JoePTickle
1st Level Red Feather
- Joined
- Nov 30, 2011
- Messages
- 1,035
- Points
- 36
I sat in the lobby of the upscale Chicago hotel, peeking at my phone clock now and then as it inched closer to the starting time. On the hour, a simple three-digit text buzzed in, indicating the room number secluded among the highest floors. A slow elevator ride, long hallway walk, and brisk knock later, the door opened.
I'm a good 5'10" but had to look up into her smiling green eyes, framed elegantly by her finely styled brown hair flowing down her back. She was over six feet in her heels, which she soon slipped off to reveal her athletically-shaped size 8 arches and brightly pedicured nails in coming down to my level. Otherwise, she was clad only in a black bikini, displaying the toned abs and smoothly-lotioned long legs coveted by so many in her photo shoots.
She was slender and strong; strong enough, I later learned, to easily drag a sofa into a more compromising position with me spread-eagle tied to the top. For now, what I knew was that she was beautiful, and eager for 3 hours of tickling and teasing.
She started off as the ticklee. I'm always careful not to bruise, and I would say pretty skilled in mixing in a variety of soft sensual and more aggressive tickles in the right spots. She let out a playful scream every time I startled her with an assault on her ribs after exploring her hips, armpits, and all around her thighs and backside. She struggles almost helplessly, but laughs and flails uncontrollably except when we played some games. A special treat catering to one of her fetishes, if she can hold still for ten seconds, to have her toes gently sucked and massaged for a while. She earned several of those wins. Those silken soles were also her most consistently ticklish spots, and I drew a symphony of shrieks and giggles out of her for at least a half hour with my nails, hairbrush, toothbrush, and flosser. Scratching up under the balls of her feet and toes was particularly delirious.
When my turn came, a wickedness crossed her lips and the corners of her eyes that had me captivated, the sight of a model-gorgeous highly-experienced vixen determined to bind and torture me in the most ecstatic way possible. I was down to my boxers; my ankles were soft-cuffed and chained apart, my arms cuffed above my head over the arm of the sofa. After dragging the sofa for easier access, she primped a pillow and sat down cross-legged on the floor, eye level with my feet (which had been pedicured to delicate sensitivity themselves). Raised those perfectly, roundly-trimmed long nails and began sweeping and spidering them fiendishly across my soles while laughing in response to my own cries. We had that weak spot in common, and she knew just how to slide and scrape between my toes for best effect. She was masterful with the tools herself, pleased to linger in places for interminable periods of time, and also knew just when to back off during the many times that I started to get light-headed from the endorphin rush. All the while, from my semi-upright seated position, I could see the glee in her face as she devoted herself to breaking me, and looked up into my own eyes to feast gleefully on my increasingly panting predicament.
Among the many ticklish areas she explored the feet are one of my hot spots, but she spent quality time on another one too. During the last half hour she slid the boxers down, knelt alongside of me with an impish grin, produced a maddeningly soft blush applicator and relentless Hitachi, and did a tease-and-denial number on me that redefined the word dizzy.
Through it all she was conversational and engaging, well-read and smart, the kind of person you could just as easily imagine discussing a wide range of interests over a friendly cup of coffee, and personally considerate. We enjoyed a pleasant talk while I waited for the room to stop spinning, and departed with a hug as she prepared for her next victim, and I began to replay the unforgettable images in my mind.
I'm a good 5'10" but had to look up into her smiling green eyes, framed elegantly by her finely styled brown hair flowing down her back. She was over six feet in her heels, which she soon slipped off to reveal her athletically-shaped size 8 arches and brightly pedicured nails in coming down to my level. Otherwise, she was clad only in a black bikini, displaying the toned abs and smoothly-lotioned long legs coveted by so many in her photo shoots.
She was slender and strong; strong enough, I later learned, to easily drag a sofa into a more compromising position with me spread-eagle tied to the top. For now, what I knew was that she was beautiful, and eager for 3 hours of tickling and teasing.
She started off as the ticklee. I'm always careful not to bruise, and I would say pretty skilled in mixing in a variety of soft sensual and more aggressive tickles in the right spots. She let out a playful scream every time I startled her with an assault on her ribs after exploring her hips, armpits, and all around her thighs and backside. She struggles almost helplessly, but laughs and flails uncontrollably except when we played some games. A special treat catering to one of her fetishes, if she can hold still for ten seconds, to have her toes gently sucked and massaged for a while. She earned several of those wins. Those silken soles were also her most consistently ticklish spots, and I drew a symphony of shrieks and giggles out of her for at least a half hour with my nails, hairbrush, toothbrush, and flosser. Scratching up under the balls of her feet and toes was particularly delirious.
When my turn came, a wickedness crossed her lips and the corners of her eyes that had me captivated, the sight of a model-gorgeous highly-experienced vixen determined to bind and torture me in the most ecstatic way possible. I was down to my boxers; my ankles were soft-cuffed and chained apart, my arms cuffed above my head over the arm of the sofa. After dragging the sofa for easier access, she primped a pillow and sat down cross-legged on the floor, eye level with my feet (which had been pedicured to delicate sensitivity themselves). Raised those perfectly, roundly-trimmed long nails and began sweeping and spidering them fiendishly across my soles while laughing in response to my own cries. We had that weak spot in common, and she knew just how to slide and scrape between my toes for best effect. She was masterful with the tools herself, pleased to linger in places for interminable periods of time, and also knew just when to back off during the many times that I started to get light-headed from the endorphin rush. All the while, from my semi-upright seated position, I could see the glee in her face as she devoted herself to breaking me, and looked up into my own eyes to feast gleefully on my increasingly panting predicament.
Among the many ticklish areas she explored the feet are one of my hot spots, but she spent quality time on another one too. During the last half hour she slid the boxers down, knelt alongside of me with an impish grin, produced a maddeningly soft blush applicator and relentless Hitachi, and did a tease-and-denial number on me that redefined the word dizzy.
Through it all she was conversational and engaging, well-read and smart, the kind of person you could just as easily imagine discussing a wide range of interests over a friendly cup of coffee, and personally considerate. We enjoyed a pleasant talk while I waited for the room to stop spinning, and departed with a hug as she prepared for her next victim, and I began to replay the unforgettable images in my mind.
