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Bronco Roping (m/f, 1980s, gymnast, age 18)

quinn65

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Ironically the unexpected travel coming up has pumped the breaks on my project, so I looked through the story file in my spare time and found I'd gotten a lot further on this one than I remembered.

I'll go ahead and post the first few installments over the next week or so.

This is the earliest true story I'm able to share, as everything leading up to it happened before I was 18. It was also a major step forward in maturity, as Lori and I kind of came into adulthood together around this time (pun intended).

So take yourself back to the era of Stranger Things, a show whose first couple of seasons absolutely nailed what it was like growing up in Indiana in the early-to-mid eighties.

Fair warning, as usual with my stuff there's a lot of plot before the tickling, and in this story it gets a little steamy. I mean hell, we were 18...
 
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Bronco Roping, Part 1

Lori and I had a problem. As problems go, it was a pretty great one to have, but it was still a problem.

Actually, we had a couple of problems. Maybe a few.

Our biggest problem from which maybe all others flowed was that we were 18, seniors in high school, and deeply in lust. Despite that, we at least had the wits not to risk a pregnancy, so we had committed to abstinence from intercourse. This was not because of any particular moral qualms, mind you; it was more because we somehow retained at least a tiny little shred of common sense despite all the hormones.

And I suppose there might have been a moral qualm or two for Lori. She was a “good girl,” in the strong and admirable sense of the phrase. She wanted to wait for marriage, and I fully respected that.

Fortunately, abstinence from intercourse leaves both a huge amount of energy and an enormous number of possibilities on the table, if you have a little imagination and will. And we had both in abundance. We couldn’t get enough of each other, and considering the vastness of possibilities when it comes to pleasuring another person, setting aside just one subcategory didn’t seem so bad.

Personally, one of my two main obsessions at the time was oral sex. Talk about a non-baby-producing way of driving a young lady wild…it’s hard to beat. It took a few nudges for Lori to green light the idea, but once she’d had a taste – or rather let me have one – she became a hugely enthusiastic fan.

And that’s where our second problem kicked in. You see, Lori was both a gymnast and the high school cheerleading squad’s flyer. So, take the average 18 year old girl’s amazingly durable, agile, and powerful body and push it through many thousands of hours of strength and flexibility training, and you pretty much end up with a Lori.

She was a petite brunette with long, wavy hair that she liked to wear in an athletically convenient ponytail, although when she let it loose it would flow like a chocolate waterfall around her shoulders. In terms of overall looks, when my buddies and I compared female classmates to celebrities of the time, our best match for Lori came from our favorite movie: Fast Times at Ridgemont High. Lori didn't look exactly like Phoebe Cates, but she shared enough features to invite the comparison.

Another difference between Lori and Phoebe Cates was that Lori had superpowers.

She could hold a normal conversation while effortlessly rolling into a handstand and walking around on her palms, or neatly turning a backflip, or descending perfectly into the splits and rising again, and never miss a breath. She could also, from a sitting position, push herself up on her arms and power her legs into a perfect V, her body folded neatly in half, hovering off the floor, knees resting easily against her shoulders.

And it’s no exaggeration to say she was jumpy, maybe as a side effect of her incredible fitness and good health. Tracing my fingers down her back in the hall at school would make her flinch as if electrocuted. Nibbling her ear in a movie theater could bring her to the edge of climax. Tracing my finger on the palm of her hand in assembly would make her squirm uncontrollably. And you’d never even think of tickling her, if you valued unbroken bones and a healthy mouthful of teeth.

Which was a little unfortunate, because if oral was my first obsession at the time, tickling was my second. Furthermore, I felt strongly that both were best enjoyed after tying a girl up. I had already developed a bit of a reputation for ropework and related kinkiness among the tight community of datable females in my grade, plus or minus a year or two in age. I'd say it wasn't considered odd then so much as quirky, and maybe a little intriguing, although for her part, Lori, the good girl, was playfully scandalized and horrified at the idea. No worries so far; we had plenty of other distractions to keep ourselves occupied.

Even in a crowd, Lori and I couldn’t keep our hands off each other. Given sufficient privacy, clothes would start flying, and we would tear into each other like starving people at a banquet. The more intense, the better. Which often brought things back around to the earlier topic of cunnilingus, except…

I suppose I’m starting to dance around our third problem: safety issues.

Quick inventory. So far, we have two healthy 18-year-olds, crazy with lust, who have sworn off intercourse but are fixated on each other’s bodies, one of whom has not only the strength and agility of an Olympic athlete but also the nerve sensitivity of a startled gazelle. Add my wholehearted enjoyment of going down on her to Lori’s skittishness about bondage, and let me tell you, the potential for bodily harm and personal property damage skyrockets.

For context, I’m not a small guy. At 18 I was a starting linebacker and tight end on our varsity football team, and I’d been playing since I was about ten. That meant I’d been strength training about as long as a young body was able. I’m sure I wasn’t the strongest guy on the team, but I was up there. At the time, I was nearly six feet tall and weighed about 175 pounds, which in the early-to-mid 1980s was pretty good-sized, at least where I grew up.

Lori was about 5’2” and weighed maybe 105 pounds, but it was all muscle, and mostly in her legs. I knew this, because when my favorite face would get within smooching distance of her favorite clitoris and the licking and sucking started, no matter how hard I braced and held on, I knew I was in for a wild ride. Making out with Lori was in itself an adventure in acrobatics, never mind trying to avoid injury from between her legs while she climaxed. Neck pain from strained muscles in those days wasn’t the least bit uncommon for me. While my buddies in the locker room rubbed Icy Hot into their hamstrings and calves after practice, for me it was often my shoulders and neck.

A lesser complication was the issue of privacy. Lori’s room was thankfully separate from her house via a breezeway, up above a garage mostly used for storage. That meant even when her parents were home, we were largely left to ourselves, as they employed a hands-off policy almost every bit as enthusiastically as we employed a hands-on one.

Parents, let that be a lesson. Protect your daughters, even from football players with decent grades. Maybe especially from football players with decent grades.

The upshot of all this was that as long as we didn’t do anything blatant or obvious, like break furniture or crash through a wall or scream (too loud), we pretty much had free reign to turn each other inside out and pursue whatever carnal depravities came into our minds.

Screaming was easy to fix. Lori spent a great deal of our time together in that room with a rolled up washcloth firmly clamped between her teeth. I did the same a few times myself. The breaking point that sets this story’s direction, however, didn’t involve any kind of uncontrolled screaming.

It involved the death of Grandma Zippy, and then the death of Grandma Zippy’s antique armoire.

I’ll try to make this quick. One fateful afternoon as I knelt between Lori’s legs and began to coax washcloth-muffled screams from her throat, she not-surprisingly latched her thighs around my head and neck with beartrap strength to the point where I could scarcely breathe. With any effort I made to extract myself at that point, Lori only clenched tighter, resulting in the need for me to power up into a standing position, Lori clamped alien-like to my face, and start foundering about the room.

Remember, I was a pretty strong guy and Lori weighed just over 100 pounds. Unimpeded, I could pick her up and twirl her like a baton. But our current scenario rendered me anything but unimpeded. And it didn’t help that Lori’s orgasms had her ripping off ab curls like someone out of a boxing movie montage.

Did I mention that Lori’s Grandma Zippy had recently passed away and left her an antique armoire, and that just earlier that day I had helped her dad carry it up to her room? Well, she had, and I did, and unfortunately, instead of having found its place along a wall, at that moment the armoire was just standing there in the middle of the room.

Now I don’t know much about antiques, but I generally think of them as sturdy, having been built by rugged individualists whose various pieces of furniture had to withstand all kinds of trials and misfortunes. And I figured that an “antique” was one such piece of furniture that had proven its worth by lasting a very long time.

Not so with Grandma Zippy's armoire. In fact, at that very instant, I proved that a single solid whap with a 105-pound American cheerleader moving at kind of a warm-up swing speed was enough to reduce it to a pile of scrap wood. I’m not sure whether it was the initial contact, or the backward tumble it took onto Lori’s desk chair, or just the generally shoddy fabrication standards of whatever original settler had slapped it together, but post-topple it was clear that never again would this armoire hold any clothing.

And man, what a noise it made when it fell! Knowing all too well that Lori’s parents had immediately started sprinting toward her room, we untangled ourselves with slippery speed and dove back into our clothes just in time to avoid her dad tossing me out the window once they arrived. We’d even had enough time to stage a scene as if I’d lifted her up to change a light bulb over her bed and dropped her (well, stumbled five feet and dropped her) into the now-deceased armoire from her recently deceased grandmother.

I’m not sure that her dad actually believed the whole light bulb thing, but he wanted to believe it so badly that the outcome was basically the same.

However, from that moment on, for the good of my personal well being as well as the remaining furniture in Lori’s room, we knew – well, I knew – that we needed to make a change.

To be continued...
 
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Bronco Roping, Part 2

As I mentioned earlier, at this period in my life, for reasons alluded to elsewhere, I had both (i) a decent foundational knowledge of basic ropework, and (ii) a bit of a reputation among certain classmates for outside-the-mainstream intimate practices. These things, in case it's not clear, were related and interdependent, and Lori was aware of them before we got together. One of her best friends had been an enthusiastic partner of mine in exploring them before she had moved away the past summer. I’m sure Lori had heard stories, and considering that she was subsequently open to my advances, I would guess (or at least hope) that those stories generally had a positive spin.

However, as I also mentioned earlier, to this point Lori and I hadn't dabbled in such things. I had teased her a little and danced around it, but…well…when you boil it all down, the fact is that bondage takes time, and we were generally so damn busy tearing into each other that we just hadn't gotten around to it.

Plus, again, Lori was a good girl. I imagined that bondage for her might be a bridge too far, and didn’t push it overmuch to avoid scaring her off. So I had teasingly mentioned it, and she had teasingly demurred, but of course all that was before first her grandmother and then the shittily constructed armoire died.

So later the same evening of the armoire's destruction, Lori and I were sitting side by side on swings at the elementary school playground not far down from where she lived. We had been banished from the house after I spontaneously coined the term “armoire-geddon” during cleanup, causing much inappropriate laughter.

Here on the swings, it seemed like an opportune moment to raise the idea of ropes once more.

"You know," I said, rolling my neck stiffly, "we really do need a better way to hold you still."

"Stop it," Lori said, cutting me a coy sideways glance. "There's no way I'm letting you tie me up. For one thing, you’ll tickle me."

Damn the high school grapevine.

"I wouldn’t have to…" I considered.

"Right," Lori chided. "You tickled the crap out of Stephanie and got her grounded."

Okay, well, that had been unfortunate. It's ridiculously hard to keep a gag tied in place, and I'd had no idea how violently poor Stephanie would react to having her feet tickled. Fortunately I was fully clothed when her mom burst into the room, as was Steph, although she was mostly wrapped from shoulders to ankles in duct tape. It must have looked something short of completely sordid; enough only to get me tossed out of the house and Stephanie, as Lori had pointed out, grounded.

"Look," I countered. "What if the rule was, once you were tied up, I would never do anything you didn't ask me to?" She looked at me, skeptical but possibly considering. "Think of Grandma Zippy’s poor armoire," I added hopefully.

Grandma Zippy. I should probably explain that. Apparently her real name had been hard to pronounce and was substituted by a grandchild in a portentous moment of confusion with the name of a favorite stuffed monkey, which stuck. And despite the cool name, apparently she hadn't been very close to Lori. I guess Grandma Zippy could be a little stiff, even before she died.

"Oh stop it," Lori smiled. "You've been wanting to tie me up for months. This is just an excuse."

"No argument there," I agreed. "But now your dad's suspicious, and there's also the small matter of keeping my head attached to my body when you come."

"Poor baby…" she said teasingly. She pushed sideways so her hand could stroke my thigh, spiking my blood pressure twenty percent. "But my dad's always been suspicious. He's just cutting us slack because you're not Dale. "

That's enough said about Dale, who later that year came within a hair's breadth of becoming an unsolved mystery; his body never found. Totally different story.

"Seriously though, Lor, I'm not kidding." I twisted in my swing to look at her, since my head would no longer rotate. Honestly, I wasn't kidding. I'd happily tongue her clit all the way to the hospital, but avoiding traction would be a nice bonus.

"Here, wait, turn around," she said, touching my shoulders and swiveling me forward again. She stood from her swing and walked around behind me, fingers trailing across my back.

Once she got into position, she gently gripped my deltoids and began to knead the tight muscles there.

Talk about pleasure and pain…the massage would have felt amazing if it weren't for the nine layers of bruised tissue between her fingers and my muscles.

"Yaaaah!" I flinched away from her hands as she jumped in surprise.

"Oh my God I'm so sorry!" she said as she pulled her hands away.

"I'm ok, I'm ok…" It hurt like hell, but what do you say? I'd healed before, I would heal again.

She looked shocked. "You're so tight!"

I smiled. "That's what he said." She smacked me. "Ow!"

"Yeah, well, stop joking. You're really hurt." Lori started to pace, a worry frown now creasing her brow.

"Seriously, Lor, it's OK. I’m just a little sore…" A sad Lori just wouldn't do. I'd move mountains.

"No…no, you're right," she finally said. She stopped pacing and looked at me. "I don't want you to…to stop…doing…what you do…" she looked down and then back up again through her lashes, a bit lasciviously. "With your mouth."

I smiled again. "Me neither."

"But I don't want to hurt you," she went on, blushing furiously. "So…well…all right. If you want to tie me up, I guess we can try it."

My heart was in my throat. I’m sure I had a smooth comeback in mind, but I decided to just nod and not embarrass myself. Besides, a detailed emerging schematic of her room with all its furniture and potential anchor points was busily consuming bandwidth as it rendered in my head.

If you're also a rigger, you know exactly what I mean.

"Just not when my parents are home," she finished.

"Sure." I swallowed hard. That wouldn't be a problem. Her dad traveled for business most weeks, and her mom was away every Sunday night staying with Lori's other aging grandma, who was toughing it out at her place across town with her kids' help. Sunday evening was already our well-established loud time, no washcloths required.

It was getting late. "So, Sunday then," Lori promised. She leaned in close and whispered, "Bring your ropes."

I stood and she stepped up to kiss me goodbye. We kissed for quite a while, breathing hard. My neck was still sore, but somehow I didn't mind so much.

To be continued...
 
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Lmao Grandma Zippy

Right...normally of course I change names and mix up details to protect identities, but there was no changing that one.

So if you knew a pretty D1 college cheerleader back in the '80s with a deceased Grandma Zippy, I'm busted. ;)
 
I am just thinking of the parental conversation, You two kids can have your fun, but what ever you do leave Grandma Zippy out of it... Smash.
OUT!
 
Holy crap Quinn you tell amazing stories and have been through some awesome times lol. Totally getting like 80s comedy vibes from this and the description of Lori on your face like an alien and you swinging her around was hilarious!
 
Ironically the unexpected travel coming up has pumped the breaks on my project

Good thing you weren't driving, where pumping the brakes would be more effective. But dem's the breaks. 🙄

I'll be here all week -- don't forget to tip the waitstaff ...

So take yourself back to the era of Stranger Things, a show whose first couple of seasons absolutely nailed what it was like growing up in Indiana in the early-to-mid eighties.

"But she grew up tall and she grew up right
"With them Indiana boys on them Indiana nights ..."

Yeah, growing up in semi-rural West Virginia was similar, maybe just a few years earlier ...

Enjoy your stories. Looking forward to more. Maybe I'll dig out some of my oldies ...
 
Bronco Roping, Part 3

Sunday came around maybe nine years later, it seemed. But it finally came around.

In the interim, I had done a lot of planning, most of it centered around a large, heavy, 1950s leather armchair that sat in the back corner of Lori’s room, buried under blankets and stuffed animals. I’m not sure which relative, if any, might have passed this beauty along, but God bless them. It was solid and heavy and had sturdy steel arms on the sides.

I scoured the internet for images of vintage furniture and came up with something pretty close:

chair3.png

I had some notion of tying her legs to the arms of the chair and her hands down to the sides, but I figured I’d mostly improvise once the time came.

Making my way to Lori's room that Sunday with a backpack full of coiled ropes, I was so horny I could barely walk. And it didn’t help when she opened the door to her room wearing nothing but a smile and an old button-down white cotton shirt I'd left behind weeks ago.

She knew I loved that look.

She took my hand and pulled me inside. When the door closed, she gently wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed me, pulling herself up and encircling my waist with her legs as the kiss deepened. I immediately dropped the bag to hold her, and carried her to the bed.

I set her down and unbuttoned her shirt, nuzzling and licking her taut nipples as my thumb found and stroked her clit. Her gasps made my own breathing harder. I had never been so turned on, and the kinky part of the evening was still ahead of us.

She'd dimmed her bedside lamp and placed clusters of lit candles around the room, the boudoir effect casting us in a dim, flickering light. The armoire wreckage was long cleared away, a smell of perfume was in the air, and her many fluffy ranks of stuffed animals looked on from their various perches on her bed, shelves, and my new favorite chair in the corner as we began warming each other up.

"I want you naked too," she breathed in my ear, clawing at my belt. "I want you naked while you tie me up."

"Well, that might be a little awkward," I managed.

"Why?"

"Because when I move around it'll be like Godzilla swinging his tail through the room." With an eye-roll and a husky laugh she kept undressing me until the object of my concern was in her hands. I could feel rational thought slipping away...

"Okay babe, we really need to get you tied down before I lose my mind."

"Where do you want me?" she asked a little wantonly, her hands still busy with me.

"Uhhh, hang on," I said, reluctantly turning away and heading to the back corner of her room. I swept the stuffed animals off of the chair and hefted it back toward the bed. Damn it was heavy.

"Mmmm, that’s kind of hot, " Lori observed. "You've been thinking about this."

“Quite a lot,” I admitted, pulse pounding in my ears as I angled the chair toward the bedside lamp for a better view.

I looked at her. “Now, lay down in the seat.”

“Lay me there yourself,” she suggested. Maybe she’d been thinking about this too.

I scooped her up from the bed into another passionate kiss as I turned and maneuvered her naked body, squirming, toward the chair. When she settled in the seat, she was scooched forward with her head and shoulders curled against the backrest and her ass hanging just over the seat’s front edge. She pulled her knees to her chest, wrapped her arms around her shins, and kicked her bare feet prettily, smiling at me.

Hm, I thought. I can work with that.

I’m sure I was openly ogling her, but she seemed to appreciate the attention. She wiggled a bit, eyes large and intense and glancing up through her lashes. Her body was flushed pink, her mouth still smiling but slightly open, her breath panting softly. Her attention never wavered as I hooked the backpack over with my foot and opened it to spill out the ropes. I shook out and organized several lengths as she leaned around to watch.

My plan was to tie her knees back to the arms of the chair…somehow. I selected a couple of ropes and asked, “Are you ready?”

“Mmm-hmm,” she answered, nodding softly. “Be nice to me.”

“That’s my plan,” I said.

I knelt and rested one of her ankles on my shoulder to wrap a doubled rope several times around her thigh, just above the knee, and then repeated the process with her other leg. I tied off the ropes with long running ends, since my plan was to pull each leg back and to the side as far as Lori was comfortable stretching.

To that end, I tossed the ropes’ free ends off the back of the seat on either side of her, under the armrests, and moved around behind the chair. There I grabbed the ropes again, and as Lori watched me over her shoulder, I looped them once around each of the chair’s back legs for leverage and slowly began to pull.

Lori’s legs parted as her knees were pulled toward the opposite back corners of the seat. I gathered the rope slowly and gently, waiting for her to reach the limit of her flexibility.

I should have known better.

Giggling, Lori slid her arms through her legs and laid them over the backs of her thighs as her knees continued moving toward the seat’s back corners. She kept going until her thighs on either side were almost flat against the seat, with her calves laying on the armrests.

“Oh, hello!” Lori said, then “Wow, those are cold!” as her skin touched the metal. I was still in shock at her pose, and the flexibility of her legs and hips. While her upper body had pressed slightly into the chair, her butt had rolled back prettily into what was apparently a comfortable reclining position. Her feet were angled up a bit from the armrests, and she had moved her hands forward to grip the front corners of the seat.

“They’ll warm up pretty fast,” I replied, tying off the ropes to the chair’s back legs. “Who were you hello-ing?”

She giggled as I walked back around in front of her, inclining her chin toward her bare pussy, resting now maybe a foot below her face. “I don’t normally get to see her up close like this,” she explained.

The overall visual is a bit hard to describe, but I Googled around to find some representative poses, provided below along with the chair again so you can get the idea.

pose2.png position.png chair3.png
For you visual thinkers, (i) Lori's flexibility, (ii) Lori's approximate bondage position, and (iii) the chair again

Looking up at me again, Lori kicked her feet and wiggled her hips. “Hmmm, okay, I already can’t move!” she observed. She was smiling and her face was flushed.

“Sure,” I said. “But there’s so much more rope.” I knelt and grabbed some to tie her wrists to the chair’s front legs.

So secured, Lori bit her lip and squirmed with a bit more determination. But with her knees tied back and her own arms pinning her legs to the chair by her bound wrists, she could mostly just kick her bare feet. “Oooohhh,” she growled, “this is already frustrating!”

“Well, we can’t have all that kicking,” I said. Lori wiggled her toes fetchingly as I found two more short lengths of rope and cinched each of her ankles in place at the ends of the armrests.

“Remember, you promised you wouldn’t tickle me,” she said nervously, reading my mind as the soles of her bare feet waved helplessly in front of me.

“Actually,” I corrected, earning an alarmed look from Lori, “I said I wouldn’t do anything you didn’t ask me to do.”

“Well I’m not asking you to tickle me!” she insisted.

“We’ll see…” I said ominously, watching her begin to squirm and test her bondage. As she moved, I had a terrific view of Lori’s perfect tight butt and exposed pussy, all framed nicely by her soft and adorable bare feet on either side and two of Indiana’s finest breasts just above. Best of all, the girl behind all these features was the sweetest and prettiest girl in my high school, tied helplessly and waiting for me to tease her to orgasm.

I’m surprised I didn’t pass out.

And beyond all reason, despite the squirming, she seemed perfectly comfortable. Gymnasts. “Are you ok?” I asked. “Anything too tight or…”

In response, Lori set her jaw stubbornly and really fought to escape. I’m not sure what possessed her, but she gave it her all. It was quite a sight, given her exposed position, how strong and agile she was, and how little she could move. She pulled and twisted and bucked, but about all she could do besides rotate her wrists and ankles was thrust her pelvis a little, which suited me just fine.

With a final defeated shudder, she finally stopped and shot me a look full of something like challenge and mild shock. Now she was panting harder, and the uniform pink flush of her skin had deepened several shades in her face, on her chest, and between her legs.

"Steph was right," she observed, her voice slightly husky. "I can’t do anything."

"It's OK, keep trying," I urged her. "I think you're hypnotizing me a little."

“Oh my God…” she said suddenly.

“What?”

“My heart is pounding!” She twisted powerfully in the ropes once more, and then continued to writhe and squirm, a bit more calmly, as if in a profound act of discovery. “I am so… I can’t even…” Lori was a moaner and a screamer, but had never been one to talk dirty. I could see she was searching for the words. “I can’t believe…” she blushed even harder as her voice dropped, “that you’re going to touch me like this.”

To be continued…
 
Bronco Roping, Part 4

“Touch you?" I looked her in the eye and smiled. "I’m gonna tease your clit 'til you faint.”

Lori moaned and flexed her hips. “Oh God…” The flesh between her legs was florid and shiny with moisture, and I could see her pulse throbbing in the soft tissue there.

Better yet, I could flick my eyes up just a fraction and look directly into her face. As she watched, I licked my fingers and began stroking the outer edges of her labia. She gasped and flinched…toward or away, I couldn't tell.

"Uhhhnnn…" she moaned helplessly as my fingers pressed harder and closer to her center. When I squeezed to part her hood, her exposed clitorus was rigid, engorged with blood.

I leaned close so she could feel my breath, and softly licked the tip of her. Her hips spasmed and she cried out again, arcing but helpless in the ropes.

My fingers were wet and slick from touching her, and I moved them up to tease her hardening nipples as I closed my lips over her clit. I drew her into my mouth and at first gently, then firmly sucked on her sex to swell it further as I lashed it with my tongue.

Lori was losing her mind. With her usual acrobatics, I had never been able to focus my attention on her like this. But now the ropes had taken her leverage, and she could do nothing but moan and scream and writhe as waves of sensation overwhelmed her.

And maybe best of all, I could watch every emotion play over her face as I pleasured her. Lori's expression was one of pure wanton desire…brows knitting with intensity, mouth agape, and her tongue working sensually around the helpless carnal moans escaping her throat.

When she opened her eyes and saw me watching her, it was electric. Immediately her cries became a familiar series of "Ah…ah…AHs" and she held my gaze as the final crest of her orgasm grew.

So, I stopped.

The look of astonishment on her face was indescribable. "Oh God," she panted, hips still pumping. "Don't stop!!!"

"Sorry babe, but it just dawned on me," I said. "I'm only allowed to do what you ask me to."

She thrashed in the ropes in frustration. "Well keep doing THAT!"

"Doing what?"

She looked at me knowingly, still breathing hard. “You want me to say it?”

I swallowed. “Mmm-hmm.”

Her face blushed a shade darker. “Keep sucking on my clit,” she panted seductively. “Please make me come. I’m going insane.”

I was floored. She had never been so direct, but for the moment it seemed the good girl had set aside her usual propriety for other more salacious needs.

I glanced down from her face to the area in question, still taut and visibly throbbing on the edge of release. Lori’s hips squirmed fetchingly under my attention.

Please…” she repeated softly.

Her hood was fully parted now on its own by the swollen flesh underneath. I rubbed her to moisten my fingers and ever so softly began massaging the base of her clit. She moaned again softly and began to squirm.

“I thought maybe we could make a deal,” I mused.

Mmmm…” she purred, spinning up again. “What kind of deal?”

“I’ll keep doing this,” I rubbed harder. “And this,” I leaned down and licked her. “Until you come. Over and over, all night long.”

She opened one eye and looked at me. “If I do what?”

“Ask me to tickle you.”

What?!” she leaned forward and glared at me prettily. “First of all, I knew it! And second, you have got to be kidding!”

“It’s ok,” I said. “You don’t have to ask.” I stroked her even more softly. “I can keep you right here on the edge all night instead.”

ARRGHH!!!” Lori thrashed again, hands and feet flailing in frustration. I bore down a little on her clit until her struggling calmed and the "Ah...AHs" began, and then returned to the softest touch.

“I can’t stand it!” she cried. “You’ll drive me crazy!”

“If I tickle you?” I asked.

“Yes! But also doing this! I’m going to scream!!!”

“How bad could tickling be?” I asked. “Ask me, and I’ll finish this orgasm first. I promise.” I brought my thumbs into the massage, kneading harder.

Ah...AH...Aaahhhh!!!” Lori bit her lip and tensed, so I backed off again.

“GOD!!! OKAY!!! YOU CAN TICKLE ME!!!” Lori yelled, giving in. “Just let me come first…please!

Her expression was amazing...a mix of submission, defiance, and anticipation. With a huge smile, I shifted my wet fingers back to her nipples and took her once more into my mouth, sucking hard.

As it turned out, she'd been right.

She did scream.

To be continued…
 
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OMG! And now she's going to be even more ticklish than she usually is! I can't wait to hear what happened next!
 
I have to know, did you already know what would happen to her sensitivity after the orgasm at that age or are you just the greatest evil genius of all time….
 
I have to know, did you already know what would happen to her sensitivity after the orgasm at that age or are you just the greatest evil genius of all time….

As much as I'd love to be the greatest evil genius of all time, yeah, I knew. I'd been tying and tickling girls for several years before I dated Lori, and aware of the sensitivity boost for maybe a couple.
 
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Bronco Roping, Part 5

lori3x.png lorifeet2.png
Lori lookalike head shot and sole pic

"NononopleaseQuinnnononono…"

Nothing I have ever seen, before or since, has been half as adorable as Lori waiting for me to tickle her feet. I had managed a few quick swipes on her soles over the months we’d been dating, with hugely encouraging reactions followed by slaps and punches.

Like every other nerve in her body, the soles of Lori’s feet seemed wildly ticklish. And now…

Her climax moments earlier had stunned us both. I knew Lori was hypersensitive and powerfully sexual; that's what had led us here in the first place. But I hadn't fully anticipated what restraining her for an orgasm would do.

It was a barely contained explosion. Bound as she was, there was no purchase for Lori to resist the maddening nipple and clit stimulation. Ultimately the only way for her to release her energy was to ride out the sensations and scream to high heaven.

It had started with her usual "Ah ah AHs" but something new kicked in as she began to crest. She vocalized the shift as an appeal to the Almighty, escalating from surprise to astonishment: "Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my GOD! OH MY GOD!!!"

At that point all traces of composure left her and something primal took over. Her screams went from short, desperate yelps to guttural cries to one long, sustained, window-rattling howl, so loud it left us both stunned.

Fortunately we were surrounded by several wooded acres, and her parents were far away.

When we looked at each other, I’m sure my expression was as gobsmacked as hers. She opened her mouth to speak: “I don’t even…AH!

An aftershock took her breath away. Then another, and then a few more. No howling this time, but they did cause her to vocalize helplessly for another few minutes, leaving us both laughing when she finished.

I just watched. If I’d touched her I thought she might explode.

She was drunk with euphoria and still shuddering softly in the silence that followed. Her body had to be thrumming with endorphins.

What a perfect time for her first tickling.

“Ok then,” I announced. “How about we tickle those feet?”

As exhausted as she was, Lori was still an elite athlete who would within a couple of years be competing on her college gymnastics team and joining the varsity cheerleading squad at a Division 1 school.

Somehow she found the strength to twist and struggle. “Oh no oh no no no please don’t tickle me if you touch my feet when I'm tied like this I will die!!!

“You won’t die,” I said. “I mean how ticklish can you even be after all that?”

“I think it’ll be worse!” she cried. “My skin is still tingling and I can’t even think straight!”

“Are you even that ticklish?” I asked. “I mean, I’ve only tried a couple of times…”

Ok, I was being a little disingenuous here.

“And I slapped you!” she reminded me. “My dad used to squish me under a bean bag when I was little and tickle my feet. I’d scream so loud that mom would make him stop!”

“So you should be used to this then,” I suggested.

No!” she shouted, bucking in the ropes. “And if you tickle me now that’s what I’ll do! I will scream!!!

“Well the good news is,” I said, lifting my hands toward her feet, “if nobody heard your last scream, then they probably won’t hear what’s coming.” I fluttered my fingers suggestively.

Lori looked at my hands, froze, and compressed herself into a perfect 18 year old full-body scrunch. Her eyes squeezed tight and her lips pressed into a firm but smiling line, as if she were already struggling not to laugh. Her hands balled into fists and she pulled her feet back, curing her toes hard and wrinkling her soles. Her whole body seemed to vibrate with anticipation.

And that brings us back to my first line.

"NononopleaseQuinnnononono…"

Her voice was a high whine in the back of her throat.

I leaned forward an inch and drew my fingertips down along her soles.

There was no resistance. Immediately Lori broke into a series of high-pitched screams, processing the impossible signals from her brain. I’d seen before where very sensitive girls tied and tickled for the first time have an initial reaction almost like terror, ripping off roller coaster screams as their fight or flight response finds itself thwarted by the restraints. Lori was no exception.

Her eyes and hands flew open and her body jerked hard, but her feet had almost no play against the armrests and were held firm, along with the rest of her. The look in her eyes was one of shock and surprise, but not panic, and I could see she was getting ready to laugh.

I kept tickling, and sure enough, the screams died down and the laughs finally came.

It might have been the endorphins, or her exhaustion, or just the overall situation, but once the shock wore off it turned out that Lori when tickled was an irrepressible belly laugher. Tickling her feet made her laugh like she’d heard the funniest joke in the world and completely lost her mind, but then the joke just somehow kept getting funnier.

I suspected that not only was she ticklish, but she somehow found the idea of being tickled hilarious, and then all the sensations simply conspired to undo her.

A fun thing with Lori was to occasionally stop tickling. She would continue laughing, and laughing hard, but eventually she’d begin to wind down. Of course just before she gathered her wits, I’d start tickling again.

Sometimes I’d find a spot to make her scream-laugh, and sometimes during the wind-downs she’d start to beg and plead, knowing the tickling would soon restart, which she seemed to find uproariously funny.

After several minutes of this Lori was a complete hysterical mess, but seemed resigned to having utterly lost her composure. She was riding the wave, and I was riding along and laughing with her.

I finally gave her an actual break, although she never quite believed it until she could speak again. Her whole body was glowing red, covered in a salty sheen of sweat, and she had never looked more beautiful.

“God, I feel like a toy!” was her first coherent sentence in a while.

“Well you are crazy fun to play with,” I agreed. “You doing ok?”

“Surprisingly yes,” she said, wriggling some more. “But when do I get out of this?”

I didn’t need to lick my fingers this time; she was wet and slick everywhere as I began massaging her inner thighs. “I thought we might try for a few more orgasms,” I suggested.

Mmmm…a few?”

“And some more tickling…” I stroked her butt a little.

“Oh God…

“And maybe both at once, just to see what happens.” I started circling her slippery clit with my finger, bringing on another round of squirming.

Uhhn...it is still early,” her voice was melting.

“And,” I replied, “you have a lot more ticklish spots.”

As I recall, we got to something like eight orgasms for Lori that evening and a couple for me, but only two more of hers were in the chair. We were both crazed and impossibly horny when I finally untied her, and we spent the rest of the evening tearing up her room.

Grandma Zippy’s armoire missed all the fun.

Lori and I dated through the end of high school and had several more fun Sundays in her room, many but not all involving ropes and feathers. I’d love to say we replicated that mother of all orgasms, but I think whatever alignment of stars brought it on was a pretty rare occurrence. You’re only 18 and tied up for the first time once, I guess.

After school we stayed in touch and still went out a bit but eventually drifted down our own separate paths. We’re actually Facebook friends now, and she’s doing great. A new grandmother, believe it or not. Still an incredible woman, and stunningly beautiful.

But man, was it ever great to be 18 with her.

The end
 
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I can't say it enough, you are one lucky dude! Can't say I'm not lucky. I've had my share of episodes with ticklish girls. And some came close to her in reactions, but I don't think any topped hers.
 
Wow, an amazing tale, that sounds great having a girlfriend that can't stop laughing even when you have stopped tickling.
 
Wow, an amazing tale, that sounds great having a girlfriend that can't stop laughing even when you have stopped tickling.

One of my favorite things. Laura's like that, and one of the soccer moms at Lisa's Passion Party in January laughed hilariously from the moment we tied her up to the moment we let her loose. Tickling barely changed her laughs; it just made her thrash.
 
Just found another mostly finished story in the working file, but it's fiction...
 
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