tickleplayerotica
TMF Novice
- Joined
- Jul 11, 2014
- Messages
- 55
- Points
- 18
“Oh, what a cute girl we have here,” said Ronnie in a weird voice. “I want to see how pretty she looks when she squirms.”
Fiona tried not to snort laughter She was lying on her back, fully clothed, on his bed.
His voice was a pinched coo, squeezed through the back of his throat and slipping between his clenched teeth, as if he was so overtaken with the sight of her that he couldn’t be bothered to fully operate his own jaw. Fiona had never heard a grown man talk like that. It was absurd, yet strangely (faintly) arousing.
They’d met at a Bdubs. Tinder matches.
He’d told her exactly what he was looking for— “I've learned asking what you want is the easiest way to get something”— and said it was completely up to her.
“So wait,” she said. “It’s JUST tickling?”
“Well, it’s everything up to and including sex,” said Ronnie. “If you’re comfortable with it. But tickling is the gateway to everything else, yes.”
“But what about it is, you know— like, does…”
She wanted to ask if he actually GOT OFF just from tickling someone but all of a sudden the restaurant seemed very crowded and her voice seemed very loud.
“It’s erotic for me,” said Ronnie, seeming to have read her mind. “And I do get turned on. But it’s mostly just for foreplay and kink-play. It doesn’t replace actual sex for me. I like to see girls when they’re being tickled. I always have.”
“Why, though?”
“When you’re tickling someone, they can’t concentrate on anything except making the tickling stop. Their social mask slips off. So when you’re tickling someone, they show you who they really are.”
She asked more questions. Ronnie answered them. Their drinks and meals came.
Was there bondage involved? Often, but rarely for a first session, especially with someone new.
Were there clothes? I like to start with them on, but it’s best if you’re naked. It all depends on what you’re comfortable with.
Where did he like to tickle? Anywhere that works, but bellies and belly buttons are my favorite.
How long had he been at it? A few years.
What do you use to tickle? Fingers are best but I have a backpack of tools and toys. And of course there’s mouth stuff, too.
Did he want to tickle her until she had to pee? No, that doesn’t interest me at all. I just want to see you react honestly.
It was undeniably exciting and yes, oddly arousing. The risk of going to the personal residence of a strange new man interested in a strange new thing… for a milquetoast 5'3'' brunette 22 year old waitress like Fiona whose most exotic sexual tryst had been trying to fuck her ex-boyfriend in the closet-sized shower of a cruise ship, this was face-flushingly daring stuff.
She texted Dima back at the apartment as the meal wound down— He’s really cute and charming and I’m going over to his place (Dima’s reply: WTF I’m jealous)-- and played coquette when he asked if she was interested in trying it out.
“Why not?” she said after a few seconds. She couldn’t let him know about the small ember of intrigue in the pit of her belly. She wondered if he’d like her belly button (a small, deep dark eye of an innie), or her belly, which she always considered too flabby no matter how faithful she was to her IF schedule or how many crunches she did.
They’d gone back to his apartment—about fifteen minutes away, modestly furnished, lived in, a typical bachelor pad but not a slob hole either— and talked some more about his tickling fetish.
She knew she was stalling, running out of things to ask, but then, finally, he said, “Shall we?” and she realized her heart was fluttering like a startled bird.
“Sure,” she said, trying to maintain nonchalance.
Now she was laying on his bed and he was talking to her in that baby-voice— “Oh, what a cute girl we have here”— and she was saying something she’d never thought she’d be saying when he’d suggested they meet at the Bdubs earlier that afternoon.
“Um,” she said. “You said it’s better if you’re naked…”
“It is,” said Ronnie. “But we haven’t even started yet.”
Fiona’s heart felt like a chest-burster, but she was positively glowing between her legs. She let the little ember of intrigue flare up, let it take over.
“I want to.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’d like to undress you myself. Stand up.”
Fiona got off the bed and stood and looked up at him and then he was helping her out of her clothes. She liked that, too. A strange security came over her when his hands lifted her shirt and tugged down her pants and unclasped her bra and slipped off her panties.
“Oh my goodness, sweetie,” he cooed when he felt the dampness of her panties.
A brilliant wave of tingles spread throughout Fiona’s body whenever he talked to her like that. She wanted him to keep doing it but was it weird? Was she some sort of pervert for liking it?
She lay back down and spread her arms, letting him get a full look at her, all the things she’d worked on and all the things she didn’t like but hadn’t figured out how to change. She lay as though on an operating table, arms out and legs straight.
“Look how perfect you are,” Ronnie murmured after a few seconds.
“You can do whatever you want to me,” she blurted without even realizing she was going to say it. Yes, yes, that was what she wanted. She wanted him NOW. She was spread out in front of those hazel eyes and she wanted them to want her back.
“I want to do this,” he said softly, and she felt his fingers brush the liquid silk of her ****-slit. A little moan took the opportunity to dash from between her lips.
“I heard that,” she heard him murmur in that clenched baby-voice.
Then his own lips were on her, smooching the skin just to the left of her belly button and the sensation was all HOLY FUCK it was too much, her nerves were too SOMETHING, too ACTIVATED.
Fiona let out a yelp and her body involuntarily clenched in on itself, folding up like an animal trap, but Ronnie’s hand was pressing down on her left leg and his other held her forearm and he didn’t move at all and neither did the nerve-storm on her belly, the surprise warm wet suction of his lips didn’t move and the sensation didn’t either and oh GOD what the FUCK
Something else was rushing out of her, something that reminded her of being a silly playful little girl with no knowledge of things like endometriosis or drug cartels or brain cancer; a lovely, innocent time that seemed so long ago; pure essence in a benevolent universe.
She felt the something hurtling towards the surface of her mind, of her skin, of her lips. It spilled out of her, boiling over, up and out.
It was laughter.
She was laughing. Screaming laughing.
She felt Ronnie’s moving, wet mouth split and widen into a grin.
“There she is," he whispered.
Fiona tried not to snort laughter She was lying on her back, fully clothed, on his bed.
His voice was a pinched coo, squeezed through the back of his throat and slipping between his clenched teeth, as if he was so overtaken with the sight of her that he couldn’t be bothered to fully operate his own jaw. Fiona had never heard a grown man talk like that. It was absurd, yet strangely (faintly) arousing.
They’d met at a Bdubs. Tinder matches.
He’d told her exactly what he was looking for— “I've learned asking what you want is the easiest way to get something”— and said it was completely up to her.
“So wait,” she said. “It’s JUST tickling?”
“Well, it’s everything up to and including sex,” said Ronnie. “If you’re comfortable with it. But tickling is the gateway to everything else, yes.”
“But what about it is, you know— like, does…”
She wanted to ask if he actually GOT OFF just from tickling someone but all of a sudden the restaurant seemed very crowded and her voice seemed very loud.
“It’s erotic for me,” said Ronnie, seeming to have read her mind. “And I do get turned on. But it’s mostly just for foreplay and kink-play. It doesn’t replace actual sex for me. I like to see girls when they’re being tickled. I always have.”
“Why, though?”
“When you’re tickling someone, they can’t concentrate on anything except making the tickling stop. Their social mask slips off. So when you’re tickling someone, they show you who they really are.”
She asked more questions. Ronnie answered them. Their drinks and meals came.
Was there bondage involved? Often, but rarely for a first session, especially with someone new.
Were there clothes? I like to start with them on, but it’s best if you’re naked. It all depends on what you’re comfortable with.
Where did he like to tickle? Anywhere that works, but bellies and belly buttons are my favorite.
How long had he been at it? A few years.
What do you use to tickle? Fingers are best but I have a backpack of tools and toys. And of course there’s mouth stuff, too.
Did he want to tickle her until she had to pee? No, that doesn’t interest me at all. I just want to see you react honestly.
It was undeniably exciting and yes, oddly arousing. The risk of going to the personal residence of a strange new man interested in a strange new thing… for a milquetoast 5'3'' brunette 22 year old waitress like Fiona whose most exotic sexual tryst had been trying to fuck her ex-boyfriend in the closet-sized shower of a cruise ship, this was face-flushingly daring stuff.
She texted Dima back at the apartment as the meal wound down— He’s really cute and charming and I’m going over to his place (Dima’s reply: WTF I’m jealous)-- and played coquette when he asked if she was interested in trying it out.
“Why not?” she said after a few seconds. She couldn’t let him know about the small ember of intrigue in the pit of her belly. She wondered if he’d like her belly button (a small, deep dark eye of an innie), or her belly, which she always considered too flabby no matter how faithful she was to her IF schedule or how many crunches she did.
They’d gone back to his apartment—about fifteen minutes away, modestly furnished, lived in, a typical bachelor pad but not a slob hole either— and talked some more about his tickling fetish.
She knew she was stalling, running out of things to ask, but then, finally, he said, “Shall we?” and she realized her heart was fluttering like a startled bird.
“Sure,” she said, trying to maintain nonchalance.
Now she was laying on his bed and he was talking to her in that baby-voice— “Oh, what a cute girl we have here”— and she was saying something she’d never thought she’d be saying when he’d suggested they meet at the Bdubs earlier that afternoon.
“Um,” she said. “You said it’s better if you’re naked…”
“It is,” said Ronnie. “But we haven’t even started yet.”
Fiona’s heart felt like a chest-burster, but she was positively glowing between her legs. She let the little ember of intrigue flare up, let it take over.
“I want to.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’d like to undress you myself. Stand up.”
Fiona got off the bed and stood and looked up at him and then he was helping her out of her clothes. She liked that, too. A strange security came over her when his hands lifted her shirt and tugged down her pants and unclasped her bra and slipped off her panties.
“Oh my goodness, sweetie,” he cooed when he felt the dampness of her panties.
A brilliant wave of tingles spread throughout Fiona’s body whenever he talked to her like that. She wanted him to keep doing it but was it weird? Was she some sort of pervert for liking it?
She lay back down and spread her arms, letting him get a full look at her, all the things she’d worked on and all the things she didn’t like but hadn’t figured out how to change. She lay as though on an operating table, arms out and legs straight.
“Look how perfect you are,” Ronnie murmured after a few seconds.
“You can do whatever you want to me,” she blurted without even realizing she was going to say it. Yes, yes, that was what she wanted. She wanted him NOW. She was spread out in front of those hazel eyes and she wanted them to want her back.
“I want to do this,” he said softly, and she felt his fingers brush the liquid silk of her ****-slit. A little moan took the opportunity to dash from between her lips.
“I heard that,” she heard him murmur in that clenched baby-voice.
Then his own lips were on her, smooching the skin just to the left of her belly button and the sensation was all HOLY FUCK it was too much, her nerves were too SOMETHING, too ACTIVATED.
Fiona let out a yelp and her body involuntarily clenched in on itself, folding up like an animal trap, but Ronnie’s hand was pressing down on her left leg and his other held her forearm and he didn’t move at all and neither did the nerve-storm on her belly, the surprise warm wet suction of his lips didn’t move and the sensation didn’t either and oh GOD what the FUCK
Something else was rushing out of her, something that reminded her of being a silly playful little girl with no knowledge of things like endometriosis or drug cartels or brain cancer; a lovely, innocent time that seemed so long ago; pure essence in a benevolent universe.
She felt the something hurtling towards the surface of her mind, of her skin, of her lips. It spilled out of her, boiling over, up and out.
It was laughter.
She was laughing. Screaming laughing.
She felt Ronnie’s moving, wet mouth split and widen into a grin.
“There she is," he whispered.
