• The TMF is sponsored by Clips4sale - By supporting them, you're supporting us.
  • >>> If you cannot get into your account email me at [email protected] <<<
    Don't forget to include your username

The TMF is sponsored by:

Clips4Sale Banner

Sarita Says: Prologue (F/M)

Sherbet Riley

Registered User
Joined
Nov 20, 2022
Messages
13
Points
3
This is the first chapter of a long-form story I wrote on commission not too long ago, which I am now posting here with permission from the client. I hope to post further chapters in the future. While this chapter is mostly set-up (it is a prologue after all) I do hope you enjoy this first entry in Sarita and Oliver's ticklish adventure.


Sarita Says: Prologue

Sarita tightened her grip on the Swiffer as she pushed it back and forth against the tile floor of the Kessler’s home. Just last night the floor had been spotless, she’d seen to that herself. But when she’d come downstairs that morning, Sarita had been irritated to discover that it was now covered with muddy shoe prints. She knew who was responsible, but there was very little she could do about it.

Sarita had been working for the Kessler family nearly six years now, having taken over as their housekeeper when her dear friend Cecelia decided to retire. Sarita had just turned 52 when she’d gotten the job. Streaks of grey had begun to appear in her thick, jet-black hair and her voice had deepened somewhat with age. She was beautiful, with green eyes and a round, welcoming face that always put people at ease. Sarita had always been a little heavy, but she’d never worried much about her weight. Boys had never seemed to mind. It had never been difficult for her to command male attention. If anything, the pendulum had more or less swung her way in the last few years. Seemingly overnight, it seemed her body type had become among the most desirable – or so the magazines her sister read seemed to suggest. But Sarita didn’t really think about these things too much. If anything, now that she was in her 50s, she was relieved that nobody bothered to comment on her appearance anymore. She never pretended to be anything other than herself, and that had gone a long way. Clients were always charmed by her and often their children were as well.

In her time with them, Sarita had never known the Kesslers to be anything but respectful and deferent toward her. Sure, they uttered the odd thoughtless comment now and then, but of all the people she’d worked for over the years they were among the most pleasant. She was treated with respect, paid well for her time, and was always given a generous bonus every holiday season.

When the Kesslers had travelled to Mumbai on business two years prior – as they were often travelling on business – Sarita had put them in touch with her sister, Rani, who had offered to show them around while they were in town. As it turned out, Rani and the Kesslers really hit it off and wound up spending quite a bit of time together. Ever since, Sarita and the Kesslers had become especially close. So close in fact that when they learned they would be spending nearly a whole month in Johannesburg, they asked if Sarita would be willing to housesit for them while they were away. On top of that, they were willing to pay handsomely for her time. It didn’t take much convincing.

At first, Sarita had loved housesitting for the Kesslers. She enjoyed lazy mornings eating breakfast by the pool and sleepy afternoons reading in their well-lit living room. In the evenings she would cook elaborate meals for herself and fall asleep on their plush and expensive couch, watching black and white movies on their mammoth-sized television. That first weekend had been perfect; Sarita may as well have been on a paid vacation. But then Oliver arrived, and it had all been downhill ever since.

Sarita had been asleep when Oliver came home. She nearly had a panic attack when she heard someone come in through the front door. Sarita had worried that she might have forgotten to lock it and was certain she’d be fired if someone broke in on her watch. She’d already dialed 9-1-1 before realizing it was only Oliver, a discovery that simultaneously filled her with disappointment and relief.

Oliver had been away at boarding school when Sarita first started working for the Kesslers, thus their interactions had been infrequent and brief. Sarita was always given time off for major holidays, which often coincided with Oliver’s visits home from school. As a result, they didn’t know each other very well. Oliver had never bothered to learn very much about Sarita, had never once asked her about herself. He was a fundamentally incurious person and Sarita remembered being surprised when she learned he was actually going to college. But while Oliver knew very little about Sarita, Sarita had learned quite a bit about Oliver over the years.

In the time she’d worked for the Kesslers, Sarita had overheard many of their conversations about their son. She knew that he’d been sent to boarding school as a last resort after things had begun to deteriorate for him academically. He’d always been a handful as a child and was known to act out in class. But repeated letters home from school, disappointing report cards, and the discovery of empty beer cans in the laundry room had prompted the Kesslers to take action and send him away to a prep school in Connecticut. They’d hoped that a more rigorous and supervised academic environment would force Oliver to get his act together. Sadly, it seemed this had not been the case. He got by with C’s and the occasional B, eventually gaining admittance into a liberal arts college in California where it seemed he spent most of his time smoking weed and reading screenplays.

Which is why it was so surprising when Sarita discovered him stumbling through the front door of his parents house, stoned. As far as Sarita knew, he was supposed to be in school, and the Kesslers hadn’t said anything about their son coming to visit. A glassy-eyed Oliver had insisted that his presence was meant to be a surprise for his parents when they got home, but that didn’t make sense to Sarita. It would be nearly three weeks until the Kesslers returned. So why was he showing up now?

Oliver had been nothing short of bummed when he learned that Sarita was staying at his parents’ house while they were gone. He’d hoped that he’d have the place to himself while he regrouped and figured out what his next move was. He’d just been suspended from school after being busted for selling weed out of his dorm room. Oliver would be allowed to return next semester, but he knew his folks would be pissed when they found out. Knowing his parents were away and fairly swamped with work, Oliver figured he had some time to game things out before they learned what had happened. He needed to figure out how he would explain himself to them and hoped to have a spot of good news to soften the blow upon their return. Maybe he’d get a job or finally finish that screenplay…

But Sarita being at the house complicated things. Oliver didn’t want to share the house with his parents’ middle-aged housekeeper. That was weird. But his hands were more or less tied. He wasn’t supposed to be there, and if he kicked Sarita out then she’d likely contact his parents to inform them that he’d relieved her of duty. If nothing else, it would be a “bad look.” In the end they’d come to an uneasy understanding. Oliver wanted to lay low for a while and Sarita wanted to extend her paid staycation. They agreed to just go about their business and stay out of each other’s way as best they could. The house was big enough for both of them, after all. Win/Win.

But within a few days things had more or less curdled.

Sarita had enjoyed availing herself of the Kessler’s home, it’s true, but she’d always picked up after herself and left each area of the house cleaner than she’d found it. When she watched TV or listened to music she always did so at a respectful volume. Pans and dishes never sat in the sink longer than an hour and surfaces were routinely wiped down after use. If she and Oliver crossed paths, Sarita was never anything less than polite.

But Oliver had not been as courteous.

Every night, Oliver would invite his friends over to drink and play video games. They’d listen to music full-blast and play beer pong well into the night. It was clear that Oliver and his buddies didn’t want a middle-aged woman hanging around and made not attempt to make her comfortable in their presence.

And so Sarita would often be sequestered in the guest room, curled up in bed with a book while Oliver and his friends would have the run of the house. This in and of itself didn’t bother Sarita. She liked her alone time. It was the lack of consideration that got under her skin. Often she was kept awake up by their late-night gaming sessions and the smell of their acrid weed smoke would creep into her room, seeping into her clothes and her sheets and her hair. She’d wake up in the morning to find empty beer cans on every surface, ashtrays overflowing with roaches and cigarette butts, and pizza boxes left open beside a sink full of dirty dishes.

Sarita’s bracelets jangled against her wrist as she swiffered over the dirty shoeprints. She watched them grow fainter and fainter with each pass and sighed. She knew it was a waste of time. It seemed that no sooner had she tidied up and wiped everything down that more of Oliver’s friends would show up to fill the house with smoke and noise. Tomorrow morning, she’d have to clean all over again.

Sarita had a sneaking suspicion that Oliver was trying to wear her down, creating so many messes for her to clean up that she’d get fed up and leave of her own volition. But even if that were true, what could she really do about it? Sure, she could “tell on him” but Sarita knew better than to get involved in family matters like this. Things would only get messy if she did. Besides, she liked the Kesslers and didn’t want to poison the well.

But still, this was getting ridiculous. Once Sarita finished cleaning up Oliver’s mess for what felt like the fiftieth time, she decided to have a word with him. Surely she could just talk to him about this. They were both adults after all. He was young and dumb – weren’t all 20-year olds? - but he wasn’t unreasonable.

Sarita climbed the stairs to Oliver’s room, her bare feet padding softly against the hard wood steps as she ascended. Sarita did not think it likely, but attempting an adult conversation about boundaries and respect was the right thing to do. She hoped he would see things her way, or at least understand why she felt a conversation like this was necessary. She hoped. But, failing that, Sarita had an ace up her sleeve.

About a year ago, on one of the few occasions that she and Oliver’s schedules had overlapped, Sarita had learned something quite curious about the boy. She’d been tidying up his room when she accidently unplugged his laptop charger. She plugged it back in immediately but the momentary lapse in connection had caused the screen to flicker to life.

There, on his laptop, was an illustration of a man who looked not all that dissimilar to Oliver. He was hogtied on the ground, his face frozen in tortured laughter. At his feet sat a well-endowed and heavy-set Indian woman, tickling him mad. His cheeks were bright pink with embarrassment, his mouth open wide with laughter, tears forming in the corners of his panicked eyes. The Indian woman had long white fingernails, which were being used to expertly piggy his plump toes. Her legs were splayed open, encircling the man’s tied body so that her feet were resting near his face while she played with his own. Just beside the woman’s serenely smiling face were a few bits of written out dialogue.

“Where do you think you’re going naughty boy? The tickle monster isn’t done with you yet. Coochie coochie coo! Laugh for me sweetie. That’s it, let it allllllll out for mama...”

Just under the image was a note from the artist: Hope this is pretty close to what you were looking for. This one was really fun! Let me know if you’d ever like to commission another drawing from me again.

Sarita couldn’t believe it. This was a drawing of her! She didn’t know what to do with this information. Flustered, she quickly shut the laptop and left the room. But ever since her discovery, whenever Oliver had been disrespectful or mildly inconvenienced her, Sarita would reflect on that image and smile. She would imagine herself tickling Oliver until he screamed for her to stop, humbling him with little more than a single persistent fingernail worrying up and down his twitching sole. She would never admit this to anyone, but the thought of it excited her.

Sarita had always enjoyed tickling, ever since she was a little girl. Growing up, she would often tickle her boyfriends and other male admirers, teasing them about their sensitivity with explosive results. Many of them were embarrassed at being overpowered by a woman, and through such juvenile means to boot. Of course, this response only encouraged Sarita to push them further into fits of ticklish hysteria. Over the years, she had become something of an expert in breaking down her subjects.

Every now and then, whenever she found her hand wandering toward her sex under the covers at night, she’d imagine herself dominating men through tickle torture. She’d use feathers, her nails, and her mouth to bring them to the brink of madness. Each time Sarita retreated to that place in her imagination, there would be a new man suffering beneath her playful touch. Often it was a person who had wronged her in some way – the yuppie who had cut her off in traffic, the clerk who was rude to her at the bank, a condescending trainer at her gym, etc. But ever since she’d seen Oliver’s fan art of her – which is really what it was – she found that he had become the default tickle toy in her imagination. This past week with Oliver had only intensified this fantasy in her mind. Sarita wanted nothing more than to punish Oliver for his disrespect, but she was a sensible woman, and knew she needed to show restraint.

For one, Sarita knew that to act on this impulse could jeopardize her job. Even if she and Oliver both derived enjoyment from tickling – sexual or otherwise – there was no guarantee that actually following through was worth the risk. Sarita instinctively knew that to engage with him on that level would cross some kind of line, even if it never went beyond simply giving Oliver a case of the giggles. But Sarita knew herself. She wouldn’t be able to stop there. After all the grief Oliver had given her, she wanted to really give it to him. She wanted to show him who was boss. She wanted to tickle him until he cried.

But Sarita couldn’t think like that, she knew it would get her nowhere. She had to engage with him like a grown-up. Banishing all thoughts of tickling from her mind, Sarita cleared her throat and knocked on Oliver’s bedroom door. She heard his voice on the other side, curt and annoyed.

“Yeah?”

Sarita turned the knob and pushed the door open. Oliver was sitting with his back to her, browsing the web on his laptop. She could see a window being furtively closed on his screen as she entered. Was he looking at porn? Or was it another drawing…?

Oliver spun around in his office chair with a scowl on his face. “Did I say you could come in?”

Sarita took a deep breath and chose to ignore that remark. She’d just file it away for later. Oliver’s room was filthy. Old take-out containers sitting on his desk, dirty socks and wrinkled shirts abandoned on the floor, a trashcan overflowing with…well, she didn’t want to look too closely. Sarita knew that in all likelihood she’d have to clean this room as well before Oliver’s parents returned. It’s not like he would do it. Forcing a polite smile, Sarita spoke to him calmly.

“I’m so sorry, I thought you –“

“What do you want?” Oliver was impatient, tapping his fingers against the armrest of his chair. Maybe he was looking at porn…

“Are you planning on having your friends over again tonight?” Sarita asked.

“No, we’re going to hit up a bar later. But we may come back here after. Why?”

Sarita raised an eyebrow at him, “A bar? But you’re not 21, how are you planning on getting in?”

Oliver crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, which groaned under his weight. “What are you, my mother? That’s really none of your business.”

Sarita smirked. He’d like that, wouldn’t he? She thought of his drawing and the taunt from her stand-in as she tortured the poor boy’s feet. Let it all out for mama…

“I ask because the last few nights your and your friends have been making quite the mess…” she said in a calm, measured tone. “I know this might sound obvious, but this house is not a dorm. All I ask is that if you do decide to come back here after the bar, please clean up after yourselves before you go to bed. It isn’t fair for you to expect me to pick up after you and your friends the way I have been. That’s all.”

Oliver looked at her as though she had two heads. “Sorry, but isn’t that sort of your job? Not to be an asshole or anything, but like, isn’t the idea that you keep the house clean while my parents are away?”

This set Sarita’s teeth on edge. God, he was really pushing it. Under normal circumstances she’d never tolerate someone speaking to her this way. She couldn’t tell him off, exactly, but something in Sarita decided that now was the time to push back a bit.

“And not to be a bitch or anything, but isn’t the idea that you’re supposed to be in school while your parents pay for everything?” She gestured around the room, at his gadgets, his clothes, his collectables. “Unless you paid for all of these expensive toys yourself.”

Oliver seemed surprised by her response, perhaps almost respected it. “Careful now,” he said, cocking an eyebrow as he flashed her a shit-eating grin. “If one of these ‘toys’ went missing – if anything went missing, really – who do you think my parents would question first? You’d be the most likely suspect, wouldn’t you? Would be a shame if they thought you were stealing from them. Why, I think they might even go so far as to call the police, don’t you?”

Wow, he was really going there. Sarita’s anger was beginning to bubble over inside her. She would have slapped him if she could. Realizing she was on shaky ground, Sarita worried she may have miscalculated. She knew Oliver was a spoiled brat, but she hadn’t known he was capable of being this shitty.

“So how about you go back downstairs and leave me alone before something disappears, yeah?”

Oliver spun around in his chair and turned his attention back to his laptop, unbearably pleased with himself. Sarita was speechless. She suddenly realized just how much power Oliver had in this situation and it was terrifying. It occurred to her that Oliver might just screw her over for fun. And it wasn’t just the loss of her job that Sarita was being threatened with now, but potential police involvement. Sarita would never dream of stealing from a client, there was simply no point in doing so. But if she were fired for such a transgression it would be almost impossible to find another gig like this. Rich people loved to talk. Even an unsubstantiated rumor of theft could derail her whole livelihood. This crossed the line, and the worst part was Oliver didn’t even know it.

Sarita swallowed and put her hand on the doorknob as she turned to leave. “Be careful Gitsy Geetha doesn’t find you…” she muttered under her breath.

“Hm?” Oliver spun around in his chair. “What was that?”

Sarita could have just walked out of the room right then and there. She could have left it alone. But Sartia’s frustration got the better of her. She decided to plant the seed. Sarita knew that Oliver had some kind of sexual fascination with her and harbored fantasies of being tickled. She’d been mulling over how to best use this information to her advantage and change the dynamic between them. This was step one.

Sarita paused in the doorway and turned toward Oliver innocently. “Oh, just something we used to say back in my village. ‘Behave, or Gitsy Geetha will come for you.’”

“What’s that, some kind of boogeyman? Never took you for the superstitious type, Sarita…” Oliver smirked.

“Oh, it’s no superstition,” Sarita said solemnly. “But she was something like the boogeyman, I suppose. No, Gitsy Geetha was an old woman who lived in the woods near our village, or so some people claimed. It was said that if you misbehaved, Gitsy Geetha would kidnap you in the middle of the night, bring you back to her hut and…tickle you.”

Oliver’s eyes widened as he sat up a little straighter in his chair. “W-what?”

Sarita smiled, so he did like tickling. She had him hooked now, it was time to reel him in. “Oh yes, some said she was quite merciless. According to legend she was preternaturally gifted at finding her prey’s weaknesses. It didn’t matter if you were an unruly child or a stubborn grown-up, if Gitsy Geetha got her hands on you she’d find all your most sensitive spots and exploit them until…” Sarita trailed off, building suspense before waving the thought away. “Well, let’s say you didn’t want to get ensnared in her clutches.”

Oliver was leaning forward in his chair, listening intently. He crossed his legs and cleared his throat. Was he getting hard? “Oh, so she’s like a tickle monster…” Oliver realized he sounded a little too eager and sat back in his chair, attempting to put on a more dismissive air. “…or something.”

Sarita chuckled to herself; he was eating out of her palm now. “Yes, a tickle monster. That’s precisely right. Of course, that’s nothing but a childish fantasy. A story parents used to make sure their children behaved themselves. Or so I thought.” She lowered her voice now, as if she were letting Oliver in on a secret. “But sometimes, at night, just before I fell asleep, I’d hear…laughter in the trees. Desperate, hysterical laughter. It was so far away, I was almost convinced it was just my mind playing tricks on me as I drifted off. But there was no mistaking it. People were being tickled by Gitsy Geetha out there…”

Oliver swallowed. Sarita smiled. “Anyway, all I meant by all of that was…behave yourself out there tonight. Stay safe.”

And with that, she closed the door, leaving Oliver alone in his room. No sooner had the door clicked shut did Oliver’s hand fly down his pants. His fingers wrapped around his warm, half-erect cock. A tingle ran up his spine as he slowly began to pleasure himself. God that had been hot. Just hearing Sarita say the word “tickle” in her accent had been enough to arouse him. He’d been reading tickle fiction when she’d entered the room, stories of men being tickled by older women who knew how to manipulate them with only a few well-placed fingers. He’d been especially primed to hear the legend of Gitsy Geetha.

Oliver was fully erect now. His hand began to pump faster as his grip tightened. It was over in less than a minute. He fell back in his chair, spent, and took a moment to soak in the pleasurable chemicals that had flooded his brain before picking a discarded sock off the floor and cleaning himself up.

Unbeknownst to him, Sarita was waiting on the other side of the door listening in. Upon hearing his soft murmur of pleasure at his own hand, Sarita smiled to herself. Her plan was officially in motion. It was time to move on to the next phase.
 
What's New

3/28/2024
Stop by the TMF Welcome Forum and take a second to say hello!
Tickle Experiment
Door 44
NEST 2024
Register here
The world's largest online clip store
Live Camgirls!
Live Camgirls
Streaming Videos
Pic of the Week
Pic of the Week
Congratulations to
*** brad1701 ***
The winner of our weekly Trivia, held every Sunday night at 11PM EST in our Chat Room
Back
Top