Two pairs of us enter the warehouse. The only heat comes from the lights aimed at our stage, covered with industrial carpet. At the center of the stage sits a bondage horse covered in red leather and a simple rollout cot with red satin sheets.
I guide my lee to the bed where, silently she lies on her back, spreads her limbs to the corners.
My co-tickler, a woman with a funky multicolored wig, guides her male lee to the bondage horse where, equally silently, he puts himself in the prone position.
The two lees have several sensor pads attached to their necks, forearms, wrists, and thighs. Both wear wireless earbud headsets.
Together we restrain our subs, check for tightness, then attach cables to some of the sensors. The wires snake down to boxes near the furniture, and those boxes connect to a table full of laptops and electronic musical equipment.
I run a system check from my phone—all green.
I look at each of the performers—each nods, ready to play.
The stream starts.
I walk to the side of the bed, and speak to my lee to begin the invocation:
There is a song inside you
hidden by your skin.
I run my fingers along her sides, and she squirms. Her movement makes a droning chord rise from the speakers.
You cannot hide it from me—
I feel it sprouting from you,
like a bean,
wriggling at my light-touch.
I dip my finger in coconut oil and swirl it around her navel. She lets out rapid-fire bursts of laughter, causing the sensors to kick off notes and control signals to the computers and the synthesizers. Melodies form when I tickle her, fade away when I stop, fade back in when I start again.
My co-tickler rakes her long fluorescent nails across her lee’s bare feet, and he mewls, trying to hold it in. Even that little noise is picked up by his headset, and it turns into a short baritone-range vocalization.
She continues, knowing he will give in...and he does, setting off a deep bass riff that distorts as he gives in to the torture of her fingers sliding between his toes. He sputters and lets out a howl, firing off a low tenor counterpoint.
She tilts his head to look into his eyes and says,
O You, my special, blossoming one,
lean in the direction
of the sensation.
She digs into his ribs, and his cackles reverberate throughout the warehouse.
Twist in your restraints.
Laugh, lily-lee—
Submit to the symphony
that slips from you.
I repeat this phrase as I dig my thumbs into my lee’s hip creases. She lets out a long, loud laugh as I roll my thumbs around. Her sped-up heart rate changes the tempo, while her fellow lee’s rate does the opposite to the rhythms he drives.
I will listen.
I say this as I tickle my lee’s inner thighs.
I will listen.
My co-tickler says this as she does the same.
The lees buck and babble, giggle and growl, and everything from the sound of their voices to the strain on their ropes to the sweat pouring from them is fed to the synthesizers and spun into melody and rhythm.
We begin to relent, lightly stroking our poor lees, all the while chanting,
I will listen.
I will listen.
I will listen.
When at last they catch their breath, the lees join us in the chant, until the music settles into a simple chord, then a single note, then finally, silence.
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I guide my lee to the bed where, silently she lies on her back, spreads her limbs to the corners.
My co-tickler, a woman with a funky multicolored wig, guides her male lee to the bondage horse where, equally silently, he puts himself in the prone position.
The two lees have several sensor pads attached to their necks, forearms, wrists, and thighs. Both wear wireless earbud headsets.
Together we restrain our subs, check for tightness, then attach cables to some of the sensors. The wires snake down to boxes near the furniture, and those boxes connect to a table full of laptops and electronic musical equipment.
I run a system check from my phone—all green.
I look at each of the performers—each nods, ready to play.
The stream starts.
I walk to the side of the bed, and speak to my lee to begin the invocation:
There is a song inside you
hidden by your skin.
I run my fingers along her sides, and she squirms. Her movement makes a droning chord rise from the speakers.
You cannot hide it from me—
I feel it sprouting from you,
like a bean,
wriggling at my light-touch.
I dip my finger in coconut oil and swirl it around her navel. She lets out rapid-fire bursts of laughter, causing the sensors to kick off notes and control signals to the computers and the synthesizers. Melodies form when I tickle her, fade away when I stop, fade back in when I start again.
My co-tickler rakes her long fluorescent nails across her lee’s bare feet, and he mewls, trying to hold it in. Even that little noise is picked up by his headset, and it turns into a short baritone-range vocalization.
She continues, knowing he will give in...and he does, setting off a deep bass riff that distorts as he gives in to the torture of her fingers sliding between his toes. He sputters and lets out a howl, firing off a low tenor counterpoint.
She tilts his head to look into his eyes and says,
O You, my special, blossoming one,
lean in the direction
of the sensation.
She digs into his ribs, and his cackles reverberate throughout the warehouse.
Twist in your restraints.
Laugh, lily-lee—
Submit to the symphony
that slips from you.
I repeat this phrase as I dig my thumbs into my lee’s hip creases. She lets out a long, loud laugh as I roll my thumbs around. Her sped-up heart rate changes the tempo, while her fellow lee’s rate does the opposite to the rhythms he drives.
I will listen.
I say this as I tickle my lee’s inner thighs.
I will listen.
My co-tickler says this as she does the same.
The lees buck and babble, giggle and growl, and everything from the sound of their voices to the strain on their ropes to the sweat pouring from them is fed to the synthesizers and spun into melody and rhythm.
We begin to relent, lightly stroking our poor lees, all the while chanting,
I will listen.
I will listen.
I will listen.
When at last they catch their breath, the lees join us in the chant, until the music settles into a simple chord, then a single note, then finally, silence.
Sent from my SM-A716U using Tapatalk
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