Despite the surroundings, the atmosphere and the constant, intoxicating sound of laughter surrounding me I can barely keep my eyes open. Doing a whistle-stop tour of America to come to this gathering seemed like a good idea in the planning stage back in the UK but a month of twelve hour days in work, coupled with a severely delayed flight has left me feeling half dead. The world seems to be wrapped in cotton wool as I wander bleary eyed through the milling throng. It's an odd sensation, everything's muffled and it feels almost as if I'm dreaming.
That sensation is reinforced as, almost as if choreographed, the crowd seems to part and I see you alone, lying face down on what seems to my untrained eye to be a massage table, your head pillowed on your arms, recovering I guess from a previous experience. The sight takes my breath away, and only one word springs to mind: Perfect. My pulse quickens and in a rush the likes of which I've never felt in my life the fog falls from my eyes. Energy pours in in its place, my eyes locked on your tantalizing form as I start to slide my way between the tickled and the ticklish. Your head rises slightly and your eyes find mine. Even from this distance I see the challenge there, a control tempered and softened by a playfulness that calls to me.
Not a word is said as I reach you, no introductions, no pleasantries. My usual social awkwardness washes away and I stand above you, staring down to meet your gaze, your head turned and tilted as you strive to present a nonchalant air. You almost carry it off, but your body betrays you, the pulse in your neck beating hard despite your efforts, your breathing heavier than it should be. How I know this is abnormal I cannot explain, it is as if I've known you for years rather than mere moments, yet the truth of it is undeniable.
A long stride and I stand by your side, my hands falling seemingly of their own volition to your shoulders. I feel you draw breath beneath my touch, doubtless expecting the first ticklish touches to begin at once. Yet I pause, surprising you first with stillness, then with a firm, certain yet delicate touch as my hands caress your shoulders. Slowly they work out from your neck, finding and soothing each muscle in turn, rubbing and kneading the stresses and tension of both the day and life itself from your body.
Down they glide, working along your spine, fingers flexing in and out like wings, sliding out from your spine and back again, leaving you floating in their wake. For a moment I consider giving in to my desires but that desire is tempered by respect and a burning need to repay the trust you've shown me. I lift my hands into the air and reluctantly pass above your hips to bring only my fingertips down halfway along your thighs. For such a light touch I feel you stir in surprise at the strength being directed at your leg muscles as I take each in turn, utterly caught up in the task, your servant now whether you realise that or not.
Past your knees, and I feel you tense for a moment as my nails touch you through the tight black denim that encases your perfect legs, but this is no prelude to a more insistent touch and you relax again as I move slowly down your calves to leave you drifting on a wave of pleasure and peace as I kneel at the foot of the table.
Again I feel you tense, sure now that you know what's to come. Yet, once more, you're surprised as my fingers fail to find their way to your vulnerable arches. Instead you feel a touch, as gentle as a breeze against first one sole then the other as my lips touch you, a kiss that I would not dare to dream about in the waking world but in this seeming twilight between dream and real it seems the most natural thing I could possibly do.
A moan escapes your lips as my lips slide over your soles, my motions carefully judged now, aware that a single incautious act could cause an involuntary, but very painful, reaction from you. Slowly, one by one, I take each toe in turn into my mouth, sucking and lapping at the tender flesh, using my lips and tongue as I had my hands, lost in sensation as I felt your renewed tension evaporate. For each digit the pattern is the same as I pull it into my waiting, willing mouth, yet each motion is different, unique as I tremble with each half-hidden moan that slips from your throat. And, for me at least, the sweetest sound of all as, just before I finish my attentions I slip my tongue for the briefest instant between one toe and the next, your laughter bubbling up like a fresh spring for that one moment before I move to the next.
Finally I pull back before the sight of your slowly undulating body overwhelms both my common sense and self-control. A gentle breeze flits through the room from some unseen source, and I shiver as my shirt catches and ripples against my skin. As the shiver fades a wry grin passes over my face and I quickly unbutton the shirt, slipping it from my shoulders and scrunching it into a fist sized ball of silk. Still kneeling behind you I bring the silk down to your soles and gently drag from the tips of your toes to the end of your heel, then back again, over and over. Each motion produces a half moan, half giggle that far surpasses any erotic sound I’ve ever experienced, pure pleasure mixed with desire and trepidation, but a trepidation that is now anticipated, even needed in your current state of mind.
Up and down, up and down, up and down both feet I trail the silk, slowing and applying a little more pressure as I pass over your arches, letting the cuffs drop down and trace the edges of your toes every time they pass over. A rustle from someplace beyond your hips distracts my attention and I watch amazed as you bring your hands together under the table, wrists crossed, fingers wiggling in a manner specifically intended to goad me into your game. Not that such a thing would be necessary of course, after all how could I possibly refuse such an invitation. I stretch out and roll over, coming to rest on my back underneath the table, unfurling the mass that was a silk shirt and wrapping the sleeves around your wrists, knotting them together quickly as your fingers flick at my palms and forearms, each touch sending a miniature lightning bolt through me. Satisfied the knot will hold I sit up under you, taking your fingers into my more than willing mouth, repeating my earlier attentions as I suck and caress, my intent now to arouse rather than relax as I gently capture the skin between thumb and finger with my teeth, exerting just enough pressure to send a shiver the length of your body.
Once more I feel the erotic overwhelm the playful and force myself to withdraw before I loose the option to do so. Coming to my feet behind you I feel my fingers tremble in anticipation, pausing for a moment as I wait to fulfil a dream I’ve had ever since I first read your words, a dream that’s only intensified as I’ve come to know you. My hands drop to your bare soles and with one swift flurry of fingernails you go from smouldering temptress to giggling beauty.
The sight leaves me gasping, as if I’d been underwater for far too long and have only now reached the surface. My hands take on a life of their own, diving and racing over your perfect feet, slipping in between your toes for bare instants until your laughter deepens, then moving on and up your soles to arches and heel. Your reactions are delightful as you hover between a gentle ticklish glow and a harder tickle torture, never quite knowing when the switch between the two will come, yet certain that, with the inevitability of the tides, at some point soon that switch will become permanent.
In that knowledge you are correct as the sight of your body squirming under my ministrations, coupled with the sweet sound of your laughter proves too much for my already battered restraint and I worm all ten fingers down between your toes and dig in, flicking and wriggling in spots that are so terribly ticklish normally, now made all the worse by the slow, tantalising build up they’ve received. The switch in my method is matched only by the switch in your body language. Giggles become howls, a gentle, sensuous wriggle becomes desperate thrash, your head goes down, face buried in the cushion of the table as you shake your head from side to side, long dark mane whipping around your shoulders and arms. I don’t believe I had ever even imagined such beauty could exist, let alone that I would be privileged enough to behold it in person.
For a moment I wish for this to never end, that I could keep this sweet torment going until the stars themselves turned cold and crumbled, but I realise quickly that I have only a few short minutes in which to enjoy this, at least for the time being. Moving steadily I slip my hands up to your calves, fingers tunnelling under the cuffs of your jeans and up as far as I can reach, just enough room between skin and denim for my nails to curl down and touch you, raking up and down for brief moments before pulling out and starting their long journey.
Up and over your shins to your knees, and now my touch is targeted, directed at those sensitive hollows. Even through the denim you feel my poke and probe at those vulnerable spots and cannot help but react, your hips lifting from the table as you scrabble for freedom, for escape. While such a thing of course proves impossible with your arms wrapped in silk as they are your actions succeed in diverting my attention nonetheless, the sight of your thighs and ass dancing mere inches from me proving more than sufficient reason for me to move on.
Hands on your thighs now, and my attention returns for a moment to more practical and mundane matters than your ticklish ecstasy, concentrating instead on delivering those attentions without stepping out of bounds in the process. My fingers trailed up the backs of your thighs, dipping inwards and down to inner thigh just after leaving your knees. Enough to send a groan of desire through your body, but only enough for that one taste as they rotate up and away as they keep moving up. They circle your legs and travel up the outside of your thighs, up past the waistband of the jeans and pause for a moment on the bare flesh of your hips, revealed now that your squirming has moved your black top up your stomach, leaving an inch of vulnerable skin exposed to my questing touch.
I wonder briefly about resisting this particular temptation, but as a moth to a flame I find myself drawn to that creamy, flawless flesh. Hands wrap around your hips like claws and with a single motion you’re sent into hysterics, your howl of laughter cutting through me, lifting me, driving me on. Round your waist I travel, fingers dipping, probing, teasing, tantalising, tormenting and always, always tickling. Your whole body shakes, your laughter an impossible symphony of highs and lows, silence punctuating your outbursts as your lungs struggle to match the demands being placed upon them. And always there is that constant, the underlying deeper sound of pleasure, delight both in what is being done and the price that pleasure demands.
Under your body my hands slip, still following your waist until they meet beneath you. I pause, let you draw in a breath, then another, and another, before pulling my hands up under your shirt, raking your stomach and ribs as a single solitary digit slips into your belly button. There is a sound that I can only describe as angelic, a scream of laughter that seems to bring all motion in the room to a halt, underplayed with the ripping of fabric. You twist under me, hands coming free as you tear through your restraints, sitting up underneath me, arms coming up and round in a bear hug, trapping my hands as you do so. For a long moment you hold that position, eyes that have haunted my dreams more nights than I care to admit reaching into me, reading my soul as you stare deep into that abyss. Then my world dissolves into one of sensation as you reach forward, lips seeking out mine, the kiss tender, gentle, a message of thanks as much as it is erotic. The moment stretches, becoming the only moment I care about, your warmth and passion easing the pain, smoothing the sharp corners of the world as I feel the skin-on-skin contact of arms around my neck, your hair draping over my chest. It becomes something beyond dreams, beyond thought and time, beyond reason and logic, and in that moment I find peace…
A peace that is slipped into storage as your fingers drop to my ribs and dig in…
That sensation is reinforced as, almost as if choreographed, the crowd seems to part and I see you alone, lying face down on what seems to my untrained eye to be a massage table, your head pillowed on your arms, recovering I guess from a previous experience. The sight takes my breath away, and only one word springs to mind: Perfect. My pulse quickens and in a rush the likes of which I've never felt in my life the fog falls from my eyes. Energy pours in in its place, my eyes locked on your tantalizing form as I start to slide my way between the tickled and the ticklish. Your head rises slightly and your eyes find mine. Even from this distance I see the challenge there, a control tempered and softened by a playfulness that calls to me.
Not a word is said as I reach you, no introductions, no pleasantries. My usual social awkwardness washes away and I stand above you, staring down to meet your gaze, your head turned and tilted as you strive to present a nonchalant air. You almost carry it off, but your body betrays you, the pulse in your neck beating hard despite your efforts, your breathing heavier than it should be. How I know this is abnormal I cannot explain, it is as if I've known you for years rather than mere moments, yet the truth of it is undeniable.
A long stride and I stand by your side, my hands falling seemingly of their own volition to your shoulders. I feel you draw breath beneath my touch, doubtless expecting the first ticklish touches to begin at once. Yet I pause, surprising you first with stillness, then with a firm, certain yet delicate touch as my hands caress your shoulders. Slowly they work out from your neck, finding and soothing each muscle in turn, rubbing and kneading the stresses and tension of both the day and life itself from your body.
Down they glide, working along your spine, fingers flexing in and out like wings, sliding out from your spine and back again, leaving you floating in their wake. For a moment I consider giving in to my desires but that desire is tempered by respect and a burning need to repay the trust you've shown me. I lift my hands into the air and reluctantly pass above your hips to bring only my fingertips down halfway along your thighs. For such a light touch I feel you stir in surprise at the strength being directed at your leg muscles as I take each in turn, utterly caught up in the task, your servant now whether you realise that or not.
Past your knees, and I feel you tense for a moment as my nails touch you through the tight black denim that encases your perfect legs, but this is no prelude to a more insistent touch and you relax again as I move slowly down your calves to leave you drifting on a wave of pleasure and peace as I kneel at the foot of the table.
Again I feel you tense, sure now that you know what's to come. Yet, once more, you're surprised as my fingers fail to find their way to your vulnerable arches. Instead you feel a touch, as gentle as a breeze against first one sole then the other as my lips touch you, a kiss that I would not dare to dream about in the waking world but in this seeming twilight between dream and real it seems the most natural thing I could possibly do.
A moan escapes your lips as my lips slide over your soles, my motions carefully judged now, aware that a single incautious act could cause an involuntary, but very painful, reaction from you. Slowly, one by one, I take each toe in turn into my mouth, sucking and lapping at the tender flesh, using my lips and tongue as I had my hands, lost in sensation as I felt your renewed tension evaporate. For each digit the pattern is the same as I pull it into my waiting, willing mouth, yet each motion is different, unique as I tremble with each half-hidden moan that slips from your throat. And, for me at least, the sweetest sound of all as, just before I finish my attentions I slip my tongue for the briefest instant between one toe and the next, your laughter bubbling up like a fresh spring for that one moment before I move to the next.
Finally I pull back before the sight of your slowly undulating body overwhelms both my common sense and self-control. A gentle breeze flits through the room from some unseen source, and I shiver as my shirt catches and ripples against my skin. As the shiver fades a wry grin passes over my face and I quickly unbutton the shirt, slipping it from my shoulders and scrunching it into a fist sized ball of silk. Still kneeling behind you I bring the silk down to your soles and gently drag from the tips of your toes to the end of your heel, then back again, over and over. Each motion produces a half moan, half giggle that far surpasses any erotic sound I’ve ever experienced, pure pleasure mixed with desire and trepidation, but a trepidation that is now anticipated, even needed in your current state of mind.
Up and down, up and down, up and down both feet I trail the silk, slowing and applying a little more pressure as I pass over your arches, letting the cuffs drop down and trace the edges of your toes every time they pass over. A rustle from someplace beyond your hips distracts my attention and I watch amazed as you bring your hands together under the table, wrists crossed, fingers wiggling in a manner specifically intended to goad me into your game. Not that such a thing would be necessary of course, after all how could I possibly refuse such an invitation. I stretch out and roll over, coming to rest on my back underneath the table, unfurling the mass that was a silk shirt and wrapping the sleeves around your wrists, knotting them together quickly as your fingers flick at my palms and forearms, each touch sending a miniature lightning bolt through me. Satisfied the knot will hold I sit up under you, taking your fingers into my more than willing mouth, repeating my earlier attentions as I suck and caress, my intent now to arouse rather than relax as I gently capture the skin between thumb and finger with my teeth, exerting just enough pressure to send a shiver the length of your body.
Once more I feel the erotic overwhelm the playful and force myself to withdraw before I loose the option to do so. Coming to my feet behind you I feel my fingers tremble in anticipation, pausing for a moment as I wait to fulfil a dream I’ve had ever since I first read your words, a dream that’s only intensified as I’ve come to know you. My hands drop to your bare soles and with one swift flurry of fingernails you go from smouldering temptress to giggling beauty.
The sight leaves me gasping, as if I’d been underwater for far too long and have only now reached the surface. My hands take on a life of their own, diving and racing over your perfect feet, slipping in between your toes for bare instants until your laughter deepens, then moving on and up your soles to arches and heel. Your reactions are delightful as you hover between a gentle ticklish glow and a harder tickle torture, never quite knowing when the switch between the two will come, yet certain that, with the inevitability of the tides, at some point soon that switch will become permanent.
In that knowledge you are correct as the sight of your body squirming under my ministrations, coupled with the sweet sound of your laughter proves too much for my already battered restraint and I worm all ten fingers down between your toes and dig in, flicking and wriggling in spots that are so terribly ticklish normally, now made all the worse by the slow, tantalising build up they’ve received. The switch in my method is matched only by the switch in your body language. Giggles become howls, a gentle, sensuous wriggle becomes desperate thrash, your head goes down, face buried in the cushion of the table as you shake your head from side to side, long dark mane whipping around your shoulders and arms. I don’t believe I had ever even imagined such beauty could exist, let alone that I would be privileged enough to behold it in person.
For a moment I wish for this to never end, that I could keep this sweet torment going until the stars themselves turned cold and crumbled, but I realise quickly that I have only a few short minutes in which to enjoy this, at least for the time being. Moving steadily I slip my hands up to your calves, fingers tunnelling under the cuffs of your jeans and up as far as I can reach, just enough room between skin and denim for my nails to curl down and touch you, raking up and down for brief moments before pulling out and starting their long journey.
Up and over your shins to your knees, and now my touch is targeted, directed at those sensitive hollows. Even through the denim you feel my poke and probe at those vulnerable spots and cannot help but react, your hips lifting from the table as you scrabble for freedom, for escape. While such a thing of course proves impossible with your arms wrapped in silk as they are your actions succeed in diverting my attention nonetheless, the sight of your thighs and ass dancing mere inches from me proving more than sufficient reason for me to move on.
Hands on your thighs now, and my attention returns for a moment to more practical and mundane matters than your ticklish ecstasy, concentrating instead on delivering those attentions without stepping out of bounds in the process. My fingers trailed up the backs of your thighs, dipping inwards and down to inner thigh just after leaving your knees. Enough to send a groan of desire through your body, but only enough for that one taste as they rotate up and away as they keep moving up. They circle your legs and travel up the outside of your thighs, up past the waistband of the jeans and pause for a moment on the bare flesh of your hips, revealed now that your squirming has moved your black top up your stomach, leaving an inch of vulnerable skin exposed to my questing touch.
I wonder briefly about resisting this particular temptation, but as a moth to a flame I find myself drawn to that creamy, flawless flesh. Hands wrap around your hips like claws and with a single motion you’re sent into hysterics, your howl of laughter cutting through me, lifting me, driving me on. Round your waist I travel, fingers dipping, probing, teasing, tantalising, tormenting and always, always tickling. Your whole body shakes, your laughter an impossible symphony of highs and lows, silence punctuating your outbursts as your lungs struggle to match the demands being placed upon them. And always there is that constant, the underlying deeper sound of pleasure, delight both in what is being done and the price that pleasure demands.
Under your body my hands slip, still following your waist until they meet beneath you. I pause, let you draw in a breath, then another, and another, before pulling my hands up under your shirt, raking your stomach and ribs as a single solitary digit slips into your belly button. There is a sound that I can only describe as angelic, a scream of laughter that seems to bring all motion in the room to a halt, underplayed with the ripping of fabric. You twist under me, hands coming free as you tear through your restraints, sitting up underneath me, arms coming up and round in a bear hug, trapping my hands as you do so. For a long moment you hold that position, eyes that have haunted my dreams more nights than I care to admit reaching into me, reading my soul as you stare deep into that abyss. Then my world dissolves into one of sensation as you reach forward, lips seeking out mine, the kiss tender, gentle, a message of thanks as much as it is erotic. The moment stretches, becoming the only moment I care about, your warmth and passion easing the pain, smoothing the sharp corners of the world as I feel the skin-on-skin contact of arms around my neck, your hair draping over my chest. It becomes something beyond dreams, beyond thought and time, beyond reason and logic, and in that moment I find peace…
A peace that is slipped into storage as your fingers drop to my ribs and dig in…
