NOTE: This is a custom story written for a friend of mine. I wrote her as the subject of this story, details at her request. There are sexual situations that she also requested. If forced sexual fantasies bother you, please do not read this. Thank you.
Sweet Mercy Tickles
by Max Speer (2002)
Part Two - The Tutor
Mercy sat at home and waited for the Tutor. He was a little late and it allowed her mind to wander. She thought about that bus ride and the man who tickled her.
She was still trying to adapt to this new culture, having grown up in a small town in Scotland, and unaware of the unusual quirks of Americans. Was this a normal thing, she wondered?
The bell rang and she opened the door. Her Tutor, Mr. Jackson, was a tall man with salt and pepper hair and a short, trimmed gray beard. He was impeccably dressed with a pin-stripe suit and gripped a leather bag with his books. There was something about him that was a little exciting to Mercy. He was such a wonderful image of the Authority Figure.
Mercy wondered if she was dressed appropriately for such a classy gentleman. She wore her long skirt and cute, cotton, sleeveless top with a flutter of a sleeve that looked like tiny umbrellas over her bare shoulders. She also wore flip-flops.
The lesson went well, but in the middle of it she noticed that Mr. Jackson had moved closer to her and the tiny hairs that peaked out from under his long sleeve was tickling her bare arm. Mercy tried to suppress a smile but it was impossible. She was afraid to run the sensations away for fear that she would embarrass her tutor. Instead she took it like a lady and allowed the hairs to continue to tickle her arm.
Suddenly, she could take it no longer and pulled away and giggled.
"What seems to be the trouble, young Miss?" Mr. Jackson said.
"Nothing," Mercy said, a little embarrassed. "Sorry."
Mr. Jackson sighed. "If we are going to establish any trust, Mercy, you must be honest with me."
"It’s nothing," she said. "Just that, your, uh, sleeve was tickling my arm."
"Oh?" Mr. Jackson said, wrinkling his brow. "So you’re a ticklish one, huh?"
His mood seemed to change and he smiled. "You have a ticklish arm?" He said taking his forefinger and running it up and down her very soft bare arm.
Mercy started to giggle but left her arm where it was for fear of insulting her tutor. She just sat there, giggling and said, "Yes" through her giggles.
"How about that armpit of yours?" he said taking a hold of her wrist and starting to lift her arm out to the side. "Is your little armpit ticklish?"
Mercy giggled louder at the thought of her armpit being tickled. Mr. Jackson let the tip of his finger touch the soft surface of her smooth armpit and Mercy instantly pulled her arm away and let out a loud laugh. It tickled so much. "Yes!" she said loudly before bursting into laughter.
"Mr. Jackson," Mercy said, backing out of her seat and edging her way across the room. "Do you have to tickle me? I’m very ticklish you know."
The large tutor walked slowly towards her, matching every step she took. "Actually, yes," he said. "I know you are very ticklish, and I DO have to tickle you."
Mercy had backed as far as she could. She felt the couch at the back of her legs. Mr. Jackson faced her and lifted two hands and grabbed her soft sides, right below her ribcage and started tickling. The young girl let out a shriek and fell, backward into the couch. The tall man’s hands followed her movement downward and continued tickling Mercy as she laughed and laughed and twisted this way and that. He lifted her hands up and gripped his tickling hands. They held her like a vice, and she attempted to push them down and away from her highly ticklish sides. But Mr. Jackson was clever and saw that the action Mercy had taken had exposed her two, smooth armpits perfectly. The act of pushing against his hands caused her armpits to take the shape of two, inverted ‘cups’, and the tutor released his grip on her sides and let his fingers wiggle into those ticklish hollows.
Mercy exploded into uncontrollable laughter and panicked at her ticklish blight. She tried to rise up and up by kicking her feet but Mr. Jackson had her pinned against the sofa with his tickling attack.
"Do you want to get a good grade, Little Miss?" he said, stopping suddenly.
"Yes!" Mercy shouted, then calmed a bit, breathing heavily. "I do want to get good grades, but I am so helplessly tickly that I can’t stand this."
"I will give you a choice," he said, releasing her. "You have a choice between letting me tickle you intensely, or tickling you lightly and you doing something to me."
"Does there have to be tickling?" she said, her Scottish accent thicker than ever.
"Yes," Mr. Jackson said. "There is going to be tickling. But you have the choice of how badly you will be tickled.
"I’ll do anything to not have you tickling me like you just did." Mercy was sitting up and wiping her forehead and pulling her hair back.
Mr. Jackson saw that she was revealing her extremely smooth armpits. It was his first clear view of them. They were so ticklish.
"Are you trying to tease me?" he said, staring at them and lifting his fingers.
"No!" she said, suddenly throwing her arms down and hiding the ticklish spots.
"Very well." He rose and walked to the table and pulled a chair up to the girl. Then he sat down. "Open my pants," he said.
"Wha-what?" Mercy said, surprised.
"I am not going to play games with you. You are here on a temporary basis. You want and you need to get your green card. I have the power, so let’s stop the pretense. Open my pants. Now!"
Mercy stood up, then went down to her knees and opened her tutor’s zipper. He had an erection. She looked up at his face and he had a stern expression. Then, she took her palm and began to rub it ever so slowly, up and down. He let out a moan.
"Very good," he said in a breathy voice. "You are beginning to learn. But I don’t want you to use your hand. Sit back on the couch."
The girl obeyed. He then instructed her to remove her flip-flops and place her bare feet on his lap. Mercy obeyed.
"Now give me one of your feet and place the other one against my, you know, against, me."
Mercy placed her soft, bare sole against her tutor’s erection and allowed her other foot to be held by him. Then, as she moved her right foot up and down against his bulge, he lightly began to tickle her extremely soft sole. The girl began giggling and instinctively tried to pull her foot back. But she knew what she had to do and bit her lip between bursts of laughter. All the while, her foot stimulated the teacher.
"Good, good," he moaned. "Harder."
Mercy let her foot rub faster and harder. It was very difficult to engineer since her other foot was so unbearably ticklish and Mr. Jackson was letting his fingers run down the length of her soft bare foot, and then used the top of his nails to lightly scrape back up again. With each pass through her sole, her let out a shriek and began giggling.
She prayed for the man to finally have a release so that the tickling would stop but he wasn’t quite ready for that. He removed her foot from between his legs and sat forward, letting her bare foot drop gently to the ground.
Mercy took a breath and watched Mr. Jackson sit forward.
"Lift up your arms," he commanded. Taking a breath and swallowing, the girl slowly lifted both of her bare arms and let her hands rest on her head. "What a cute little top you’re wearing."
"Thank you," Mercy said, unable to think of anything else to say.
"It’s so girly and sleeveless," he said staring under her arms, from one arm to the other. "I like girls in sleeveless shirts. It’s so cute when they show off their ticklish armpits."
Mercy swallowed and wanted to close her eyes. "Cute?" was all she could say.
"Yes," the tutor said now on his knees and moving closer to her. He pushed her leg between his legs and she felt his erection against her. "Yes, cute. They are so ticklish under there and yet they show off this ticklish spot."
"Show off?" Mercy stuttered. She was started to panic.
"Oh my sweet child," he said. "I have so much to teach you." With that, he lifted his hands and let his fingers play gently on her ticklish underarms.
Mercy began to laugh and threw her arms down. "This is just NOT going to work," he said and he pounced on her, pulling her down so that she now lie completely on the couch and he was on top of her, wrapping his legs around her thigh. He held both of her arms high above her head and started tickling her armpits furiously. Mercy was hysterical, eyes squeezed shut and mouth agape. Her body shook and she twisted this way and that. Mr. Jackson began ‘pumping’ her thigh and even this tickled the poor girl.
"What did you say your armpits were? Tickly?"
"Yessss, hee hee hee hee! Tickly!" she screamed between hysterical giggles.
"Tickle tickly tickly," he repeated over and over as his fingers tickled first one armpit, then the other. He marveled at her softness, like silk and soft rubber. He pumped madly against her thigh and felt his passion building.
"Stop, please stop!" Mercy shouted as she laughed and laughed and twisted. Her soft, shapely body undulated into the deepest recesses of the couch.
Suddenly, he let out a moan and fell in a sweating, panting heap on her heavily breathing body. But as Mercy was catching her breath, he sprung up and gathered himself and walked to the table that held his papers, books and briefcase.
The Tall tutor walked to the door and opened it. He looked back at Mercy, still breathing heavily on the couch, hair matted on her forehead.
"You did just fine for Lesson One," he said and began to walk out of the door. "I will see you in another outfit for Lesson Two." Then he was gone.
Mercy sat up and pulled her hair back, then slipped her hands under her smooth arms and rubbed away the tickly feeling.
"Welcome to America, Mercy," she said.
Sweet Mercy Tickles
by Max Speer (2002)
Part Two - The Tutor
Mercy sat at home and waited for the Tutor. He was a little late and it allowed her mind to wander. She thought about that bus ride and the man who tickled her.
She was still trying to adapt to this new culture, having grown up in a small town in Scotland, and unaware of the unusual quirks of Americans. Was this a normal thing, she wondered?
The bell rang and she opened the door. Her Tutor, Mr. Jackson, was a tall man with salt and pepper hair and a short, trimmed gray beard. He was impeccably dressed with a pin-stripe suit and gripped a leather bag with his books. There was something about him that was a little exciting to Mercy. He was such a wonderful image of the Authority Figure.
Mercy wondered if she was dressed appropriately for such a classy gentleman. She wore her long skirt and cute, cotton, sleeveless top with a flutter of a sleeve that looked like tiny umbrellas over her bare shoulders. She also wore flip-flops.
The lesson went well, but in the middle of it she noticed that Mr. Jackson had moved closer to her and the tiny hairs that peaked out from under his long sleeve was tickling her bare arm. Mercy tried to suppress a smile but it was impossible. She was afraid to run the sensations away for fear that she would embarrass her tutor. Instead she took it like a lady and allowed the hairs to continue to tickle her arm.
Suddenly, she could take it no longer and pulled away and giggled.
"What seems to be the trouble, young Miss?" Mr. Jackson said.
"Nothing," Mercy said, a little embarrassed. "Sorry."
Mr. Jackson sighed. "If we are going to establish any trust, Mercy, you must be honest with me."
"It’s nothing," she said. "Just that, your, uh, sleeve was tickling my arm."
"Oh?" Mr. Jackson said, wrinkling his brow. "So you’re a ticklish one, huh?"
His mood seemed to change and he smiled. "You have a ticklish arm?" He said taking his forefinger and running it up and down her very soft bare arm.
Mercy started to giggle but left her arm where it was for fear of insulting her tutor. She just sat there, giggling and said, "Yes" through her giggles.
"How about that armpit of yours?" he said taking a hold of her wrist and starting to lift her arm out to the side. "Is your little armpit ticklish?"
Mercy giggled louder at the thought of her armpit being tickled. Mr. Jackson let the tip of his finger touch the soft surface of her smooth armpit and Mercy instantly pulled her arm away and let out a loud laugh. It tickled so much. "Yes!" she said loudly before bursting into laughter.
"Mr. Jackson," Mercy said, backing out of her seat and edging her way across the room. "Do you have to tickle me? I’m very ticklish you know."
The large tutor walked slowly towards her, matching every step she took. "Actually, yes," he said. "I know you are very ticklish, and I DO have to tickle you."
Mercy had backed as far as she could. She felt the couch at the back of her legs. Mr. Jackson faced her and lifted two hands and grabbed her soft sides, right below her ribcage and started tickling. The young girl let out a shriek and fell, backward into the couch. The tall man’s hands followed her movement downward and continued tickling Mercy as she laughed and laughed and twisted this way and that. He lifted her hands up and gripped his tickling hands. They held her like a vice, and she attempted to push them down and away from her highly ticklish sides. But Mr. Jackson was clever and saw that the action Mercy had taken had exposed her two, smooth armpits perfectly. The act of pushing against his hands caused her armpits to take the shape of two, inverted ‘cups’, and the tutor released his grip on her sides and let his fingers wiggle into those ticklish hollows.
Mercy exploded into uncontrollable laughter and panicked at her ticklish blight. She tried to rise up and up by kicking her feet but Mr. Jackson had her pinned against the sofa with his tickling attack.
"Do you want to get a good grade, Little Miss?" he said, stopping suddenly.
"Yes!" Mercy shouted, then calmed a bit, breathing heavily. "I do want to get good grades, but I am so helplessly tickly that I can’t stand this."
"I will give you a choice," he said, releasing her. "You have a choice between letting me tickle you intensely, or tickling you lightly and you doing something to me."
"Does there have to be tickling?" she said, her Scottish accent thicker than ever.
"Yes," Mr. Jackson said. "There is going to be tickling. But you have the choice of how badly you will be tickled.
"I’ll do anything to not have you tickling me like you just did." Mercy was sitting up and wiping her forehead and pulling her hair back.
Mr. Jackson saw that she was revealing her extremely smooth armpits. It was his first clear view of them. They were so ticklish.
"Are you trying to tease me?" he said, staring at them and lifting his fingers.
"No!" she said, suddenly throwing her arms down and hiding the ticklish spots.
"Very well." He rose and walked to the table and pulled a chair up to the girl. Then he sat down. "Open my pants," he said.
"Wha-what?" Mercy said, surprised.
"I am not going to play games with you. You are here on a temporary basis. You want and you need to get your green card. I have the power, so let’s stop the pretense. Open my pants. Now!"
Mercy stood up, then went down to her knees and opened her tutor’s zipper. He had an erection. She looked up at his face and he had a stern expression. Then, she took her palm and began to rub it ever so slowly, up and down. He let out a moan.
"Very good," he said in a breathy voice. "You are beginning to learn. But I don’t want you to use your hand. Sit back on the couch."
The girl obeyed. He then instructed her to remove her flip-flops and place her bare feet on his lap. Mercy obeyed.
"Now give me one of your feet and place the other one against my, you know, against, me."
Mercy placed her soft, bare sole against her tutor’s erection and allowed her other foot to be held by him. Then, as she moved her right foot up and down against his bulge, he lightly began to tickle her extremely soft sole. The girl began giggling and instinctively tried to pull her foot back. But she knew what she had to do and bit her lip between bursts of laughter. All the while, her foot stimulated the teacher.
"Good, good," he moaned. "Harder."
Mercy let her foot rub faster and harder. It was very difficult to engineer since her other foot was so unbearably ticklish and Mr. Jackson was letting his fingers run down the length of her soft bare foot, and then used the top of his nails to lightly scrape back up again. With each pass through her sole, her let out a shriek and began giggling.
She prayed for the man to finally have a release so that the tickling would stop but he wasn’t quite ready for that. He removed her foot from between his legs and sat forward, letting her bare foot drop gently to the ground.
Mercy took a breath and watched Mr. Jackson sit forward.
"Lift up your arms," he commanded. Taking a breath and swallowing, the girl slowly lifted both of her bare arms and let her hands rest on her head. "What a cute little top you’re wearing."
"Thank you," Mercy said, unable to think of anything else to say.
"It’s so girly and sleeveless," he said staring under her arms, from one arm to the other. "I like girls in sleeveless shirts. It’s so cute when they show off their ticklish armpits."
Mercy swallowed and wanted to close her eyes. "Cute?" was all she could say.
"Yes," the tutor said now on his knees and moving closer to her. He pushed her leg between his legs and she felt his erection against her. "Yes, cute. They are so ticklish under there and yet they show off this ticklish spot."
"Show off?" Mercy stuttered. She was started to panic.
"Oh my sweet child," he said. "I have so much to teach you." With that, he lifted his hands and let his fingers play gently on her ticklish underarms.
Mercy began to laugh and threw her arms down. "This is just NOT going to work," he said and he pounced on her, pulling her down so that she now lie completely on the couch and he was on top of her, wrapping his legs around her thigh. He held both of her arms high above her head and started tickling her armpits furiously. Mercy was hysterical, eyes squeezed shut and mouth agape. Her body shook and she twisted this way and that. Mr. Jackson began ‘pumping’ her thigh and even this tickled the poor girl.
"What did you say your armpits were? Tickly?"
"Yessss, hee hee hee hee! Tickly!" she screamed between hysterical giggles.
"Tickle tickly tickly," he repeated over and over as his fingers tickled first one armpit, then the other. He marveled at her softness, like silk and soft rubber. He pumped madly against her thigh and felt his passion building.
"Stop, please stop!" Mercy shouted as she laughed and laughed and twisted. Her soft, shapely body undulated into the deepest recesses of the couch.
Suddenly, he let out a moan and fell in a sweating, panting heap on her heavily breathing body. But as Mercy was catching her breath, he sprung up and gathered himself and walked to the table that held his papers, books and briefcase.
The Tall tutor walked to the door and opened it. He looked back at Mercy, still breathing heavily on the couch, hair matted on her forehead.
"You did just fine for Lesson One," he said and began to walk out of the door. "I will see you in another outfit for Lesson Two." Then he was gone.
Mercy sat up and pulled her hair back, then slipped her hands under her smooth arms and rubbed away the tickly feeling.
"Welcome to America, Mercy," she said.
