tickleplayerotica
TMF Poster
- Joined
- Jul 11, 2014
- Messages
- 77
- Points
- 18
“You never tickle me anymore,” said Hannah quietly.
She and Aiden lay on Hannah's bed. He’d come up for the Fourth of July weekend. She’d just showed him Will and Grace and he didn’t seem that interested. He was on his phone.
Early in their summer fling he’d told her about his tickling fetish. She had never experienced anything like it and was surprised at how much it turned her on to be held down (or tied down) and tickled. Aiden had only been “sessioning”, as he’d put it, about a year or so, but the man knew his technique.
Hannah's interjection got Aiden’s attention. He looked up from his phone.
“I haven’t?”
“No,” said Hannah.
She'd brought it up almost half-heartedly-- the man had driven an hour to be here and he didn't seem interested in touching her, they'd eaten a frozen pizza together and watched the episode of Will & Grace and now they were both in bed watching more Will & Grace but he'd barely done anything except kiss her hello.
She'd expected this conversation to last at least a few flirty sentences, but Aiden needed no further encouragement.
He was on her without another word. The next thing Anna knew her arms were above her head and her shirt was up and Aiden was blowing raspberries all over her tummy.
She shrieked at the sudden nerve fireworks exploding on her belly as Aiden’s lips touched down again and again.
“How’s this?” Aiden said between raspberries. “Is this good enough? Do you mean like this? Is this what you mean?”
Anna was so stunned and thrilled she couldn’t even choke out an answer.
“I don’t hear you,” said Aiden, his arms pinning Anna’s hands and wrists, fingers clamping her wrists together.
Hannah was wearing a ill-sized white t-shirt and polka dot skirt-- a cute, come-hither outfit-- and Aiden had ripped the t-shirt up all the way to her bra, exposing her pale tummy.
Aiden jammed his tongue in Anna’s belly button. It felt like a warm slug trying to burrow into her.
“These things are so dirty you know,” he said, sparking beard prickles all over, splatters of bacon grease, kissing and licking. “Have you cleaned your belly button lately?”
“I—I—I—“
Hannah couldn’t answer, she just choked out more laughter, eyes damp.
“You sure are quiet for someone who was just complaining a few seconds ago,” said Aiden.
He brought his free hand into the action and Hannah's insides seemed to light up with a divine, extraordinary electricity; cracking webs of activated nerves fanning out over her tummy as Aiden did his work. He used his fingernails, just enough pressure, no digging in. He went all over— her sides, her ribs, in her belly button, the voluptuous V below her belly button. She felt the wet patches left over from his raspberries evaporating in the air conditioning.
She’d never known she was so ticklish. The first time he’d tickled her he’d been so gentle, lightly tracing and kissing, finding her “best” spots. He’d used a pair of fluffy handcuffs and secured her arms above her to her bedframe. With her legs pinned under Aiden’s waist, she’d experienced a sort of hysterical, ecstatic helplessness.
Imagine, she was an undergrad who'd written her dissertation on pornography consumption, and she hadn’t even thought to try this tickling thing before. Other types of play-- impact play, orgasm denial, all those things were on her list. But tickling? Nope.
After that first session, she was so wet she could hardly breathe. Aiden had stripped what clothes were left off her and fucked her so hard she saw stars.
Aiden let up enough for her to catch her breath, checking in.
“How’s that my little pixie girl?” he asked, kissing under her ear and tickling her neck with his prickly beard.
“You’re the worst,” she wheezed.
"You're gonna regret that."
She heard the tinkle of metal links.
The handcuffs.
Hannah's heart thudded against her chest like a fist on a gym mat as Aiden secured her arms in the cuffs, linking them through metal bars of the headboard. They clanged like tuneless bells. She tried moving her arms down. She couldn't, her arms raised, armpits introduced to the too-frigid apartment air.
She felt his fingers work the side-clasp on her skirt, felt him undo it, rip the skirt away, felt her bare legs and panties exposed to the air conditioning. What had she set it at? It felt like it was forty degrees in here.
Then Aiden’s hands were pinching and poking at her inner thighs and Hannah was screaming again. Her inner thighs were a spot she’d never thought of as “ticklish” but holy God were they bad. It made her tummy and sides almost bearable.
But Aiden still hadn’t gotten to her worst spot yet. Hannah knew he was saving it. He always had.
She got a leg out from under him and kicked a still-sock clad foot.
“This is the thanks I get?” Aiden said.
He grabbed her foot, gingerly ripped the sock off, and started tickling.
Hannah still couldn’t talk, just laugh and scream. She turned over, arms twisting, the vice grip on her foot not letting up. Her feet were horrible-- HORRIBLE-- but still not her worst spot.
“You are so fussy,” Aiden sighed, his fingers like a thousand blunt needles on Anna’s poor bare foot. Heel, sole, toes, ankle. She felt his fingers move from high to low. She flipped over onto her stomach and back again, flopping all around, arms twisting, unable to do anything except react.
She kicked at him involuntarily with her free foot, place it against his waist and pushing as hard as she could. He barely moved, planted firmly on his knees.
“If you kick my balls we’re really going to have a problem,” he said casually.
“I’m--sorry--” Hannah gasped.
She felt him release her foot and lean forward.
Oh, God.
“We’re moving fast here,” said Aiden. “I've apparently got a lot of making up to do. Come here, you little whiner...”
Hannah did as she was told, and Aiden slipped her shirt over her head-- the world went white and smelled of Tide-- and unclasped her bra. She felt it fall away, the air conditioning enveloping her. Aiden turned her over, looking up at him, chest heaving. A thin sheen of sweat covered her upper chest and brow.
“Try to lower your arms,” said Aiden. He pulled her down the bed a little bit more, straightening her arms above her. The air felt as frigid as ever.
Hannah lay there and did as she was told, knowing what was coming. She couldn't lower them. Not at all, they were straight over her head. And with her face covered by her t-shirt, she couldn't see what he was about to do.
FUCK.
She lay there, feeling his looming presence, sucking in precious breaths, knowing they would be cut off again soon--
Aiden wiggled his fingers into her armpits— her worst spot, THE spot— and Hannah's consciousness seemed to blue screen, a blank white sheet of heavenly agony washing over her. He was in— there as no getting him out.
“You are so LOUD,” Aiden said in her ear, his beard tickling her belly again. “Is this good enough? You haven’t answered me, still.”
“YES,” Hannah screamed. “YES YES YES YES!”
Aiden kept going. Hannah was laughing so hard she was choking. She rolled and now Aiden’s hands were everywhere— her back, her sides, her belly, her nipples, everything. No matter where she moved her arms or bunched up her legs or turtled her legs up and inward, Aiden’s fingers found a spot to spread those horrible, wonderful webs of electricity.
“You are so squirmy,” Aiden grunted, moving himself up so he could use both hands on both of her armpits simultaneously. “I think it’s safe to say I’ve tickled you now, isn’t it?”
“YES,” Hannah screamed. The neighbors could hear her. She didn't care.
“What?”
“YES!”
“Yes what?”
“Yes you’re—“
“I’m what?”
“T-T-T-TICKLING!”
"Tickling who? Spit it out, girl."
"YOU'RE T-T-T--T-T-TTTT--"
Hannah couldn’t finish the sentence. She thrashed about on the bed in a seizure of agony and pleasure, Aiden looming over her with his tireless, devastating fingers at work.
“This is what you asked for,” she heard him say. “And you’ve got a long way to go.”
She and Aiden lay on Hannah's bed. He’d come up for the Fourth of July weekend. She’d just showed him Will and Grace and he didn’t seem that interested. He was on his phone.
Early in their summer fling he’d told her about his tickling fetish. She had never experienced anything like it and was surprised at how much it turned her on to be held down (or tied down) and tickled. Aiden had only been “sessioning”, as he’d put it, about a year or so, but the man knew his technique.
Hannah's interjection got Aiden’s attention. He looked up from his phone.
“I haven’t?”
“No,” said Hannah.
She'd brought it up almost half-heartedly-- the man had driven an hour to be here and he didn't seem interested in touching her, they'd eaten a frozen pizza together and watched the episode of Will & Grace and now they were both in bed watching more Will & Grace but he'd barely done anything except kiss her hello.
She'd expected this conversation to last at least a few flirty sentences, but Aiden needed no further encouragement.
He was on her without another word. The next thing Anna knew her arms were above her head and her shirt was up and Aiden was blowing raspberries all over her tummy.
She shrieked at the sudden nerve fireworks exploding on her belly as Aiden’s lips touched down again and again.
“How’s this?” Aiden said between raspberries. “Is this good enough? Do you mean like this? Is this what you mean?”
Anna was so stunned and thrilled she couldn’t even choke out an answer.
“I don’t hear you,” said Aiden, his arms pinning Anna’s hands and wrists, fingers clamping her wrists together.
Hannah was wearing a ill-sized white t-shirt and polka dot skirt-- a cute, come-hither outfit-- and Aiden had ripped the t-shirt up all the way to her bra, exposing her pale tummy.
Aiden jammed his tongue in Anna’s belly button. It felt like a warm slug trying to burrow into her.
“These things are so dirty you know,” he said, sparking beard prickles all over, splatters of bacon grease, kissing and licking. “Have you cleaned your belly button lately?”
“I—I—I—“
Hannah couldn’t answer, she just choked out more laughter, eyes damp.
“You sure are quiet for someone who was just complaining a few seconds ago,” said Aiden.
He brought his free hand into the action and Hannah's insides seemed to light up with a divine, extraordinary electricity; cracking webs of activated nerves fanning out over her tummy as Aiden did his work. He used his fingernails, just enough pressure, no digging in. He went all over— her sides, her ribs, in her belly button, the voluptuous V below her belly button. She felt the wet patches left over from his raspberries evaporating in the air conditioning.
She’d never known she was so ticklish. The first time he’d tickled her he’d been so gentle, lightly tracing and kissing, finding her “best” spots. He’d used a pair of fluffy handcuffs and secured her arms above her to her bedframe. With her legs pinned under Aiden’s waist, she’d experienced a sort of hysterical, ecstatic helplessness.
Imagine, she was an undergrad who'd written her dissertation on pornography consumption, and she hadn’t even thought to try this tickling thing before. Other types of play-- impact play, orgasm denial, all those things were on her list. But tickling? Nope.
After that first session, she was so wet she could hardly breathe. Aiden had stripped what clothes were left off her and fucked her so hard she saw stars.
Aiden let up enough for her to catch her breath, checking in.
“How’s that my little pixie girl?” he asked, kissing under her ear and tickling her neck with his prickly beard.
“You’re the worst,” she wheezed.
"You're gonna regret that."
She heard the tinkle of metal links.
The handcuffs.
Hannah's heart thudded against her chest like a fist on a gym mat as Aiden secured her arms in the cuffs, linking them through metal bars of the headboard. They clanged like tuneless bells. She tried moving her arms down. She couldn't, her arms raised, armpits introduced to the too-frigid apartment air.
She felt his fingers work the side-clasp on her skirt, felt him undo it, rip the skirt away, felt her bare legs and panties exposed to the air conditioning. What had she set it at? It felt like it was forty degrees in here.
Then Aiden’s hands were pinching and poking at her inner thighs and Hannah was screaming again. Her inner thighs were a spot she’d never thought of as “ticklish” but holy God were they bad. It made her tummy and sides almost bearable.
But Aiden still hadn’t gotten to her worst spot yet. Hannah knew he was saving it. He always had.
She got a leg out from under him and kicked a still-sock clad foot.
“This is the thanks I get?” Aiden said.
He grabbed her foot, gingerly ripped the sock off, and started tickling.
Hannah still couldn’t talk, just laugh and scream. She turned over, arms twisting, the vice grip on her foot not letting up. Her feet were horrible-- HORRIBLE-- but still not her worst spot.
“You are so fussy,” Aiden sighed, his fingers like a thousand blunt needles on Anna’s poor bare foot. Heel, sole, toes, ankle. She felt his fingers move from high to low. She flipped over onto her stomach and back again, flopping all around, arms twisting, unable to do anything except react.
She kicked at him involuntarily with her free foot, place it against his waist and pushing as hard as she could. He barely moved, planted firmly on his knees.
“If you kick my balls we’re really going to have a problem,” he said casually.
“I’m--sorry--” Hannah gasped.
She felt him release her foot and lean forward.
Oh, God.
“We’re moving fast here,” said Aiden. “I've apparently got a lot of making up to do. Come here, you little whiner...”
Hannah did as she was told, and Aiden slipped her shirt over her head-- the world went white and smelled of Tide-- and unclasped her bra. She felt it fall away, the air conditioning enveloping her. Aiden turned her over, looking up at him, chest heaving. A thin sheen of sweat covered her upper chest and brow.
“Try to lower your arms,” said Aiden. He pulled her down the bed a little bit more, straightening her arms above her. The air felt as frigid as ever.
Hannah lay there and did as she was told, knowing what was coming. She couldn't lower them. Not at all, they were straight over her head. And with her face covered by her t-shirt, she couldn't see what he was about to do.
FUCK.
She lay there, feeling his looming presence, sucking in precious breaths, knowing they would be cut off again soon--
Aiden wiggled his fingers into her armpits— her worst spot, THE spot— and Hannah's consciousness seemed to blue screen, a blank white sheet of heavenly agony washing over her. He was in— there as no getting him out.
“You are so LOUD,” Aiden said in her ear, his beard tickling her belly again. “Is this good enough? You haven’t answered me, still.”
“YES,” Hannah screamed. “YES YES YES YES!”
Aiden kept going. Hannah was laughing so hard she was choking. She rolled and now Aiden’s hands were everywhere— her back, her sides, her belly, her nipples, everything. No matter where she moved her arms or bunched up her legs or turtled her legs up and inward, Aiden’s fingers found a spot to spread those horrible, wonderful webs of electricity.
“You are so squirmy,” Aiden grunted, moving himself up so he could use both hands on both of her armpits simultaneously. “I think it’s safe to say I’ve tickled you now, isn’t it?”
“YES,” Hannah screamed. The neighbors could hear her. She didn't care.
“What?”
“YES!”
“Yes what?”
“Yes you’re—“
“I’m what?”
“T-T-T-TICKLING!”
"Tickling who? Spit it out, girl."
"YOU'RE T-T-T--T-T-TTTT--"
Hannah couldn’t finish the sentence. She thrashed about on the bed in a seizure of agony and pleasure, Aiden looming over her with his tireless, devastating fingers at work.
“This is what you asked for,” she heard him say. “And you’ve got a long way to go.”
