HisFlyinFingers
TMF Regular
- Joined
- Aug 9, 2005
- Messages
- 163
- Points
- 18
Part one is here.
Jenn and I both learned a lot in the next few weeks. For example, I learned that no patch of bare skin was safe around her—if I left it open, she’d tickle it. Each tickle attack inevitably left me feeling giddy and happy and more than a little horny. But after that, I’d feel guilty and weird about being so turned on by it.
Not long after, we each learned that the other was feeling the same way. She’d been worried that I secretly hated being tickled like that. We both felt much better when we sat down and talked about it.
I learned that she’d been introduced to tickling the same way I had: by another girl tying her up and taking advantage of her helplessness. On the other hand, I learned that it was tickling specifically she loved, and she learned that I was more into being tied up. We agreed that combination worked pretty great together.
After a little while, she decided that there were still a couple of things she still needed to teach me. Even the sound of that made me tingle all over, and I immediately agreed to be her student.
Jenn showered, then told me to do the same while she got things ready. She was starting to get a feel for the things she could do or say that would leave me breathless with desire, and giving me orders like that was definitely one of them.
Showering takes on a completely different meaning when you’re preparing yourself for … well, honestly I didn’t know yet. Cycling through all the possibilities in my head nearly drove me nuts, though. I had to stop myself from thinking about it. So instead, I came up with a slightly devious plan. Tickling me was a huge turn-on for Jenn, and when I willingly submitted to it, or even asked for it, that made her even hotter. I figured that if I acted as submissive and willing as I could, she might get so horny she’d forget all about torturing me and skip straight to the sex. Even if it backfired, and she ended up torturing me more, I was pretty OK with that.
When I stepped out of the shower, I found a piece of paper on the floor—she must have slipped it in under the door. It was folded in half. On the outside:
There was more inside:
Oh my god. She was bringing out the big guns, and my stomach was doing cartwheels as a result. I focused on breathing slowly and deeply, and following her instructions. I pulled my hair up and checked it in the mirror. It didn’t look right, so I pulled it loose and put it up again. I tried to imagine what Jenn would see when I came in—I knew she thought I was beautiful, but I still couldn’t quite see it. I took another deep breath, suddenly very nervous and worried I’d disappoint her. I might’ve hid in the bathroom forever, but I knew she was waiting for me and I couldn’t stand the thought of making her wait.
The walk from the bathroom to the bedroom was only maybe ten feet, but it felt like a mile. The bedroom door was cracked, and through it I could see the dim, flickering glow of candlelight. I brushed the door open, then crossed my wrists behind me and stepped through the threshold.
Jenn was lying on the bed, wearing a blood-red silk nightgown. The shoulder straps were of black lace, as was the hem that lay across her thighs, only barely covering her. Her fingers and toes were painted the same shade as the nightgown, and her lipstick matched as well. In short, she looked gorgeous and dangerous and unbelievably sexy. My legs were trembling, but I held my head high and awaited her instruction. I suddenly felt like my plan to turn her on with my submissiveness was a stupid one, but I reasoned that it even if it didn’t work it would make her happy, so it was worth it.
“Please close and lock the door,” she said. I did so, then put my hands behind my back again. “Kneel at the foot of the bed.”
I walked around the bed, and discovered that she had folded a few fluffy towels and stacked them on the floor, so I’d have something soft to kneel on. I also noticed that she had a towel laid across the top of her dresser, with several items lined up as though they were on display. Ignoring both my nerves and the growing warmth between my legs, I knelt at her feet.
Feet were another thing I hadn’t usually paid much attention to before I met Jenn. Mine, like the rest of me, were tiny and boring. I just didn’t see why she loved them so much, though when it resulted in her sucking on them I was happy she did. Hers, which were now only about a foot from my face, were a size bigger than mine. The soles were a shade lighter than the tops, with a high arch and the barely-visible hint of wrinkles. They also looked very soft.
“Now Becca,” she began. “You know I love you, and think you’re as close to perfect as anyone can be.” She was making me blush already. “However, there are certain … tasks … that I will occasionally require you to perform. And I think now is the time to be sure you know exactly how to perform them. The first is to worship my feet.”
I sort of figured that was where she was going, and I was glad. If I did well, and if she liked it as much as I do, this would turn her on like almost nothing else. I recalled my plan, and decided to put it into motion.
“Which foot would you like me to start with?” I asked, trying to sound obedient.
She smiled. “The right, please. Put your lips around the big toe, and go slowly.”
Keeping my hands behind my back, I leaned forward and took her toe into my mouth. I tried to think of what she did to me, sucking lightly and lapping my tongue against the pad. Her reaction was instant; she closed her eyes and moaned lightly. I was relieved to find that her feet tasted like the rest of her—I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it was clean and nice, and her feet didn’t smell or anything. I also saw why she asked me to put my hair up; it would’ve gotten in the way if I hadn’t.
“Very good. Now try the other toes.” Her hand slipped between her legs, and I saw she wasn’t wearing anything under the nightgown. I wanted very badly to touch myself, too, but I didn’t dare without her permission. I sucked each of her toes in turn. When I reached the smallest, I made my way back, taking two toes at a time and making sure to dart my tongue in between. “Oh … OK, OK. Um, now go down the inside of the foot.” Her voice was breathy and a little strained.
I did as I was told, working slowly, kissing and licking as passionately as I could. When I reached her heel, I went back up and then down again (I figured she wouldn’t mind me going the extra mile).
“Becca? Are you moaning?” The question surprised me, especially when I realized I had been without even knowing it.
“Yes,” I said, blushing hard.
“Is that because you enjoy worshiping my feet?”
“Yes.” The now-familiar feeling of pleasure and arousal and warmth washed through me. This was so weird! But on the other hand, it made us both feel good, so maybe it wasn’t that weird after all.
“Good pet,” she cooed. “Now do the same with the other foot.” She wasn’t touching herself anymore, but instead clutching the bedspread with both hands. I switched to her left foot, feeling more confident in the knowledge that she was enjoying this.
I remembered what she had done to me our first night, and tried using my teeth on the side of her little toe. She whimpered for a moment, and as I continued nibbling down the outside of her foot, she burst into giggles.
“Are you trying to tickle me?” she asked. She didn’t pull her foot away, though.
“Yes,” I said. Then, feeling that I should add something, “I thought you’d like it.”
She was squirming now, gripping the bed tight and rubbing her legs together. “I do!” she said between giggles. “OK, OK! Stop!” she said finally. I straightened up, a big, happy smile on my face. She caught her breath and rubbed her soles against the bedspread.
When she had recovered, she returned her feet to the edge of the bed. “You’re doing a lot better than I expected. We’re going to need to practice a lot,”—I nodded quickly at this—“but that’s a good start. And now you’ve given me an idea. I want to see how much you can tickle my feet with your mouth. Start whenever you’re ready.”
I didn’t need to be told twice. I flitted my tongue across her right arch, then her left. I nibbled all over, the outsides and insides and even under her toes. She was laughing freely, her legs almost vibrating from the strain of keeping her feet still. Her eyes were shut tight and her hands pounded on the bed. She lasted a surprisingly long time, but then I found a spot, just under the ball of her right foot, that made her shriek and pull away.
Apparently unable to talk, she sat up and gestured frantically for me to come closer. I climbed onto the bed and lay between her legs. She grabbed both my wrists, pulled them under her legs and up to her waist. With my arms trapped this way, my face was very close to her, and I gladly went down without her needing to ask.
I think her plan might’ve been to give me instructions for that as well, but I had more experience here (not a lot, but this wasn’t my first time). She came quickly and almost silently; I only knew it from the way her stomach tensed and her back arched. I didn’t stop until she stopped me, covering herself with one hand and pulling me up on top of her with the other.
I held her tight and kissed her face while she came back around. It felt a little funny to be taking this role with her, but I liked it. She stroked my hair and kissed me back, when she was able.
“Do you remember what my note said?” she eventually asked.
“Of course. ‘Good Pets Get Rewarded,’” I recited.
She smiled. “And since you’re the best pet ever, it’s time for your reward. First, go get the cuffs.”
They had been returned to her closet, but when I found them, there was something else. I held up the black sleeping mask. “Would you like this, too?”
“Yes please,” she replied. I brought the cuffs and blindfold to her, legs rapidly turning rubbery with anticipation. She had moved, now sitting up on the side of the bed, and she laid the restraints down next to her. “See the tools on my dresser? Your reward is that you get to choose which one I’m going to tickle you with tonight.”
I turned to the spread, eyeing each in turn. A hairbrush, a toothbrush, a makeup brush, a plastic comb, a fork, a stiff red feather, and a small sponge. I looked back over my shoulder at her with a smile; my plan had been working well so far and I wanted to see if I could push it just a little further. “May I pick more than one?”
An odd, suspicious smile crossed her face. “Yes, you may.”
I was curious about all of them, but I didn’t want to sound greedy, so I limited myself to three. I chose the feather, because I remembered how wonderfully intense it had been the first time. Next I chose the makeup brush, because the bristles seemed similar to the feather but different at the same time. I also wanted to try the fork; I couldn’t figure out how she’d make it tickle, but I thought it might poke and be a little painful, and I was curious to try that mixed with the tickling.
I presented my choices to her, and she lined them up along the edge of the bed. Standing, she turned my shoulders away from her and brought my hands together behind my back. The cuffs went on, and she tied the straps together. Then she pulled the straps up under my arms, over my shoulders, and tied them together again behind my neck. That forced my hands up under my shoulder blades.
“Becca, I have a question to ask you, and this is important,” she said. She wrapped her arms around me, pulling me backward against her chest and hugging me tight. “Have you been telling me what you think I want to hear, so I’ll go easy on you?”
I was suddenly aware of how naked and helpless I truly was. How had she seen through me so easily? I suspected things would only be worse if I tried to lie or beg off, so I answered truthfully: “Yes.”
“Do you think that was a good idea, trying to trick me like that?”
“No.”
“Do you think I should punish you for that?”
I actually did. “Please punish me.”
She spun me around so I was facing her again. She pulled the straps of her nightgown off her shoulders and let the gown drop to the floor. “Pick it up,” she ordered.
I dropped to my knees, quickly realizing that I’d never be able to get it with my hands. I managed to secure one of the shoulder straps between my teeth, and I carefully stood and presented it to her. I was already blushing from the embarrassment of it, and from the way that embarrassment turned me on. She took the gown out of my mouth, pulled it straight, and then cleave-gagged me with it. This all happened so abruptly I had trouble processing it, but she didn’t give me a moment to think. The sleep mask was over my eyes before I realized she’d grabbed it.
I’d never been gagged or blindfolded before, though I’d often imagined both. That crazy mix of vulnerability and arousal (and yes, some fear) made me even more disoriented than I normally would’ve been. Next I felt her hands pinching and tugging on my nipples. I yelped, my voice muffled by the gag between my lips, and quickly walked forward to lessen the pressure. She pulled me face down onto the bed, and I felt her weight on my legs and the cuffs going around my ankles.
She grabbed my big toes with one hand and began scrabbling her fingernails across my feet with the other. Nothing I could do; I was squealing and thrashing instantly. This was different than when she’d tickled me before, she wasn’t teasing or testing me. She was attacking with both hands now, and I was trying and failing to wriggle out of her grasp.
Her weight lifted off me, then returned—she had turned around to get at my upper body. Her fingers dug into my hips, my sides, my ribs. With my hands bound midway up my back, I couldn’t protect any of them. I tried kicking my feet to buck her off, which of course didn’t work. The tickling was overwhelming; I couldn’t fight it or make it stop or even catch a break. At the same time, her naked body pressed against mine .. but I couldn't hold that thought in my head before the panic of being tickled pushed it out. Her hands were everywhere and I was ticklish everywhere.
I managed to roll to my back, or maybe she let me, I couldn’t tell anymore. I thought (hoped) she was giving me a breather, but instead I felt something dragging across my lower belly. It didn’t tickle as much as her fingers, but in that sensitive area, it didn’t have to.
“You’d better not move too much, or I’ll poke you,” she said. It was the fork! I could visualize it now, scratching a sensitive swath across my stomach. I felt a flood of desire. Again I found myself at her mercy, being tortured. But where any other girl would’ve been miserable, I was so turned on I could barely stand it.
The scratching stopped, but something else immediately replaced it. This new thing—I think it was the makeup brush—didn’t tickle much at all. It felt really nice, actually, as it swished up my stomach. But then it reached my breasts, and I understood the devilishness if it. The pressure was too light to bother my stomach, but it was electric on my sensitive nipples. Jenn pinned my shoulders down with one hand so I couldn’t squirm away. Having my nipples tickled like this actually felt good, in a way. But it also tickled like hell. She teased my breasts for what seemed like forever, and eventually I was left sputtering and struggling for air.
I did get a break for that, and even felt my ankles being released from their cuffs. I thought for a minute she was letting me out, but once I had caught my breath, she said something that took it away again: “Spread your legs.”
My heart was pounding. I wasn’t sure I could take any more. But she hadn’t asked, she had ordered. I slowly, reluctantly, opened my legs for her.
I felt her weight on me again; both my legs were pinned so I couldn’t pull away or close them. I was squirming and moaning, barely able to even think about what was coming. If she had simply held me there, making me wait for it, I probably would’ve hyperventilated.
But she didn’t. The feather made contact, dancing between my folds and finding my most sensitive places. I bucked and screamed, my body reacting without any input from my brain. I lost track of time, of space, of where and even who I was as the feather tickled me. It was simultaneously the best and worst thing I’ve ever felt.
The tension in my body was slowly but surely building, though I was too far gone to understand what was happening. I think the tipping point was the realization that two of Jenn’s fingers were gently pumping in and out of me, even as the feather teased my clit. My stomach quivered, my back arched, and I came.
The orgasm was so powerful I actually couldn’t remember it later. The mix of pleasure and tickling and being blinded was so disorienting I couldn't keep up with what was happening. By the time I had regained my senses, I was cradled in Jenn’s arms, the gag, blindfold and restraints all gone. She was kissing my hair, wiping the tears from my eyes (had I cried?) and rubbing the soreness from my shoulders and arms.
I was shaking all over, but I managed to say, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” she whispered back. I let her massage all the tension out of my body until, drained and exhausted but unbelievably happy, I dropped off to sleep.
Jenn and I both learned a lot in the next few weeks. For example, I learned that no patch of bare skin was safe around her—if I left it open, she’d tickle it. Each tickle attack inevitably left me feeling giddy and happy and more than a little horny. But after that, I’d feel guilty and weird about being so turned on by it.
Not long after, we each learned that the other was feeling the same way. She’d been worried that I secretly hated being tickled like that. We both felt much better when we sat down and talked about it.
I learned that she’d been introduced to tickling the same way I had: by another girl tying her up and taking advantage of her helplessness. On the other hand, I learned that it was tickling specifically she loved, and she learned that I was more into being tied up. We agreed that combination worked pretty great together.
After a little while, she decided that there were still a couple of things she still needed to teach me. Even the sound of that made me tingle all over, and I immediately agreed to be her student.
Jenn showered, then told me to do the same while she got things ready. She was starting to get a feel for the things she could do or say that would leave me breathless with desire, and giving me orders like that was definitely one of them.
Showering takes on a completely different meaning when you’re preparing yourself for … well, honestly I didn’t know yet. Cycling through all the possibilities in my head nearly drove me nuts, though. I had to stop myself from thinking about it. So instead, I came up with a slightly devious plan. Tickling me was a huge turn-on for Jenn, and when I willingly submitted to it, or even asked for it, that made her even hotter. I figured that if I acted as submissive and willing as I could, she might get so horny she’d forget all about torturing me and skip straight to the sex. Even if it backfired, and she ended up torturing me more, I was pretty OK with that.
When I stepped out of the shower, I found a piece of paper on the floor—she must have slipped it in under the door. It was folded in half. On the outside:
There was more inside:
Oh my god. She was bringing out the big guns, and my stomach was doing cartwheels as a result. I focused on breathing slowly and deeply, and following her instructions. I pulled my hair up and checked it in the mirror. It didn’t look right, so I pulled it loose and put it up again. I tried to imagine what Jenn would see when I came in—I knew she thought I was beautiful, but I still couldn’t quite see it. I took another deep breath, suddenly very nervous and worried I’d disappoint her. I might’ve hid in the bathroom forever, but I knew she was waiting for me and I couldn’t stand the thought of making her wait.
The walk from the bathroom to the bedroom was only maybe ten feet, but it felt like a mile. The bedroom door was cracked, and through it I could see the dim, flickering glow of candlelight. I brushed the door open, then crossed my wrists behind me and stepped through the threshold.
Jenn was lying on the bed, wearing a blood-red silk nightgown. The shoulder straps were of black lace, as was the hem that lay across her thighs, only barely covering her. Her fingers and toes were painted the same shade as the nightgown, and her lipstick matched as well. In short, she looked gorgeous and dangerous and unbelievably sexy. My legs were trembling, but I held my head high and awaited her instruction. I suddenly felt like my plan to turn her on with my submissiveness was a stupid one, but I reasoned that it even if it didn’t work it would make her happy, so it was worth it.
“Please close and lock the door,” she said. I did so, then put my hands behind my back again. “Kneel at the foot of the bed.”
I walked around the bed, and discovered that she had folded a few fluffy towels and stacked them on the floor, so I’d have something soft to kneel on. I also noticed that she had a towel laid across the top of her dresser, with several items lined up as though they were on display. Ignoring both my nerves and the growing warmth between my legs, I knelt at her feet.
Feet were another thing I hadn’t usually paid much attention to before I met Jenn. Mine, like the rest of me, were tiny and boring. I just didn’t see why she loved them so much, though when it resulted in her sucking on them I was happy she did. Hers, which were now only about a foot from my face, were a size bigger than mine. The soles were a shade lighter than the tops, with a high arch and the barely-visible hint of wrinkles. They also looked very soft.
“Now Becca,” she began. “You know I love you, and think you’re as close to perfect as anyone can be.” She was making me blush already. “However, there are certain … tasks … that I will occasionally require you to perform. And I think now is the time to be sure you know exactly how to perform them. The first is to worship my feet.”
I sort of figured that was where she was going, and I was glad. If I did well, and if she liked it as much as I do, this would turn her on like almost nothing else. I recalled my plan, and decided to put it into motion.
“Which foot would you like me to start with?” I asked, trying to sound obedient.
She smiled. “The right, please. Put your lips around the big toe, and go slowly.”
Keeping my hands behind my back, I leaned forward and took her toe into my mouth. I tried to think of what she did to me, sucking lightly and lapping my tongue against the pad. Her reaction was instant; she closed her eyes and moaned lightly. I was relieved to find that her feet tasted like the rest of her—I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it was clean and nice, and her feet didn’t smell or anything. I also saw why she asked me to put my hair up; it would’ve gotten in the way if I hadn’t.
“Very good. Now try the other toes.” Her hand slipped between her legs, and I saw she wasn’t wearing anything under the nightgown. I wanted very badly to touch myself, too, but I didn’t dare without her permission. I sucked each of her toes in turn. When I reached the smallest, I made my way back, taking two toes at a time and making sure to dart my tongue in between. “Oh … OK, OK. Um, now go down the inside of the foot.” Her voice was breathy and a little strained.
I did as I was told, working slowly, kissing and licking as passionately as I could. When I reached her heel, I went back up and then down again (I figured she wouldn’t mind me going the extra mile).
“Becca? Are you moaning?” The question surprised me, especially when I realized I had been without even knowing it.
“Yes,” I said, blushing hard.
“Is that because you enjoy worshiping my feet?”
“Yes.” The now-familiar feeling of pleasure and arousal and warmth washed through me. This was so weird! But on the other hand, it made us both feel good, so maybe it wasn’t that weird after all.
“Good pet,” she cooed. “Now do the same with the other foot.” She wasn’t touching herself anymore, but instead clutching the bedspread with both hands. I switched to her left foot, feeling more confident in the knowledge that she was enjoying this.
I remembered what she had done to me our first night, and tried using my teeth on the side of her little toe. She whimpered for a moment, and as I continued nibbling down the outside of her foot, she burst into giggles.
“Are you trying to tickle me?” she asked. She didn’t pull her foot away, though.
“Yes,” I said. Then, feeling that I should add something, “I thought you’d like it.”
She was squirming now, gripping the bed tight and rubbing her legs together. “I do!” she said between giggles. “OK, OK! Stop!” she said finally. I straightened up, a big, happy smile on my face. She caught her breath and rubbed her soles against the bedspread.
When she had recovered, she returned her feet to the edge of the bed. “You’re doing a lot better than I expected. We’re going to need to practice a lot,”—I nodded quickly at this—“but that’s a good start. And now you’ve given me an idea. I want to see how much you can tickle my feet with your mouth. Start whenever you’re ready.”
I didn’t need to be told twice. I flitted my tongue across her right arch, then her left. I nibbled all over, the outsides and insides and even under her toes. She was laughing freely, her legs almost vibrating from the strain of keeping her feet still. Her eyes were shut tight and her hands pounded on the bed. She lasted a surprisingly long time, but then I found a spot, just under the ball of her right foot, that made her shriek and pull away.
Apparently unable to talk, she sat up and gestured frantically for me to come closer. I climbed onto the bed and lay between her legs. She grabbed both my wrists, pulled them under her legs and up to her waist. With my arms trapped this way, my face was very close to her, and I gladly went down without her needing to ask.
I think her plan might’ve been to give me instructions for that as well, but I had more experience here (not a lot, but this wasn’t my first time). She came quickly and almost silently; I only knew it from the way her stomach tensed and her back arched. I didn’t stop until she stopped me, covering herself with one hand and pulling me up on top of her with the other.
I held her tight and kissed her face while she came back around. It felt a little funny to be taking this role with her, but I liked it. She stroked my hair and kissed me back, when she was able.
“Do you remember what my note said?” she eventually asked.
“Of course. ‘Good Pets Get Rewarded,’” I recited.
She smiled. “And since you’re the best pet ever, it’s time for your reward. First, go get the cuffs.”
They had been returned to her closet, but when I found them, there was something else. I held up the black sleeping mask. “Would you like this, too?”
“Yes please,” she replied. I brought the cuffs and blindfold to her, legs rapidly turning rubbery with anticipation. She had moved, now sitting up on the side of the bed, and she laid the restraints down next to her. “See the tools on my dresser? Your reward is that you get to choose which one I’m going to tickle you with tonight.”
I turned to the spread, eyeing each in turn. A hairbrush, a toothbrush, a makeup brush, a plastic comb, a fork, a stiff red feather, and a small sponge. I looked back over my shoulder at her with a smile; my plan had been working well so far and I wanted to see if I could push it just a little further. “May I pick more than one?”
An odd, suspicious smile crossed her face. “Yes, you may.”
I was curious about all of them, but I didn’t want to sound greedy, so I limited myself to three. I chose the feather, because I remembered how wonderfully intense it had been the first time. Next I chose the makeup brush, because the bristles seemed similar to the feather but different at the same time. I also wanted to try the fork; I couldn’t figure out how she’d make it tickle, but I thought it might poke and be a little painful, and I was curious to try that mixed with the tickling.
I presented my choices to her, and she lined them up along the edge of the bed. Standing, she turned my shoulders away from her and brought my hands together behind my back. The cuffs went on, and she tied the straps together. Then she pulled the straps up under my arms, over my shoulders, and tied them together again behind my neck. That forced my hands up under my shoulder blades.
“Becca, I have a question to ask you, and this is important,” she said. She wrapped her arms around me, pulling me backward against her chest and hugging me tight. “Have you been telling me what you think I want to hear, so I’ll go easy on you?”
I was suddenly aware of how naked and helpless I truly was. How had she seen through me so easily? I suspected things would only be worse if I tried to lie or beg off, so I answered truthfully: “Yes.”
“Do you think that was a good idea, trying to trick me like that?”
“No.”
“Do you think I should punish you for that?”
I actually did. “Please punish me.”
She spun me around so I was facing her again. She pulled the straps of her nightgown off her shoulders and let the gown drop to the floor. “Pick it up,” she ordered.
I dropped to my knees, quickly realizing that I’d never be able to get it with my hands. I managed to secure one of the shoulder straps between my teeth, and I carefully stood and presented it to her. I was already blushing from the embarrassment of it, and from the way that embarrassment turned me on. She took the gown out of my mouth, pulled it straight, and then cleave-gagged me with it. This all happened so abruptly I had trouble processing it, but she didn’t give me a moment to think. The sleep mask was over my eyes before I realized she’d grabbed it.
I’d never been gagged or blindfolded before, though I’d often imagined both. That crazy mix of vulnerability and arousal (and yes, some fear) made me even more disoriented than I normally would’ve been. Next I felt her hands pinching and tugging on my nipples. I yelped, my voice muffled by the gag between my lips, and quickly walked forward to lessen the pressure. She pulled me face down onto the bed, and I felt her weight on my legs and the cuffs going around my ankles.
She grabbed my big toes with one hand and began scrabbling her fingernails across my feet with the other. Nothing I could do; I was squealing and thrashing instantly. This was different than when she’d tickled me before, she wasn’t teasing or testing me. She was attacking with both hands now, and I was trying and failing to wriggle out of her grasp.
Her weight lifted off me, then returned—she had turned around to get at my upper body. Her fingers dug into my hips, my sides, my ribs. With my hands bound midway up my back, I couldn’t protect any of them. I tried kicking my feet to buck her off, which of course didn’t work. The tickling was overwhelming; I couldn’t fight it or make it stop or even catch a break. At the same time, her naked body pressed against mine .. but I couldn't hold that thought in my head before the panic of being tickled pushed it out. Her hands were everywhere and I was ticklish everywhere.
I managed to roll to my back, or maybe she let me, I couldn’t tell anymore. I thought (hoped) she was giving me a breather, but instead I felt something dragging across my lower belly. It didn’t tickle as much as her fingers, but in that sensitive area, it didn’t have to.
“You’d better not move too much, or I’ll poke you,” she said. It was the fork! I could visualize it now, scratching a sensitive swath across my stomach. I felt a flood of desire. Again I found myself at her mercy, being tortured. But where any other girl would’ve been miserable, I was so turned on I could barely stand it.
The scratching stopped, but something else immediately replaced it. This new thing—I think it was the makeup brush—didn’t tickle much at all. It felt really nice, actually, as it swished up my stomach. But then it reached my breasts, and I understood the devilishness if it. The pressure was too light to bother my stomach, but it was electric on my sensitive nipples. Jenn pinned my shoulders down with one hand so I couldn’t squirm away. Having my nipples tickled like this actually felt good, in a way. But it also tickled like hell. She teased my breasts for what seemed like forever, and eventually I was left sputtering and struggling for air.
I did get a break for that, and even felt my ankles being released from their cuffs. I thought for a minute she was letting me out, but once I had caught my breath, she said something that took it away again: “Spread your legs.”
My heart was pounding. I wasn’t sure I could take any more. But she hadn’t asked, she had ordered. I slowly, reluctantly, opened my legs for her.
I felt her weight on me again; both my legs were pinned so I couldn’t pull away or close them. I was squirming and moaning, barely able to even think about what was coming. If she had simply held me there, making me wait for it, I probably would’ve hyperventilated.
But she didn’t. The feather made contact, dancing between my folds and finding my most sensitive places. I bucked and screamed, my body reacting without any input from my brain. I lost track of time, of space, of where and even who I was as the feather tickled me. It was simultaneously the best and worst thing I’ve ever felt.
The tension in my body was slowly but surely building, though I was too far gone to understand what was happening. I think the tipping point was the realization that two of Jenn’s fingers were gently pumping in and out of me, even as the feather teased my clit. My stomach quivered, my back arched, and I came.
The orgasm was so powerful I actually couldn’t remember it later. The mix of pleasure and tickling and being blinded was so disorienting I couldn't keep up with what was happening. By the time I had regained my senses, I was cradled in Jenn’s arms, the gag, blindfold and restraints all gone. She was kissing my hair, wiping the tears from my eyes (had I cried?) and rubbing the soreness from my shoulders and arms.
I was shaking all over, but I managed to say, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” she whispered back. I let her massage all the tension out of my body until, drained and exhausted but unbelievably happy, I dropped off to sleep.
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