Eternal Tomboy
TMF Master
- Joined
- Aug 5, 2001
- Messages
- 980
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- 18
I think I posted this story a few years ago as a reply to a thread in the tickling discussion section. I thought I'd add it here in the true stories section since it was a true account of a very hellish tickling encounter.
Speaking as a willing 'lee, I don't know if I can ever classify any of the tickling encounters I've had as 'torture'(being that those very sessions wound up providing the fodder for my fantasies later in life), but I can say that there were a couple of times in my life that I seriously wondered to myself "Is this guy ever going to stop?!" It is at that time when there is total sensory overload, and even the slightest brush of a fingertip can keep the giggles going. It is when the pleads for mercy get lost amist the screams and hysterical laughter, and when you would do or agree to just about anything to get the 'ler to stop. There is one of those times that stands out vividly in my mind....
****************************************************
I’m in ninth grade, hanging out at my friend Mike’s house after school. Since I find most high school girl drama completely repellent, I’m usually the only girl in a pack full of guys – this day is no different. The guys decide that they want to watch some sporting event on TV. I try to coax them into something that I find a bit more entertaining, but after several minutes of my whining, they still refuse to change the channel.
Mike has put the remote control down on the coffee table. When I spot it, a plan to end my boredom pops into my head and I act on it. I dive for the remote from my place on the couch and quickly change the channel. Just to be a bitch I turn on a soap opera. I don't even watch the damn things; I just want to get back at them for boring the crap out of me for the last half hour. All I hear is my friend Leo saying "Hell no!" before I’m jumped by a couple of the guys. I roll off the couch, land on my stomach, and tuck the remote underneath my body in an effort to keep them from grabbing it. Even as stubborn as I am, I know there’s no way in hell I’m going to be able to hold onto this remote for too long, but I try my hardest anyway because I know once I give it up, the rest of the afternoon is going to be nothing but a sporting snoozefest.
It takes Mike and Leo less than a minute to wrestle the remote out of my hands. Once they have it, I expect them to let me up, and go back to watching their mind numbing TV. But before they have the chance to get up, I start mouthing off to them about how lame sports are, and if they were REAL men they would play the game instead of just watching it. I know that my verbal assault to their masculinity will get me into trouble, but I don’t care. Anything has to be better than watching sports on TV! My friend Leo obviously hits his breaking point and decides to try and make me recant everything I just said about them.
While straddling my waist, he wraps both hands around my ribcage and begins to tickle me senseless. My slanderous remarks are quickly replaced with laughter. I guess Mike thought this was a great chance at retribution because he jumps right on the tickling bandwagon. He grabs both of my hands, pins them (with his knees) over my head, and begins to tickle whatever spot he can reach.
With all four of their hands torturing me at once, the tickling sensations quickly go from tolerable to torturous in a matter of seconds. Almost as soon as my laughter begins, so do my simultaneous pleas for them to stop. Due to my wicked stubborn streak, I would normally rather eat dirt than show that someone has the upper hand, but panic sets in when I realize there’s no escape. They both seem to think my begging is hysterical (perhaps because it’s so completely out of character for me), so they decide to turn it into a game.
"Okay, now say, I looooove to watch sports!" Mike says in such an obnoxious voice it makes me want to smack him in the head.
A few choice four-letter words come out of my mouth initially following his command, but are stifled by my laughter when they continue to tickle me.
"What was that? I'm not sure I heard you right," is Mike's next prompt at getting me to say how much I love sports.
My panic hits full tilt when Leo’s hands accidentally stumble upon a spot that seems to exceed all my other ticklish spots combined - my hips. Up until this point, no one had ever thought to tickle me there, so I wasn’t even aware it existed; but it’s apparently Leo’s mission to make me acutely aware of this spot’s existence now. Once he begins to tickle me there, all remnants of my stubbornness immediately go right out the window. Through my gasps for breath and hysterical laughter, I try to say everything they want me to say (and then some).
Probably knowing he had hit pay dirt, Leo teases, "Oh, I think I found someone’s secret tickle spot," and he tickles my hips again.
I begin to unabashedly beg for them to stop, but I guess they can’t help but get a few more digs in.
"Okay, now say the magic word," Leo teases.
"PLEASE!!!" I scream quickly.
"Is that the magic word, Mike? How many words are there in the English language? Could be any one of them."
They both laugh and tickle me some more, Mike up around my neck and underarms, and Leo around my waist and hips. An incoherent mess of pleading, screaming, and hysterical laughter continues to spew out of my mouth. Thankfully, when my screams start to overpower my laughter, they finally relent. I don't know exactly how long the encounter lasted, but it was definitely long enough to bring me beyond my breaking point.
After they get off me, I roll over onto my back and try to recuperate from their tickle attack. My whole body feels sweaty and flushed, and I’m panting like I’ve just run the mile in gym class. But boiling just beneath the surface of my exhaustion are also feelings that I can’t quite make sense of: a flurry of butterflies that are still going crazy in my stomach, an almost painful aching in between my legs, and a tingling sensation that runs from head to toe. At fourteen years old, I’ve never experienced intense sexual arousal before, and the fact that all these feelings are happening during a time when I should been pissed off with Mike and Leo didn't make much sense to me.
After it was all over, they hopped back on the couch - completely clueless about the mental tug-of-war going on inside my head. They gave each other some high fives for being masters of the universe, and put the game back on TV. I just laid there in a sweaty lump on the carpet and after about ten minutes of trying to collect myself, I began to plot how I could instigate round two... 😉
************************************
Of course, once my teen years really took off and I started flirting, dating, and having sexual relationships, the link between tickling and my own arousal started making a lot of sense to me. I didn't really know WHY I loved tickling so much, but from that point forward, it was forever cemented as an intricate part of my sexuality. And nearly 20-years later, not much has changed :
Speaking as a willing 'lee, I don't know if I can ever classify any of the tickling encounters I've had as 'torture'(being that those very sessions wound up providing the fodder for my fantasies later in life), but I can say that there were a couple of times in my life that I seriously wondered to myself "Is this guy ever going to stop?!" It is at that time when there is total sensory overload, and even the slightest brush of a fingertip can keep the giggles going. It is when the pleads for mercy get lost amist the screams and hysterical laughter, and when you would do or agree to just about anything to get the 'ler to stop. There is one of those times that stands out vividly in my mind....
****************************************************
I’m in ninth grade, hanging out at my friend Mike’s house after school. Since I find most high school girl drama completely repellent, I’m usually the only girl in a pack full of guys – this day is no different. The guys decide that they want to watch some sporting event on TV. I try to coax them into something that I find a bit more entertaining, but after several minutes of my whining, they still refuse to change the channel.
Mike has put the remote control down on the coffee table. When I spot it, a plan to end my boredom pops into my head and I act on it. I dive for the remote from my place on the couch and quickly change the channel. Just to be a bitch I turn on a soap opera. I don't even watch the damn things; I just want to get back at them for boring the crap out of me for the last half hour. All I hear is my friend Leo saying "Hell no!" before I’m jumped by a couple of the guys. I roll off the couch, land on my stomach, and tuck the remote underneath my body in an effort to keep them from grabbing it. Even as stubborn as I am, I know there’s no way in hell I’m going to be able to hold onto this remote for too long, but I try my hardest anyway because I know once I give it up, the rest of the afternoon is going to be nothing but a sporting snoozefest.
It takes Mike and Leo less than a minute to wrestle the remote out of my hands. Once they have it, I expect them to let me up, and go back to watching their mind numbing TV. But before they have the chance to get up, I start mouthing off to them about how lame sports are, and if they were REAL men they would play the game instead of just watching it. I know that my verbal assault to their masculinity will get me into trouble, but I don’t care. Anything has to be better than watching sports on TV! My friend Leo obviously hits his breaking point and decides to try and make me recant everything I just said about them.
While straddling my waist, he wraps both hands around my ribcage and begins to tickle me senseless. My slanderous remarks are quickly replaced with laughter. I guess Mike thought this was a great chance at retribution because he jumps right on the tickling bandwagon. He grabs both of my hands, pins them (with his knees) over my head, and begins to tickle whatever spot he can reach.
With all four of their hands torturing me at once, the tickling sensations quickly go from tolerable to torturous in a matter of seconds. Almost as soon as my laughter begins, so do my simultaneous pleas for them to stop. Due to my wicked stubborn streak, I would normally rather eat dirt than show that someone has the upper hand, but panic sets in when I realize there’s no escape. They both seem to think my begging is hysterical (perhaps because it’s so completely out of character for me), so they decide to turn it into a game.
"Okay, now say, I looooove to watch sports!" Mike says in such an obnoxious voice it makes me want to smack him in the head.
A few choice four-letter words come out of my mouth initially following his command, but are stifled by my laughter when they continue to tickle me.
"What was that? I'm not sure I heard you right," is Mike's next prompt at getting me to say how much I love sports.
My panic hits full tilt when Leo’s hands accidentally stumble upon a spot that seems to exceed all my other ticklish spots combined - my hips. Up until this point, no one had ever thought to tickle me there, so I wasn’t even aware it existed; but it’s apparently Leo’s mission to make me acutely aware of this spot’s existence now. Once he begins to tickle me there, all remnants of my stubbornness immediately go right out the window. Through my gasps for breath and hysterical laughter, I try to say everything they want me to say (and then some).
Probably knowing he had hit pay dirt, Leo teases, "Oh, I think I found someone’s secret tickle spot," and he tickles my hips again.
I begin to unabashedly beg for them to stop, but I guess they can’t help but get a few more digs in.
"Okay, now say the magic word," Leo teases.
"PLEASE!!!" I scream quickly.
"Is that the magic word, Mike? How many words are there in the English language? Could be any one of them."
They both laugh and tickle me some more, Mike up around my neck and underarms, and Leo around my waist and hips. An incoherent mess of pleading, screaming, and hysterical laughter continues to spew out of my mouth. Thankfully, when my screams start to overpower my laughter, they finally relent. I don't know exactly how long the encounter lasted, but it was definitely long enough to bring me beyond my breaking point.
After they get off me, I roll over onto my back and try to recuperate from their tickle attack. My whole body feels sweaty and flushed, and I’m panting like I’ve just run the mile in gym class. But boiling just beneath the surface of my exhaustion are also feelings that I can’t quite make sense of: a flurry of butterflies that are still going crazy in my stomach, an almost painful aching in between my legs, and a tingling sensation that runs from head to toe. At fourteen years old, I’ve never experienced intense sexual arousal before, and the fact that all these feelings are happening during a time when I should been pissed off with Mike and Leo didn't make much sense to me.
After it was all over, they hopped back on the couch - completely clueless about the mental tug-of-war going on inside my head. They gave each other some high fives for being masters of the universe, and put the game back on TV. I just laid there in a sweaty lump on the carpet and after about ten minutes of trying to collect myself, I began to plot how I could instigate round two... 😉
************************************
Of course, once my teen years really took off and I started flirting, dating, and having sexual relationships, the link between tickling and my own arousal started making a lot of sense to me. I didn't really know WHY I loved tickling so much, but from that point forward, it was forever cemented as an intricate part of my sexuality. And nearly 20-years later, not much has changed :
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