tdh19882012
TMF Poster
- Joined
- Mar 17, 2017
- Messages
- 105
- Points
- 16
So here's a second part. This one took a little longer. Let me know what you think. Comment here or PM me, either is good*
***
“No! Let me go! I didn't do anything!”
“There's no way that I'm taking you out while you're in this sort of mood.” Laura huffed as she scooped Tara up from behind, pressing her thighs into her chest in a tight bear hug. Her forearms crossed behind Tara's bare knees and her high heels kicked fruitlessly in the air before them.
Laura stood still, taking a breather after hauling her surprisingly heavy girlfriend the few metres from the bathroom, through the hall and into the noisy, rumbling laundry room. Tara's fingernails dug into her skin and Laura gasped and grit her teeth, wincing while imagining what penalty the petite woman might serve for leaving actual marks on her mistress. She kicked the door shut behind them.
“I wasn't in a mood!” Tara spat, grabbing and slapping at Laura's arms. “I was getting ready. That's why I- holy fucking... NO! Don't you dare! Put me down!”
Tara laughed in nervous terror as she struggled for freedom. She pleaded and squirmed and kicked but achieved nothing besides losing both of her heels.
“Please, please! I wasn't in a mood, I promise!”
“Sorry, I can't hear you darling.” Laura raised her voice and giggled as she arched her back, lifting her frantic cargo a few inches higher and then stepped forward. Reaffirming her iron grip on Tara's legs, Laura spread them just a little and leaned her weight against the wildly squealing woman to effectively pin her in place, nestling Tara crotch-first onto the corner of the washing machine. She glanced at its timer and a devious grin spread across her lips - it had a full nine minutes of rapid spin left.
The second she had been wedged against the machine, Tara's eyes rolled back into her head and her mouth opened wide with a silent scream. Her legs shook and her toes curled. She released her grip on Laura's arms and her hands waved desperately in the air, they grabbed at the washing machine, she pushed back away from it but there was no getting away from it. The true helplessness of her situation rushed through her panic-stricken system and those hands found fistfuls of her own hair.
The pounding vibrations of the washing machine thundered through the pathetic protection offered by her royal blue thong and robbed her of the ability to form firstly sentences and secondly even a single word. Laura listened intently, fascinated at Tara's vocal range. She rested her head on Tara's trembling shoulder and nuzzled her neck, holding tight as wave after wave of stupefying pleasure tore away at the woman's sanity.
Tara felt it come on rapidly. Hour upon hour of cruelly unfulfilled desire, built serving her mistress and never once being allowed any release, finally reached a fearsome boiling point and the air turned blue as Tara wept and screamed and shook as though caught in a seizure.
Laura turned her head to the door, looking to the crack at the bottom but saw no lights switched on, still she kept a cautious eye on it while holding tightly onto the banshee in her arms. She thanked God her parents had never invested in a newer, quieter machine.
With her body quaking and her fingernails digging into her own legs Tara suddenly lurched in Laura's grasp with renewed energy.
“My dress!” Came a broken screech between drawn out and painful cries of joy. Laura laughed knowingly at her distraught slave and tugged the hem of the dress from Tara's thighs and up and under her bare ass, tucking it securely between her belly and Tara's back just in time for the real fireworks to begin.
Watching Tara's arched feet trembling atop the machine, Laura could only imagine how they might taste right now. And how horrendously sensitive they would be. It would be a new level of cruelty entirely to introduce Tara's feet to proceedings. The poor thing already glowed with a sheen of sweat, the tops of her feet glistened in this moonlit part of the room. Too cruel, perhaps.
But warranted. Fucking hell, Tara!*She cursed under her breath as she noticed her feet becoming warm and wet through her stockings.*These were expensive!*Laura angrily pressed her weight into Tara just a bit more, making sure she was still firmly pinned against that mercilessly rumbling corner. Further punishment, if it were needed, for the soiling of her stockings.
Minutes later, Tara appeared to be fading. Fortunate, because Tara was becoming harder to hold still as she slipped and slid on the smooth and wet surface of the machine. Her legs twitched, no part of her body was free of tremors and saliva dropped down her chest while her voice slowly failed her.
Taking a firm grip of her ruined slave's sweaty legs once more, Laura hoisted her up and off of the machine and took damp steps toward the deep laundry basket into which she unceremoniously dumped Tara. It was a tight squeeze, Tara's knees rested on the soft edge of the basket and her sticky feet hung freely in the cool air. She had slotted in a little too perfectly... Laura worried for a moment how she might get her out, if needed, in a hurry. She glanced cautiously at the door. Still no lights.
Laura couldn't help but be a little stopped in her tracks whenever she caught Tara in her most divine and intimate moments. That look of sheer, utter serenity on her face. The exhausted smile on her trembling lips. The way her chest heaved as she giggled in her heightened state of peace and satisfaction. She hadn't even attempted to move, no doubt she'd turned to jelly again.
She squealed and laughed, her hands reaching for her face and pathetically settling on her chest instead when Laura lifted her ankles up, inspected her feet and tutted.
“These are dirty.” She eyed the top of the washing machine then looked back to Tara, who was grinning back at her almost mischievously.
“What happens to dirty feet, Tara?”
Tara couldn't stop laughing. She covered her face. Laura set her ankles down and opened a drawer, retrieved a pair of silicon gloves and slipped them on. She set the machine on another spin cycle.
“Tara?” She called over to her flustered and tittering slave as she lathered soap into the gloves under the hot tap. “What do we do with dirty feet?”
“W-We... We clean th-them.” Tara gulped, squeezing her eyes shut.
“That's right. We clean them.” Laura stood by the basket, eyes on the door and the machine.
“We're gonna...” Tara sighed, looking at the clock. “We're gonna be late.” She breathed nervously. Laura didn't respond, she stood, hands clasped, by Tara's feet waiting for the machine to really kick into its cycle.
“Help me outta here. I can't get... Oof!” She collapsed back into the basket having used all her available strength to lift her ass up just a few inches. She pouted as Laura didn't even look at her, instead her gloved palms slowly rubbed together. Tara looked warily at those gloves, jaw clenching with nervous anticipation. The sound of the sudsy bristles made Tara's toes cringe. She lifted her elbows up onto the sides of the basket and heaved herself once more towards freedom.
And fell back down with nervous and exhausted laughter. Her arms just refused to work properly. It was exasperating and hilarious. Laura's punishment had drained virtually all of her energy. How the hell was she to survive this?
Before she had time to really worry, however, Laura's back was turned. She scooped Tara's ankles up into the air and a slippery, despicably ticklish glove made contact with the dirt-specked soles at the precise moment the machine, along with Tara, roared into life.
“LAU- ...LAUR-!” She screamed and coughed while slippery bristles assaulted her arches. Sinking between every single wrinkle and scraping every oversensitive nerve ending.
Laura's hand was a blur as she gave those feet a thorough scrubbing. She worked the soles into a lather, soap dripped onto her thigh-highs and dribbled onto the figure hugging dress she wore.
Tara rocked the basket side to side with Laura's bristled fingers sliding freely between her toes, they clamped onto the fingers in desperate attempts to stop their ticklish paths across the delicate skin and Tara felt each individual bristle on those gloves. She was sweating again, the dress stuck to her back. Her hair tossed left and right and she felt herself sinking ever deeper into the basket, bellowing breathless laughter into her sweaty knees and clutching the backs of her thighs as she howled.
Laura's grip tightened and her hand cupped and molested Tara's heel. First the right, then the left. Listening intently to Tara's breathless, muted curses and religious petitions, she scrubbed the heels for all they were worth.
“Huh, missed a spot.” She said with evil glee, bracing herself as Tara bucked with renewed vigour in response to the horrendous flat-handed sawing motion Laura made across the balls of both feet. The laughter was demented, deep cackling.
“Oops, missed a bit of sock fluff there.”
“Right underneath this nail.”
“Oh, now that's a stubborn mark.”
She hissed her lies at the hyper-stimulated maniac threatening to split the basket apart at any moment. The laughter was deranged... She'd come close to getting this sort of response from Tara's thighs in the past but never anything quite so guttural and primal as this.
And it just kept coming. And coming. And coming. She heard Tara heave with her insane laughter. Heard her hands slapping and grabbing at her knees. The creaking of the basket. And felt the fury of Tara's response in her struggling calves. There seemed no limits to Tara's capacity for suffering.
The feeling of power was incredible. Such control she had. And without any bondage at all. Laura was sizzling, she felt it deep in her belly and breathed slowly and deeply, considering the possible excuses she could make to her friends tonight while she brutalised Tara's cringing feet.
She switched arms, holding Tara's ankles with her right arm to give that hand a rest while her left set about ensuring Tara's feet were cleaner than clean.
She looked over her shoulder with her fingers between the toes again. There she was. Her beautiful, suffering slave. Make up streaked, hair ruined, bathed in sweat and, had Laura not turned around when she did, bathed in something else entirely.
Tara was mouthing something but couldn't seem to get the breath to voice it, Laura eased off and gently ran her bristled palms across the quivering tops of Tara's feet. Tara's nervous system was so addled however that even this more gentle stimulation had her utterly freaking out.
“I HAVE TO... ARGH, I'M GONNA-” Laura cocked an eyebrow and slowed her tickling down to essentially a loving caress as Tara screamed at her.
“STOP! GET OFF!” Tara kicked and shouted with a tone Laura didn't recognise. She sounded angry.
As the tickling stopped, Tara coughed and spluttered. She ran her hands back through her hair, pulling it away from her wet face and sniffled. Laura released her ankles and removed the gloves quickly, pausing the noisy machine and kneeling down beside Tara.
“What's wrong?” She asked with a knot in her stomach as Tara wept.
“I was gonna...” She rolled here eyes, embarrassed. “I was gonna piss myself if you didn't stop.”
“Oh, darling...”
“I'm sorry, I forgot what it was.”
“That's okay, that's okay.” Laura calmly reassured Tara, gently caressing her hair.
“Can I get up now please?”
Laura pulled her out of the basket, the fires in her belly well and truly extinguished and held Tara upright, hands on her shoulders.
“Are you okay, babe?” She handed Tara a tissue.
“Yeah, yeah I'll be fine. Don't worry.”
Tara stepped awkwardly toward the washing machine to retrieve her heels and Laura watched with both concern and a small amount of amusement. She was watching Bambi learn how to walk.
“Where are you going?”
“We need to get ready.”
“Tara, we're not going anywhere.”
“But your friends-”
“-don't matter right now. You do.” She took the shivering Tara in her arms and held her tight. Laura sighed deeply. “I'm so sorry.”
“It's me that forgot.” Tara pouted.
“Well I didn't confirm you knew it, did I?” She cupped Tara's face and looked into her eyes, smiling.
But Tara looked down at the floor, Laura's heart sank. She cursed herself for being so reckless and going so deliberately hard on Tara. She was fascinated by Tara's combination of delicacy and endurance and had allowed it to run away with her. Laura looked to the ceiling and sighed, shutting her eyes. Of all the precautions she took in keeping an eye out for parents, making sure the loud washing machine would drown out any screaming... How had she forgotten to confirm the safeword? She could not believe what had happened here.
Agonisingly long seconds ticked by in total silence.
“So, you mean this is your fault?” Tara broke the silence.
Laura gripped her shoulders reassuringly.
“Totally my fault, you did nothing wrong darling.”
“Huh...” Tara shifted her weight from one foot to the other and looked at Laura's chest. Tara embraced her in a tight hug. Internally, Laura beamed.
“So...” Tara squeezed Laura. “I don't know how this works but... Do I get, like, compensation. Or something?”
“Compensation?”
“Yeah, you know, for being the victim of your oversight?”
Laura raised her eyebrows.
“Undue negligence and... And... And suffering, oh you know what I mean!” Tara said with amused frustration as Laura laughed.
“I suppose so.” Laura said through her teeth. “What did you have in mind?”
Tara looked thoughtfully for a moment, tilting her head back before her eyes widened and she snapped her head forward again looking straight into Laura's eyes.
“I want Thai food!” She announced with a big smile.
“...Thai food?” Laura grimaced.
“Yep!”
“...Okay. I'll get my phone-”
“-Not so fast, missy.” She squeezed onto Laura.
“Missy...?”
“We're having Thai food. But you don't get a plate. I do, but you don't.”
“Suits me, I hate the stuff-”
“-oh, no, no. You're eating.” Tara's foot nudged a metal dish on the floor.
“No... Fucking... Way!”
Tara pouted and crossed her arms. “I thought you wanted to make things right between us.”
“Tara I can't do that, that's the cat bowl!”
“Well, if I mean nothing to you.” Tara spun around, turning her back on Laura.
“Tara... Fucking hell. I mean, maybe there's some disinfectant around here...”
Tara bit her lip to keep from laughing. She steadied her breathing and spun back round.
“Or...”
“Or?” Laura asked eagerly.
“Or... Maybe, I could show you some other uses for those.” She motioned toward the gloves dripping from the edge of the basket.
“... Or...” Laura had no words, the thought of Tara ravaging her with those gloves chilled her.
“Or nothing! You've tickled the shit outta me no end of times, I wanna do it to you. Show you how it feels... That's my compensation. Dinner and a date. Or we are through.” She huffed theatrically and turned her back again.
Laura looked to the floor, she had to do it. She was the one originally in the wrong after all. She noticed Tara's feet cringing and the way she shifted from one leg to the other.
“Okay, fine.”
Tara turned around and gasped. “Yay!” She squeezed Laura. “Okay, now I badly have to go-”
“-pee?” Laura interrupted, grabbing Tara's sides and digging her thumbs into her hips.
“NO, LAURA!” Tara grabbed her wrists but Laura was much too strong, the tickling continued and Tara slapped and scratched until Laura grabbed those hands and wrestled her to the floor, restarting the machine's spin cycle and straddling her desperate girlfriend. She held both Tara's hands above her head.
“Don't! Don't do it! You'll ruin my dress!” Tara squealed, twisting away from Laura's slowly descending claw. She gaped at it in panic as it got closer and closer and she burst out laughing with it still an inch from her skin.
“Let me up, I'm gonna piss myself! Laura! LAURA! OO FUC-”
Her back arched as high as it could when Laura's hand groped her ribs through the flimsy cotton dress. Strong fingers drilling between each one, sliding the skin over the hellishly sensitive nerves and causing her face to contort into a mask of frenzied defeat. Tara's knees pounded into Laura as her legs kicked frantically and a mournful wail rang around the room. As Laura's head lowered toward her own, Tara laughed straight into her face. That determined, merciless face.
“My dress! YOU- STOP TICKLING ME! FOR ONE SEC-” Holding both hands tight Laura's mouth descended into Tara's underarm and she lapped hungrily at the perspiring skin with the poor woman shaking in anguish beneath her.
Tara squealed and bucked as hard as she could as Laura pinned her with just one hand now, licking and nibbling at one pit while her nails danced across the other. Once again on the verge of tears and kicking furiously, her dress riding up to her hips, Tara ruined her knickers for the second time that night.
The light flicked on and the hearts of both women stopped. Laura's mother looked in astonishment at the pair.
“What on earth- Sorry, love.” The door shut as quickly as it opened.
Laura sat atop Tara's hips with her face in her hands and Tara squirmed awkwardly beneath her, unsure which part of this evening had been the most uncomfortable.
“No, no, no, no...” She heard Laura protesting. She'd never seen her looking embarrassed before, it was strangely alluring.
“Bless her.” Tara said a minute later. “She looked so... So...” She burst out laughing.
“It's not funny!” Laura scolded.
“Oh, she couldn't see anything from over there.”
“She could see enough! Oh my... Fuck!”
“You'll just have to move in with me then.” Tara giggled, resting a hand on Laura's thigh. Laura ran her hands through her own hair, slowly shaking her head as she looked at Tara.
“I was... I was licking your armpits, in front of my bloody mum!” Laura's face was red.
***
“No! Let me go! I didn't do anything!”
“There's no way that I'm taking you out while you're in this sort of mood.” Laura huffed as she scooped Tara up from behind, pressing her thighs into her chest in a tight bear hug. Her forearms crossed behind Tara's bare knees and her high heels kicked fruitlessly in the air before them.
Laura stood still, taking a breather after hauling her surprisingly heavy girlfriend the few metres from the bathroom, through the hall and into the noisy, rumbling laundry room. Tara's fingernails dug into her skin and Laura gasped and grit her teeth, wincing while imagining what penalty the petite woman might serve for leaving actual marks on her mistress. She kicked the door shut behind them.
“I wasn't in a mood!” Tara spat, grabbing and slapping at Laura's arms. “I was getting ready. That's why I- holy fucking... NO! Don't you dare! Put me down!”
Tara laughed in nervous terror as she struggled for freedom. She pleaded and squirmed and kicked but achieved nothing besides losing both of her heels.
“Please, please! I wasn't in a mood, I promise!”
“Sorry, I can't hear you darling.” Laura raised her voice and giggled as she arched her back, lifting her frantic cargo a few inches higher and then stepped forward. Reaffirming her iron grip on Tara's legs, Laura spread them just a little and leaned her weight against the wildly squealing woman to effectively pin her in place, nestling Tara crotch-first onto the corner of the washing machine. She glanced at its timer and a devious grin spread across her lips - it had a full nine minutes of rapid spin left.
The second she had been wedged against the machine, Tara's eyes rolled back into her head and her mouth opened wide with a silent scream. Her legs shook and her toes curled. She released her grip on Laura's arms and her hands waved desperately in the air, they grabbed at the washing machine, she pushed back away from it but there was no getting away from it. The true helplessness of her situation rushed through her panic-stricken system and those hands found fistfuls of her own hair.
The pounding vibrations of the washing machine thundered through the pathetic protection offered by her royal blue thong and robbed her of the ability to form firstly sentences and secondly even a single word. Laura listened intently, fascinated at Tara's vocal range. She rested her head on Tara's trembling shoulder and nuzzled her neck, holding tight as wave after wave of stupefying pleasure tore away at the woman's sanity.
Tara felt it come on rapidly. Hour upon hour of cruelly unfulfilled desire, built serving her mistress and never once being allowed any release, finally reached a fearsome boiling point and the air turned blue as Tara wept and screamed and shook as though caught in a seizure.
Laura turned her head to the door, looking to the crack at the bottom but saw no lights switched on, still she kept a cautious eye on it while holding tightly onto the banshee in her arms. She thanked God her parents had never invested in a newer, quieter machine.
With her body quaking and her fingernails digging into her own legs Tara suddenly lurched in Laura's grasp with renewed energy.
“My dress!” Came a broken screech between drawn out and painful cries of joy. Laura laughed knowingly at her distraught slave and tugged the hem of the dress from Tara's thighs and up and under her bare ass, tucking it securely between her belly and Tara's back just in time for the real fireworks to begin.
Watching Tara's arched feet trembling atop the machine, Laura could only imagine how they might taste right now. And how horrendously sensitive they would be. It would be a new level of cruelty entirely to introduce Tara's feet to proceedings. The poor thing already glowed with a sheen of sweat, the tops of her feet glistened in this moonlit part of the room. Too cruel, perhaps.
But warranted. Fucking hell, Tara!*She cursed under her breath as she noticed her feet becoming warm and wet through her stockings.*These were expensive!*Laura angrily pressed her weight into Tara just a bit more, making sure she was still firmly pinned against that mercilessly rumbling corner. Further punishment, if it were needed, for the soiling of her stockings.
Minutes later, Tara appeared to be fading. Fortunate, because Tara was becoming harder to hold still as she slipped and slid on the smooth and wet surface of the machine. Her legs twitched, no part of her body was free of tremors and saliva dropped down her chest while her voice slowly failed her.
Taking a firm grip of her ruined slave's sweaty legs once more, Laura hoisted her up and off of the machine and took damp steps toward the deep laundry basket into which she unceremoniously dumped Tara. It was a tight squeeze, Tara's knees rested on the soft edge of the basket and her sticky feet hung freely in the cool air. She had slotted in a little too perfectly... Laura worried for a moment how she might get her out, if needed, in a hurry. She glanced cautiously at the door. Still no lights.
Laura couldn't help but be a little stopped in her tracks whenever she caught Tara in her most divine and intimate moments. That look of sheer, utter serenity on her face. The exhausted smile on her trembling lips. The way her chest heaved as she giggled in her heightened state of peace and satisfaction. She hadn't even attempted to move, no doubt she'd turned to jelly again.
She squealed and laughed, her hands reaching for her face and pathetically settling on her chest instead when Laura lifted her ankles up, inspected her feet and tutted.
“These are dirty.” She eyed the top of the washing machine then looked back to Tara, who was grinning back at her almost mischievously.
“What happens to dirty feet, Tara?”
Tara couldn't stop laughing. She covered her face. Laura set her ankles down and opened a drawer, retrieved a pair of silicon gloves and slipped them on. She set the machine on another spin cycle.
“Tara?” She called over to her flustered and tittering slave as she lathered soap into the gloves under the hot tap. “What do we do with dirty feet?”
“W-We... We clean th-them.” Tara gulped, squeezing her eyes shut.
“That's right. We clean them.” Laura stood by the basket, eyes on the door and the machine.
“We're gonna...” Tara sighed, looking at the clock. “We're gonna be late.” She breathed nervously. Laura didn't respond, she stood, hands clasped, by Tara's feet waiting for the machine to really kick into its cycle.
“Help me outta here. I can't get... Oof!” She collapsed back into the basket having used all her available strength to lift her ass up just a few inches. She pouted as Laura didn't even look at her, instead her gloved palms slowly rubbed together. Tara looked warily at those gloves, jaw clenching with nervous anticipation. The sound of the sudsy bristles made Tara's toes cringe. She lifted her elbows up onto the sides of the basket and heaved herself once more towards freedom.
And fell back down with nervous and exhausted laughter. Her arms just refused to work properly. It was exasperating and hilarious. Laura's punishment had drained virtually all of her energy. How the hell was she to survive this?
Before she had time to really worry, however, Laura's back was turned. She scooped Tara's ankles up into the air and a slippery, despicably ticklish glove made contact with the dirt-specked soles at the precise moment the machine, along with Tara, roared into life.
“LAU- ...LAUR-!” She screamed and coughed while slippery bristles assaulted her arches. Sinking between every single wrinkle and scraping every oversensitive nerve ending.
Laura's hand was a blur as she gave those feet a thorough scrubbing. She worked the soles into a lather, soap dripped onto her thigh-highs and dribbled onto the figure hugging dress she wore.
Tara rocked the basket side to side with Laura's bristled fingers sliding freely between her toes, they clamped onto the fingers in desperate attempts to stop their ticklish paths across the delicate skin and Tara felt each individual bristle on those gloves. She was sweating again, the dress stuck to her back. Her hair tossed left and right and she felt herself sinking ever deeper into the basket, bellowing breathless laughter into her sweaty knees and clutching the backs of her thighs as she howled.
Laura's grip tightened and her hand cupped and molested Tara's heel. First the right, then the left. Listening intently to Tara's breathless, muted curses and religious petitions, she scrubbed the heels for all they were worth.
“Huh, missed a spot.” She said with evil glee, bracing herself as Tara bucked with renewed vigour in response to the horrendous flat-handed sawing motion Laura made across the balls of both feet. The laughter was demented, deep cackling.
“Oops, missed a bit of sock fluff there.”
“Right underneath this nail.”
“Oh, now that's a stubborn mark.”
She hissed her lies at the hyper-stimulated maniac threatening to split the basket apart at any moment. The laughter was deranged... She'd come close to getting this sort of response from Tara's thighs in the past but never anything quite so guttural and primal as this.
And it just kept coming. And coming. And coming. She heard Tara heave with her insane laughter. Heard her hands slapping and grabbing at her knees. The creaking of the basket. And felt the fury of Tara's response in her struggling calves. There seemed no limits to Tara's capacity for suffering.
The feeling of power was incredible. Such control she had. And without any bondage at all. Laura was sizzling, she felt it deep in her belly and breathed slowly and deeply, considering the possible excuses she could make to her friends tonight while she brutalised Tara's cringing feet.
She switched arms, holding Tara's ankles with her right arm to give that hand a rest while her left set about ensuring Tara's feet were cleaner than clean.
She looked over her shoulder with her fingers between the toes again. There she was. Her beautiful, suffering slave. Make up streaked, hair ruined, bathed in sweat and, had Laura not turned around when she did, bathed in something else entirely.
Tara was mouthing something but couldn't seem to get the breath to voice it, Laura eased off and gently ran her bristled palms across the quivering tops of Tara's feet. Tara's nervous system was so addled however that even this more gentle stimulation had her utterly freaking out.
“I HAVE TO... ARGH, I'M GONNA-” Laura cocked an eyebrow and slowed her tickling down to essentially a loving caress as Tara screamed at her.
“STOP! GET OFF!” Tara kicked and shouted with a tone Laura didn't recognise. She sounded angry.
As the tickling stopped, Tara coughed and spluttered. She ran her hands back through her hair, pulling it away from her wet face and sniffled. Laura released her ankles and removed the gloves quickly, pausing the noisy machine and kneeling down beside Tara.
“What's wrong?” She asked with a knot in her stomach as Tara wept.
“I was gonna...” She rolled here eyes, embarrassed. “I was gonna piss myself if you didn't stop.”
“Oh, darling...”
“I'm sorry, I forgot what it was.”
“That's okay, that's okay.” Laura calmly reassured Tara, gently caressing her hair.
“Can I get up now please?”
Laura pulled her out of the basket, the fires in her belly well and truly extinguished and held Tara upright, hands on her shoulders.
“Are you okay, babe?” She handed Tara a tissue.
“Yeah, yeah I'll be fine. Don't worry.”
Tara stepped awkwardly toward the washing machine to retrieve her heels and Laura watched with both concern and a small amount of amusement. She was watching Bambi learn how to walk.
“Where are you going?”
“We need to get ready.”
“Tara, we're not going anywhere.”
“But your friends-”
“-don't matter right now. You do.” She took the shivering Tara in her arms and held her tight. Laura sighed deeply. “I'm so sorry.”
“It's me that forgot.” Tara pouted.
“Well I didn't confirm you knew it, did I?” She cupped Tara's face and looked into her eyes, smiling.
But Tara looked down at the floor, Laura's heart sank. She cursed herself for being so reckless and going so deliberately hard on Tara. She was fascinated by Tara's combination of delicacy and endurance and had allowed it to run away with her. Laura looked to the ceiling and sighed, shutting her eyes. Of all the precautions she took in keeping an eye out for parents, making sure the loud washing machine would drown out any screaming... How had she forgotten to confirm the safeword? She could not believe what had happened here.
Agonisingly long seconds ticked by in total silence.
“So, you mean this is your fault?” Tara broke the silence.
Laura gripped her shoulders reassuringly.
“Totally my fault, you did nothing wrong darling.”
“Huh...” Tara shifted her weight from one foot to the other and looked at Laura's chest. Tara embraced her in a tight hug. Internally, Laura beamed.
“So...” Tara squeezed Laura. “I don't know how this works but... Do I get, like, compensation. Or something?”
“Compensation?”
“Yeah, you know, for being the victim of your oversight?”
Laura raised her eyebrows.
“Undue negligence and... And... And suffering, oh you know what I mean!” Tara said with amused frustration as Laura laughed.
“I suppose so.” Laura said through her teeth. “What did you have in mind?”
Tara looked thoughtfully for a moment, tilting her head back before her eyes widened and she snapped her head forward again looking straight into Laura's eyes.
“I want Thai food!” She announced with a big smile.
“...Thai food?” Laura grimaced.
“Yep!”
“...Okay. I'll get my phone-”
“-Not so fast, missy.” She squeezed onto Laura.
“Missy...?”
“We're having Thai food. But you don't get a plate. I do, but you don't.”
“Suits me, I hate the stuff-”
“-oh, no, no. You're eating.” Tara's foot nudged a metal dish on the floor.
“No... Fucking... Way!”
Tara pouted and crossed her arms. “I thought you wanted to make things right between us.”
“Tara I can't do that, that's the cat bowl!”
“Well, if I mean nothing to you.” Tara spun around, turning her back on Laura.
“Tara... Fucking hell. I mean, maybe there's some disinfectant around here...”
Tara bit her lip to keep from laughing. She steadied her breathing and spun back round.
“Or...”
“Or?” Laura asked eagerly.
“Or... Maybe, I could show you some other uses for those.” She motioned toward the gloves dripping from the edge of the basket.
“... Or...” Laura had no words, the thought of Tara ravaging her with those gloves chilled her.
“Or nothing! You've tickled the shit outta me no end of times, I wanna do it to you. Show you how it feels... That's my compensation. Dinner and a date. Or we are through.” She huffed theatrically and turned her back again.
Laura looked to the floor, she had to do it. She was the one originally in the wrong after all. She noticed Tara's feet cringing and the way she shifted from one leg to the other.
“Okay, fine.”
Tara turned around and gasped. “Yay!” She squeezed Laura. “Okay, now I badly have to go-”
“-pee?” Laura interrupted, grabbing Tara's sides and digging her thumbs into her hips.
“NO, LAURA!” Tara grabbed her wrists but Laura was much too strong, the tickling continued and Tara slapped and scratched until Laura grabbed those hands and wrestled her to the floor, restarting the machine's spin cycle and straddling her desperate girlfriend. She held both Tara's hands above her head.
“Don't! Don't do it! You'll ruin my dress!” Tara squealed, twisting away from Laura's slowly descending claw. She gaped at it in panic as it got closer and closer and she burst out laughing with it still an inch from her skin.
“Let me up, I'm gonna piss myself! Laura! LAURA! OO FUC-”
Her back arched as high as it could when Laura's hand groped her ribs through the flimsy cotton dress. Strong fingers drilling between each one, sliding the skin over the hellishly sensitive nerves and causing her face to contort into a mask of frenzied defeat. Tara's knees pounded into Laura as her legs kicked frantically and a mournful wail rang around the room. As Laura's head lowered toward her own, Tara laughed straight into her face. That determined, merciless face.
“My dress! YOU- STOP TICKLING ME! FOR ONE SEC-” Holding both hands tight Laura's mouth descended into Tara's underarm and she lapped hungrily at the perspiring skin with the poor woman shaking in anguish beneath her.
Tara squealed and bucked as hard as she could as Laura pinned her with just one hand now, licking and nibbling at one pit while her nails danced across the other. Once again on the verge of tears and kicking furiously, her dress riding up to her hips, Tara ruined her knickers for the second time that night.
The light flicked on and the hearts of both women stopped. Laura's mother looked in astonishment at the pair.
“What on earth- Sorry, love.” The door shut as quickly as it opened.
Laura sat atop Tara's hips with her face in her hands and Tara squirmed awkwardly beneath her, unsure which part of this evening had been the most uncomfortable.
“No, no, no, no...” She heard Laura protesting. She'd never seen her looking embarrassed before, it was strangely alluring.
“Bless her.” Tara said a minute later. “She looked so... So...” She burst out laughing.
“It's not funny!” Laura scolded.
“Oh, she couldn't see anything from over there.”
“She could see enough! Oh my... Fuck!”
“You'll just have to move in with me then.” Tara giggled, resting a hand on Laura's thigh. Laura ran her hands through her own hair, slowly shaking her head as she looked at Tara.
“I was... I was licking your armpits, in front of my bloody mum!” Laura's face was red.
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