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When 2 Ticklers Meet (F/F) Part 1

gba52

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Dec 3, 2011
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I'm hoping to get part 2 up soon. Hope everyone enjoys.
--

Everyone has a thing. Mine is tickling. Specifically, the tickling of beautiful women. I'll share some of my stories with you, if you'd like.

The thing I love most about tickling is the humbling. I don't just love tickling beautiful women. I love tickling powerful, confident, otherwise dominant women until they're nothing but a giggling, sweating, begging, mess. To reduce them from their normal status to my play toy. And, in the process, to rev their sexual engines in ways they've never imagined before. That, in a nutshell, is my thing.

I'm fortunate to be able to travel a great deal. It let's me find the women for my tickling adventures. I should pause to say that I truly don't have a "type". If you're a beautiful, confident, otherwise in charge woman, you're my type. I've tickled and dominated blonde lawyers in Texas; Jewish socialites in Manhattan; petite Asian bankers in San Francisco; and curvy Hispanic singers in Miami. Maybe I'll share some of those stories with you one day.

But today's story involves an experience on a train going from Washington DC to New York. I always keep my eye out for women who fit my criteria, and today was no exception. Getting into her seat just a few rows in front of me was a woman who hit all my buttons, although I didn't yet realize the full extent.

She looked to be in her late 20s or early 30s, African American with gorgeous mocha skin and luxurious, long, black, straight hair. She carried herself with a confidence bordering on arrogance that was simply intoxicating.

Dressed in a black leather jacket, white blouse, black skin-tight jeans and black leather ankle boots with four inch heels, you couldn't help be struck by her sexiness. She was maybe 5'10" without the heels, and her breasts, while not huge, were accentuated by her tight top. The legs seemed to last for miles, toned and fit in those skin tight jeans. Her whole body looked like she was a regular at the gym, hard in the right places.

As she sat in her seat, my eyes were struck by something glittering from her neck. It was a necklace of some kind, with letters suspended on a chain. I strained my eyes to make out the letters, not fully believing myself. No, I obviously am seeing this wrong, I tell myself after a bit.

A few stops later, the passenger in the seat across the aisle from our beauty exits and I bolt up to take his place. I now have an unobstructed view of my girl, who is talking on her iPhone through a pair of headphones.

The first thing I realize is that my eyes weren't deceiving me: her necklace does, in fact, say "TICKLER". I ponder this for a bit. Most likely, I decide, it simply means something other than an actual affinity for tickling. Perhaps it's an inside joke.

But then I begin to listen to her overly loud phone conversation. She had a confident, maybe even abrasive, tone.

"Listen, I got that girl so good she still won't look me in the eye," our woman was saying, her mouth curling into a devious smile. "I mean, I tickled her like nobody's business. She scared still." She then laughed, a beautiful, loud, hearty laugh that I dearly wanted to hear again.

As I listened to this conversation for several more minutes, I determined that this beautiful, arrogant, proud, confident woman was an undoubted tickle fetishest who loved to prey on smaller, slighter women and bend them to her will through tickling. I noticed she had exceedingly long, French manicured nails, and I could guess the torture she inflicted on her victims with them.

After she was off the phone, I allowed my water bottle to intentionally slide across the aisle to her seat.

"Oops, my bad," I said loudly, standing up to retrieve it from her row. She gave me a quick look as I was snatching my bottle back.

"I love your nails," I said casually as I picked up my bottle. "I've got the French tips, too, but you've really grown yours out. I love it." I smiled coyly and quickly flashed my nails at her.

She seemed to notice me now, with her mouth curling into an almost sinister smile, like a shark seeing a seal. I realized quickly that I'm probably exactly her type. I'm 28, blonde hair, pale skin, about 5'3", and very petite. Precisely the type of girl she could see herself using those talon-like nails on. That was my opening.

"Girl, those little nails are cute. You've got the tiniest hands, too!" She was now really taking me in, from head to toe. I could see her eyes dissecting me, anticipating a kill. Man, tonight was going to be a surprise for her.

I giggled coquettishly, and tried to act embarrassed. "I guess they are small. My name is Lauren, by the way," I said, extending my hand into her much larger, though very soft, one.

"I'm Monique. So pleased to meet you, Lauren," she said, the predatory smile back.

Before she could say another word, I pointed to her necklace and asked innocently, "Tickler? What, as in you like to tickle people?" I phrased it as a mix between curiosity, humor, and disbelief.

Monique's smile lit up her face. She really is stunning, I thought. "Yes, Lauren. I do like to tickle people. Pretty girls, actually, if we're being honest. Does that bother you?"

I smiled back. "Oh, I see. That doesn't bother me at all. I was just curious about the necklace. So those nails must do some damage?" I giggled.

She laughed loudly and flexed her nails near my face. "Lauren, if I had five minutes with you and my nails, you'd be begging and pleading and promising to do anything to make it stop." She gave me an exaggerated wink, and stared directly into my eyes.

I played it coy. "Hmmm, I guess this assumes I'm ticklish. I don't think I am. Actually, if we're talking tickling, I liked to do the tickling when I was a kid." I winked right back at her.

Monique laughed uproariously. "You?! The tickler?! Girl, what are you? 5'2"? You aren't tickling anybody!" She clearly associated tickling with dominance, and rather than annoyance at her arrogance I found myself getting turned on. This girl had no idea.

"I'm something like that," I said, trying to look shy about it. "But regardless, if I'm not ticklish, your nails won't have much effect on me. Don't get me wrong, I'm sure you're a great tickler on others!" I was needling her with condescension, and she knew it.

"Lauren, when was the last time you were tickled? Just looking at you, I'm going to say you're probably pretty sensitive," she said with a smile, drinking in my breasts hidden behind my pantsuit. Her eyes trailed all the way down to my crossed legs and my feet, in tan pumps with a five inch heel.

I squirmed involuntarily, knowing she was imagining me under her nails. "Oh probably not since childhood but I think you just know if you're ticklish from everyday life. And I'm just not." I tried to sound exceedingly confident, challenging her.

Monique looked at her nails for a moment. "We've got an hour left on this train. I'll make you a deal, Lauren. Come by my hotel tonight. If you give me ten minutes, I'll guarantee you'll acknowledge you're ticklish."

I tried to act like I was pondering the proposition and somewhat hesitant. "So you've got ten minutes to tickle me and at the end of it, if I acknowledge I'm ticklish, you win? What if you lose?"

She laughed loudly again. "Oh, honey, I really am not losing at this. But let's say, somehow, you make it ten minutes without admitting you're ticklish. I'll take you to dinner anywhere in the city, on me." She gave me another wink.

I loved her arrogance. Humbling this tall, stunning, dominant woman would be so sweet. My mind's eye was already starting to envision it.

"Deal, Monique. I'm looking forward to dinner!"
--

Before we left the train together, I slipped three items into my pockets without her noticing. We made our way from the train station to her hotel, teasing each other about her pending victory.

"Lauren, girl, I don't think you know what you've gotten into!" She said as we walked into her hotel room. "Your skinny ass is going to be begging me like you've never begged before!" I noticed her voice was getting husky, and she was clearly turned on at the thought of dominating me.

Our heels clicked on the marble floor of her hotel room. We walked into the bedroom and dropped our bags. "Girl, lay down on this bed. I'm going to grab something from my bag."

I sat on the edge of the bed and watched her fish a long white feather and a pink vibrating dildo out of her bag, turn to me with a wolffish smile, and laugh. "Oh little Lauren, I think you've made a big mistake. Mistress Monique is going to teach you a serious lesson about mouthing off."

My face remained impassive. She walked up to me and put a hand on my shoulder. But before she knew what happened, I flipped her 5'10", muscular frame onto the bed, landing her on her back and knocking the wind out of her.

I was on her without hesitation. I removed a pair of handcuffs from me pocket and cuffed her hand behind her back. She had no idea what was happening, and was too shocked to fight back or say anything. Just as she was opening her mouth, I inserted a red ball gag and locked it in place. Mistress Monique was cuffed on her own bed and gagged silent.

I smiled broadly and looked in her eyes, a mix of shock and anger. "Monique, honey, I'm afraid you don't know what you've gotten into. You see, I would like to try a different bet from the one you proposed. My idea is pretty simple: I'm going to tickle you and tease you until you admit that I'm your mistress and you're just my little tickle toy. Thoughts?"

Monique had regained her composure to some extent, and was violently squirming on the bed and yelling into her gag. This was a situation she'd never imagined. This tiny blonde bitch had duped her, tied her up and was threatening to tickle her silly. She kicked her powerful legs, hoping to propel herself off the bed.

I laughed, genuinely. "Let's make sure you're not in a position to do any damage," I said, walking up to her arm and uncuffing her hands just long enough to attach one cuff to the left bedpost. I quickly did the same with her right hand, leaving her with significantly less maneuvering room. The growls from behind the ball gag were only growing.

"I guess those nails aren't in a position to do much damage," I laughed, taunting her. I could tell from her eyes how angry that made her. She kicked her legs on the bed, testing the strength of her bonds. In the process her blouse had ridden up, exposing her hard abs and gorgeous mocha skin.

I took a nail and scribbled it on her rock hard abs. The sound behind the gag changed instantly, her eyes showing the first hint of fear rather than anger. I laughed again. "My, my. Our big, strong Mistress Monique isn't ticklish, is she?"

I walked to the top of the bed and put my face right up to hers. I could smell her perfume. "By the time I'm done with you, you'll be begging and pleading like you'd never thought possible. All that tough girl stuff is out the window. You're going to be my toy." I ran a nail along her neck, eliciting more squirms and squeaks from behind the gag.

I walked back to the foot of the bed and decided to act on a hunch. I opened up her suitcase and found a small box labeled "toys". The mere name, coupled with the irony of her current position, made me smile. Inside the box I found six feathers of different sizes; bottles of baby oil and lube; nipple clamps; a butt plug; some very large dildos; padded restraints; blindfolds; bits of string; and scissors.

I carried the toolbox up to Monique and saw her eyes widen in abject fear as I sorted through the box before her. "Looks like Miss Tough Girl is starting to realize she's in a bind," I smirked. "I bet you never thought you'd be on the other end, huh? How much do you want to bet I can use every one of these tools on you, Monique? Want to see?" She shook her head vigorously, kicking and squirming again.

I could feel myself getting wet, watching this strong, dominant girl tied to a bed and contemplating her pending humiliation. Now it was time to act.
 
Thanks for all the positive feedback. The combined, completed story is now up. Enjoy!
 
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