Hey Friends!
Just as I promised, here is a teaser from my latest installment of the Mercy series.
Although this 'teaser' does not have any sexual content, the next installment will, so consider yourself forewarned.
Sweet Mercy Tickles
By Max Speer © 2004
The petite, dark-haired Gothic Princess walked into the “Crypt Club” alone. The last time was disastrous, having had her ticklishness exploited so cruelly by several of the staff and patrons. Unfortunately for the sensitive nineteen-year old, it was a stigma that would stick. On this night anyway.
Mercy was looking exceptionally fetching. What was she thinking when she slipped into her extremely tight tank top with the wide armholes, and her red and black kilt skirt, ornamented with large safety pins. Her friend, Meg told her that safety pins were so last year but she liked them. She added extras all along the hem of her miniskirt to create a metallic tassel. Her hair was long and black and straight and it framed the intense blackness of her eye shadow and shiny lipstick. Her thigh-high socks were black and white-striped and she wore shin-high black Doc Marten’s. Mercy was smoking hot.
The sexy young girl sat at the bar as the music screamed obscenely. It was an absolute violation of the senses but Mercy loved the intensity.
“Can I see some id?” the bartender said, a little on the unfriendly side. She had none, no fake one that is. All she offered him was a demure smile that could melt the heart of anyone. But he knew Mercy and remembered that she liked red wine, so he poured her a glass from an open bottle and slipped it onto a bar napkin.
Mercy smiled a broad smile and blew him a kiss. He swooned as he bumped into another bartender rushing for the low shelf bottles.
“I would LOVE to get into her pants,” he exclaimed through the noise at his co-worker. They looked back at the small girl in her smoking hot outfit, with naked shoulders swaying to the rhythm of the music, sipping her wine and nodded in agreement.
“You have any nuts?” Mercy yelled.
The bartenders cracked up.
“Oh shut up!” she said in her thick Scottish brogue. “Bar Nuts!”
The bartender indicated with his chin a spot on the bar where there was a large wine glass with assorted nuts sitting in front of a young couple also dressed in a retro-punk style.
Mercy reached her bare arm across the bar to grab at the nuts and, without missing a beat; the bartender tickled her on her smooth underarm.
The girl shrieked and jerked her arm back giggling. She was very ticklish there.
“I’m sorry,” he said, leaning close to her so she could hear. “It was just too tempting.”
Did he remember her from that last night of debauchery? Probably.
She started to reach across again but stopped and smiled, looking up at him. She raised her other hand up and pointed a finger at his face, scolding, “Don’t tickle me!”
I don’t know, something about a cute girl saying, “Don’t tickle me” really makes people want to tickle them.
She reached across as he threw his hands up to show her he was ‘unarmed’, but just as she was about to grab a handful, he tickled her extremely ticklish underarm again.
Mercy screamed, getting the attention of the couple who had possession of the bar nuts. They smiled as she pulled back into her seat, almost falling, and laughed as she rubbed her hand under her arm to wipe away the tickle sensations.
“Well,” the bartender said as he whipped the bar towel over his shoulder and walked away. “That’s my tip for the night.”
The couple shifted in their seat and the male walked over. Mercy didn’t notice him at first, still lost in the fact that this guy tickled her. When the male spoke she jumped.
“Excuse me,” he said a little too loud, trying to compensate for the audio terrorism that was echoing throughout the club.
“Wha?!” Mercy was startled but giggled, embarrassed.
“Weren’t you the one they had on stage a few weeks ago?”
Mercy’s memory went back to that night of tickle torture and sex. She nodded, shyly.
“Cool,” he said. Then, “Are you some kinda performance artist or something like that?”
Mercy giggled again. “No.”
“Yeah cause they were all around you, tickling you, like some show or something.”
“No,” she said. “I’m just really ticklish and everybody takes advantage of me.”
“Where are you from? Ireland?” The male asked, noticing her brogue.
“Scotland.”
“Cool.”
Their meaningful talk was suddenly interrupted by the towering presence of the Bouncer who reached up and tickled the girl’s thin ribcage.
Mercy shrieked and twisted under his fingers but it was only a quick tickle, yet enough to send nerve signals on a rampage through the young Scot’s brain. She screamed and laughed and fell out of her seat. The Bouncer chuckled, sadistically as he watched Mercy stumble. He remembered her too, and he couldn’t stop thinking about how the lass had turned him on like no other since that night.
“You’re underage, Little Miss,” he said threateningly. Mercy looked up at him, cowering a little. “I’m gonna have to throw you out.”
Mercy was upset and relieved all at the same time. She was afraid he would do worse. Her fears were realized and the fate of the night was sealed with his next words.
“Unless, of course, you do something for me.”
Mercy sighed. She wasn’t in the mood for hand jobs or whatever. She was pissed off. Pissed off that she was under 21. Pissed off that she didn’t have a boyfriend who would stand up for her. Pissed off that she was in a strange country and couldn’t interpret the subtle motives of these people.
“Forget it,” she yelled through the din. “I’ll just go. Nothing personal.”
“Hey!” the big Monster said with a newfound smile. “I was just shittin’ ya! Gimme a hug.”
The Bouncer embraced the petite girl, completely losing her within the girth of his huge forearms and biceps. Mercy smiled a sort of, helpless smile and the couple nearby laughed.
“Still ticklish I see,” said the Bouncer.
Mercy just nodded with that same helpless smile.
“Still ticklish, eh? Eh?” He wouldn’t let up. Mercy continued to nod in agreement. Then, his huge hands reached out and grabbed her delicate ribs, tickling the poor girl. “Eh? Eh?”
Instantly, Mercy’s body lurched forward, twisting left and right like a washing machine agitator gone amuck. Laughter squealed out of the helpless girl as the Bouncer’s fingers played her ribs like piano keys. His huge hands held her in place as his fingers probed the super sensitive torso of the Scottish girl, her long, straight black hair whipping to and fro.
The couple, who were watching and laughing, thought this was all lots of fun and the girl reached down to the giggling Mercy and kitchy-kooed her long nails under Mercy’s chin. This just added insult to injury and Mercy alternated between swatting at those fingers and trying to unhook the Bouncer’s fingers from her tortured ribs. The Male watched in horny pleasure as the adorable Goth girl twisted back and forth. He saw that as she reached high on her sides to grab at the Bouncer’s hands, her elbows stuck straight out and exposed two very smooth and pinkish underarms, revealed so blatantly via the large armholes of her black tank top. He smiled with horny pleasure as he stood in front of her and wriggled his fingertips into the deep hollows of her underarms, tickling the smooth skin.
Mercy’s nerve fibers had all they could take at this point and she screamed like a banshee as she leaped out of the way of her attackers and took off running through the crowd. She was like a gazelle as she leaped and sidestepped and negotiated the huddle of bodies through the dance floor. She was doing quite well until she hit a wall of bodies that stopped the fleeing girl in her tracks. She recognized them instantly and stood, staring hopelessly as the Bouncer and his new recruits closed the ‘wall’ behind her.
******
More to come very soon!
Max
Just as I promised, here is a teaser from my latest installment of the Mercy series.
Although this 'teaser' does not have any sexual content, the next installment will, so consider yourself forewarned.
Sweet Mercy Tickles
By Max Speer © 2004
The petite, dark-haired Gothic Princess walked into the “Crypt Club” alone. The last time was disastrous, having had her ticklishness exploited so cruelly by several of the staff and patrons. Unfortunately for the sensitive nineteen-year old, it was a stigma that would stick. On this night anyway.
Mercy was looking exceptionally fetching. What was she thinking when she slipped into her extremely tight tank top with the wide armholes, and her red and black kilt skirt, ornamented with large safety pins. Her friend, Meg told her that safety pins were so last year but she liked them. She added extras all along the hem of her miniskirt to create a metallic tassel. Her hair was long and black and straight and it framed the intense blackness of her eye shadow and shiny lipstick. Her thigh-high socks were black and white-striped and she wore shin-high black Doc Marten’s. Mercy was smoking hot.
The sexy young girl sat at the bar as the music screamed obscenely. It was an absolute violation of the senses but Mercy loved the intensity.
“Can I see some id?” the bartender said, a little on the unfriendly side. She had none, no fake one that is. All she offered him was a demure smile that could melt the heart of anyone. But he knew Mercy and remembered that she liked red wine, so he poured her a glass from an open bottle and slipped it onto a bar napkin.
Mercy smiled a broad smile and blew him a kiss. He swooned as he bumped into another bartender rushing for the low shelf bottles.
“I would LOVE to get into her pants,” he exclaimed through the noise at his co-worker. They looked back at the small girl in her smoking hot outfit, with naked shoulders swaying to the rhythm of the music, sipping her wine and nodded in agreement.
“You have any nuts?” Mercy yelled.
The bartenders cracked up.
“Oh shut up!” she said in her thick Scottish brogue. “Bar Nuts!”
The bartender indicated with his chin a spot on the bar where there was a large wine glass with assorted nuts sitting in front of a young couple also dressed in a retro-punk style.
Mercy reached her bare arm across the bar to grab at the nuts and, without missing a beat; the bartender tickled her on her smooth underarm.
The girl shrieked and jerked her arm back giggling. She was very ticklish there.
“I’m sorry,” he said, leaning close to her so she could hear. “It was just too tempting.”
Did he remember her from that last night of debauchery? Probably.
She started to reach across again but stopped and smiled, looking up at him. She raised her other hand up and pointed a finger at his face, scolding, “Don’t tickle me!”
I don’t know, something about a cute girl saying, “Don’t tickle me” really makes people want to tickle them.
She reached across as he threw his hands up to show her he was ‘unarmed’, but just as she was about to grab a handful, he tickled her extremely ticklish underarm again.
Mercy screamed, getting the attention of the couple who had possession of the bar nuts. They smiled as she pulled back into her seat, almost falling, and laughed as she rubbed her hand under her arm to wipe away the tickle sensations.
“Well,” the bartender said as he whipped the bar towel over his shoulder and walked away. “That’s my tip for the night.”
The couple shifted in their seat and the male walked over. Mercy didn’t notice him at first, still lost in the fact that this guy tickled her. When the male spoke she jumped.
“Excuse me,” he said a little too loud, trying to compensate for the audio terrorism that was echoing throughout the club.
“Wha?!” Mercy was startled but giggled, embarrassed.
“Weren’t you the one they had on stage a few weeks ago?”
Mercy’s memory went back to that night of tickle torture and sex. She nodded, shyly.
“Cool,” he said. Then, “Are you some kinda performance artist or something like that?”
Mercy giggled again. “No.”
“Yeah cause they were all around you, tickling you, like some show or something.”
“No,” she said. “I’m just really ticklish and everybody takes advantage of me.”
“Where are you from? Ireland?” The male asked, noticing her brogue.
“Scotland.”
“Cool.”
Their meaningful talk was suddenly interrupted by the towering presence of the Bouncer who reached up and tickled the girl’s thin ribcage.
Mercy shrieked and twisted under his fingers but it was only a quick tickle, yet enough to send nerve signals on a rampage through the young Scot’s brain. She screamed and laughed and fell out of her seat. The Bouncer chuckled, sadistically as he watched Mercy stumble. He remembered her too, and he couldn’t stop thinking about how the lass had turned him on like no other since that night.
“You’re underage, Little Miss,” he said threateningly. Mercy looked up at him, cowering a little. “I’m gonna have to throw you out.”
Mercy was upset and relieved all at the same time. She was afraid he would do worse. Her fears were realized and the fate of the night was sealed with his next words.
“Unless, of course, you do something for me.”
Mercy sighed. She wasn’t in the mood for hand jobs or whatever. She was pissed off. Pissed off that she was under 21. Pissed off that she didn’t have a boyfriend who would stand up for her. Pissed off that she was in a strange country and couldn’t interpret the subtle motives of these people.
“Forget it,” she yelled through the din. “I’ll just go. Nothing personal.”
“Hey!” the big Monster said with a newfound smile. “I was just shittin’ ya! Gimme a hug.”
The Bouncer embraced the petite girl, completely losing her within the girth of his huge forearms and biceps. Mercy smiled a sort of, helpless smile and the couple nearby laughed.
“Still ticklish I see,” said the Bouncer.
Mercy just nodded with that same helpless smile.
“Still ticklish, eh? Eh?” He wouldn’t let up. Mercy continued to nod in agreement. Then, his huge hands reached out and grabbed her delicate ribs, tickling the poor girl. “Eh? Eh?”
Instantly, Mercy’s body lurched forward, twisting left and right like a washing machine agitator gone amuck. Laughter squealed out of the helpless girl as the Bouncer’s fingers played her ribs like piano keys. His huge hands held her in place as his fingers probed the super sensitive torso of the Scottish girl, her long, straight black hair whipping to and fro.
The couple, who were watching and laughing, thought this was all lots of fun and the girl reached down to the giggling Mercy and kitchy-kooed her long nails under Mercy’s chin. This just added insult to injury and Mercy alternated between swatting at those fingers and trying to unhook the Bouncer’s fingers from her tortured ribs. The Male watched in horny pleasure as the adorable Goth girl twisted back and forth. He saw that as she reached high on her sides to grab at the Bouncer’s hands, her elbows stuck straight out and exposed two very smooth and pinkish underarms, revealed so blatantly via the large armholes of her black tank top. He smiled with horny pleasure as he stood in front of her and wriggled his fingertips into the deep hollows of her underarms, tickling the smooth skin.
Mercy’s nerve fibers had all they could take at this point and she screamed like a banshee as she leaped out of the way of her attackers and took off running through the crowd. She was like a gazelle as she leaped and sidestepped and negotiated the huddle of bodies through the dance floor. She was doing quite well until she hit a wall of bodies that stopped the fleeing girl in her tracks. She recognized them instantly and stood, staring hopelessly as the Bouncer and his new recruits closed the ‘wall’ behind her.
******
More to come very soon!
Max
(*singing*) I've been workin' on the raaaaaaaaailroad...
