Eternal Tomboy
TMF Master
- Joined
- Aug 5, 2001
- Messages
- 980
- Points
- 18
I posted this story over on my Fetlife profile (eternaltomboy), but tickle lovers are in the vast minority over there, so I thought I’d share it with my fellow ticklephiles 
I wrote this one morning when the desire to be tickled was strong but I had no outlet. So I channeled my frustration into a short story. Frustration is never fun, but it sure does fuel creativity, lol
———————————————————————
Some days I can go hours before thoughts of tickling creep into my mind - but not today. Before I even open up my eyes, the desire to be overpowered and tickled beyond my limits is there to greet me like an old, familiar friend. My brain needs no prompting; it immediately begins to play a reel of ticklish fantasies, one after the other until it lands on one that turns my desire into an almost palpable ache - apparently my brain is as much of a masochist as I am.
I'm curled up in my warm bed and my eyes are closed, but I can see him in my mind as clear as day, and I know what he wants to do to me. His need for tickle torture is just as strong as mine. I can see in his eyes that he wants to try and break me, as he has countless times before. He knows every ticklish spot on my body and how to use them to his full advantage until I'm begging for mercy.... even though I know my pleas will only serve to encourage his torment.
I'm tied down, spread eagle, and he has left no wiggle room for me to try and protect myself. He's standing at the foot of the bed but doesn't move until I make eye contact with him and he knows he has my full attention. Just the predatory look on his face is enough to get the butterflies in my stomach stirring. He straddles my waist and allows the weight of his body to restrain me even further. He rests his hands on my hipbones, and my body reflexively tenses up, just from the threat of him tickling one of the most ticklish spots on my body.
"Look over at the clock on the nightstand and tell me what time it is," he says.
It's an odd request, but I'm already in submissive mode so I don't question him. I crane my neck to the left to see the small alarm clock, and before I'm able to tell him the time, he buries his face into the side of my neck that I was stupid enough to willingly expose for him. The feel of his scruff and mouth on my neck automatically brings my level of ticklishness up to an almost unbearable level. He's decided there will be no "warm-up" period this morning - he's going to start with the kind of torturous tickles he knows will have me begging in seconds. My neck has always been the kind of hyper-ticklish spot that makes me feel totally helpless when tickled like this because I have no defense against it. And he knows it.
His tongue and teeth torture every inch of that area from ear to collarbone. My laughter flows unabated and it's punctuated by the occasional scream. I know any attempt to try and hold back my ticklish reactions from him is not only futile, it's also impossible. But he wants more. His thumbs dig into my sensitive hipbones and make endless circles that amp up my helpless laughter until it's almost fallen silent. My struggles are frantic, and I'm fighting hard against the restraints' stubborn resistance. My begging begins in earnest because I can't take anymore - one word pleas are all I can get out through my endless stream of laughter. One scream of "PLEASE!" or "STOP!" with every small gulp of air I can manage catch.
Then he whispers threateningly in my ear, "Don't you DARE safeword," and continues his torment on two of the most ticklish spots on my body at once.
I want to try and endure it for him as long as I can before I'm brought to the delicious point of surrender. Because I know if I safeword too soon, we won't get the high we're both after. We're like addicts craving a fix - although in our case, the drug of choice is the intense cocktail of adrenaline and endorphins that will soon flood our systems.
The tickle torture continues - one minute? Five? Thirty? I have no idea. Any concept of time is lost because all my brain can do is try and find ways of coping with the sensory overload it's being put through. I can feel the safeword in the back of my throat, begging to be released along with my helpless laughter. I hold it back for as long as I can until it finally explodes out of my mouth. His torture stops immediately. In a matter of a second, I go from screaming and laughing, to near silence as I try to catch my breath. My body, that was thrashing around just a moment before, slumps into the sweat-soaked mattress, totally exhausted.
"That safeword is going to cost you. As punishment, I think we should see just how ticklish your feet are today...." he says and slowly makes his way to the end of the bed, where my bare feet are restrained and unprotected.
My heart barely has the chance to slow its pace back down to a normal rhythm before I feel one of his fingers trace the curve of my left arch. I think I may be screwed.....
THE END
I wrote this one morning when the desire to be tickled was strong but I had no outlet. So I channeled my frustration into a short story. Frustration is never fun, but it sure does fuel creativity, lol ———————————————————————
Some days I can go hours before thoughts of tickling creep into my mind - but not today. Before I even open up my eyes, the desire to be overpowered and tickled beyond my limits is there to greet me like an old, familiar friend. My brain needs no prompting; it immediately begins to play a reel of ticklish fantasies, one after the other until it lands on one that turns my desire into an almost palpable ache - apparently my brain is as much of a masochist as I am.
I'm curled up in my warm bed and my eyes are closed, but I can see him in my mind as clear as day, and I know what he wants to do to me. His need for tickle torture is just as strong as mine. I can see in his eyes that he wants to try and break me, as he has countless times before. He knows every ticklish spot on my body and how to use them to his full advantage until I'm begging for mercy.... even though I know my pleas will only serve to encourage his torment.
I'm tied down, spread eagle, and he has left no wiggle room for me to try and protect myself. He's standing at the foot of the bed but doesn't move until I make eye contact with him and he knows he has my full attention. Just the predatory look on his face is enough to get the butterflies in my stomach stirring. He straddles my waist and allows the weight of his body to restrain me even further. He rests his hands on my hipbones, and my body reflexively tenses up, just from the threat of him tickling one of the most ticklish spots on my body.
"Look over at the clock on the nightstand and tell me what time it is," he says.
It's an odd request, but I'm already in submissive mode so I don't question him. I crane my neck to the left to see the small alarm clock, and before I'm able to tell him the time, he buries his face into the side of my neck that I was stupid enough to willingly expose for him. The feel of his scruff and mouth on my neck automatically brings my level of ticklishness up to an almost unbearable level. He's decided there will be no "warm-up" period this morning - he's going to start with the kind of torturous tickles he knows will have me begging in seconds. My neck has always been the kind of hyper-ticklish spot that makes me feel totally helpless when tickled like this because I have no defense against it. And he knows it.
His tongue and teeth torture every inch of that area from ear to collarbone. My laughter flows unabated and it's punctuated by the occasional scream. I know any attempt to try and hold back my ticklish reactions from him is not only futile, it's also impossible. But he wants more. His thumbs dig into my sensitive hipbones and make endless circles that amp up my helpless laughter until it's almost fallen silent. My struggles are frantic, and I'm fighting hard against the restraints' stubborn resistance. My begging begins in earnest because I can't take anymore - one word pleas are all I can get out through my endless stream of laughter. One scream of "PLEASE!" or "STOP!" with every small gulp of air I can manage catch.
Then he whispers threateningly in my ear, "Don't you DARE safeword," and continues his torment on two of the most ticklish spots on my body at once.
I want to try and endure it for him as long as I can before I'm brought to the delicious point of surrender. Because I know if I safeword too soon, we won't get the high we're both after. We're like addicts craving a fix - although in our case, the drug of choice is the intense cocktail of adrenaline and endorphins that will soon flood our systems.
The tickle torture continues - one minute? Five? Thirty? I have no idea. Any concept of time is lost because all my brain can do is try and find ways of coping with the sensory overload it's being put through. I can feel the safeword in the back of my throat, begging to be released along with my helpless laughter. I hold it back for as long as I can until it finally explodes out of my mouth. His torture stops immediately. In a matter of a second, I go from screaming and laughing, to near silence as I try to catch my breath. My body, that was thrashing around just a moment before, slumps into the sweat-soaked mattress, totally exhausted.
"That safeword is going to cost you. As punishment, I think we should see just how ticklish your feet are today...." he says and slowly makes his way to the end of the bed, where my bare feet are restrained and unprotected.
My heart barely has the chance to slow its pace back down to a normal rhythm before I feel one of his fingers trace the curve of my left arch. I think I may be screwed.....
THE END
