Part 2
And so Bob and Linda had my wife down on the floor where the living room does an " L " into the dining room, but then lifted her up again to her feet, then left go of her completely. I expected maybe she'd collapse anew, but instead, and I was not the only one surprised, my wife headed to the door, then was outside as I froze. My only option was trying to stay motionless and hope hope hope that she would not notice me.
Bob and Linda both were out that door in a flash, my wife was noisy and Linda raised her own voice, saying, "Where the hell do you think you're going?!!" Bob spoke up then, too, "Get back inside right now, we'll make sure you don't run away anymore, honey!" In a second flash they had her back inside the condo, and I heard the door lock. Yes, it dawned on me that then I was unable to go in my own residence, Donna was locked in and I was locked out.
They started a sort of chase game with my wife, grab and tickle her and then let her go only so they could chase and catch her, and the cycle repeated it self numerous times. I thought to myself that one goal had to be to attain a certain level of hysteria in my wife and try to maintain it, an attain and maintain game. But, you know, something else popped into my thoughts, something Bob had told me weeks ago. Seemed factual, too. Alcohol intoxicates her brain and sense, and then tickle tickle further, yes, FURTHER does it more to her. Lightheaded, right, my wife all the while was getting more and more lightheaded along with less and less capable. Her brain was getting slowed down by TWO causes, drink and tickle. She was one frantic mess of a victim, that was the skinny of it by then---a trapped frantic mess at that, outnumbered and outmaneuvered and out of damn luck in her own home where she should be the safest and most calmly assured. B and L had no trouble, none at all, catching Donna again each time they let her go. She was, shall I say, bouncing off the walls in more than just one way, more ways than one. They had been tickling and poking her in the sides and ribs and kidneys for so long, and then made a very sudden change. On about what was their seventh or eighth catch, Bob grabbed her by the wrists and held her arms way up, and as if rehearsed, Linda launched quite a determined undie-arm siege. I thought Donna's screechy vocal cords would surely burst and explode right through the front of her neck (and also fretted someone nearby might call the police, all three but me were making what seemed too much of an ear-shattering ruckus. I could make out that Donna was trying to form the word "HELP" with her mouth and lips, but no way was she capable of clear talk. And then my ears got a fresh shock as Linda, of all people, exclaimed, "Get her gawddamn bra off, I want that for a friggin' souvenir!!" And that yell was at once followed by both of them pausing the tickle-poke attacks to get that bra off, and it was a quick deal, no efforts to take any care, yank yank yanking Donna's brassiere off of her torso. Bob was seeing my wife's bare breasts. Bob was, oh jeez, was seeing my wife's bare breasts. And two breaths later Bob was touching my wife's bare breasts, and Linda was yakking about a brand new target to tickle.
Could I ever maybe become an accessory to a tickle sex crime? I was witnessing such a downfall, the downfall of my own drunken, doubly intoxicated wife. And then Linda went and said it, wiped me out really totally, "Tickle tickle tickle titties". Both were taking turns touching and tickling Donna's titties and having more fun at it than a kid in a candy shop.
( End of Part 2 )
And so Bob and Linda had my wife down on the floor where the living room does an " L " into the dining room, but then lifted her up again to her feet, then left go of her completely. I expected maybe she'd collapse anew, but instead, and I was not the only one surprised, my wife headed to the door, then was outside as I froze. My only option was trying to stay motionless and hope hope hope that she would not notice me.
Bob and Linda both were out that door in a flash, my wife was noisy and Linda raised her own voice, saying, "Where the hell do you think you're going?!!" Bob spoke up then, too, "Get back inside right now, we'll make sure you don't run away anymore, honey!" In a second flash they had her back inside the condo, and I heard the door lock. Yes, it dawned on me that then I was unable to go in my own residence, Donna was locked in and I was locked out.
They started a sort of chase game with my wife, grab and tickle her and then let her go only so they could chase and catch her, and the cycle repeated it self numerous times. I thought to myself that one goal had to be to attain a certain level of hysteria in my wife and try to maintain it, an attain and maintain game. But, you know, something else popped into my thoughts, something Bob had told me weeks ago. Seemed factual, too. Alcohol intoxicates her brain and sense, and then tickle tickle further, yes, FURTHER does it more to her. Lightheaded, right, my wife all the while was getting more and more lightheaded along with less and less capable. Her brain was getting slowed down by TWO causes, drink and tickle. She was one frantic mess of a victim, that was the skinny of it by then---a trapped frantic mess at that, outnumbered and outmaneuvered and out of damn luck in her own home where she should be the safest and most calmly assured. B and L had no trouble, none at all, catching Donna again each time they let her go. She was, shall I say, bouncing off the walls in more than just one way, more ways than one. They had been tickling and poking her in the sides and ribs and kidneys for so long, and then made a very sudden change. On about what was their seventh or eighth catch, Bob grabbed her by the wrists and held her arms way up, and as if rehearsed, Linda launched quite a determined undie-arm siege. I thought Donna's screechy vocal cords would surely burst and explode right through the front of her neck (and also fretted someone nearby might call the police, all three but me were making what seemed too much of an ear-shattering ruckus. I could make out that Donna was trying to form the word "HELP" with her mouth and lips, but no way was she capable of clear talk. And then my ears got a fresh shock as Linda, of all people, exclaimed, "Get her gawddamn bra off, I want that for a friggin' souvenir!!" And that yell was at once followed by both of them pausing the tickle-poke attacks to get that bra off, and it was a quick deal, no efforts to take any care, yank yank yanking Donna's brassiere off of her torso. Bob was seeing my wife's bare breasts. Bob was, oh jeez, was seeing my wife's bare breasts. And two breaths later Bob was touching my wife's bare breasts, and Linda was yakking about a brand new target to tickle.
Could I ever maybe become an accessory to a tickle sex crime? I was witnessing such a downfall, the downfall of my own drunken, doubly intoxicated wife. And then Linda went and said it, wiped me out really totally, "Tickle tickle tickle titties". Both were taking turns touching and tickling Donna's titties and having more fun at it than a kid in a candy shop.
( End of Part 2 )
