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Beyond the Bar by Sunriseticklee M/F 😘😘

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Beyond the Bar

She never thought her life would end up like such a cliché. Recently divorced, propped up on a cheap vinyl stool, tossing back a vodka cranberry, nearly last call on a ridiculously, humid Christmas Eve. But here she was, states away, light-years away from the knowing and pitying eyes of her family. Being alone was a choice; feeling lonely was not. She was both, and she was determined to make it out the door and into the night before the bar closed and tossed her out on the street.

They locked eyes from across the dimly lit bar. She looked down and immediately regretted it. He stood and approached, so she knew her avoidance was misinterpreted as coy flirtation. Her walls were up, and she knew rebuffing this clown would be easy work for her.

“Clint.” He tossed his name at her and sat down next to her, uninvited. Thankfully, within this pandemic era, a handshake was not offered. That didn’t stop Clint from pulling his seat closer to her. He leaned in with a drunken grin.

“What are you drinking?”

“Clint, I’m leaving, actually.”

“Not before I buy you a drink.”

“Some other time, hmm?”

He leaned in closer and that darker side of her almost dared him to cross the line. It’d feel great to pop him right on the chin. He leaned back. He must have seen the danger in her eyes because his demeanor changed as if he suddenly decided against it. She grabbed her purse and raised a hand at the bartender.

Less than three minutes later, she was on the street waiting for her Lyft. She had no desire to stay inside even if it was probably safer. She just didn’t care until she felt she was being watched. He was standing about 100 feet away on her left on his cell phone. She could tell he was talking to some sort of delivery person and impatiently directing them to the bar. He smiled at her, shrugged, and continued giving directions.

“The unit is upstairs above the bar, Ma’am. Yes, I am downstairs in front. Just… Ok. Three minutes? All right.” His called ended with an irritated sigh. “Fucking deliveries.”

Before she could tell herself not to react, she laughed. He took that as an invitation to keep talking to her. He moved closer.

“It’s all the damned Peachtrees! Peachtree Road, Peachtree Street, Peachtree Avenue!”

“Peachtree Lane,” she offered with a giggle.

“Yes, Peachtree Lane! The curse of living in downtown Atlanta.”

“Well, there are worse things!”

“285!” they said simultaneously.

“DeMario Baker.” He smiled at her and extended his hand. She surprised herself when she took it.

“Adriene Adams.”

“DeMario? Are you DeMario?” Adriene turned away when the delivery driver arrived. While DeMario and the driver juggled bags between hands, Adriene turned back to check him out. He was definitely taller than she was. She admired his dark brown skin and his long thick locs tossed back into a rough ponytail. DeMario was solidly built and was just at the beginning stages of what was affectionally referred to as dad bod. It was the humor in his eyes and his slightly lopsided grin that intrigued her, though. He looked up at her and smiled again.

“You and your family have a good night, DeMario.”

“It’s just me! I eat like a bear,” he laughed. This time, when she looked down at her shoes coyly, she meant the flirtation. Still, her actions surprised her. She wasn’t on the hunt tonight.

“Um, Adriene… Would you like to come up, to- eat- to join me for dinner?”

Perhaps she was the one being hunted, and yet she said, “Yes.”

Dinner was Thai curry, and luckily she loved spicy food. The heat level meant that they guzzled water more than the bottle of wine that was on the table. He told stories of his Haitian background. She told tales of growing up on the streets of Los Angeles. She didn’t miss how DeMario’s eyes traveled from the top of her curly twist out to the tips of her manicured toes several times as they both spoke. Her eyes kept wandering too, always stopping at his eyes, his lips, and his hands.

They were two glasses into the bottle of wine and sitting on the couch when she slipped off her red and white strappy heels. His voice trailed off. Adriene lifted her legs and placed her feet as close to his lap without touching him.

“May I?” he looked her directly in the eyes when he asked. Adriene nodded, but this time her actions were of no surprise to her. She had been fantasizing about his fingers on her throughout dinner, and the soft buzz from the wine had only intensified the fantasy. She moaned almost immediately when his warm, strong hands wrapped around her feet firmly massaging her arches, the heels, and the balls of each foot. She had managed to keep her reactions to the pleasurable sensations in check until he got to the spot under her toes. She giggled and tried to pull her feet back, but it was almost as if DeMario was prepared for her quick retreat.

“Where you going?” he asked with a devious grin and a quick scramble on her toes.

She squealed, “Nowhere! But my feet are going somewhere.”

“No they’re not!” He gave her a quick tickle again.

“Ha-Ha! Hey! Oh, DeMario! Don’t start something you can’t finish,” she sang softly. They both stared at each other still smiling. Adriene had a challenging look that was sparking, smoldering, catching fire by the second. DeMario eyes seemed to reflect that flame, and he raised an eyebrow.

“You can’t move your feet for one full minute.”

“Two,” she interrupted.

“Three full minutes, or....”

“And if I do?” she interrupted again.

“Careful, Woman. You don’t look like you can handle this.”

“You’d be surprised what I can handle, Mr. Baker.”

He paused, seeming to rethink his original punishment. “And if you do pull away, I can tickle you however I want for as long as I…”

“Ten minutes- Wherever you want.”

“Fine! Ten minutes, Adriene. But with whatever method I choose.”

“And if I do last for two minutes…”


“Three minutes, Mr. Baker, I get to turn you over my knee to paddle you.”

“No chance in hell!”

“What? Are you afraid of a little discipline?”

“I’m going to destroy you!”

“Doubtful. 20 smacks.”


“Fifteen wallops!”



“Ten! My goodness, you are…”

“A joy to have in your home?”

“You’re in trouble.”

“Ten it is, Mr. Baker. So when does the time s…”


In Adriene’s mind, DeMario cheated. She fully expected his hands to go straight back to the spot underneath her tender toes, which he already knew was a weakness. He didn’t. Well, not with his hands. His kneeled down to the floor, and when his soft lips gently kissed the tip of her big toe, she unraveled immediately. It hadn’t even been three seconds, and Adriene had flopped back on the couch, covered her face with her hands, and seemed to make a muffled howling noise. He kissed the second rosy painted toe and was rewarded with more howling. He kissed the third toe. This time he wrapped his tongue sneakily around it and wiggled.

“Noooooo!” she begged and yanked her feet back. He sat up, triumphant. “You are a cheater DeMario!” she huffed.

“How did I cheat?” he asked in a cartoonish voice.

“You weren’t supposed to use your tongue!”

“You didn’t specify how I could tickle you!” he retorted.

“How was I supposed to know that you would cheat?!”

“How was I supposed to know how insanely ticklish you are?”

Adriene grew cold, then warm, then cold, then hot. She was insanely ticklish, and she loved it, truly.

“Fine!” She stood up, removed her dress, popped her twist out into a sloppy bun with the hair tie she had around her wrist, and she lay on the floor. It was almost a full minute before DeMario got over his shock to approach her.

“Anywhere I want?”

“That was the deal, DeMario.”

“For as long as I want?” he grinned.

“That was NOT the deal, DeMario! Stop playing.”

“You’re into this,” he giggled.

“Wait, what?”

“You like being tickled, don’t you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You fantasize about this type of stuff, don’t you?”

“You’re losing your grip on reality, DeMario. I’m about to leave.”

“And you lost on purpose, didn’t you?”

“Please!” she snorted.

“I’m going to make you say you love it, Adriene.” He lay on the floor next to her. “I’m going to make you say you love it.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “I’m going to pick a spot, now.” He placed a feathery soft kiss on her neck. She giggled. “Each time you stop me with your hands…” He kissed her above her bra, right at the center of her chest and waited for another giggle. “It’s going to add one minute to your time.”

“Wait! That wasn’t…”

“Two minutes?” he asked as he began nibbling her ribs right below her left breast.

“One minute! One minute!” she screamed and dissolved under an avalanche of laughter.

It was the kiss he placed on her belly button that made him decide to stop searching for that perfect spot. She did not laugh when he kissed it. Instead, her eyes grew wide, and she gasped like she had been chilled by the wind. He kissed her there again, and she shook and grabbed him.

“D-Don’t! Please!”

“Eleven minutes, Adriene” he whispered.

She removed her hands from his shoulders and raised them above her head.

“Fine,” she whispered and then squeezed her eyes shut.

“No. Each time I look up, if you are looking back at me, I’ll remove a minute.”

“I can’t!”

“Yes, you can,” he whispered and slowly ran both hands down either side of her tummy.

“Oh god! Oh god!”

“Stop me, so I can say twelve!”

Between explosions of laughter she yelled, “I won’t! I won’t!”

“Look at me, so I can say ten.”

“I can’t!!!!” She knew he deliberately dug in just as soon as she was about to make a response. And just as methodically, he tickled her everywhere but her belly button, drawing nearer and nearer as the time counted down.

“Five tickly minutes. Can you handle it? You can’t look at me with your hands covering your face, Adriene!”

“It tickles! It tickles! Please stop!”

“Stop me.”


He laughed at her response and kissed her belly button finally. She grew silent and shaky again.

“Hold up! Does that tickle so badly that you go into silent laughter?”

“Ha! No!” she lied.

“You-shouldn’t-have-let-me-find-that-out!” Each word he said was punctuated with a soft kiss to her deep innie. “Four minutes. Look at me.”

Silent laughter. Screams. Silent laughter. Screams.

Adriene arched her back involuntarily. DeMario reached an arm underneath her permanently placing her in that position. Adriene glared at him, but he wasn’t looking.

“Damn it! Look at me!”

“Oh, were your eyes open? My bad!” He squeezed her lower belly over and over and over again until she smacked his hand.

“Aht! Aht! We’re back to four minutes, Adriene.”

“Nooooooooo! Please! I can’t take it! I can’t take it! I can’t!!!!”

“You can’t fool me. You love this! Say it!”


Kiss- “Say it.”

Gasp- “Nooo!” What was he doing? Yes, it tickled, but it also felt like liquid fire. DeMario’s lips cupped her navel as he delivered deep lingering kisses, sucking her gently, diving his tongue deep into her belly button. This time she arched her back into it willingly. She reached her hand down to the nape of his neck tangling her fingers into his locs but not trying to stop him.

She moaned, “Oh! Please!”

“Please stop?”


“I think you need me to stop!” he taunted her. He mixed his deep, sensual kisses with the teasingly, light pecks that sent her back into silent laughter. He tortured her drawing out her raucous moans, then shaking laughter, and more sexy moaning; then back to desperate laughter.

“You know what I want to hear,” he crooned knowing full well that she could not string together a sentence in this state. He looked up at her. She was looking back at him with pleading eyes filled with tears.

“Ooo! One minute.” DeMario continued using his tongue to explore every centimeter of her belly button as she writhed and wiggled deliciously underneath him.

“Twenty seconds… Oh wow!”

She stiffened, and this time the screams from her body were guttural, primal. When she quieted from the unmistakable orgasm, time was up.

“Wow!” he repeated.

As she lay next to him, motionless, she whispered, “I admit it.”

“What was that? I can’t hear you.”

“I admit it. I love being tickled.”

“I knew it!”

“Did you, now?” She sat up.

“Yes! I knew it!”

She grabbed him by his belt loops and pulled him close to her.

“Shut up, and take your pants off, DeMario! That was foreplay.”

“Damn, girl!”

DeMario obeyed.

Updated 12-20-2021 at 09:12 PM by Sunriseticklee

Fictional Tickling Stories


    Wowza! Perfection. I'm gonna have to try to live that out... At least part of it
    Thank you so much!