my feather has you in the palm of its hand.
"Do I smell a wetness? Do I smell the fragrant wafting aroma of a wetness?" Am I witness to a wetness. Do I smell pussy perfume? Is it Panther's Breath? Chanel number 69, Erotica or dare I* say it; ravenous. Either way, the aroma is driving me and my dirges of urges wild."
A squeal erupts from you, and your squirming intensifies.
"I want to see your pussy in micro detail for real. The picture you sent me was erotically molten, and gripped my gaze with its clinically vivid colour, and micro detail, and I could almost count every hair. Are you so warm and moist that your pussy is a hot tub? For two perhaps? Dare I lick it, taste it and yes, even nibble it?, Do you need a shaving?" I want your pussy shaved so smooth I can surf it, I am very thorough as a shaver, making sure I get every hair. And after shaving it, I micro stroke and feel it to make sure. If not, I have to reshave those areas, and I won't stop until the hair is all gone."
Your head is shaking from side to side and your squirming is beyond my wildest dreams. I know all to well that there is a raging war going on inside of you; one side wanting to hide any and all reactions from me, the other, giving in and letting me know how out of your mind you are right now.
"It seems you forgot you sent it to me didn't you. Then again, having a rethink, would your pussy hair help me tickle you?"
Divide and conquer is one of my hallmarks.
"Is your garden of earthy delights, your garden of good and evil, ready to sprout a fountain? Do you like my pussy pillow talk?"
You are whispering and uttering streams of unintelligible words, running together like a raging river, and your body's reactions have given you up. I lightly pat your jean and panty covered pussy and your legs pump like crazy. You know what's coming, and you can't stop it. You know the mind wrenching avalanches of orgasms that will surround you, that will overpower you, imprison you and bring you to the very edge of the black hole. I wriggle your sneakered left foot again, then the right, and your legs continue pump insanely.
"When I'm planning on tickling someone, I create a binder file on them, and yours is so thick and detailed, pics and all, I could write a book and sell it on fetlife. I so love chapters six and nine, as they made me hard. But again, do not worry, for I will not degrade you by having sex with you, for I care about you too much. So consider yourself safe, but also remember that chapter six, is about edging you and chapter nine, avalanches of orgasms yes, yes, yes. I will have you purring like the tickle kitten you secretly are. After all, you've been swishing your tail on the bed for over an hour.
I wriggle your feet once more.
"And remember, I'm the one with the paws and claws, and they do wonders to firmly grip and immobilize a foot and spider the sole for all it's worth. Perhaps some feet, soles and toes nibbling?"
Your voice has suddenly found itself again, and I hear the word no being uttered so many times it almost runs together. But the last question is moot. I can't resist sitting in the bed again, and you squeal as I lightly grip your chin and begin kissing you once more. Your lips are so soft and warm and your reactions, more cuisine for me to devour. There is love here, there is lust, there is a molten urgency to orgasm, and another molten urgency to not let me orgasm you. You are shredding inside, the battle of wills raging to all out almost nuclear war. Will you be a Chernobyl when I am done, will you be radiating; overheated, like a shell of your former self, fulfilled but still lying on that desolate beach.
I begin ever so softly, nibbling your neck and you shriek and yell the words, no, fuck, shit and the phrase mother of god.
"I shall have to consult your file to see where best to start. Are we still purring? Of course we are."
I giggle again, lightly spider your left armpit and you shriek and writhe.
Suddenly there is silence for what appears to be an eternity, then the occasional rustling of pages and short, barely audible comments from me. You know the opening move will soon be upon you, and as most of the time I like to start with the armpits, This chess game could now be a chest game.
“Relax Ember."
I slowly begin to tease and play with the bottom of your shirt and you continue squirming. I slowly begin pulling it out from the inside of your jeans, teasing you with it and I smile as I watch your writhing begin again.
"OOOH... You're just going to be so exquisite. So shall we begin by unbuttoning this shirt and seeing those silky shells? How about we play piggies with your shirt."
You are now intensely bucking and writhing, straining at the bonds that held you. The icy grip that had practically frozen you has now imprisoned you, and you are desperately trying to break out.
“This little button went to market.”
I slowly tease and flick at the top button to undo it and as it comes undone, I open your shirt a little.
"And this little button stayed home, but got unbuttoned.”
I open the shirt a little more and get the first look at your breasts.
“Something in there looks ready for me.”
You writhe more.
“This little button got unbuttoned as well, to expose some deliciously surf able ribs.”
You are bucking and writhing with all the strength you've got, but can’t get away from me. You are becoming totally hysterical as I e-ver so slow-ly expose your upper body for my pleasure. You now jerk wildly, as you feel my fingers tease your other buttons and lightly graze your chest. The sensations are horrible; my teasing fingers torture and the shirt rhyme taunting you at every turn. I am taunting, teasing you at every turn, letting my fingers do the talking as well as the rhyme, and you are going out of your mind because of it.
“And this little button came undone to expose some more deliciousness. And oh how I can see just a hint of ribs, which is what I like best.”
No matter where I even slightly touch your chest, you writhe and try to back away. But the bed prevents that, and allows my feather to continue its teasing and merciless assault.
“And this little button let us peek at a very taught and tender tum-mmy, which makes you even more alluring in my mind”
I pause.
“And finally this little button, this little button at the very bottom, allowing me to see your entire chest.” I open the shirt to reveal another jenga, and can't resist lightly brushing my feather over your now totally erect nipples.
“Such erect and very alluring and exotic shells… and so I thank you for allowing me the opportunity to explore, play with, and pleasure them.
I come around behind your head and begin pulling your shirt up your arms and leave it around your wrists. It is now time to make another strike and so I lightly feather both of your armpits. This has you bucking immediately and screaming inside even louder, and I am really beginning to enjoy myself. Now I feather in the deepest recesses of your pits personified and now you’re acting like you’re out of your mind. This suits me just fine and I continue feathering. Your pits are virginally soft and smooth and I take great delight in their depth. I feather continuously, watching you buck, your head and bum slamming into the mattress, hearing your now intense non stop giggles and begging.
"I'm not tickling you. I'm not doing anything to you, I'm just feeling the deepest recesses of this ultra exquisitely smooth and freshly shaved skin.")
Then suddenly stop.
The room goes silent for what seems to you like and eternity, but barely audible and illegible words now come from you, and a squeal definitely erupts from you as I change position and lay beside you again. I blow softly on your left nipple and your squirming reappears.
"Dare I divide and conquer once more? Would some nibbling do it?"
The word no is uttered several times and I giggle back at you. The elongated version of the word shit is uttered, as my left thumb and forefinger lightly begin to tease and pinch your right nipple, and you squirm more intensely. Now I take a bold step and lightly begin to kiss your left nipple at the same time. Still again, another shit is hissed from your lips and I giggle back. But I am not finished as I want to divide and conquer three ways. My feather again begins to softly and slowly spider tickle your left armpit, and instantly you are now bucking and writhing again.
"I have you now don't I, and I wonder if this is a good spot to nibble. And of course there's still your ribs, I'll count those; your tummy and button and pussy, they are good nibble spots too. And in regard to your possible shaving, and hellooooo tender bud, did I mention that I have a technique whereby I simultaneously and rapidly stroke your labia and perineum? Such a body rocker that is. And so, I must have towels standing by for Niagara Fells.
You are so on edge, you are almost insane, and you are desperately trying anything to make me stop.
"Oh and I haven't even talked about your feet yet; but that's a big surprise from chapter thirteen; a very appropriate chapter number for your feet, and the second largest chapter in your binder file. The largest I won't reveal with words."
I continue with your nipples and left armpit and you continue bucking, writhing and guttural giggling. I have you in the palm of my hand and you have no say over it. I am delicately holding your sanity, your psyche and your nerve system in my hand; cradling it, kissing it, caressing it, stroking and undressing it. Your body, every micrometre of it is ticklish, and there is absolutely no way to tickle you wrong. I have made notes from the very beginning, when I met you online, that when you're good, you're very good. But when you're bad, you're exquisite.
"Time for another break." I whisper, and get off the bed.
Again you are squirming up a storm, and I can imagine your toes clenching then splaying open to show me your signature spread, feet flailing all over, back arching, hands desperately trying to unfasten the cuffs around your wrists. Frantic is a word I could describe you as right now, but I’m too busy reading your binder file and intently and intensely scrutinizing every picture in it. The pics of your feet, soles and toes, reveal stories unto themselves and make you even more naked then you will be without your clothes. The wrinkles, outer edges, and the balls of your feet, all provide me with a route 69, not route 66 scenic tour. And I intend to make ALL the stops along the way.
I’ve always wanted to drive a racing Ferrari.
I sit on the bed again, causing another long elongated shit to come from you, and gently place my feather on your top left rib then ever so slowly slide it from side to side. Instantly you scream “Not the ribs,” and give me intense cackling, and this has me continue. I trace the rib back and forth ever so slowly and methodically, and you rock from side to side, squealing to cackling to squealing, back arching as if almost if to receive and follow my feather. I move onto the second rib and you continue to beg me to stop.
“Shall I put my feather on cruise control, four-wheel drive, or would you like your syncromesh gearbox, giving me all you’ve got.”
I can tell very well that you don’t want any of the above, as all you can do is gutturally cackle the word no. This has me giggling inside no end.
“Let’s take a break shall we?” I whisper. “I don’t want you overheating.”
Your chest is heaving, your writhing is now combined with squirming, and spurts of violent flinching and jerking. There are no words from you, only audible sounds that give away your delirium. You are short circuiting, your nervous system is running rampant, and you are slowly making words again. I on the other hand, are rustling more pages of your binder file and am getting bad ideas.
“Are we starting to make sense now? Any ideas as to what I should do next, keeping in mind that freedom, release and not tickling you, are definitely off the table. If fact the only thing that is on the table, or in your case bed, is you. A gag perhaps? Blindfold? Some intensive and extensive nibbling?”
You yell mother of god no, jerk at the restraints now, and the words suddenly disappear. I can imagine that a blindfold is suddenly on your no list, and while you fear the shadows that I have created, they are still better than the unknown black hole I could plunge you in.
“One blackened ski mask coming up.”
You squeal and writhe intensely, and I approach the bed very slowly and sit beside you, letting the mask caress your left cheek. Your head is jerking from side, and I begin to slip the strap over your head, and around the back of it. Your head writhes even more as I slip the mask over your eyes and fit it on.
“Want to visit the black hole, as I tickle, titillate and feather torture your tender bud.”
You are definitely ready to blow every sense you have and them some, and I am definitely ready to proceed. My feather resumes its erotic caressing of your ribs, ever so slowly tracing, teasing and repeating, up one side and down the other. I can’t remember which rib I did last, and so my feathering is also a meandering with no methodical movement whatsoever.
Your tummy is my next delicious and erotic horizon, and I see your button, ever so lonely, as if the only shell on the desolate beach. I slowly begin tracing the outer edges of your tummy, to encircle it, surround it, and eventually overwhelm it and take it prisoner. Within it is my next goal, your button, and I am ravenous for the erections to come. The feather flits and dances over your tummy, as if to be lightly tossed by the gentle sea winds, and your giggles are non stop and guttural. This is sheer, erotic heaven to me, and sheer erotic hell to you, and as the feathery waves lap on your shore, you are giggling more than ever now, and this tells me that another Jenga has arrived, only this time like a message in a bottle.
The ever decreasing circles are now right down around your button and I lightly flit it across your soft knot, causing you to buck and writhe and beg me to stop once more. Your shell is so soft and virgin, and I want to pick it up, caress it to my ear, and hear the ocean. The flitting is driving you insane, rocking your world and your body, and I giggle to myself and whisper the word Jenga.
Time for a nanosecond break-
I slowly and silently begin to unbuckle your belt, making to sure to unbuckle it one notch at a time. You gasp and your legs start pumping again, feet flailing all over and some words returning.
“You can’t believe this is happening? Even on the plane, this didn’t enter your wildest nightmares? You do please me, even though you face the unknown, face the black hole, and what you don’t know what lies behind it.
A sudden giggle erupts from you.
“Yessssssss, I can see that sweat trickling into your left armpit, and this is pure erotic bliss that you are being tickled, and I’m not even touching you. You have my total permission to sweat profusely sweetness, for as long as I like. After all, tied you, was never, and is, not in charge.”
Suddenly your belt is unbuckled and you feel it being pulled from your jeans just as slowly. I drop it on the floor and the noise it makes, causes you jerk and writhe intensely. I begin to slowly tease you by spidering across the bottom of your tummy, where it meets your jeans. You immediately arch your back and hiss no and then immediately continue writhing. My fingers slowly slide their way into your jeans and I get the first hint of what lies below and in the deepest recesses of your psyche and mind. This is a very private place, where solitude lives, and secrets hide; hidden in the shadows and in the recesses of your past and secret, sensually explicit lives.
I slowly pull my hand out, and begin to tease the metal button on your jeans. It silently pops open, and you gasp again, knowing you have only one more defense, and that it is weak at best. You are squirming to writhing to screaming, but screaming only in your mind, and oh how I wish I could hear that, even for just a few seconds. You are now erotically hot and I e-ver so lightly and slowly begin to tease your zipper.
“Going down, basement, ladies lecherous lingerie, dungeon and fetish supplies, black holes.”
I can see that this is it, the moment that you never even dreamed about, even in your wildest nightmares, the moment that has not just popped into your head, but has overtaken your mind, body and soul with a full-bore invasion, a tsunami of sensual ext reams, stop kidnap and silence any thoughts of mercy and freedom. You are bucking, writhing and wrenching on the cuffs with all the strength you have left. Judging by your violent reactions and the words fuck, shit and the phrase Mother of God no, being loudly hissed at me I know that this is your last sensual refuge, before the hunt for your tender and oh so innocent bud begins. You are violently straining at the bonds even more now and i want to stop and thank you for this raw, gut-wrenching, honest and brutal sincerity, that you are giving me right now. I had said to you, that you are one of the most intelligent people on fetlife that I had ever met, and I mean it even more now. This is no playtime, this is no fantasy, this is pure gut wrenching and mind and orgasm blowing realism and I breathlessly thank you from the bottom of my heart.
I e-ver so slow-ly, slide my fingers inside your jeans, and slowly and lightly begin spider massaging your mound. Here I feel a subtle moistness, the beginnings of your downfall, the beginnings of the hunt, the stalking of, the encirclement, the take-down, capture and imprisonment of your tender bud. Even though you are bucking and writhing more than ever, I can tell that the steel realization of no freedom or mercy has presented itself to you, and I continue my spidering; feeling more moistness, settling in like a fog shrouding you.
“Cotton boyshorts, and I was envisioning silk bikinis, even tanga. Thong or g-string would have been out of this world. But never the less my ticklish little tomboy, I can turn even these against you. And I haven’t done a panties gag: yet.”
You shriek.
“You continue to erotically please me and I am so speechless of that. So my actions will have to be my words of earthy and fervid appreciation. And you WILL; erotically please me no end, and for some time to come too. For up until now” I have only set the scene, and so, now comes the fifty shades of tickles. Or in your case, the 69 shades of tickles.”
A humming starts and you hiss what the fuck and squeal as my dolphin shaped vibrator starts cruising along the waist of your tummy, clockwise first then counter-clockwise. You hiss shit, as it always slows down, passing over the top edge of your mound, stopping for a brief moment, tilting 20 degrees, then moving on.
“I knew I could use your boy shorts against you, and boy oh boy is it working. Hello little bud, come out, come out where ever you are. It’s time for you to blossom and grow.”
This is too surreal for you, and I know that at any moment you will utter a scream that will rock the world off its axis, let alone the neighborhood. Your moistness is about to be come Niagara Falls, and I don’t want that, so I move up on the bed. As the sound gets closer you writhe intensely and squeal loudly as the first touch enters the deepest recess of your armpit and begins slowly stroking. The words fuck, shit and the phrase mother of god returns, and another nightmare is revealed to you with a fervid, earthy and ravenous passion. Another humming starts and you squeal once more as your right armpit is similarly tickled. The vibes circle the outer edges of your pits, then swoop in to claim their prize, ballet dancing a victory dance and totally decimating your nerve endings there. You squeal again and hiss mother of god no, as the vibes suddenly go lower.
“You didn’t think I’d finished with these did you? I’ll rock their world shall I?”
I barely touch your nipples with the vibes, but instantly they go erect and you freeze with fear.
“Semper Fi Marines.”
The vibes now move away and begin circling your breasts ever so slowly, like buzzards circling their next prey, one going clockwise and the other counter clockwise, to confuse you. Your head is violently rocking from side to side, and I can tell that you know you’re screwed in no uncertain terms. Now the vibes ballet dance around to their own tune. Swan Lake? The Dance of the Sugarplum Fairy? Or Wagner’s Ride of the Valkyries. In any case they are erect, and are almost looming over you, casting giant shadows that will overpower your mind with my bad ideas. To add to this and confuse you, I ballet the right one only, and begin softly kissing your left breast and nipple, making you squeal and hiss again.
“Could this be the cherry on your parfait?”
You are going wild as I take the vibe on your left breast and return it to your left armpit and stroke it lightly. You are writhing to thrashing, guttural giggling to all out laughing. Who would have have known your nipples and breasts were this ticklish, but I know now and am planning on a return engagement. I leave this area (for the moment) after a sensual and sensuous two-minute vibing of your nipples, then give you a break, and move to the foot of the bed
You are again squirming up a storm, repeatedly arching your back, and as I watch this intently, I notice that as you arch, the sweat on your ribs outlines them with a sparkly opalescence. This has me giggle silently and make a mental note to add this to the map of your tickles. Route 69 will be even more fun now.
Relaxing are we? You look like a supermodel in an erotic ad. Perfume, A scent for attracting men? An erotic ad for tickles perhaps? For restraints? A movie perhaps. Fifty Shades of Ember Grey. Now I’d definitely go see that one, and sit front row centre with a big bag of popcorn, dripping in sweaty butter.”
I see you suddenly still, again frozen in fear, hearing my erotically whispered words, and so I reach out and wriggle your feet.
“Later for these my sweetness. Perhaps an ad of their own. Complete with a picture of me nibbling them?”
I return to your ribs, and easily and slowly follow their contuses with ten fingers barely touching them, making each nerve ending there stand at attention then want to run from this slow and erotic obliteration of their senses. Your sweat is definitely working against you. Your chest is tight, and the hint of ribs you are showing and teasing me with, is overheating me, and ravenously driving me cosmically onward. Behold; you the specimen, and me the dissector of your tickles.
Your laughter returns full bore, preceded by a long, loud utterance of the words fuck and shit. Your writhing is almost getting away from me, and so I have to cling to your ribs and tickle with little, short strokes from tips to back to tips again. Your head and bum repeatedly pounding against the pillow and mattress, and in the dim light, I catch flashes of sweat, running all over you like Niagara Falls; tickling you more and more, and I can definitely see that I have you over a barrel. And as I watch your chest expand and contract, I am ravenously delighted at the many victories and jengas that you have given me, and I’m ravenously anticipating the many more to come.
“These are so soft and tender and definitely giving me bad ideas. You may arch your back for me.”
My fingers quickly and abruptly leave your ribs and spider over your taught tummy and your giggling returns. Tracing the outer edges clockwise then counter-clockwise, and then tracing your button in ever decreeing circles. You are squirming to writhing up a storm and the sweat on your tummy is racing every where, tickling you even further. My left index finger enters your button, and begins to kneed the soft knot below, much to your squealing, and another victory has come of age. I rapidly piston my finger in your button, and instantly you hiccup into spurts of jagged guttural laughter and writhe more. Fuck and shit, followed by mother of god no, are repeatedly hissed at me and I cannot resist pistoning it more. Yours is the panic button personified.
Each one of your nightmares is coming true in the surrealist of senses, and new ones are constantly being created nanosecond by nanosecond. You want to scream louder than ever before; you want to scream the word no, but your voice has been kidnapped, and silenced by your laughter.
Suddenly there is silence, and you squeal, feeling cold steel on your tummy, as I lay my scissors on you. As quickly as they are on they are off and I get off the bed. Moving to your feet, I take hold of your left pantleg and begin snipping up the outside of it. You squeal and your leg pumps, then immediately freezes as the scissors snip higher and higher, with each snip going off like a gunshot. Your leg jerks each time you feel cold steel against it. Then I stop and you hear that chainsaw again, as I begin slowly ripping the denim up your leg, I finish by snipping the outer waist portion. Again you are hissing no, and still frozen with fear, knowing one side has gone.
“That was a lovely side one wasn’t it? And now side two is all you.”
I am almost clinical, surgical, as I slowly and mechanically bare the other side, and you are still frozen in fear. You know now, that any defense your jeans were, is gone, obliterated and useless to you, and as I lift the front portion off you, your moist boyshorts are having their coming out party. Or is it, their cumming out party. I lean forward and softly smell the wetness, and my nose is tickled by your earthy fragrance, and I whisper ‘Hello tender bud, are you waiting for me, fearing me, or have unconditionally surrendered to me,’ just loud enough for you to hear.
I softly blow on your wetness and am rewarded with more wafting fragrance. You begin squirming again, and I take a moment to slowly finger and trace the outer edges of your boyshorts and the very centre where your tender bud lies. The words shit and no are hissed at me once more, followed by mother of god no, and I giggle and reply in a mocking hiss of mother of god yes.
Cold steel makes you squeal again and you hear the first slow methodical, almost surgical and cruel snips of your boyshorts. Again with a methodical silence, and also making sure to let you feel the surgical steel on your thigh. It is oh so easy to snip these and this surreal fact is driving you wild with fear. The last snip starts you writhing again and as I slowly remove them, you know that another defense has been abruptly stolen from you, and replace with another shadow.
I lean forward and softly blow on your tender bud and my hot breath has your lips and quiver and glisten.
