LindyHopper
2nd Level Red Feather
- Joined
- Sep 22, 2005
- Messages
- 1,426
- Points
- 38
In the aftermath of our tickling party last night, my husband is doing a big writing-on-the-TMF thing this afternoon. ☺ And as long as composition is in the air, I thought I’d put to “paper” what’s been tumbling around in my head lately. Actually, I debated about where I should post this, because everything in it is basically true, even if no single experience occurred exactly as I’ve written it here. So in case you’re curious: yes, this “fantasy” is certainly grounded in reality for me… it’s just been far too long! 😀
Names may have been changed to protect the “innocent.” 😉
I adore my tickling buddies.
Todd is my best friend, and so much more. Tom is quiet, sweet, and adorable. Evan is an odd duck, but now that I’ve gotten to know him, I can see he’s pretty cool. Devon is quirkier still, but also a great guy. Eric loves feet, and loves my feet in particular. And Paul definitely knows his way around anything kinky.
I love that they’ve taken the time to learn what I like: a very light touch with fingers or feathers, nothing scratchy or pokey at all. I’m so particular about the kind of tickling I enjoy that I feel flattered when people take as much time and energy as they have to learn to do it well. I love the attention, and the chemistry, and the feeling of being driven out of my mind… and I love that they love doing it to me.
But here’s another funny thing about me as a ‘lee: I’m not hyperticklish right off the bat. I take a lot of time to ramp up – the sensations are really cumulative for me, and I get more sensitive the longer the tickling goes on. My ‘lers need to be patient. And methodical. And in my average scene at a tickling party, I don’t ever get to the point where I’m truly out of control, out of my mind, going-crazy-can’t-stand-it-anymore ticklish. I do, however, have a very distinct vulnerability that my ‘lers don’t get to exploit at a standard-issue tickling party.
They arrive at my place, and we hang out. We’re friends. We talk, we laugh, we eat pizza. We have fun together. We have a lot in common, even aside from tickling. But tonight, tickling is what they came here to do.
They lead me to the bedroom, to the bed. Paul, my lover, my favorite, looks me up and down, considering how to begin. I stare back, in my quiet, I’m-not-really-a-submissive kind of way. ☺ Finally, he kisses me on the forehead. Then he places his hands at my waist, takes the hem of my shirt between his fingers, and gently pulls it over my head. Next he unzips my pants, and slips his fingertips under the waistband at my hips, sliding his hands along my thighs as my pants fall to the floor. He takes my hand and leads me to step out of them, and I stand before my friends in a black lace bra and panties.
“Sit down,” Paul says, and I do. He takes one black leather cuff and fastens it to my right wrist. He does the same with my left. Then he lays me down, on my back, and puts a cuff on each ankle. He pulls at each one in turn, checking the tension: not too loose, and not too tight.
“Turn over,” he says, and I do. Now I’m facedown, comfortable and relaxed, with my feet shoulder-width apart, and my arms out to my sides. I breathe deeply, savoring the relative lack of tightness in my muscles. There’s no fatigue from stretching or struggling, only a bit of the tension of anticipation. I know it won’t last. Paul takes my right wrist, ties a length of rope to it, and secures it to one corner of the bed. He walks around to my other side, and secures my left wrist. Then he proceeds to my feet, takes hold of my ankles above the cuffs, and pulls me as far down the bed as I can go. I help, scooting backwards. He spreads my legs apart – I’m flexible enough that he can secure my cuffs to the bedframe with each foot overhanging the edge of the mattress. With the tops of my feet resting against the futon padding, I can’t flex my feet much, and there’s not much room left to point, either. But just to be sure, Paul takes a couple of shoelaces and ties each of my big toes to the rope attached to the cuff. Now I can’t even curl my toes. The sensitive spaces underneath feel terribly vulnerable already, even though no one has touched me yet. But my friends are done waiting.
I feel a warm hand… Tom’s, I think… on the top of my back, and a palm sliding up my neck, to fingers running gently through my hair. It’s a touch that’s simultaneously soothing, and nervous-making. My breathing quickens as I anticipate the first tickle. It comes in the form of Devon’s fingertip gliding along my side – I jump and squeal, so out-of-character for me to do so soon. I grin, embarrassed, pressing my face against the mattress, and I start to pull against my bonds – for no particular reason, given that they haven’t even started yet.
I feel more fingertips along my lower back, then stroking my behind. Oh, that’s terrible already, and a trick they don’t always use at parties! I’m giggling now, and my friends joke about how quickly I’ve cracked this time, adding to the good-natured humiliation. Next I feel a pair of feathers brushing the backs of my knees… oh God, how could they do that to me already! I’m laughing in earnest when more feathers (that’s Paul, I see), find their way under my arms. And that’s when I feel the first stroke of a feather along my left sole.
There’s too many of them! Too many hands, and too many feathers. Paul does his trick with the feather behind my ear, grabbing hold of my hair to keep my head in place. Devon strokes his fingertips lightly and expertly all over my back, sides, and under my arms. Tom is still tickling my behind, and expanding his range to include the backs of my sensitive thighs. Todd is the one brushing feathers on the backs of my knees, occasionally adding the tip of his tongue. And if I crane my head around, I can see Evan stroking his fingers along the sole of my left foot, while he pokes the feather under and between my toes – he doesn’t even need to hold my toes in place like he usually does, because they’re secured to the rope. Eric is torturing my right foot, licking my arch, and then skittering his fingers over it lightly and rapidly, occasionally dipping his tongue between my toes. This is only a little bit tickly, but the sensuousness of it is starting to… bother me.
I’m laughing hysterically, but I can still think clearly enough to be aware of what’s happening to me. I’ve been thrashing and struggling all along, but I can tell that my movements are starting to involve my arms and legs less, and my hips more. I can pretend that it’s Tom’s fingertips against my butt that are making me wiggle, but I know I’m also grinding my hips against the bed. And they know it, too: that I’m giving reign to feelings that they usually see me bottling up.
While Paul strokes his feather all over my neck, Devon tickles my sides, and Eric and Evan continue torturing my feet, Todd decides to migrate upward with those feathers at my knees. I squirm with renewed vigor as those awful feathers wander ever so slowly up the insides of my thighs. Finally he’s stroking them up and down the edge of my panties, and then up and down the panties themselves. When he replaces the feathers with the tip of his finger, I can’t hold back my desire any longer. Now I’m pounding my hips against the bed, whimpering, even as I can’t stop laughing. How much longer can this go on? I can tell that my friends are enjoying my helplessness too much to let me go just yet, even though they know what’s coming next.
Tickling alone rarely gets me to the point of helpless desperation. But tickling plus arousal will get me every time. I know I’m in trouble when I start pleading, “Please let me come! Just once! Please!” while I’m still facedown, still wearing my bra and panties. This is because Paul almost never lets me off the hook without at least one change of position.
The guys undo the knots attached to my cuffs, and help me turn over. I feel like a mess, sweaty, hair everywhere, and horny as hell. Devon offers me a quick drink of water before Paul takes off the rest of my clothes. Then he helps me lay me down again, faceup this time, with my arms and legs spread. I can feel him taking particular care positioning my ankles, stretching my legs wide open, just to the edge of comfortable. My nipples are hard, my pussy is wet and bare… and I am unbelievably ticklish.
A few new tickle-spots have just been exposed. The tops of my thighs, above the knees, are surprisingly ticklish. So are the tops of my feet, responding to the lightest possible strokes of fingertips. But the worst is definitely my lower belly, below my navel, along with my hips, and the creases at the tops of my thighs. The urge to curl up into a tight little ball is irresistible, but I can’t move, can’t stop them, can’t protect myself.
It astonishes me how meticulous my ‘lers continue to be, while I’m in a state so overwhelmed with arousal and ticklishness that I can barely remember my own name. Those fingers and feathers all over every ticklish spot almost distract me from the throbbing between my legs. Actually, I find that if I focus my attention on my arousal, that mediates the tickling sensations somewhat, making them just barely tolerable. The light stroking on my neck, under my arms, on my sides, legs, and feet, is “only” ticklish. And I can laugh about it, even though it’s driving me crazy. But soon enough, Todd returns those feathers to my inner thighs, and then strokes them along the crease at the top, and then up and down my bare labia. This is horribly unfair. I can’t decide whether to try to close my legs, or try to thrust my pussy closer to the feathers. It turns out it doesn’t matter, because the way my legs are tied, I can’t move them at all anyway.
Finally, I think my panting, heaving chest has just become too much of a temptation for the guys up there. Paul and Tom (When did he move? Sheesh, I must have missed that completely) have been stroking feathers along my neck, and collarbones, and under my arms. Now they take those feathers and tease my breasts. I can barely feel the feather tips on the skin so far away from my nipples, but seeing them circle ever closer to the tips makes my eyes widen with horror and anticipation. I plead with them as they use the feathers to tease the base of my nipples… though what exactly I’m pleading for, I can’t quite tell. Finally, Paul and Tom share a glance, and lower the feathers to the points of my nipples. That moment of contact is the single most intense thing I’ve felt so far. I yell and moan as they continue to tease me. I’d beg for an orgasm if I could string enough words together to do it. I think Todd could tell I was having trouble getting my thoughts organized, 🙄 so after letting me enjoy the ticking on my nipples for a long moment or two, he moved his feather a fraction of an inch inward, to tickle my clit directly.
“Oh my God! Ha ha… please! Oh God!! Please!!!! Make me come! I’ll do anything! Just touch me! Please!!!”
“What do you think?” Paul asks the guys. “Should we let her come?”
“I think she can wait another minute or two,” I hear Eric say.
“Well, she’s bound to be more even more ticklish afterwards,” responds Evan. “Can’t see any harm in that!”
“Please!!!!” I try to interrupt. “I need to come! Please!!!”
“How should we do it?” wonders Todd aloud. “Tongue? Vibrator? Fingers inside her?”
“Just lick me,” I plead to him. “Just for a minute.”
“Nah, I like the vibrator,” I hear Tom say.
And Paul answers, “Embrace the power of ‘and.’”
So Todd lowers his tongue to my clit, and swirls it over and around. After only a second or two, I could feel my orgasm take over, and my whole body tenses up as I babble and scream. He keeps going just for the hell of it, and I climax again. At this point, I can feel the other guys’ gentle tickles creeping back at the edges of my consciousness. I try not to think about it, try to stay focused on the pleasure. It’s easy – in fact, it’s so fully taken over my experience that there’s no room for anything else. And just for good measure, Paul comes over with the vibrator, my favorite little purple one, and presses it against my clit when Todd takes a break. And suddenly I’m coming again, even louder and harder than before. I finally feel that post-orgasmic feeling of relief rushing in, but it’s short-lived. Those tickling sensations that I could sort-of ignore while I was climaxing now come slamming back, now that I’m twice as sensitive… and there’s nothing left to distract me.
“No! NO! Nooooo!!!!” I scream, as the laughter takes over. This is the state I can’t reach most of the time, this state of utter helplessness and submission. My muscles are exhausted from my prolonged struggles, and the orgasms have robbed me of the rest of my strength.
“Stop!” I scream. “Please stooooopp!” Fortunately, they know I don’t mean it. 😀 Everything – the fingers scrabbling over my feet, the gentle squeezing at the tops of my knees, and hands all over my upper body – tickles even more than before, but I can’t struggle anymore. I can only lay back and laugh, and beg weakly for mercy. I hate having to beg, but I love it now, because these words coming out against my will show me just how helpless I’ve become. I let the tickling sensations wash over me, and soon I don’t even beg anymore.
Of course, I’m never really done until I’ve climaxed deep inside me, so Paul settles himself down between my legs. His finger slides inside me easily, and my exhausted body tenses up again as he presses it against my G-spot.
“Ah! Ah ha! hee… No, oh no… yes! YES!!!! AH! YESSSS!!!! AAAAAHHHAAHHHnnngggghhh……ah… ohhhh…. Oh no!”
Because once the orgasm has washed over me, the tickling sensations come back with renewed strength. The next God-knows-how-long is filled with a ridiculous-sounding mix of screams, moans, protests, hysterical giggles, and out-of-control laugher. I would say I couldn’t stand it anymore, but it would hardly matter. “You don’t have to stand it,” I know Paul would say. 😛
Finally, the group takes pity on me and lets me go. They untie me, give me water, and turn me over. They massage the tension out of my shoulders, and back, and legs, and feet. I feel wonderful: endorphin-high, tingly… and cared-for and treasured, too.
I adore my tickling buddies.
Names may have been changed to protect the “innocent.” 😉
I adore my tickling buddies.
Todd is my best friend, and so much more. Tom is quiet, sweet, and adorable. Evan is an odd duck, but now that I’ve gotten to know him, I can see he’s pretty cool. Devon is quirkier still, but also a great guy. Eric loves feet, and loves my feet in particular. And Paul definitely knows his way around anything kinky.I love that they’ve taken the time to learn what I like: a very light touch with fingers or feathers, nothing scratchy or pokey at all. I’m so particular about the kind of tickling I enjoy that I feel flattered when people take as much time and energy as they have to learn to do it well. I love the attention, and the chemistry, and the feeling of being driven out of my mind… and I love that they love doing it to me.
But here’s another funny thing about me as a ‘lee: I’m not hyperticklish right off the bat. I take a lot of time to ramp up – the sensations are really cumulative for me, and I get more sensitive the longer the tickling goes on. My ‘lers need to be patient. And methodical. And in my average scene at a tickling party, I don’t ever get to the point where I’m truly out of control, out of my mind, going-crazy-can’t-stand-it-anymore ticklish. I do, however, have a very distinct vulnerability that my ‘lers don’t get to exploit at a standard-issue tickling party.
They arrive at my place, and we hang out. We’re friends. We talk, we laugh, we eat pizza. We have fun together. We have a lot in common, even aside from tickling. But tonight, tickling is what they came here to do.
They lead me to the bedroom, to the bed. Paul, my lover, my favorite, looks me up and down, considering how to begin. I stare back, in my quiet, I’m-not-really-a-submissive kind of way. ☺ Finally, he kisses me on the forehead. Then he places his hands at my waist, takes the hem of my shirt between his fingers, and gently pulls it over my head. Next he unzips my pants, and slips his fingertips under the waistband at my hips, sliding his hands along my thighs as my pants fall to the floor. He takes my hand and leads me to step out of them, and I stand before my friends in a black lace bra and panties.
“Sit down,” Paul says, and I do. He takes one black leather cuff and fastens it to my right wrist. He does the same with my left. Then he lays me down, on my back, and puts a cuff on each ankle. He pulls at each one in turn, checking the tension: not too loose, and not too tight.
“Turn over,” he says, and I do. Now I’m facedown, comfortable and relaxed, with my feet shoulder-width apart, and my arms out to my sides. I breathe deeply, savoring the relative lack of tightness in my muscles. There’s no fatigue from stretching or struggling, only a bit of the tension of anticipation. I know it won’t last. Paul takes my right wrist, ties a length of rope to it, and secures it to one corner of the bed. He walks around to my other side, and secures my left wrist. Then he proceeds to my feet, takes hold of my ankles above the cuffs, and pulls me as far down the bed as I can go. I help, scooting backwards. He spreads my legs apart – I’m flexible enough that he can secure my cuffs to the bedframe with each foot overhanging the edge of the mattress. With the tops of my feet resting against the futon padding, I can’t flex my feet much, and there’s not much room left to point, either. But just to be sure, Paul takes a couple of shoelaces and ties each of my big toes to the rope attached to the cuff. Now I can’t even curl my toes. The sensitive spaces underneath feel terribly vulnerable already, even though no one has touched me yet. But my friends are done waiting.
I feel a warm hand… Tom’s, I think… on the top of my back, and a palm sliding up my neck, to fingers running gently through my hair. It’s a touch that’s simultaneously soothing, and nervous-making. My breathing quickens as I anticipate the first tickle. It comes in the form of Devon’s fingertip gliding along my side – I jump and squeal, so out-of-character for me to do so soon. I grin, embarrassed, pressing my face against the mattress, and I start to pull against my bonds – for no particular reason, given that they haven’t even started yet.
I feel more fingertips along my lower back, then stroking my behind. Oh, that’s terrible already, and a trick they don’t always use at parties! I’m giggling now, and my friends joke about how quickly I’ve cracked this time, adding to the good-natured humiliation. Next I feel a pair of feathers brushing the backs of my knees… oh God, how could they do that to me already! I’m laughing in earnest when more feathers (that’s Paul, I see), find their way under my arms. And that’s when I feel the first stroke of a feather along my left sole.
There’s too many of them! Too many hands, and too many feathers. Paul does his trick with the feather behind my ear, grabbing hold of my hair to keep my head in place. Devon strokes his fingertips lightly and expertly all over my back, sides, and under my arms. Tom is still tickling my behind, and expanding his range to include the backs of my sensitive thighs. Todd is the one brushing feathers on the backs of my knees, occasionally adding the tip of his tongue. And if I crane my head around, I can see Evan stroking his fingers along the sole of my left foot, while he pokes the feather under and between my toes – he doesn’t even need to hold my toes in place like he usually does, because they’re secured to the rope. Eric is torturing my right foot, licking my arch, and then skittering his fingers over it lightly and rapidly, occasionally dipping his tongue between my toes. This is only a little bit tickly, but the sensuousness of it is starting to… bother me.
I’m laughing hysterically, but I can still think clearly enough to be aware of what’s happening to me. I’ve been thrashing and struggling all along, but I can tell that my movements are starting to involve my arms and legs less, and my hips more. I can pretend that it’s Tom’s fingertips against my butt that are making me wiggle, but I know I’m also grinding my hips against the bed. And they know it, too: that I’m giving reign to feelings that they usually see me bottling up.
While Paul strokes his feather all over my neck, Devon tickles my sides, and Eric and Evan continue torturing my feet, Todd decides to migrate upward with those feathers at my knees. I squirm with renewed vigor as those awful feathers wander ever so slowly up the insides of my thighs. Finally he’s stroking them up and down the edge of my panties, and then up and down the panties themselves. When he replaces the feathers with the tip of his finger, I can’t hold back my desire any longer. Now I’m pounding my hips against the bed, whimpering, even as I can’t stop laughing. How much longer can this go on? I can tell that my friends are enjoying my helplessness too much to let me go just yet, even though they know what’s coming next.
Tickling alone rarely gets me to the point of helpless desperation. But tickling plus arousal will get me every time. I know I’m in trouble when I start pleading, “Please let me come! Just once! Please!” while I’m still facedown, still wearing my bra and panties. This is because Paul almost never lets me off the hook without at least one change of position.
The guys undo the knots attached to my cuffs, and help me turn over. I feel like a mess, sweaty, hair everywhere, and horny as hell. Devon offers me a quick drink of water before Paul takes off the rest of my clothes. Then he helps me lay me down again, faceup this time, with my arms and legs spread. I can feel him taking particular care positioning my ankles, stretching my legs wide open, just to the edge of comfortable. My nipples are hard, my pussy is wet and bare… and I am unbelievably ticklish.
A few new tickle-spots have just been exposed. The tops of my thighs, above the knees, are surprisingly ticklish. So are the tops of my feet, responding to the lightest possible strokes of fingertips. But the worst is definitely my lower belly, below my navel, along with my hips, and the creases at the tops of my thighs. The urge to curl up into a tight little ball is irresistible, but I can’t move, can’t stop them, can’t protect myself.
It astonishes me how meticulous my ‘lers continue to be, while I’m in a state so overwhelmed with arousal and ticklishness that I can barely remember my own name. Those fingers and feathers all over every ticklish spot almost distract me from the throbbing between my legs. Actually, I find that if I focus my attention on my arousal, that mediates the tickling sensations somewhat, making them just barely tolerable. The light stroking on my neck, under my arms, on my sides, legs, and feet, is “only” ticklish. And I can laugh about it, even though it’s driving me crazy. But soon enough, Todd returns those feathers to my inner thighs, and then strokes them along the crease at the top, and then up and down my bare labia. This is horribly unfair. I can’t decide whether to try to close my legs, or try to thrust my pussy closer to the feathers. It turns out it doesn’t matter, because the way my legs are tied, I can’t move them at all anyway.
Finally, I think my panting, heaving chest has just become too much of a temptation for the guys up there. Paul and Tom (When did he move? Sheesh, I must have missed that completely) have been stroking feathers along my neck, and collarbones, and under my arms. Now they take those feathers and tease my breasts. I can barely feel the feather tips on the skin so far away from my nipples, but seeing them circle ever closer to the tips makes my eyes widen with horror and anticipation. I plead with them as they use the feathers to tease the base of my nipples… though what exactly I’m pleading for, I can’t quite tell. Finally, Paul and Tom share a glance, and lower the feathers to the points of my nipples. That moment of contact is the single most intense thing I’ve felt so far. I yell and moan as they continue to tease me. I’d beg for an orgasm if I could string enough words together to do it. I think Todd could tell I was having trouble getting my thoughts organized, 🙄 so after letting me enjoy the ticking on my nipples for a long moment or two, he moved his feather a fraction of an inch inward, to tickle my clit directly.
“Oh my God! Ha ha… please! Oh God!! Please!!!! Make me come! I’ll do anything! Just touch me! Please!!!”
“What do you think?” Paul asks the guys. “Should we let her come?”
“I think she can wait another minute or two,” I hear Eric say.
“Well, she’s bound to be more even more ticklish afterwards,” responds Evan. “Can’t see any harm in that!”
“Please!!!!” I try to interrupt. “I need to come! Please!!!”
“How should we do it?” wonders Todd aloud. “Tongue? Vibrator? Fingers inside her?”
“Just lick me,” I plead to him. “Just for a minute.”
“Nah, I like the vibrator,” I hear Tom say.
And Paul answers, “Embrace the power of ‘and.’”
So Todd lowers his tongue to my clit, and swirls it over and around. After only a second or two, I could feel my orgasm take over, and my whole body tenses up as I babble and scream. He keeps going just for the hell of it, and I climax again. At this point, I can feel the other guys’ gentle tickles creeping back at the edges of my consciousness. I try not to think about it, try to stay focused on the pleasure. It’s easy – in fact, it’s so fully taken over my experience that there’s no room for anything else. And just for good measure, Paul comes over with the vibrator, my favorite little purple one, and presses it against my clit when Todd takes a break. And suddenly I’m coming again, even louder and harder than before. I finally feel that post-orgasmic feeling of relief rushing in, but it’s short-lived. Those tickling sensations that I could sort-of ignore while I was climaxing now come slamming back, now that I’m twice as sensitive… and there’s nothing left to distract me.
“No! NO! Nooooo!!!!” I scream, as the laughter takes over. This is the state I can’t reach most of the time, this state of utter helplessness and submission. My muscles are exhausted from my prolonged struggles, and the orgasms have robbed me of the rest of my strength.
“Stop!” I scream. “Please stooooopp!” Fortunately, they know I don’t mean it. 😀 Everything – the fingers scrabbling over my feet, the gentle squeezing at the tops of my knees, and hands all over my upper body – tickles even more than before, but I can’t struggle anymore. I can only lay back and laugh, and beg weakly for mercy. I hate having to beg, but I love it now, because these words coming out against my will show me just how helpless I’ve become. I let the tickling sensations wash over me, and soon I don’t even beg anymore.
Of course, I’m never really done until I’ve climaxed deep inside me, so Paul settles himself down between my legs. His finger slides inside me easily, and my exhausted body tenses up again as he presses it against my G-spot.
“Ah! Ah ha! hee… No, oh no… yes! YES!!!! AH! YESSSS!!!! AAAAAHHHAAHHHnnngggghhh……ah… ohhhh…. Oh no!”
Because once the orgasm has washed over me, the tickling sensations come back with renewed strength. The next God-knows-how-long is filled with a ridiculous-sounding mix of screams, moans, protests, hysterical giggles, and out-of-control laugher. I would say I couldn’t stand it anymore, but it would hardly matter. “You don’t have to stand it,” I know Paul would say. 😛
Finally, the group takes pity on me and lets me go. They untie me, give me water, and turn me over. They massage the tension out of my shoulders, and back, and legs, and feet. I feel wonderful: endorphin-high, tingly… and cared-for and treasured, too.
I adore my tickling buddies.
