John and Grace had been counting down the days to their Aruba getaway, a sun-soaked escape tied to John’s buddy Mike’s bachelor party. The Airbnb was a sprawling, open villa with ocean views, and as they rolled up with their suitcases, Grace—5’3, blonde, blue-eyed, and blessed with a body that could stop traffic—felt the thrill of vacation settle in. John’s four friends, Mike, Chris, Ryan, and Dave, were already there, sprawled across the furniture with beers and loud laughs. It hit them quickly: Grace was the only wife in the mix. The guys had come solo, primed for a wild weekend, and her presence shifted the dynamic just a little.
As the last to arrive, John got stuck with the grunt work. “Dude, we’re out of food,” Mike said, tossing him the rental car keys. “Store’s two hours away. You’re up.” John sighed but didn’t argue, giving Grace a quick peck. “Keep her company, alright?” he said with a half-smile before heading out. Grace waved him off, already plotting how to kill time with the rowdy crew.
Alone now, Grace slipped into something more comfortable: a thin, loose crop top that fluttered against her skin and tight booty shorts that clung to her hips. She padded barefoot into the living room where the guys were lounging, trading jabs and stories. “Mind if I crash the party?” she asked, dropping onto the carpet with a grin, legs crossed casually. The guys welcomed her in, the chatter flowing easy until Chris, ever the troublemaker, piped up. “Truth or Dare. Let’s spice it up.” Grace, feeling bold, agreed, and the game kicked off.
Her first turn came fast. “Truth,” she said, tossing her hair. Ryan leaned in, eyes glinting. “Are you ticklish?” Grace smirked, shrugging. “A little, I guess.” That was their cue. Mike pounced first, fingers digging into her sides. Grace yelped, twisting away, but Chris snagged her arms, holding them up as Dave and Ryan dove in. The room filled with her shrieks and laughter—her ribs, her underarms, the backs of her knees all fair game. Her crop top slid higher with every squirm, exposing her toned stomach, and the guys didn’t miss a beat, their hands roaming with playful abandon.
Dave’s fingers brushed higher, grazing the edge of her top. “What do we have here?” he teased, noticing her nipples pressing against the fabric, stiffening under the chaos. Grace flushed, biting her lip as a shiver ran through her. Chris, still pinning her arms, grinned. “She’s into it, huh?” With a swift tug, he yanked her top up, baring her chest to the humid air. Her nipples stood out, pink and pert, and Mike couldn’t resist. His fingertips danced across them, teasing slow circles. Grace gasped, her laughter catching in her throat as the sensation jolted her.
“Hold up,” Ryan said, pausing his attack on her sides. He pinched one nipple lightly, then scratched at it with a feather-light touch. Grace jerked, a giggle bursting out. “Wait—are these ticklish too?” The guys exchanged incredulous looks before doubling down. Dave took one side, Ryan the other, their fingers flicking and teasing her nipples relentlessly. Grace’s laughter turned wild, her body arching as the ticklish heat built, a confusing mix of torment and pleasure. “Oh my God, stop—no, don’t!” she managed, her voice breathy, betraying how much she was caught up in it.
The mood shifted, steam rising off the scene. Ryan’s hands slid lower, tracing her hips, then her thighs. “Let’s find the sweet spot,” he murmured, his fingers skimming her upper inner thighs. Grace bucked hard, a scream-laugh tearing from her as he hit gold—her most ticklish spot, right where her thighs met her shorts. “There it is!” Ryan crowed, digging in with precision. Her legs kicked, but the guys held her steady, Chris still gripping her arms while Mike kept up the nipple play, pinching and tickling in tandem.
Grace was a mess, her shorts riding up, her body glistening with a light sheen of sweat. Ryan pressed closer, his tickling turning deliberate, sensual. “You’re begging for it, aren’t you?” he growled, his hands sliding higher, brushing against her heat. Grace moaned, her protests gone, replaced by a needy edge. Ryan didn’t hold back—he ground against her, the tickling morphing into a steamy, desperate rhythm. It wasn’t just play anymore; it was a solid 7 out of 10, clothes staying on but the friction undeniable, her shorts damp with the intensity.
Chris, watching it unfold, grabbed his phone. “John needs to see this,” he said, hitting FaceTime. John answered from the grocery store, a loaf of bread in hand. “What’s up—holy shit,” he choked out as the camera swung to Grace. She was splayed on the carpet, top bunched above her chest, shorts askew, Ryan’s hands still working her thighs while Mike teased her nipples. Her laughter mingled with moans, her body trembling under the onslaught. “Hey, John!” Dave called, laughing. “Your wife’s having the time of her life!” John’s face froze, a storm of shock and something raw flashing in his eyes. He couldn’t look away, trapped by the sight of his friends taking Grace apart, her pleasure on full display.
“John, say something!” Chris taunted, zooming in on Grace’s flushed face. She barely noticed, too lost in the ticklish haze, her thighs quivering under Ryan’s relentless touch. John’s voice cracked—“You assholes”—but the call dropped, leaving him stranded in the aisle, gripping the bread until it crumpled. Back at the villa, the frenzy peaked. Ryan eased off, panting, and Grace collapsed, breathless, her body buzzing. The guys stepped back, half-smirking, half-dazed by how far it had gone.
When John returned, groceries in tow, the villa was deceptively calm. Grace lounged on the couch, her crop top fixed, sipping a drink like nothing had happened. The guys shot him casual nods, but the air was thick with unspoken heat. John set the bags down, his mind racing—replaying the call, the sounds, the sight of Grace unraveling. He didn’t ask. She didn’t tell. But the tension hung there, electric, as the weekend stretched out ahead.
As the last to arrive, John got stuck with the grunt work. “Dude, we’re out of food,” Mike said, tossing him the rental car keys. “Store’s two hours away. You’re up.” John sighed but didn’t argue, giving Grace a quick peck. “Keep her company, alright?” he said with a half-smile before heading out. Grace waved him off, already plotting how to kill time with the rowdy crew.
Alone now, Grace slipped into something more comfortable: a thin, loose crop top that fluttered against her skin and tight booty shorts that clung to her hips. She padded barefoot into the living room where the guys were lounging, trading jabs and stories. “Mind if I crash the party?” she asked, dropping onto the carpet with a grin, legs crossed casually. The guys welcomed her in, the chatter flowing easy until Chris, ever the troublemaker, piped up. “Truth or Dare. Let’s spice it up.” Grace, feeling bold, agreed, and the game kicked off.
Her first turn came fast. “Truth,” she said, tossing her hair. Ryan leaned in, eyes glinting. “Are you ticklish?” Grace smirked, shrugging. “A little, I guess.” That was their cue. Mike pounced first, fingers digging into her sides. Grace yelped, twisting away, but Chris snagged her arms, holding them up as Dave and Ryan dove in. The room filled with her shrieks and laughter—her ribs, her underarms, the backs of her knees all fair game. Her crop top slid higher with every squirm, exposing her toned stomach, and the guys didn’t miss a beat, their hands roaming with playful abandon.
Dave’s fingers brushed higher, grazing the edge of her top. “What do we have here?” he teased, noticing her nipples pressing against the fabric, stiffening under the chaos. Grace flushed, biting her lip as a shiver ran through her. Chris, still pinning her arms, grinned. “She’s into it, huh?” With a swift tug, he yanked her top up, baring her chest to the humid air. Her nipples stood out, pink and pert, and Mike couldn’t resist. His fingertips danced across them, teasing slow circles. Grace gasped, her laughter catching in her throat as the sensation jolted her.
“Hold up,” Ryan said, pausing his attack on her sides. He pinched one nipple lightly, then scratched at it with a feather-light touch. Grace jerked, a giggle bursting out. “Wait—are these ticklish too?” The guys exchanged incredulous looks before doubling down. Dave took one side, Ryan the other, their fingers flicking and teasing her nipples relentlessly. Grace’s laughter turned wild, her body arching as the ticklish heat built, a confusing mix of torment and pleasure. “Oh my God, stop—no, don’t!” she managed, her voice breathy, betraying how much she was caught up in it.
The mood shifted, steam rising off the scene. Ryan’s hands slid lower, tracing her hips, then her thighs. “Let’s find the sweet spot,” he murmured, his fingers skimming her upper inner thighs. Grace bucked hard, a scream-laugh tearing from her as he hit gold—her most ticklish spot, right where her thighs met her shorts. “There it is!” Ryan crowed, digging in with precision. Her legs kicked, but the guys held her steady, Chris still gripping her arms while Mike kept up the nipple play, pinching and tickling in tandem.
Grace was a mess, her shorts riding up, her body glistening with a light sheen of sweat. Ryan pressed closer, his tickling turning deliberate, sensual. “You’re begging for it, aren’t you?” he growled, his hands sliding higher, brushing against her heat. Grace moaned, her protests gone, replaced by a needy edge. Ryan didn’t hold back—he ground against her, the tickling morphing into a steamy, desperate rhythm. It wasn’t just play anymore; it was a solid 7 out of 10, clothes staying on but the friction undeniable, her shorts damp with the intensity.
Chris, watching it unfold, grabbed his phone. “John needs to see this,” he said, hitting FaceTime. John answered from the grocery store, a loaf of bread in hand. “What’s up—holy shit,” he choked out as the camera swung to Grace. She was splayed on the carpet, top bunched above her chest, shorts askew, Ryan’s hands still working her thighs while Mike teased her nipples. Her laughter mingled with moans, her body trembling under the onslaught. “Hey, John!” Dave called, laughing. “Your wife’s having the time of her life!” John’s face froze, a storm of shock and something raw flashing in his eyes. He couldn’t look away, trapped by the sight of his friends taking Grace apart, her pleasure on full display.
“John, say something!” Chris taunted, zooming in on Grace’s flushed face. She barely noticed, too lost in the ticklish haze, her thighs quivering under Ryan’s relentless touch. John’s voice cracked—“You assholes”—but the call dropped, leaving him stranded in the aisle, gripping the bread until it crumpled. Back at the villa, the frenzy peaked. Ryan eased off, panting, and Grace collapsed, breathless, her body buzzing. The guys stepped back, half-smirking, half-dazed by how far it had gone.
When John returned, groceries in tow, the villa was deceptively calm. Grace lounged on the couch, her crop top fixed, sipping a drink like nothing had happened. The guys shot him casual nods, but the air was thick with unspoken heat. John set the bags down, his mind racing—replaying the call, the sounds, the sight of Grace unraveling. He didn’t ask. She didn’t tell. But the tension hung there, electric, as the weekend stretched out ahead.
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