tickleplayerotica
Registered User
- Joined
- Jul 11, 2014
- Messages
- 44
- Points
- 8
gina and i meet in an acting class a few years ago.
i never really interact with her outside of the exercises but one day before class we're all sitting there waiting for the studio to open and gina is talking to her roommate about something, and she goes, ‘what if i just start talking and don’t stop,’ and her roommate is like, ‘i’ll just start tickling you.’
my ears prick up but i say nothing.
i’m vocal about my tickling fetish on social media so it isn't surprising gina knew about it, but what is surprising is when she instagrams me out the blue.
hey how you been blah blah blah, the message goes. we exchange pleasantries and catch-up messages.
hey do you wanna hangout sometime, she asks a day or two later.
sure, i’d love to.
gina has been described as “terminally cute”— she’s 25, italian, long hair, probably 5′2′’, wide-faced, does impressions. she’s funny, could probably be a dry humor aubrey-plaza-type act. i’d always found her attractive but never lusted after her or even flirted.
we meet up on the streets of ann arbor and get a socially distant beer, both of us wearing masks.
she’d broken up with her long-term boyfriend recently, as i suspected. she's exploring, playing the field, trying shit.
hey, uh, so i notice you talk about your tickling kink a lot on instagram, she says after we’re deep into the conversation.
oh really, i say.
yeah. what’s that about?
well, what do you want to know?
she asks me question after question-- we cover everything from safe words to the TMF-- all but the one i know she wants to ask. i finally ask for her.
so are you saying you want to try it sometime?
she looks right at me.
… yeah, i am.
she throws her hands up, nearly spilling her drink.
but yeah, i don’t know how we’d go about it, and if you don’t want to that’s fine, too.
no, no, i do. and we could schedule something.
i don’t know if this is a good idea, but i go for it.
...or if you want you could just come over right now and we could try it out.
she chews her water straw. she has a little mole on her chin and i can’t stop looking at it.
half an hour later we’re back at my apartment and she’s standing awkwardly in my living room staring at the walls.
you’ve got a lot of paintings, she remarks.
i tell her to have a seat. we play uno for a bit. i can tell she’s nervous, amped up. i’m trying to get her to chill out.
so yeah, uh, where do you usually tickle people, she asks after three games. she’s impatient. she didn’t come over here to play cards.
my bedroom, i say. you ready to go?
she nods slowly.
yep.
k, come here, i say.
i want to establish intimate touch beforehand. i’ve touched her on the back a few times, took her hand when she was showing me something on her phone earlier at the restaurant, but nothing intimate.
so i stand up and hold my arms out.
what? she says.
i’m gonna pick you up and carry you in.
she snorts laughter.
why?
cause i can.
i scoop her up like a damsel in distress, her long hair dangling. she’s amused. she’s heavier than she looks but i can easily make it to my bedroom with her.
i carry her in. she rides along amicably. our faces are nice and close. i get the urge to kiss her cheek but i don’t.
i throw her on the bed and she brushes her long brown hair out of her face and lies there.
woo, she says.
i rummage in my closet, making sure my bag of toys and bondage is ready. i don’t think i’ll need it today but it’s there if i do.
so uh do i get naked or…?
no, we’ll start you off fully clothed.
i dive right in, tickle her on her sides with no warning, make her lift her arms, her feet, her jeans are tight and rough.
she reacts, sort of. she squirms, makes noises through a pursed smile, squeezes her eyes shut and blinks at me, unsure. she bunches her arms up in what i call the “mantis defense”— shoulders hunched, elbows firmly pressed against her sides, hands in a chipmunk pose over her chest.
don’t hold it in, i say, continuing. but don’t fake it either. your body will do what it does naturally.
it’s not until i lift her shirt and tickle her bare ribs— she’s got a nice, classic innie belly button— that i get the first snake-writhe and the first truly surprised vocal expulsion. her tummy isn’t that ticklish but her ribs get me what i’m looking for.
my busy fingers move down her sides, across her belly, a finger dipping into her belly button— that feels weird, she says— and down to her hips. her eyes follow my hands.
“Uh-UHHHH” she whines when my fingers get to her ribs, back arching and head jolting backwards, mouth hung open in discovery of a new and magnificent stimulation.
“there it is,” i say.
she slaps both my hands away and puts her arms to her sides again. her brown eyes meet mine. she’s got a little naughty smile on that terminally cute face. she’s enjoying it.
i think we need to lose the clothes, i say.
a minute later she’s down to her bra and panties. she lies there as if on a doctor’s examining table.
i straddle her legs, balance my weight, make sure she’s comfortable.
you ready? i ask.
she shrugs.
i’ll take that as a yes.
i go on tour— i tickle her armpits, i tickle her sides, i tickle her ribs, i tickle her tummy, her belly button, her inner elbows, her neck, her collarbone, her inner thighs, her hip bones, her legs, her butt, her back, under her knees, and of course her feet, including between her toes. i give each location a decent amount of attention.
she laughs, elbows and knees alternatively flying or locking up, body rocking from side to side, hips bucking and making the bed creak.
her laugh is loud, bright, her eyes squeezed and her mouth in a happy tearful emoji shape. the chords on her neck stand out. she giggles but doesn’t outright lose it or try to fight me unless i’m on her ribs. even her armpits aren’t that sensitive. she says the tickles on her back just feel good.
her feet yield great reactions-- screeches and spirit voices, which are what i call the strange noises people make when they’re trying to focus on anything but a super-ticklish spot, when even laughter is overridden and the mind tries anything to turn off the sensations. people sound like they’re possessed by spirits, like in a pentecostal church. involuntary babbling and vocal patterns. speaking in tongues. i find them incredibly attractive because they’re incredibly real. they’re the sound of a soul that’s been driven mad by touch.
i do her feet one at a time, clenching her legs between mine to prevent kicking or escaping.
DEH DEH DEH DEH DEH, THA-- TI-TI-TI-TI-TI--! gina shrieks.
what? i say over and over. i can’t understand you. speak clearly, dammit.
we play a few basic games-- hold your arms up as long as you can, don’t make any noise, hold it for 15 seconds, now 30. she fails everything and i have to keep tickling her. it’s very light and playful, not dominant or sadistic at all.
her initial reticence has made me go extremely easy on her. i do no mouth or beard stuff, keep my tickles gentle-- mostly light fingernail work, not pressing too hard.
what do you think, i ask her after we’ve played for about an hour.
am i, like, the right kind of ticklish? she asks.
any kind of ticklish is the right kind.
but, like, i feel like i didn’t respond to everything the same.
yeah, that’s the point. you’ve responded the most to your ribs and feet. that’s pretty common.
i brush my fingers over her lovely belly, feel her breathing, her racing heart.
so what do you think? honest opinions only.
it’s uh… she says, trailing off.
it’s what?
...fun, she says. it’s not what i expected. i thought there’d be more, you know, like, extreme shit.
first sessions are usually pretty gentle, i say. or least they are with me. but if you liked it, you can come back and i’ll wreck you sometime.
she chuckles.
is that something you can do?
i tickle her ribs in response, slightly upping my force this time. she throws more mantis poses, cries out.
yes, i tell her.
then we cuddle for a while, her in her underwear, and i teach her about aftercare.
it's a pleasant session.
i never really interact with her outside of the exercises but one day before class we're all sitting there waiting for the studio to open and gina is talking to her roommate about something, and she goes, ‘what if i just start talking and don’t stop,’ and her roommate is like, ‘i’ll just start tickling you.’
my ears prick up but i say nothing.
i’m vocal about my tickling fetish on social media so it isn't surprising gina knew about it, but what is surprising is when she instagrams me out the blue.
hey how you been blah blah blah, the message goes. we exchange pleasantries and catch-up messages.
hey do you wanna hangout sometime, she asks a day or two later.
sure, i’d love to.
gina has been described as “terminally cute”— she’s 25, italian, long hair, probably 5′2′’, wide-faced, does impressions. she’s funny, could probably be a dry humor aubrey-plaza-type act. i’d always found her attractive but never lusted after her or even flirted.
we meet up on the streets of ann arbor and get a socially distant beer, both of us wearing masks.
she’d broken up with her long-term boyfriend recently, as i suspected. she's exploring, playing the field, trying shit.
hey, uh, so i notice you talk about your tickling kink a lot on instagram, she says after we’re deep into the conversation.
oh really, i say.
yeah. what’s that about?
well, what do you want to know?
she asks me question after question-- we cover everything from safe words to the TMF-- all but the one i know she wants to ask. i finally ask for her.
so are you saying you want to try it sometime?
she looks right at me.
… yeah, i am.
she throws her hands up, nearly spilling her drink.
but yeah, i don’t know how we’d go about it, and if you don’t want to that’s fine, too.
no, no, i do. and we could schedule something.
i don’t know if this is a good idea, but i go for it.
...or if you want you could just come over right now and we could try it out.
she chews her water straw. she has a little mole on her chin and i can’t stop looking at it.
half an hour later we’re back at my apartment and she’s standing awkwardly in my living room staring at the walls.
you’ve got a lot of paintings, she remarks.
i tell her to have a seat. we play uno for a bit. i can tell she’s nervous, amped up. i’m trying to get her to chill out.
so yeah, uh, where do you usually tickle people, she asks after three games. she’s impatient. she didn’t come over here to play cards.
my bedroom, i say. you ready to go?
she nods slowly.
yep.
k, come here, i say.
i want to establish intimate touch beforehand. i’ve touched her on the back a few times, took her hand when she was showing me something on her phone earlier at the restaurant, but nothing intimate.
so i stand up and hold my arms out.
what? she says.
i’m gonna pick you up and carry you in.
she snorts laughter.
why?
cause i can.
i scoop her up like a damsel in distress, her long hair dangling. she’s amused. she’s heavier than she looks but i can easily make it to my bedroom with her.
i carry her in. she rides along amicably. our faces are nice and close. i get the urge to kiss her cheek but i don’t.
i throw her on the bed and she brushes her long brown hair out of her face and lies there.
woo, she says.
i rummage in my closet, making sure my bag of toys and bondage is ready. i don’t think i’ll need it today but it’s there if i do.
so uh do i get naked or…?
no, we’ll start you off fully clothed.
i dive right in, tickle her on her sides with no warning, make her lift her arms, her feet, her jeans are tight and rough.
she reacts, sort of. she squirms, makes noises through a pursed smile, squeezes her eyes shut and blinks at me, unsure. she bunches her arms up in what i call the “mantis defense”— shoulders hunched, elbows firmly pressed against her sides, hands in a chipmunk pose over her chest.
don’t hold it in, i say, continuing. but don’t fake it either. your body will do what it does naturally.
it’s not until i lift her shirt and tickle her bare ribs— she’s got a nice, classic innie belly button— that i get the first snake-writhe and the first truly surprised vocal expulsion. her tummy isn’t that ticklish but her ribs get me what i’m looking for.
my busy fingers move down her sides, across her belly, a finger dipping into her belly button— that feels weird, she says— and down to her hips. her eyes follow my hands.
“Uh-UHHHH” she whines when my fingers get to her ribs, back arching and head jolting backwards, mouth hung open in discovery of a new and magnificent stimulation.
“there it is,” i say.
she slaps both my hands away and puts her arms to her sides again. her brown eyes meet mine. she’s got a little naughty smile on that terminally cute face. she’s enjoying it.
i think we need to lose the clothes, i say.
a minute later she’s down to her bra and panties. she lies there as if on a doctor’s examining table.
i straddle her legs, balance my weight, make sure she’s comfortable.
you ready? i ask.
she shrugs.
i’ll take that as a yes.
i go on tour— i tickle her armpits, i tickle her sides, i tickle her ribs, i tickle her tummy, her belly button, her inner elbows, her neck, her collarbone, her inner thighs, her hip bones, her legs, her butt, her back, under her knees, and of course her feet, including between her toes. i give each location a decent amount of attention.
she laughs, elbows and knees alternatively flying or locking up, body rocking from side to side, hips bucking and making the bed creak.
her laugh is loud, bright, her eyes squeezed and her mouth in a happy tearful emoji shape. the chords on her neck stand out. she giggles but doesn’t outright lose it or try to fight me unless i’m on her ribs. even her armpits aren’t that sensitive. she says the tickles on her back just feel good.
her feet yield great reactions-- screeches and spirit voices, which are what i call the strange noises people make when they’re trying to focus on anything but a super-ticklish spot, when even laughter is overridden and the mind tries anything to turn off the sensations. people sound like they’re possessed by spirits, like in a pentecostal church. involuntary babbling and vocal patterns. speaking in tongues. i find them incredibly attractive because they’re incredibly real. they’re the sound of a soul that’s been driven mad by touch.
i do her feet one at a time, clenching her legs between mine to prevent kicking or escaping.
DEH DEH DEH DEH DEH, THA-- TI-TI-TI-TI-TI--! gina shrieks.
what? i say over and over. i can’t understand you. speak clearly, dammit.
we play a few basic games-- hold your arms up as long as you can, don’t make any noise, hold it for 15 seconds, now 30. she fails everything and i have to keep tickling her. it’s very light and playful, not dominant or sadistic at all.
her initial reticence has made me go extremely easy on her. i do no mouth or beard stuff, keep my tickles gentle-- mostly light fingernail work, not pressing too hard.
what do you think, i ask her after we’ve played for about an hour.
am i, like, the right kind of ticklish? she asks.
any kind of ticklish is the right kind.
but, like, i feel like i didn’t respond to everything the same.
yeah, that’s the point. you’ve responded the most to your ribs and feet. that’s pretty common.
i brush my fingers over her lovely belly, feel her breathing, her racing heart.
so what do you think? honest opinions only.
it’s uh… she says, trailing off.
it’s what?
...fun, she says. it’s not what i expected. i thought there’d be more, you know, like, extreme shit.
first sessions are usually pretty gentle, i say. or least they are with me. but if you liked it, you can come back and i’ll wreck you sometime.
she chuckles.
is that something you can do?
i tickle her ribs in response, slightly upping my force this time. she throws more mantis poses, cries out.
yes, i tell her.
then we cuddle for a while, her in her underwear, and i teach her about aftercare.
it's a pleasant session.
