Alex had always been a man of peculiar desires. While most guys his age were bragging about conquering No Nut November—abstaining from orgasm for the entire month—Alex’s fetish ran in a different direction. His ultimate weakness wasn’t climax; it was tickling. The sensation of fingers dancing across his most sensitive spots drove him absolutely wild, reducing him to a giggling, squirming mess. And no one knew this better than his girlfriend, Elise.
Elise was a goddess in every sense. 5’2, curvaceous, with blonde hair that cascaded down her back like a chocolate waterfall, and most notably, an impossibly big, round booty that could make traffic stop. She loved wearing tight leggings or short shorts that hugged her curves perfectly, accentuating every jiggle and sway. But what made her truly dangerous was her playful, sadistic streak when it came to Alex’s fetish. She adored tickling him—loved watching him beg, loved the power it gave her. And this November, she had a brilliant idea.
“No Nut November is too mainstream,” she had said one evening in late October, straddling his lap on the couch, her massive booty pressing down on him teasingly. “For you, baby, it’s No Tickle November. Thirty days without a single tickle. No fingers on your ribs, no nails on your feet, no feathers on your tummy. If you make it to December 1st without letting me tickle you—even once—you win. But if you crack and beg for it… well, let’s just say I’ll make it worth your while.”
Alex’s heart raced at the challenge. He was determined. “Deal,” he said, trying to sound confident. But deep down, he knew Elise would make this hell. She wasn’t going to play fair.
Day 1 started innocently enough. They woke up tangled in sheets, Elise’s soft body pressed against him. She stretched dramatically, her fingers wiggling in the air right in front of his face. “Mmm, my fingers feel so tingly today,” she purred, tracing lazy circles on the bedsheet near his side—but not touching him. “I bet they’d feel amazing scribbling all over your helpless little ribs. You know how sensitive you are there, right? One little poke and you’re already giggling like a schoolboy.”
Alex swallowed hard, pulling away. “Nope. Not happening. Rules are rules.”
Elise pouted, her full lips forming a perfect moue. “Aww, but imagine it, Alex. Me pinning you down, my nails digging in just enough to make you squeal. I’d start slow… right here.” She hovered her hand over his underarm, inches away, wiggling her fingers menacingly. The air between them felt electric. He could almost feel the phantom tickles. But he held firm, rolling out of bed.
By Day 3, Elise upped her game. They were in the kitchen making breakfast when she “accidentally” dropped a spoon. Bending over slowly—deliberately—her big booty jutted out right in front of him, encased in skin-tight yoga pants. As she picked it up, she wiggled her fingers behind her back. “Oopsie. My hands are just itching for something fun. Too bad I can’t use them on you. Remember that time I tickled your belly button for an hour? You were crying with laughter, begging me to stop… but we both know you didn’t really want me to.”
Alex gripped the counter, his face flushing. “Elise…”
“What? I’m just talking. It’s not tickling if I don’t touch you, right?” She straightened up, turning to face him with an innocent smile, her fingers dancing at her sides. “But god, I want to so bad. Your soles are probably extra sensitive after not being touched. I could scrape my nails up and down them until you kick and scream.”
He lasted the morning, but that night, cuddling on the couch watching a movie, she rested her head on his chest—and let her fingers “absentmindedly” trace patterns on his thigh, getting dangerously close to his inner legs but never crossing the line. “Hypothetically,” she whispered, “if I were to tickle your knees right now… you’d lose it in seconds. Those little spots behind them? I’d nibble and scratch until you’re a puddle.”
Alex shifted uncomfortably, his body tingling with anticipation. “Stop teasing.”
“I’m not teasing. I’m just… expressing my desires.” Her voice was husky, seductive. She pressed her booty against him as she adjusted position, grinding subtly. “My poor fingers are so bored without your giggles to entertain them.”
Week one blurred into a torment of near-misses. Elise would walk around the house in nothing but an oversized t-shirt that barely covered her massive rear, “forgetting” to put on pants. She’d stretch on the floor doing yoga, her fingers splayed out as she held poses, narrating in detail: “Imagine me sitting on your chest, my weight pinning you—because let’s face it, this booty is heavy—and just lightly spidering my fingers over your neck and ears. You’d be hysterical in minutes.”
By Day 10, Alex was on edge constantly. Every conversation turned into tease central. At dinner, she’d wiggle her toes under the table, brushing his leg “accidentally.” “My feet want to play too,” she’d say with a wink. “I could trap your hands and tickle your armpits until you promise me anything.”
One evening, she cornered him in the bedroom. “Let’s play a game,” she said, pushing him gently onto the bed. She straddled his waist, her big booty settling heavily on his lap, making it impossible to ignore. Her hands hovered over his sides, fingers poised like claws. “I’m not touching you… see? But look how close I am.” She wiggled them furiously, the air rushing against his shirt. “I can see you squirming already. Your sides are your worst spot, aren’t they? Ten minutes of solid rib tickling and you’d be done for.”
Alex laughed nervously, trying to push her off—but not too hard. “Elise, come on…”
“Come on what? Beg me? Say the words, baby. ‘Please tickle me, Elise. I can’t take it anymore.’” She leaned down, her breath hot on his ear. “I want to hear you break. I want to dig in and make you laugh until you can’t breathe. My nails are sharpened just for you.”
He held out, barely, shoving her away playfully and locking himself in the bathroom for a cold shower.
Mid-month, Elise went nuclear. She bought new tools—a set of soft makeup brushes, feathers, even electric toothbrushes—and left them scattered around the house. “Just in case,” she’d say innocently. One afternoon, she lounged on the couch in booty shorts, holding a feather and twirling it. “This would feel so evil on your hips. Light strokes, back and forth, while I sit on your thighs so you can’t escape. You’d thrash so much with this big ass holding you down.”
Alex avoided her as much as possible, working from home in another room. But she followed, peeking in with puppy eyes. “Are you hiding from me? Scared I’ll sneak attack? Because I could, you know. Pin you against the desk and go to town on your feet. Peel off your socks slowly… blow raspberries on your arches… tickle between your toes until tears stream down your face.”
By Day 20, Alex was a wreck. Sleep was fitful, filled with dreams of endless tickling. His body ached for it—the denial making every nerve hypersensitive. Elise sensed his weakening. She started wearing revealing outfits constantly, using her body as a weapon. Dancing around the living room, shaking her massive booty to music, she’d pause to wiggle her fingers at him. “All this teasing is making me so horny for your laughter. I miss your squeals, baby. I miss reducing you to a helpless, giggling boy.”
One night, she initiated intimacy—but with a twist. As things heated up, she whispered filthy tickle talk in his ear. “Imagine if right now, instead of this, I flipped you over and attacked your back. Scribbling all over those sensitive spots you hide. Or your inner thighs—god, you’d buck like crazy.” Her hands stayed away from ticklish areas, but the words alone had him trembling.
Day 25. Day 26. Day 27. Alex was counting down, proud but exhausted. “Just a few more days,” he’d tell himself.
But Elise had saved the best for last.
On Day 29, she staged her masterpiece. She waited until he was relaxed, watching TV in bed. Then she crawled in, wearing nothing but lacy lingerie that made her curves pop—especially that glorious big booty. She spooned him from behind, her body molding against his.
“Almost there, huh?” she murmured, her fingers lightly drumming on the mattress right next to his side. “You’ve been so strong. But I have to confess… I’ve been dreaming about tickling you non-stop. Every night, fantasizing about your most ticklish spots.”
She shifted, pressing her booty firmly against him. “Feel that? This could be your prison. Me sitting reverse, my weight on your back, tickling your sides from behind where you can’t defend. Or your feet—I’d oil them up first, make them extra slippery and sensitive, then rake my nails down slowly.”
Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Or your worst spot… that little hollow under your arms. I’d trap one arm up and go wild. Ten fingers digging in, no mercy.”
Alex was breathing heavily now, his resolve cracking.
“And after all this buildup,” she continued, her fingers hovering, wiggling so close he could feel the breeze. “The tickling would be intense. Explosive. You’d laugh harder than ever because you’ve waited so long.”
Day 30. The final day. Alex woke up determined. “One more day,” he thought.
Elise was waiting in the living room, dressed in her sexiest outfit: a crop top and tiny shorts that left little to the imagination, her big booty on full display. She had laid out all her tools on the coffee table—feathers, brushes, lotions.
“Morning, champion,” she said sweetly. “Last day. How are you feeling? Sensitive? Desperate?”
He tried to ignore her, grabbing coffee. But she blocked his path, hands on hips, fingers flexing.
“I have a proposition,” she said. “One little tickle. Just one finger on your belly. And you lose. But if you say no… you win.”
She stepped closer, her body brushing his. “But think about it, Alex. After thirty days of this torture… don’t you want it? Don’t you crave my fingers finally touching you? Scratching, poking, squeezing all those spots I’ve been teasing about?”
Her hands rose slowly, hovering over his ribs. Wiggling. Taunting.
“I want to tickle you so badly it hurts me. I want to hear you explode with laughter. Begging at first, then just dissolving into pure joy.”
Alex stared at her fingers. So close. The denial had built up an unbearable itch inside him.
“Please,” he whispered finally, his voice breaking.
“Please what?” she asked, grinning wickedly.
“Please… tickle me. I can’t take it anymore. I fail. Just tickle me!”
Elise’s eyes lit up with triumph. “That’s my boy.”
She pounced, tackling him to the couch. Her big booty plopped down heavily on his chest, pinning him effectively—her weight a delicious restraint. “Finally!” she exclaimed, her fingers diving in without hesitation.
It was overwhelming from the first touch. After thirty days of buildup, every nerve was on fire. Her nails scribbled furiously over his ribs, and Alex erupted into hysterical laughter. “AHAHAHAHA! ELISE! NOOO! AHAHAHA!”
“Oh yes!” she laughed, her fingers relentless. “Feel that? All that pent-up sensitivity! You’re so much more ticklish now!”
She attacked his sides, squeezing and poking, then moved to his underarms, digging in deep. The sensation was electric—intense, unbearable, exquisite. Waves of ticklish energy crashed over him, amplified by the denial. It felt like pure ecstasy mixed with torture, his body convulsing under her.
“STOHOHOP! I CAHAHAn’t!” he howled, but his pleas only fueled her.
She shifted, turning around to face his feet, her massive booty now smothering his face lightly—enough to muffle his screams but let him breathe. “Time for these!” She lotioned his soles quickly and raked her nails up and down. The feeling was indescribable: slippery, maddening strokes that made his feet jerk wildly. After waiting so long, it was like a dam breaking—laughter pouring out uncontrollably, tears streaming.
It went on for what felt like hours. She tickled his belly, blowing raspberries that vibrated through him. His thighs, his knees, his neck—every spot she’d teased about. The buildup made each touch ten times more potent, turning simple scribbles into explosions of sensation. He laughed until his voice was hoarse, his body weak and limp, utterly surrendered.
Finally, she relented, flipping back to cuddle him, her fingers now gently stroking his hair.
“How was that, baby?” she asked softly.
Alex, spent and glowing, gasped for air. “It was… incredible. The wait made it so much better. Like every tickle was amplified a hundred times. I felt everything so deeply—the relief of finally getting it after all that teasing. It was torture turning into bliss. Best failure ever.”
Elise kissed him deeply. “Told you I’d make it worth it. Maybe next year… we try again?”
Alex just laughed weakly. He knew he’d never last. And honestly? He didn’t want to.
Elise was a goddess in every sense. 5’2, curvaceous, with blonde hair that cascaded down her back like a chocolate waterfall, and most notably, an impossibly big, round booty that could make traffic stop. She loved wearing tight leggings or short shorts that hugged her curves perfectly, accentuating every jiggle and sway. But what made her truly dangerous was her playful, sadistic streak when it came to Alex’s fetish. She adored tickling him—loved watching him beg, loved the power it gave her. And this November, she had a brilliant idea.
“No Nut November is too mainstream,” she had said one evening in late October, straddling his lap on the couch, her massive booty pressing down on him teasingly. “For you, baby, it’s No Tickle November. Thirty days without a single tickle. No fingers on your ribs, no nails on your feet, no feathers on your tummy. If you make it to December 1st without letting me tickle you—even once—you win. But if you crack and beg for it… well, let’s just say I’ll make it worth your while.”
Alex’s heart raced at the challenge. He was determined. “Deal,” he said, trying to sound confident. But deep down, he knew Elise would make this hell. She wasn’t going to play fair.
Day 1 started innocently enough. They woke up tangled in sheets, Elise’s soft body pressed against him. She stretched dramatically, her fingers wiggling in the air right in front of his face. “Mmm, my fingers feel so tingly today,” she purred, tracing lazy circles on the bedsheet near his side—but not touching him. “I bet they’d feel amazing scribbling all over your helpless little ribs. You know how sensitive you are there, right? One little poke and you’re already giggling like a schoolboy.”
Alex swallowed hard, pulling away. “Nope. Not happening. Rules are rules.”
Elise pouted, her full lips forming a perfect moue. “Aww, but imagine it, Alex. Me pinning you down, my nails digging in just enough to make you squeal. I’d start slow… right here.” She hovered her hand over his underarm, inches away, wiggling her fingers menacingly. The air between them felt electric. He could almost feel the phantom tickles. But he held firm, rolling out of bed.
By Day 3, Elise upped her game. They were in the kitchen making breakfast when she “accidentally” dropped a spoon. Bending over slowly—deliberately—her big booty jutted out right in front of him, encased in skin-tight yoga pants. As she picked it up, she wiggled her fingers behind her back. “Oopsie. My hands are just itching for something fun. Too bad I can’t use them on you. Remember that time I tickled your belly button for an hour? You were crying with laughter, begging me to stop… but we both know you didn’t really want me to.”
Alex gripped the counter, his face flushing. “Elise…”
“What? I’m just talking. It’s not tickling if I don’t touch you, right?” She straightened up, turning to face him with an innocent smile, her fingers dancing at her sides. “But god, I want to so bad. Your soles are probably extra sensitive after not being touched. I could scrape my nails up and down them until you kick and scream.”
He lasted the morning, but that night, cuddling on the couch watching a movie, she rested her head on his chest—and let her fingers “absentmindedly” trace patterns on his thigh, getting dangerously close to his inner legs but never crossing the line. “Hypothetically,” she whispered, “if I were to tickle your knees right now… you’d lose it in seconds. Those little spots behind them? I’d nibble and scratch until you’re a puddle.”
Alex shifted uncomfortably, his body tingling with anticipation. “Stop teasing.”
“I’m not teasing. I’m just… expressing my desires.” Her voice was husky, seductive. She pressed her booty against him as she adjusted position, grinding subtly. “My poor fingers are so bored without your giggles to entertain them.”
Week one blurred into a torment of near-misses. Elise would walk around the house in nothing but an oversized t-shirt that barely covered her massive rear, “forgetting” to put on pants. She’d stretch on the floor doing yoga, her fingers splayed out as she held poses, narrating in detail: “Imagine me sitting on your chest, my weight pinning you—because let’s face it, this booty is heavy—and just lightly spidering my fingers over your neck and ears. You’d be hysterical in minutes.”
By Day 10, Alex was on edge constantly. Every conversation turned into tease central. At dinner, she’d wiggle her toes under the table, brushing his leg “accidentally.” “My feet want to play too,” she’d say with a wink. “I could trap your hands and tickle your armpits until you promise me anything.”
One evening, she cornered him in the bedroom. “Let’s play a game,” she said, pushing him gently onto the bed. She straddled his waist, her big booty settling heavily on his lap, making it impossible to ignore. Her hands hovered over his sides, fingers poised like claws. “I’m not touching you… see? But look how close I am.” She wiggled them furiously, the air rushing against his shirt. “I can see you squirming already. Your sides are your worst spot, aren’t they? Ten minutes of solid rib tickling and you’d be done for.”
Alex laughed nervously, trying to push her off—but not too hard. “Elise, come on…”
“Come on what? Beg me? Say the words, baby. ‘Please tickle me, Elise. I can’t take it anymore.’” She leaned down, her breath hot on his ear. “I want to hear you break. I want to dig in and make you laugh until you can’t breathe. My nails are sharpened just for you.”
He held out, barely, shoving her away playfully and locking himself in the bathroom for a cold shower.
Mid-month, Elise went nuclear. She bought new tools—a set of soft makeup brushes, feathers, even electric toothbrushes—and left them scattered around the house. “Just in case,” she’d say innocently. One afternoon, she lounged on the couch in booty shorts, holding a feather and twirling it. “This would feel so evil on your hips. Light strokes, back and forth, while I sit on your thighs so you can’t escape. You’d thrash so much with this big ass holding you down.”
Alex avoided her as much as possible, working from home in another room. But she followed, peeking in with puppy eyes. “Are you hiding from me? Scared I’ll sneak attack? Because I could, you know. Pin you against the desk and go to town on your feet. Peel off your socks slowly… blow raspberries on your arches… tickle between your toes until tears stream down your face.”
By Day 20, Alex was a wreck. Sleep was fitful, filled with dreams of endless tickling. His body ached for it—the denial making every nerve hypersensitive. Elise sensed his weakening. She started wearing revealing outfits constantly, using her body as a weapon. Dancing around the living room, shaking her massive booty to music, she’d pause to wiggle her fingers at him. “All this teasing is making me so horny for your laughter. I miss your squeals, baby. I miss reducing you to a helpless, giggling boy.”
One night, she initiated intimacy—but with a twist. As things heated up, she whispered filthy tickle talk in his ear. “Imagine if right now, instead of this, I flipped you over and attacked your back. Scribbling all over those sensitive spots you hide. Or your inner thighs—god, you’d buck like crazy.” Her hands stayed away from ticklish areas, but the words alone had him trembling.
Day 25. Day 26. Day 27. Alex was counting down, proud but exhausted. “Just a few more days,” he’d tell himself.
But Elise had saved the best for last.
On Day 29, she staged her masterpiece. She waited until he was relaxed, watching TV in bed. Then she crawled in, wearing nothing but lacy lingerie that made her curves pop—especially that glorious big booty. She spooned him from behind, her body molding against his.
“Almost there, huh?” she murmured, her fingers lightly drumming on the mattress right next to his side. “You’ve been so strong. But I have to confess… I’ve been dreaming about tickling you non-stop. Every night, fantasizing about your most ticklish spots.”
She shifted, pressing her booty firmly against him. “Feel that? This could be your prison. Me sitting reverse, my weight on your back, tickling your sides from behind where you can’t defend. Or your feet—I’d oil them up first, make them extra slippery and sensitive, then rake my nails down slowly.”
Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Or your worst spot… that little hollow under your arms. I’d trap one arm up and go wild. Ten fingers digging in, no mercy.”
Alex was breathing heavily now, his resolve cracking.
“And after all this buildup,” she continued, her fingers hovering, wiggling so close he could feel the breeze. “The tickling would be intense. Explosive. You’d laugh harder than ever because you’ve waited so long.”
Day 30. The final day. Alex woke up determined. “One more day,” he thought.
Elise was waiting in the living room, dressed in her sexiest outfit: a crop top and tiny shorts that left little to the imagination, her big booty on full display. She had laid out all her tools on the coffee table—feathers, brushes, lotions.
“Morning, champion,” she said sweetly. “Last day. How are you feeling? Sensitive? Desperate?”
He tried to ignore her, grabbing coffee. But she blocked his path, hands on hips, fingers flexing.
“I have a proposition,” she said. “One little tickle. Just one finger on your belly. And you lose. But if you say no… you win.”
She stepped closer, her body brushing his. “But think about it, Alex. After thirty days of this torture… don’t you want it? Don’t you crave my fingers finally touching you? Scratching, poking, squeezing all those spots I’ve been teasing about?”
Her hands rose slowly, hovering over his ribs. Wiggling. Taunting.
“I want to tickle you so badly it hurts me. I want to hear you explode with laughter. Begging at first, then just dissolving into pure joy.”
Alex stared at her fingers. So close. The denial had built up an unbearable itch inside him.
“Please,” he whispered finally, his voice breaking.
“Please what?” she asked, grinning wickedly.
“Please… tickle me. I can’t take it anymore. I fail. Just tickle me!”
Elise’s eyes lit up with triumph. “That’s my boy.”
She pounced, tackling him to the couch. Her big booty plopped down heavily on his chest, pinning him effectively—her weight a delicious restraint. “Finally!” she exclaimed, her fingers diving in without hesitation.
It was overwhelming from the first touch. After thirty days of buildup, every nerve was on fire. Her nails scribbled furiously over his ribs, and Alex erupted into hysterical laughter. “AHAHAHAHA! ELISE! NOOO! AHAHAHA!”
“Oh yes!” she laughed, her fingers relentless. “Feel that? All that pent-up sensitivity! You’re so much more ticklish now!”
She attacked his sides, squeezing and poking, then moved to his underarms, digging in deep. The sensation was electric—intense, unbearable, exquisite. Waves of ticklish energy crashed over him, amplified by the denial. It felt like pure ecstasy mixed with torture, his body convulsing under her.
“STOHOHOP! I CAHAHAn’t!” he howled, but his pleas only fueled her.
She shifted, turning around to face his feet, her massive booty now smothering his face lightly—enough to muffle his screams but let him breathe. “Time for these!” She lotioned his soles quickly and raked her nails up and down. The feeling was indescribable: slippery, maddening strokes that made his feet jerk wildly. After waiting so long, it was like a dam breaking—laughter pouring out uncontrollably, tears streaming.
It went on for what felt like hours. She tickled his belly, blowing raspberries that vibrated through him. His thighs, his knees, his neck—every spot she’d teased about. The buildup made each touch ten times more potent, turning simple scribbles into explosions of sensation. He laughed until his voice was hoarse, his body weak and limp, utterly surrendered.
Finally, she relented, flipping back to cuddle him, her fingers now gently stroking his hair.
“How was that, baby?” she asked softly.
Alex, spent and glowing, gasped for air. “It was… incredible. The wait made it so much better. Like every tickle was amplified a hundred times. I felt everything so deeply—the relief of finally getting it after all that teasing. It was torture turning into bliss. Best failure ever.”
Elise kissed him deeply. “Told you I’d make it worth it. Maybe next year… we try again?”
Alex just laughed weakly. He knew he’d never last. And honestly? He didn’t want to.
