PianoTickler3
Registered User
- Joined
- Apr 18, 2020
- Messages
- 6
- Points
- 1
You are safe.
They’ll never push you farther than you can go. Well, they’ll push you a little bit, but never further than you can take. They know you too well. They’ve brought you to the edge and back many times, even in a single session. You have safewords, but you rarely use them anymore.
Well, maybe they’ll push a little bit more than what you can take.
Just a bit. Just for fun.
Before it all starts, you willingly raise your arms to the bedposts.
Every time.
You know you can never bring them back down. You know they tie them too well. Maybe it’s your fault, too. After some teasing, you tease them back. Every time.
It’s definitely your fault, too.
------
You were in your childhood house, when everyone looked at you, your left arm was raised, as if asking a question. Embarrassed, you try to pull it down. The soft narratives of your dreams fade away.
On your left wrist, half-asleep, you pull against the taught restraint that wakes you. You cannot bring your arm down. As you open your eyes, you see them, sleepy and helpless, pulling your right arm to a restraint on the opposite side of the bed.
Huh?
You try to rub the goo from your eyes, but cannot. Even the things you were told, don’t make sense yet.
“The reason that… wait.”
You remember who shares your bed.
You’re awake.
THIS IS YOUR FAULT.
YOU TEASED TOO MUCH.
They attack your underarms with all ten dexterous fingers. You try to move your torso and legs up to protect yourself, but realize that they’re already sitting on your hips. You lament the situation.
“You’re on my hihihihihips! Hahahaha!”
“Oh, so I should tickle your hips?”
FUCK THEM.
They squeeze your hipbones with ruthless vigor. Your legs flail behind them, fruitlessly trying to cover your upper body. Your legs ride an invisible bicycle, trying to kick your attacker, but never able to make contact.
DON’T!! STOP TICKLING ME!!
“‘Don’t stop tickling you?’ Done. Any other requests?”
They look at you mockingly, with that shitty smile, that smile that knows how to manipulate anything you say, as if it’s a teasing, joyful act.
FUCK YOU, AND YOUR SMILE.
No one can understand you. In fact, I think you’re laughing. You must looooove this. I can pin myself down on your ankles. Your feet are mine.
I AM AN INDEPENDENT PERSON; I HAVE MY OWN HOPES AND DREAMS. BUT MY FEET WILL ALWAYS BELONG TO YOU, AND YOU ALONE.
Finally! You’ve remembered who you fell asleep with. They start to drift off, but you kick them awake; your wrists still need undoing from the bedposts.
They free your hands, safe in the knowledge that they
WILL ALWAYS OWN YOUR FEET.
------
You rub the goo from your eyes.
They’ll never push you farther than you can go. Well, they’ll push you a little bit, but never further than you can take. They know you too well. They’ve brought you to the edge and back many times, even in a single session. You have safewords, but you rarely use them anymore.
Well, maybe they’ll push a little bit more than what you can take.
Just a bit. Just for fun.
Before it all starts, you willingly raise your arms to the bedposts.
Every time.
You know you can never bring them back down. You know they tie them too well. Maybe it’s your fault, too. After some teasing, you tease them back. Every time.
It’s definitely your fault, too.
------
You were in your childhood house, when everyone looked at you, your left arm was raised, as if asking a question. Embarrassed, you try to pull it down. The soft narratives of your dreams fade away.
On your left wrist, half-asleep, you pull against the taught restraint that wakes you. You cannot bring your arm down. As you open your eyes, you see them, sleepy and helpless, pulling your right arm to a restraint on the opposite side of the bed.
Huh?
You try to rub the goo from your eyes, but cannot. Even the things you were told, don’t make sense yet.
“The reason that… wait.”
You remember who shares your bed.
You’re awake.
THIS IS YOUR FAULT.
YOU TEASED TOO MUCH.
They attack your underarms with all ten dexterous fingers. You try to move your torso and legs up to protect yourself, but realize that they’re already sitting on your hips. You lament the situation.
“You’re on my hihihihihips! Hahahaha!”
“Oh, so I should tickle your hips?”
FUCK THEM.
They squeeze your hipbones with ruthless vigor. Your legs flail behind them, fruitlessly trying to cover your upper body. Your legs ride an invisible bicycle, trying to kick your attacker, but never able to make contact.
DON’T!! STOP TICKLING ME!!
“‘Don’t stop tickling you?’ Done. Any other requests?”
They look at you mockingly, with that shitty smile, that smile that knows how to manipulate anything you say, as if it’s a teasing, joyful act.
FUCK YOU, AND YOUR SMILE.
No one can understand you. In fact, I think you’re laughing. You must looooove this. I can pin myself down on your ankles. Your feet are mine.
I AM AN INDEPENDENT PERSON; I HAVE MY OWN HOPES AND DREAMS. BUT MY FEET WILL ALWAYS BELONG TO YOU, AND YOU ALONE.
Finally! You’ve remembered who you fell asleep with. They start to drift off, but you kick them awake; your wrists still need undoing from the bedposts.
They free your hands, safe in the knowledge that they
WILL ALWAYS OWN YOUR FEET.
------
You rub the goo from your eyes.
