tickleplayerotica
TMF Novice
- Joined
- Jul 11, 2014
- Messages
- 55
- Points
- 18
#2
Cassidy had never thought much about being tickled. It conjured nebulous memories of vague dread, forgotten years of childhood, older male relatives reaching down and touching her-- dominating her-- in ways she wasn’t entirely comfortable with for reasons she couldn’t articulate. But then, there was also the feverish play with neighborhood boys, wrestling and roughhousing on sparse grass, reckless tumbles generating gentle flutters of passion and rushes of adrenaline. It was an odd, eye-shifting mix of emotion, and Cassidy had never dwelled on it.
But there was something to be awakened there, something thrilling and unspoken, and it came out when Cassidy least expected it.
His name was Hugo. They’d met at a restaurant, a crappy little by-the-freeway joint. What boomers would call a "greasy spoon."
She’d walked in ten minutes late, had barely made herself up, not expecting a 31 year old guy she’d met online to be worth the effort. She figured she’d let him buy her dinner, shoot the shit, maybe text him on a boring afternoon sometime after.
She’d been wrong-- he was strangely alluring, self-assured, his face angular and kind and hinting at an earthy weariness. By the time their food was ordered the tingles between her legs had started.
When the meal was nearly finished, he cleared his throat and said, “I wasn’t planning on this but you’re really cute and we seem to get along... would you want to get a room?”
Cassidy accepted, appropriately coy. This wasn’t something she did often, either.
Fifteen minutes later they were on the freshly-made bed in a nearby motel, watching an Aqua Teen Hunger Force rerun on Cartoon Network.
She’d slid cozily into his arms as they lay down, their discussion turning to art history— Grant Wood and Andrew Wyeth and mid-20th century Americana, and he seemed impressed she knew anything about it (she had her dad's choice of office decor to thank for that).
Both of them were still fully clothed, but Cassidy knew it wouldn’t be long before that would change, and the conversation died off as the two of them watched Shake argue with Frylock.
It was all foreplay theater. Cassidy waited for him to lean down for the kiss initiation, tensed with anticipation, head tucked against his chest, resting the back of her head against his hard bicep.
When the moment came, she felt Hugo look down. She looked up. They locked lips and traded breath, Hugo’s hands sliding all over her— arms, back, belly, breasts, hips, legs. He avoided her crotch but his kiss became more urgent as his petting got heavier. Her hand migrated southward to feel along his waist where she found the stiff weight of his sizable cock straining against the front of his jeans.
Hugo shut off the Aqua Teens and started undressing her, not needing to ask verbally-- first removing her flannel button-up, then lifting her t-shirt, then unsnapping her bra. Her jeans were unbuttoned and shimmied off, then her panties— oh shit did she stink down there? this wasn't planned, she’d showered hadn’t she? oh yeah, she’d at least done that— were gone and all 21 years of her were laid out before this burly stranger.
She felt his eyes move over her like searchlights, let herself enjoy it. She was proud of her skin, which was porcelain pale and free of blemishes from head to toe, her face freckles and shoulder freckles the only marks on her. She wasn’t ashamed to use the word “milky” to describe her bare skin.
She lay there, letting his eyes drink her, know her.
“Oh, look at this,” Hugo said, running a hand over her bare belly.
“What?” she asked. For one horrid second she thought he was going to point out something unsightly.
“You have a perfect little innie,” he remarked, dipping a pinky into her belly button.
The touch was brief, but as Hugo’s finger filled the tiny, circular cup of her navel, there was a little crackle of brilliant energy. It made Cassidy flush, lose a bit of breath as the tingles in her **** tripped up her lungs.
Hugo lifted his pinky out and felt along her belly, up to the curved treble clef of her lower ribcage. For one second, his fingers twiddled a little, a little clutching motion, and the sensation it sent up Cassidy’s side was a delicious blast of static.
She squeaked without meaning to, squirmed slightly.
“Are you ticklish?” Hugo asked, and she could see a wily light had entered his hungry eyes.
“I guess?” she said, feeling silly for saying it out loud.
“Have you ever been tickled?”
His hand kept moving, now making her nipples stiffen as his rough palms skated over them. Cassidy breathed through her nose, each breath an effort.
“I-- yeah,” she said. His hand kept moving, causing those brief blasts of neural static, making it hard to talk. “I, mean, I-- I mean, yeah, I have, obviously, but--”
Hugo’s fingers did that clutching thing again, this time on her belly just to the right of her navel. Cassidy squeaked again, holy fuck did that make her sound ridiculous.
“But what?”
He was grinning now. The game was on and she knew it.
“But, like, what, like, what do you mean, exactly?”
Hugo’s hand paused. For some reason, Cassidy thought of a shotgun cocking.
“Well, I mean like this...”
Then Hugo’s fingers found her armpit and Cassidy nearly went blind, her vision losing focus as his fingernails met the soft, shaved skin of her left underarm and twiddled. It was agony and ecstasy rolled into one.
She screamed, surprised air vacating her lungs, clenched inward, tightened her arm to her side, rolled away, closing off the sensitive area, buzzing with aftershock, squeezing Hugo’s finger out and away.
“Have you ever been held down and tickled?” Hugo asked, his voice playful and giddy, and he grabbed her clenched arm and lifted it easily and she felt the raw air on that sensitive patch of skin and his fingers gently touched her THERE and she screamed laughter, loud and louder, how embarrassing.
“Is this okay?” he asked. “Do you like this?”
She couldn’t answer. She was too busy screaming laughter, a reckless and ravenous release.
But yes, YES, she did, and yet she didn’t she fucking hated it but yet oh god YES she did want it oh keep going oh fucking stop oh GOD FUCK PLEASE.
“Your armpits are really ticklish, aren’t they,” Hugo murmured as his fingers tentatively probed under THERE, causing that perfect, bright agony. Cassidy could tell he was going easy on her.
“Are you gonna answer me? I’m guessing the answer is ‘yes’.”
She tried to squirm away away AWAY but his leg swung up and over and pinned her to the bed. He loomed over her. She could feel him through his jeans. Oh God she was totally naked and where else would he go--
His hard, iron fingers snatched her one hand, then gathered up her other hand. Her arms were stretched aloft, and there was nothing she could do no matter how she tried to cover herself.
Hugo’s other hand went exploring.
Explosions seemed to rock Cassidy’s entire body. She let them all out through her throat, screaming and laughing, how fucking ridiculous this was, she hadn’t been tickled like this EVER, not even as a kid, why did it feel like this this fucking TICKLED and it was so fucking GOOD.
Hugo’s fingers were at her right armpit, now skittering across her bare breasts with his nails (properly clipped) catching her nipples and making her suck in fast gulps of air, now going down her belly in a straight line, now up her side again, now down to her waist, now at her throat, the fingers scrabbling, the fingers scraping, the fingers -- fuck it say it-- TICKLING.
This went on for what felt like a few minutes, Hugo’s heavy waist pinning Cassidy’s poor, helpless nakedness to the cool starched sheets, his right arm keeping her wrists up and out of the way and his left hand doing its spider dances wherever it pleased.
Cassidy laughed and laughed, screamed and screamed, jerked and kicked and writhed and thrashed.
“Let it out, little girl,” Hugo said. “You have no problem letting it out, do you?”
Cassidy had no idea what that meant, she just kept doing what her body and brain wanted.
Then— it happened.
Hugo’s spider-hand extended one long leg— his pointer finger-- and held it poised, hovering over her belly, then the leg plunged into her belly button and twisted like a drill.
Oh. My. Fuck.
Cassidy could barely register what was going on, her brain losing processing power by the second, all sensation, all feeling, oh god what was this what the fuck was going on, why couldn’t she move her arms or her legs what was this fucking feeling oh god her belly button oh god oh god ooh goooddddd.
The finger-drill withdrew and Hugo’s hand caressed Cassidy’s vulva and she shuddered. She felt his whiskers as he bent to kiss her on the cheek, on the eyebrow, on the nose.
“I wanna fuck you,” he whispered.
She looked up at him, more than ready. He was suddenly ancient, powerful, all-knowing, a dangerous monolith-- him made of hard stone, her made of soft, willing earth.
“Then do it,” she said.
They moved together— milky skin against blue denim.
Then Hugo was naked too, and the web of scrapes and scritches and scribbles the spider-hand had traced all over her body were like lingering threads of white light crisscrossing her skin, and he was picking her up and holding her in his naked lap and there was something almost scarily erotic about how he could handle her like that and she accepted it with her head in a mindless whirl, her **** leaking and longing to be filled, their lips connecting desperately once more like this was the last love-making anyone would ever do, her arms thrown around his big shoulders, his arms around her waist, holding her up across his lap, secure as anchor chains, she could feel what he had between the two of them, a hot length of glowing iron pressed against her belly, oh god she wanted it...
Hugo lay backward, letting Cassidy stretch her tight body out across his firm torso, their bodies matching like puzzle pieces, their free skin savoring every inch of touch, their lips still fused.
Then she disconnected, traveled downward.
He lay back, waiting, she kept moving at what felt like a heedless, brilliant speed.
She felt for his cock, caught it between her delicate fingers, Hugo flinching as she smooched the underside of his cockhead before taking the entire length of him into her mouth, letting her soft lips feel every swollen, burning inch of him, letting her tongue rise to slide along as he entered, continuing until she felt him rest against the back of her throat.
A moan escaped his lips, and now he belonged to her.
Cassidy had never thought much about being tickled. It conjured nebulous memories of vague dread, forgotten years of childhood, older male relatives reaching down and touching her-- dominating her-- in ways she wasn’t entirely comfortable with for reasons she couldn’t articulate. But then, there was also the feverish play with neighborhood boys, wrestling and roughhousing on sparse grass, reckless tumbles generating gentle flutters of passion and rushes of adrenaline. It was an odd, eye-shifting mix of emotion, and Cassidy had never dwelled on it.
But there was something to be awakened there, something thrilling and unspoken, and it came out when Cassidy least expected it.
His name was Hugo. They’d met at a restaurant, a crappy little by-the-freeway joint. What boomers would call a "greasy spoon."
She’d walked in ten minutes late, had barely made herself up, not expecting a 31 year old guy she’d met online to be worth the effort. She figured she’d let him buy her dinner, shoot the shit, maybe text him on a boring afternoon sometime after.
She’d been wrong-- he was strangely alluring, self-assured, his face angular and kind and hinting at an earthy weariness. By the time their food was ordered the tingles between her legs had started.
When the meal was nearly finished, he cleared his throat and said, “I wasn’t planning on this but you’re really cute and we seem to get along... would you want to get a room?”
Cassidy accepted, appropriately coy. This wasn’t something she did often, either.
Fifteen minutes later they were on the freshly-made bed in a nearby motel, watching an Aqua Teen Hunger Force rerun on Cartoon Network.
She’d slid cozily into his arms as they lay down, their discussion turning to art history— Grant Wood and Andrew Wyeth and mid-20th century Americana, and he seemed impressed she knew anything about it (she had her dad's choice of office decor to thank for that).
Both of them were still fully clothed, but Cassidy knew it wouldn’t be long before that would change, and the conversation died off as the two of them watched Shake argue with Frylock.
It was all foreplay theater. Cassidy waited for him to lean down for the kiss initiation, tensed with anticipation, head tucked against his chest, resting the back of her head against his hard bicep.
When the moment came, she felt Hugo look down. She looked up. They locked lips and traded breath, Hugo’s hands sliding all over her— arms, back, belly, breasts, hips, legs. He avoided her crotch but his kiss became more urgent as his petting got heavier. Her hand migrated southward to feel along his waist where she found the stiff weight of his sizable cock straining against the front of his jeans.
Hugo shut off the Aqua Teens and started undressing her, not needing to ask verbally-- first removing her flannel button-up, then lifting her t-shirt, then unsnapping her bra. Her jeans were unbuttoned and shimmied off, then her panties— oh shit did she stink down there? this wasn't planned, she’d showered hadn’t she? oh yeah, she’d at least done that— were gone and all 21 years of her were laid out before this burly stranger.
She felt his eyes move over her like searchlights, let herself enjoy it. She was proud of her skin, which was porcelain pale and free of blemishes from head to toe, her face freckles and shoulder freckles the only marks on her. She wasn’t ashamed to use the word “milky” to describe her bare skin.
She lay there, letting his eyes drink her, know her.
“Oh, look at this,” Hugo said, running a hand over her bare belly.
“What?” she asked. For one horrid second she thought he was going to point out something unsightly.
“You have a perfect little innie,” he remarked, dipping a pinky into her belly button.
The touch was brief, but as Hugo’s finger filled the tiny, circular cup of her navel, there was a little crackle of brilliant energy. It made Cassidy flush, lose a bit of breath as the tingles in her **** tripped up her lungs.
Hugo lifted his pinky out and felt along her belly, up to the curved treble clef of her lower ribcage. For one second, his fingers twiddled a little, a little clutching motion, and the sensation it sent up Cassidy’s side was a delicious blast of static.
She squeaked without meaning to, squirmed slightly.
“Are you ticklish?” Hugo asked, and she could see a wily light had entered his hungry eyes.
“I guess?” she said, feeling silly for saying it out loud.
“Have you ever been tickled?”
His hand kept moving, now making her nipples stiffen as his rough palms skated over them. Cassidy breathed through her nose, each breath an effort.
“I-- yeah,” she said. His hand kept moving, causing those brief blasts of neural static, making it hard to talk. “I, mean, I-- I mean, yeah, I have, obviously, but--”
Hugo’s fingers did that clutching thing again, this time on her belly just to the right of her navel. Cassidy squeaked again, holy fuck did that make her sound ridiculous.
“But what?”
He was grinning now. The game was on and she knew it.
“But, like, what, like, what do you mean, exactly?”
Hugo’s hand paused. For some reason, Cassidy thought of a shotgun cocking.
“Well, I mean like this...”
Then Hugo’s fingers found her armpit and Cassidy nearly went blind, her vision losing focus as his fingernails met the soft, shaved skin of her left underarm and twiddled. It was agony and ecstasy rolled into one.
She screamed, surprised air vacating her lungs, clenched inward, tightened her arm to her side, rolled away, closing off the sensitive area, buzzing with aftershock, squeezing Hugo’s finger out and away.
“Have you ever been held down and tickled?” Hugo asked, his voice playful and giddy, and he grabbed her clenched arm and lifted it easily and she felt the raw air on that sensitive patch of skin and his fingers gently touched her THERE and she screamed laughter, loud and louder, how embarrassing.
“Is this okay?” he asked. “Do you like this?”
She couldn’t answer. She was too busy screaming laughter, a reckless and ravenous release.
But yes, YES, she did, and yet she didn’t she fucking hated it but yet oh god YES she did want it oh keep going oh fucking stop oh GOD FUCK PLEASE.
“Your armpits are really ticklish, aren’t they,” Hugo murmured as his fingers tentatively probed under THERE, causing that perfect, bright agony. Cassidy could tell he was going easy on her.
“Are you gonna answer me? I’m guessing the answer is ‘yes’.”
She tried to squirm away away AWAY but his leg swung up and over and pinned her to the bed. He loomed over her. She could feel him through his jeans. Oh God she was totally naked and where else would he go--
His hard, iron fingers snatched her one hand, then gathered up her other hand. Her arms were stretched aloft, and there was nothing she could do no matter how she tried to cover herself.
Hugo’s other hand went exploring.
Explosions seemed to rock Cassidy’s entire body. She let them all out through her throat, screaming and laughing, how fucking ridiculous this was, she hadn’t been tickled like this EVER, not even as a kid, why did it feel like this this fucking TICKLED and it was so fucking GOOD.
Hugo’s fingers were at her right armpit, now skittering across her bare breasts with his nails (properly clipped) catching her nipples and making her suck in fast gulps of air, now going down her belly in a straight line, now up her side again, now down to her waist, now at her throat, the fingers scrabbling, the fingers scraping, the fingers -- fuck it say it-- TICKLING.
This went on for what felt like a few minutes, Hugo’s heavy waist pinning Cassidy’s poor, helpless nakedness to the cool starched sheets, his right arm keeping her wrists up and out of the way and his left hand doing its spider dances wherever it pleased.
Cassidy laughed and laughed, screamed and screamed, jerked and kicked and writhed and thrashed.
“Let it out, little girl,” Hugo said. “You have no problem letting it out, do you?”
Cassidy had no idea what that meant, she just kept doing what her body and brain wanted.
Then— it happened.
Hugo’s spider-hand extended one long leg— his pointer finger-- and held it poised, hovering over her belly, then the leg plunged into her belly button and twisted like a drill.
Oh. My. Fuck.
Cassidy could barely register what was going on, her brain losing processing power by the second, all sensation, all feeling, oh god what was this what the fuck was going on, why couldn’t she move her arms or her legs what was this fucking feeling oh god her belly button oh god oh god ooh goooddddd.
The finger-drill withdrew and Hugo’s hand caressed Cassidy’s vulva and she shuddered. She felt his whiskers as he bent to kiss her on the cheek, on the eyebrow, on the nose.
“I wanna fuck you,” he whispered.
She looked up at him, more than ready. He was suddenly ancient, powerful, all-knowing, a dangerous monolith-- him made of hard stone, her made of soft, willing earth.
“Then do it,” she said.
They moved together— milky skin against blue denim.
Then Hugo was naked too, and the web of scrapes and scritches and scribbles the spider-hand had traced all over her body were like lingering threads of white light crisscrossing her skin, and he was picking her up and holding her in his naked lap and there was something almost scarily erotic about how he could handle her like that and she accepted it with her head in a mindless whirl, her **** leaking and longing to be filled, their lips connecting desperately once more like this was the last love-making anyone would ever do, her arms thrown around his big shoulders, his arms around her waist, holding her up across his lap, secure as anchor chains, she could feel what he had between the two of them, a hot length of glowing iron pressed against her belly, oh god she wanted it...
Hugo lay backward, letting Cassidy stretch her tight body out across his firm torso, their bodies matching like puzzle pieces, their free skin savoring every inch of touch, their lips still fused.
Then she disconnected, traveled downward.
He lay back, waiting, she kept moving at what felt like a heedless, brilliant speed.
She felt for his cock, caught it between her delicate fingers, Hugo flinching as she smooched the underside of his cockhead before taking the entire length of him into her mouth, letting her soft lips feel every swollen, burning inch of him, letting her tongue rise to slide along as he entered, continuing until she felt him rest against the back of her throat.
A moan escaped his lips, and now he belonged to her.
