Solestripper
TMF Regular
- Joined
- Mar 1, 2005
- Messages
- 257
- Points
- 28
As soon as I read the following advertisement:
“Henry and Susan, an English sadist couple into BDSM Tickle Torture, looking for a submissive ticklish man or woman to play with throughout a week-end, in a manor house we own in South of France near Avignon, more precisely near Marquis de Sade’s ruined castle in Lacoste, below the Luberon mountain”,
I didn’t hesitate: I was the one for it. Then, after having a few verbal and digital discussions with Henry and Susan, and sending them some pics of my body and a long motivation letter, I eventually was chosen to be their next week-end tickle toy.
I was aroused by this prospect, which I didn’t want to talk about to anyone: a secret fantasy of mine was coming true. After long being into M/F tickling, I’d gradually felt more and more curious about switching, about taking my turn experimenting how it felt to be all tied up and tickled… How naive, reckless and overconfident I was! I couldn’t imagine how intense this fast-track initiation was going to be. Before meeting Henry and Susan, I used to pride myself for being, at best, moderately ticklish all over. Which I had in mind when I answered the advert was the arousing prospect of giving up the reins of power, of once getting teased, taunted, humiliated (maybe in public if some guests happened to be invited, who knows?) and, if I was a nice boy, sexually rewarded at the end of each session. But I had no peculiar fear of passing out from getting tickle tortured… No, I didn’t know what was coming next.
Thus, on Friday evening, after getting a good pedicure as ordered, I took my car and went to “La Plume au vent” (The flying Feather), which was the name of Henry and Susan’s manor house, strictly obeying the dress code I’ve been dictated: black silk underwear, sheer nylon socks, black leather trousers and tight white tee shirt. Oh, I was about to forget a detail: I had been ordered to rate all of potential tickle spots which were listed on a form, which I carefully did, at least, about the ones I knew at the time. Neck: don’t know. Armpits: 7/10. Ribs: 7/10. Sides: 6/10. Belly: 5/10. Groin: don’t know. Cock: don’t know. Crotch: don’t know. Asshole: don’t know. Butt: don’t know. Thighs: don’t know. Knees 5/10. Calves: don’t know. Feet: 5/10.
The manor house, which was shutted by an impressive wrought-iron gate and surrounded by high walls and hedges, was located in the depth of a dark wooded valley. Nobody could hear a ticklee scream and beg. Henry and Susan welcomed me warmly, though with a mischievous grin on their faces. I felt surprised by their physical appearance and clothes: in fact, they were mature people, more than 60 years old, both of them dressed in leather clothes, Henry wearing black ankle boots just as I did, and Susan wearing a magnificent pair of Louboutin high-heel pumps. Henry was a tall, muscular, white bearded and haired guy, looking like Sean Connery in his 60s, whereas Susan was a kind of Helen Mirren look-alike. Without being offered a guided tour of the huge but strange interior, I was brought to a vast and rich living room on ground floor, where we sat down in comfortable profound armchairs, whose modern design contrasted with the antique furniture and decoration. We first had a conversation rolling over many different matters, while eating a few appetizers, drinking a glass of red wine.
Then the more serious business we were meeting for began. First, I had to put my belongings in a large blind room which was in the basement, at the very beginning of a long corridor which led to an intimidating armoured door I was soon to know as the dungeon’s one. In my room were a bathroom, a huge bed, whose frame contained metal bars (four of them, at each corner of the bed, already were equipped with handcuffs). A wooden side door led to the back of the dungeon.
First, I was told to take a shower and then wait for Master H and Mistress S to come, with only my pants and my nylons on. I was getting more and more stressed and excited at the same time, especially as a scary acoustic atmosphere had been created: I could hear an audio recording of a previous session, through which a high-pitched masculine voice kept on screaming out loud, begging for mercy. The red painted walls were covered with pictures of previous BDSM tickle sessions, mostly showing victims’ suffering faces from all genders.
I was now standing at the centre of a medieval-like dungeon with low ceiling, my wrists tied up together above my head with a tensioned rope, almost totally naked in front of both dressed torturers. Mistress S spoke first :
“So, dear John, we’ve just read the rating form you returned, and I must say we’re very disappointed. Disappointed but, all at once, still more excited, cause, you know, we’re going to need very sharp techniques to break you and make you suffer.
- First, Master H added, I’m afraid we have to reevaluate all of your spots and find out the ones you seem to be unaware of.
- I’d really love to blindfold and ballgag you immediately, Mistress S said, but we need to hear each of your laughs and to see each of your facial expressions to evaluate you properly. Dear Henry, I guess this poor little ticklish boy deserves to have his rather ticklish ribs and sides tormented by strong male and oiled latex gloved fingers. Please, be the first to examine our patient.
- No! Please! Stop! Stoop!!
Master H, who stood behind my back and whose panting breath I could feel on my neck, was now digging his oily gloved fingers, sometimes, in my armpits, sometimes, in my ribcage, sometimes in my sides, extracting ferocious roars from my lungs. Soon, he began to make pokings rain on my belly, my waist, alternately returning to my ribs and pits.
- No! Not there! Not theere!!
- Well, well, well, dear Henry. I think we can revise some ratings upward.
- And the week-end is only beginning, my dear.
Armpits: 8/10. Ribs: 9/10. Sides: 8/10. Belly: 6/10 (very disappointing belly button, but remarkably ticklish sides near the waist).
- I can’t wait to go to this miserable guy’s nyloned feet, Mistress S said ironically, but I have a couple of things to check before.
- E! Ticklish! Eee!! Wriggling like a worm, I now had my neck, my ears, my underarms, my inner elbows investigated by spider tickling and light scratches, coming from my mistress’s sharp nails. Oh God! The sensation was terrible.
- Ee! What are you doiing?? It’s awful. Stooop!!!
Mistress S had begun drawing circles all around my nipples…
- Mmm, poor thing! This one you didn’t know, did you? You’ll get a 8 there too.
Then one of the worst moments in this first session happened, when she had the idea of lightly and slowly tickling my back, from my shoulders to my curvy butt.
- Ooo! Gorgeous! Mistress S exclaimed. This little boy has a very, very ticklish tiny ass. Now spread your legs! SPREAD YOUR LEGS!!
The tone had suddenly become much more aggressive.
- Noo! Mercy! Noone has gone there. Noone has ever gone theeeere!!!!
- He’s so cute, Mistress S teased, while scissoring the silk underwear. He shrieks like a little boy, just because HE IS, in fact, a little boy. Look at this cute tiny penis, Henry. I might need tweezers to hold it when I feather it later.
- What are you doing? What the f*ck are you doiiing??? Eeee!!! E! E! Eeee!!! E! E!
Mistress S stood perpendicularly to me, passing one fingernail down my gluteal cleft, drawing circles round my asshole, titillating my groin, while the other hand’s fingers gently worked on my balls and on my lightly hardening cock.
- For Christ’s sake! Master H shouted. It’s not so tiny now, he laughed. His asshole, his crotch, his balls and his cock deserve, at least, a 8.
- And we haven’t tried the most of our tickle tools on these spots yet, darling.
Dear readers, I guess what many of you have in mind. What about the feet? How will the torturers get me properly, while I’m standing on my feet? You won’t be waiting too long.
- Wait! Eeee!!! E! E! Horrible !
- DO NOT MOVE!! And keep your legs spread wide!
Still wriggling like a worm, I was just finding out how sensitive my inner thighs and, particularly, the sides and the back of my knees were sensitive, as Mistress S investigated both of my legs at the same time.
- Ooo My God! Will we give a A to these parts of his body? Well, let’s say 8/10. After all, our week-end is only beginning. Henry! Henry! I need your oily gloved hands now, for this cute tiny boy’s thighs and calves appear to be too muscular to be tickled lightly.
- No! Noo!! Pleaase!! I’m gonna peee!!!
Kneeling in front of me, Master H was digging his fingers in my tender body again, devastating the back and the sides of my thighs and calves. The nylon sheer socks obviously heightened the sensations on the back of my calves.
- Don’t even think of peeing on me, if you don’t want us to tickle you one hour straight without a break immediately! Master H commented.
- Well, Henry, I assume we can give this nice pupil one more 8, for being so ticklish on his thighs and calves…
- Right, absolutely right, my dear. Shall we give this patient a break without examining his huge beautiful nyloned feet?
- No! No! No! Henry, I think our dear guest John truly deserves to be brought to a higher level of endurance, for letting us know he was not “that ticklish”.
I was frightened and shivered like a leaf. The week-end had only just begun, and I felt like I had already been driven to my breaking point. By the way, no safeword had been allowed. And my torturers had already shown all of their intentions: tickling me to exhaustion, in the most torturous and humiliating way.
My knees now lay down on the red velvet seat of an antique bench, so that the feet were at the outside edge of the seat. Then, Master H cautiously (but firmly) sat on my calves.
- Well, well, well, honey! Mistress S said sadistically. Thinking back of the information our tiny pet had given us about his feet’s mild vulnerability, I suggest we team up, in order to adjust his rating, which was… What did he say? Ooo! Barely 5/10. You can have a rest now, John: the worst part of the test is over, isn’t it?
Then she brought a chair, on which she sat in front of my soles, and stated the rules.
- Darling, I’m sure you’ll enjoy exploring tops, sides and heels, while I work on this cute little girl’s toes, cushions and soles. Isn’t she lovely, with these sheer nylons on? “Guili! Guili! Guili, sous les pieds!”, as french people say… Guili! Guili! Guili! Don’t shiver, don’t try to move your feet, be a nice girl! Cause you know you’re not “that ticklish”.
- Noo!! Nooo!!! Noooo!!!!... Mercy… Mercy for me… I beg you… Mercy for meeee!!!!
- Oooo! Can you believe it, Henry? What’s happening ? It seems our ticklish little toy is broken.
- Eeee!!! E! E!... Eeee!!! E! E! Stop, please, stop!... Eeee!!! E! E!... Eeee!!! E! E!
I swear you: never a second in my entire life had I been pushed to such a level of panic, of suffering and soon, of respiratory distress. Then, Mistress S brutally and quickly ripped my nylons off, with the help of her nails, on Master H’s suggestion.
- Nylon tickling is unfair, darling! In order to get a fair rating, we have to work on bare feet.
- -I do agree, Henry. Plus: I couldn’t wait longer to have a more precise view on this poor boy’s tootsies and tender soles.
And they started tickling my feet again.
- Not there! Not there!... Mercy! Not theeeeere!!!!
- Well, Henry, I must say this tickle toy begins to give me much more satisfaction.
- Look at the way he’s struggling, Susan! I barely hold his calves still. I warn you, John: if you break my balls, you have both feet tickled at the same time one hour strict right now!
- Stop! Stoop!! Stooop!!! Let me goooo!!!!
- Coochie coo! Coochie coochie coo! Look at these charming girlish soles, darling!
- Guili! Guili!
- I’m dyiiiing !!!!
- Guili! Guili! Sous les petits petons!
Then they stopped, leaving me in tears and out of breath. One of the most sadistic and humiliating thing about it was that I was tickled “from behind”, unable to see anything of the scene, only informed of what was happening through the unbearable sensations, all over my feet’s skin. And say what you want! Nylon tickling is NOT more torturous, for the few minutes I spent getting team tickled on bare feet truly brought the session to a climax.
- Mmm! Have a look at this. Our exquisite tiny cock has spectacularly grown and hardened. Should I give our guest John a little reward, darling?
- Already? You’re joking! His ordeal has only just begun. If we drain him too soon and too often, we’ll find it difficult to make him endure several effective post-orgasm sessions, later in the evening.
I have to confess I was actually nearly as aroused as exhausted and humiliated. I already knew this was going to be the most intense psychological, physical and, maybe, sexual experience in my life up to that moment.
- I beg you… Please… Let me go, now. I won’t be able to stand the tickle torture throughout the week-end, when it begins like that.
- Hey, Henry! Did you hear that? Our ticklish little toy already can’t cope with tickle torture anymore?
Both of them laughed out loudly.
- How naive you are, dear John! Mistress S went on. As Henry said, our week-end has only just begun.
- Please, milk me! Please! My balls and my cock are going to explode!
- No, no, no, my friend! Master H said. By the way, masturbating is forbidden till your next session begin. Susan is going to bring you a chamber pot so that you can pee…
My arms were eventually loosened. But now I had to pee while they watched.
- Without using hands, I say. Without using hands, or we immediately start tickling you again.
Now I knew orgasm denial was part of the game. Though, I was given a drink and some appetizers again: from this point of view, at least, Henry and Susan had a great sense of hospitality. Well… What did I just say? For the next two hours, I’d have my wrists handcuffed to my bed’s bars, so that I could have a rest without being tempted to give myself “a little reward”.
The entire first session had lasted half an hour, barely interrupted by teasings, changes of tickling method, of torturer, of positions. Half an hour… And I felt ruined.
Feet ticklishness rating, at the end of first session:
- toes: 8,5/10
- inbetween the toes: 8,5/10
- cushions: 7,5/10
- soles: 9/10
- heels: 7,5/10
- ankles: 8/10
- tops: 8/10
To be continued…
“Henry and Susan, an English sadist couple into BDSM Tickle Torture, looking for a submissive ticklish man or woman to play with throughout a week-end, in a manor house we own in South of France near Avignon, more precisely near Marquis de Sade’s ruined castle in Lacoste, below the Luberon mountain”,
I didn’t hesitate: I was the one for it. Then, after having a few verbal and digital discussions with Henry and Susan, and sending them some pics of my body and a long motivation letter, I eventually was chosen to be their next week-end tickle toy.
I was aroused by this prospect, which I didn’t want to talk about to anyone: a secret fantasy of mine was coming true. After long being into M/F tickling, I’d gradually felt more and more curious about switching, about taking my turn experimenting how it felt to be all tied up and tickled… How naive, reckless and overconfident I was! I couldn’t imagine how intense this fast-track initiation was going to be. Before meeting Henry and Susan, I used to pride myself for being, at best, moderately ticklish all over. Which I had in mind when I answered the advert was the arousing prospect of giving up the reins of power, of once getting teased, taunted, humiliated (maybe in public if some guests happened to be invited, who knows?) and, if I was a nice boy, sexually rewarded at the end of each session. But I had no peculiar fear of passing out from getting tickle tortured… No, I didn’t know what was coming next.
Thus, on Friday evening, after getting a good pedicure as ordered, I took my car and went to “La Plume au vent” (The flying Feather), which was the name of Henry and Susan’s manor house, strictly obeying the dress code I’ve been dictated: black silk underwear, sheer nylon socks, black leather trousers and tight white tee shirt. Oh, I was about to forget a detail: I had been ordered to rate all of potential tickle spots which were listed on a form, which I carefully did, at least, about the ones I knew at the time. Neck: don’t know. Armpits: 7/10. Ribs: 7/10. Sides: 6/10. Belly: 5/10. Groin: don’t know. Cock: don’t know. Crotch: don’t know. Asshole: don’t know. Butt: don’t know. Thighs: don’t know. Knees 5/10. Calves: don’t know. Feet: 5/10.
The manor house, which was shutted by an impressive wrought-iron gate and surrounded by high walls and hedges, was located in the depth of a dark wooded valley. Nobody could hear a ticklee scream and beg. Henry and Susan welcomed me warmly, though with a mischievous grin on their faces. I felt surprised by their physical appearance and clothes: in fact, they were mature people, more than 60 years old, both of them dressed in leather clothes, Henry wearing black ankle boots just as I did, and Susan wearing a magnificent pair of Louboutin high-heel pumps. Henry was a tall, muscular, white bearded and haired guy, looking like Sean Connery in his 60s, whereas Susan was a kind of Helen Mirren look-alike. Without being offered a guided tour of the huge but strange interior, I was brought to a vast and rich living room on ground floor, where we sat down in comfortable profound armchairs, whose modern design contrasted with the antique furniture and decoration. We first had a conversation rolling over many different matters, while eating a few appetizers, drinking a glass of red wine.
Then the more serious business we were meeting for began. First, I had to put my belongings in a large blind room which was in the basement, at the very beginning of a long corridor which led to an intimidating armoured door I was soon to know as the dungeon’s one. In my room were a bathroom, a huge bed, whose frame contained metal bars (four of them, at each corner of the bed, already were equipped with handcuffs). A wooden side door led to the back of the dungeon.
First, I was told to take a shower and then wait for Master H and Mistress S to come, with only my pants and my nylons on. I was getting more and more stressed and excited at the same time, especially as a scary acoustic atmosphere had been created: I could hear an audio recording of a previous session, through which a high-pitched masculine voice kept on screaming out loud, begging for mercy. The red painted walls were covered with pictures of previous BDSM tickle sessions, mostly showing victims’ suffering faces from all genders.
I was now standing at the centre of a medieval-like dungeon with low ceiling, my wrists tied up together above my head with a tensioned rope, almost totally naked in front of both dressed torturers. Mistress S spoke first :
“So, dear John, we’ve just read the rating form you returned, and I must say we’re very disappointed. Disappointed but, all at once, still more excited, cause, you know, we’re going to need very sharp techniques to break you and make you suffer.
- First, Master H added, I’m afraid we have to reevaluate all of your spots and find out the ones you seem to be unaware of.
- I’d really love to blindfold and ballgag you immediately, Mistress S said, but we need to hear each of your laughs and to see each of your facial expressions to evaluate you properly. Dear Henry, I guess this poor little ticklish boy deserves to have his rather ticklish ribs and sides tormented by strong male and oiled latex gloved fingers. Please, be the first to examine our patient.
- No! Please! Stop! Stoop!!
Master H, who stood behind my back and whose panting breath I could feel on my neck, was now digging his oily gloved fingers, sometimes, in my armpits, sometimes, in my ribcage, sometimes in my sides, extracting ferocious roars from my lungs. Soon, he began to make pokings rain on my belly, my waist, alternately returning to my ribs and pits.
- No! Not there! Not theere!!
- Well, well, well, dear Henry. I think we can revise some ratings upward.
- And the week-end is only beginning, my dear.
Armpits: 8/10. Ribs: 9/10. Sides: 8/10. Belly: 6/10 (very disappointing belly button, but remarkably ticklish sides near the waist).
- I can’t wait to go to this miserable guy’s nyloned feet, Mistress S said ironically, but I have a couple of things to check before.
- E! Ticklish! Eee!! Wriggling like a worm, I now had my neck, my ears, my underarms, my inner elbows investigated by spider tickling and light scratches, coming from my mistress’s sharp nails. Oh God! The sensation was terrible.
- Ee! What are you doiing?? It’s awful. Stooop!!!
Mistress S had begun drawing circles all around my nipples…
- Mmm, poor thing! This one you didn’t know, did you? You’ll get a 8 there too.
Then one of the worst moments in this first session happened, when she had the idea of lightly and slowly tickling my back, from my shoulders to my curvy butt.
- Ooo! Gorgeous! Mistress S exclaimed. This little boy has a very, very ticklish tiny ass. Now spread your legs! SPREAD YOUR LEGS!!
The tone had suddenly become much more aggressive.
- Noo! Mercy! Noone has gone there. Noone has ever gone theeeere!!!!
- He’s so cute, Mistress S teased, while scissoring the silk underwear. He shrieks like a little boy, just because HE IS, in fact, a little boy. Look at this cute tiny penis, Henry. I might need tweezers to hold it when I feather it later.
- What are you doing? What the f*ck are you doiiing??? Eeee!!! E! E! Eeee!!! E! E!
Mistress S stood perpendicularly to me, passing one fingernail down my gluteal cleft, drawing circles round my asshole, titillating my groin, while the other hand’s fingers gently worked on my balls and on my lightly hardening cock.
- For Christ’s sake! Master H shouted. It’s not so tiny now, he laughed. His asshole, his crotch, his balls and his cock deserve, at least, a 8.
- And we haven’t tried the most of our tickle tools on these spots yet, darling.
Dear readers, I guess what many of you have in mind. What about the feet? How will the torturers get me properly, while I’m standing on my feet? You won’t be waiting too long.
- Wait! Eeee!!! E! E! Horrible !
- DO NOT MOVE!! And keep your legs spread wide!
Still wriggling like a worm, I was just finding out how sensitive my inner thighs and, particularly, the sides and the back of my knees were sensitive, as Mistress S investigated both of my legs at the same time.
- Ooo My God! Will we give a A to these parts of his body? Well, let’s say 8/10. After all, our week-end is only beginning. Henry! Henry! I need your oily gloved hands now, for this cute tiny boy’s thighs and calves appear to be too muscular to be tickled lightly.
- No! Noo!! Pleaase!! I’m gonna peee!!!
Kneeling in front of me, Master H was digging his fingers in my tender body again, devastating the back and the sides of my thighs and calves. The nylon sheer socks obviously heightened the sensations on the back of my calves.
- Don’t even think of peeing on me, if you don’t want us to tickle you one hour straight without a break immediately! Master H commented.
- Well, Henry, I assume we can give this nice pupil one more 8, for being so ticklish on his thighs and calves…
- Right, absolutely right, my dear. Shall we give this patient a break without examining his huge beautiful nyloned feet?
- No! No! No! Henry, I think our dear guest John truly deserves to be brought to a higher level of endurance, for letting us know he was not “that ticklish”.
I was frightened and shivered like a leaf. The week-end had only just begun, and I felt like I had already been driven to my breaking point. By the way, no safeword had been allowed. And my torturers had already shown all of their intentions: tickling me to exhaustion, in the most torturous and humiliating way.
My knees now lay down on the red velvet seat of an antique bench, so that the feet were at the outside edge of the seat. Then, Master H cautiously (but firmly) sat on my calves.
- Well, well, well, honey! Mistress S said sadistically. Thinking back of the information our tiny pet had given us about his feet’s mild vulnerability, I suggest we team up, in order to adjust his rating, which was… What did he say? Ooo! Barely 5/10. You can have a rest now, John: the worst part of the test is over, isn’t it?
Then she brought a chair, on which she sat in front of my soles, and stated the rules.
- Darling, I’m sure you’ll enjoy exploring tops, sides and heels, while I work on this cute little girl’s toes, cushions and soles. Isn’t she lovely, with these sheer nylons on? “Guili! Guili! Guili, sous les pieds!”, as french people say… Guili! Guili! Guili! Don’t shiver, don’t try to move your feet, be a nice girl! Cause you know you’re not “that ticklish”.
- Noo!! Nooo!!! Noooo!!!!... Mercy… Mercy for me… I beg you… Mercy for meeee!!!!
- Oooo! Can you believe it, Henry? What’s happening ? It seems our ticklish little toy is broken.
- Eeee!!! E! E!... Eeee!!! E! E! Stop, please, stop!... Eeee!!! E! E!... Eeee!!! E! E!
I swear you: never a second in my entire life had I been pushed to such a level of panic, of suffering and soon, of respiratory distress. Then, Mistress S brutally and quickly ripped my nylons off, with the help of her nails, on Master H’s suggestion.
- Nylon tickling is unfair, darling! In order to get a fair rating, we have to work on bare feet.
- -I do agree, Henry. Plus: I couldn’t wait longer to have a more precise view on this poor boy’s tootsies and tender soles.
And they started tickling my feet again.
- Not there! Not there!... Mercy! Not theeeeere!!!!
- Well, Henry, I must say this tickle toy begins to give me much more satisfaction.
- Look at the way he’s struggling, Susan! I barely hold his calves still. I warn you, John: if you break my balls, you have both feet tickled at the same time one hour strict right now!
- Stop! Stoop!! Stooop!!! Let me goooo!!!!
- Coochie coo! Coochie coochie coo! Look at these charming girlish soles, darling!
- Guili! Guili!
- I’m dyiiiing !!!!
- Guili! Guili! Sous les petits petons!
Then they stopped, leaving me in tears and out of breath. One of the most sadistic and humiliating thing about it was that I was tickled “from behind”, unable to see anything of the scene, only informed of what was happening through the unbearable sensations, all over my feet’s skin. And say what you want! Nylon tickling is NOT more torturous, for the few minutes I spent getting team tickled on bare feet truly brought the session to a climax.
- Mmm! Have a look at this. Our exquisite tiny cock has spectacularly grown and hardened. Should I give our guest John a little reward, darling?
- Already? You’re joking! His ordeal has only just begun. If we drain him too soon and too often, we’ll find it difficult to make him endure several effective post-orgasm sessions, later in the evening.
I have to confess I was actually nearly as aroused as exhausted and humiliated. I already knew this was going to be the most intense psychological, physical and, maybe, sexual experience in my life up to that moment.
- I beg you… Please… Let me go, now. I won’t be able to stand the tickle torture throughout the week-end, when it begins like that.
- Hey, Henry! Did you hear that? Our ticklish little toy already can’t cope with tickle torture anymore?
Both of them laughed out loudly.
- How naive you are, dear John! Mistress S went on. As Henry said, our week-end has only just begun.
- Please, milk me! Please! My balls and my cock are going to explode!
- No, no, no, my friend! Master H said. By the way, masturbating is forbidden till your next session begin. Susan is going to bring you a chamber pot so that you can pee…
My arms were eventually loosened. But now I had to pee while they watched.
- Without using hands, I say. Without using hands, or we immediately start tickling you again.
Now I knew orgasm denial was part of the game. Though, I was given a drink and some appetizers again: from this point of view, at least, Henry and Susan had a great sense of hospitality. Well… What did I just say? For the next two hours, I’d have my wrists handcuffed to my bed’s bars, so that I could have a rest without being tempted to give myself “a little reward”.
The entire first session had lasted half an hour, barely interrupted by teasings, changes of tickling method, of torturer, of positions. Half an hour… And I felt ruined.
Feet ticklishness rating, at the end of first session:
- toes: 8,5/10
- inbetween the toes: 8,5/10
- cushions: 7,5/10
- soles: 9/10
- heels: 7,5/10
- ankles: 8/10
- tops: 8/10
To be continued…
Last edited:
