april
1st Level Red Feather
- Joined
- Dec 16, 2006
- Messages
- 1,248
- Points
- 63
The comforter pressed softly against your legs as you squirm, laughter pouring out of you in breathless bursts. Sam has you right where he wants you; sprawled on his livingroom floor, your back pressed against his chest as he keeps one steadying arm clamped around your waist. The other hand wields the buzzing electric toothbrush, darting in short, shocking bursts over your sides and ribs
"Sam! Stop, stop, oh my god's!" You shriek, twisting desperately, but everytime you try and wriggle away, he just follows, perfectly in sync with your movements. The vibrations send you squealing, your laughter ringing through the room, high and frantic. He dances it under your ribs, digs teasingly into the curve of your waist, slides over your stomach in maddening circles. You squeal and twitch as he darts it under your arm, kicking uselessly against the floor, but everytime you roll to one side, Sam follows smoothly, pressing the buzzing head into another hypersensitive spot.
"Sam! Stop! I can't...I can't take it!" You howled, laughter shaking your entire body.
"Oh, I think you can." He chuckles, his voice dripping with delight. He shifts suddenly, sliding the toothbrush up under your chin for a second, then flicking it back into your underarm in a wicked dart before pulling it away again. Each burst is enough to make you squeal louder, jerking helplessly in his grip.
Then he changes tactics. You feel him tugging the collar of your shirt and before you can register what hes doing, the buzzing toothbrush slips down from the top. He grins, feeling your body go rigid for two seconds as he angles it between your shoulder blades, the hum drilling straight into your spine. You shriek, arching away, but he only pushes it lower, catching the band of your bra. With one smooth, practiced shove, he tucks the humming head right between the strap, trapping it snug against the most unreachable spot on your back.
The effect is instant and devastating. Your whole body convulses with wild, desperate laughter, collapsing forward onto the floor. You claw frantically at your shirt, reaching from the collar, from the hem, twisting your arms back desperately, but its no use; the toothbrush stays wedged there, vibrating mercilessly.
"Get it out! Get it out!" You beg, your voice breaking as you roll and kick, your face pressed intto the soft comforter from laughing so hard. Your hands flail over your back, but no matter how you contort, you cant dislodge it.
Sam simply sits back on his heels now, letting you go completely. His grin is wide and wicked as he watches you writhe in desperation, his brown-black eyes dark with mischief and heat. You're thrashing like mad, every nerve on fire from the unrelenting tickle, still squealing and begging helplessly.
He runs a hand through his hair, his chest rising and falling with excitement as he watches you buck and twist, completely at the mercy of the buzzing toy lodged beneath your bra strap.
"God," he breathes, voice undone. "This is so hot. So, so hot."
And still you laugh and beg, your body betraying you with every uncontrollable squirm, the toothbrush buzzing away against your back while Sam simply sits there, drinking in the sight of your undoing.
"I'm fucking you so hard after this." He says. Its not just a statement, its an inevitability.
Finally; finally, Sam reaches in and plucks it from beneath your bra strap and for a split second, you sag in relief, chest heavy, sweat dampening your hairline.
But the reprieve lasts no longer than two seconds.
"Uh-uh, not done with you yet," Sam purrs, mischief blazing in his eyes. He twirls the buzzing toothbrush once in his fingers like a dagger, then with a swift, fluid motion, he slips his free hand past your waistband. Before you can even register it, the vibrating head slides down the front of your jeans.
The moment it presses against the tender skin of the top of your thigh, you explode into shrieking laughter, your body bucking violently against the floor.
"No! No! Nononono!" Your hands fumble desperately at your waistband, trembling and frantic, but your fingers are clumsy, shaking from the sheer ticklish overload.
Sam sits back again, his grip on you gone, he doesn't even need to hold you now. He watches with that wide grin, eyes dark and gleaming as you scramble helplessly, clawing at your jeans, squirming on the ground like you're possessed. His chest rises and falls with a deep, hungry amusement, the sound of your helpless laughter filling the room.
"Look at you," he murmurs, voice low. "Completely losing it over one little toy." He chuckles, shaking his head slowly, savoring every second of the havoc he's caused. "God, you're gorgeous like this."
You roll onto your back, your side, tugging wildly at the waistband, but the toothbrush only shifts slightly, buzzing harder against the inside of your thigh. You squeal and kick your legs, your laughter spilling out in raw, broken waves as you beg, your hands shaking so badly, you cant get a grip.
Sam doesnt move to help. He just kneels over you, gaze locked on your writhing body, grinning like the devil himself, letting the buzzing hum and your desperate laughter drive him deeper into mischief and want.
Your chest is heavy, your hair clinging damply to your forehead as you finally wrestle the buzzing toothbrush from your jeans. The moment it comes loose, you fling yourself onto your back, panting and giggling in relief, your body still trembling from the ticklish aftershocks.
Sams smile only deepens at the sight of you, flushed, undone, radiant with laughter. But then you roll to your knees, still breathless, and raise the toothbrush in your hand. Its still humming, the vibration buzzing up your wrist, and for the first time in the whole game, you're holding it.
Your lips curl into a wicked smile, eyes gleaming with something fierce and final. "It's my turn," you announce, your voice rough from laughing but steady and commanding. You angle the buzzing brush toward him like a weapon. "Take off your fucking pants."
For a heartbeat the room is silent except for the faint hum of the toothbrush. Sam's grin falters into something else, surprise, arousal, delight all tangled together. His eyes flashing, mischief sparking hotter than before, and he let's out a low laugh that rumbles from his chest.
"April..." he says slowly, tilting his head, voice thick with ticklish want. "You wouldn't dare."
But the way you look at him, the breathless fire in your gaze, the way your hand tightens on the buzzing handle, tells him you absolutely would.
His grin returns, sharper, hungrier. He sits back on his heels, eyes never leaving yours, and with deliberate slowness, his fingers hooked onto the waistband of his pants.
By the time he removed his pants and boxer-briefs, he's heaving slightly, attempting to brace himself as he lays waiting, back on the floor, but there's no defense against the little weapon humming in your hand.
Hes hard, bearing a fullness that inspires awe. You bring the brush down slowly, running it along his abundant length until you reach the tender skin of his sac beneath. The vibration makes him jolt hard, laughter bubbling out of him before he can stop it. His hips twitch, his muscular thighs flex, but you keep him grounded by the weight of your free hand on his abdomen.
You let the toothbrush glide in slow circles, savoring the way it makes him gasp and laugh at once. His face is flushed, lips parted, the sound of his helpless giggles mixed in with low, shakey breaths. Just as he starts to adjust, you reach back with your free hand and scrabble your fingers across his soles.
He jerks violently, laughter spiking, feet kicking in startled bursts. The moment he thinks you'll stay there, you abandon his feet and return all your focus to the humming vibration between his legs; cruelly slow, maddeningly steady.
You lean over him, whispering against his ear, "How do you like it? I can touch you anywhere I want, for as long as I want." To prove it, you drag the toothbrush along his seam while your nails suddenly rake over his arches again. His laughter breaks open, body writhing as the double sensation overwhelms him.
You shift lower, sliding down his body until you reach his legs. Hes still catching his breath from the torment above, chest heaving as he realizes what you're about to do. The toothbrush buzzes steadily in your hand, the sound alone making him squirm before you even touch him.
You lift his ankle and pin it gently, exposing the sole of his foot. The first drag of the vibration across his arch makes him explode into laughter, his foot jerking desperately. He tries to speak, but the words dissolve into helpless giggles as you trace slow, deliberate lines up and down.
Then you angle the buzzing head beneath his toes. The moment the bristles touch, his entire body jerks, laughter cracking high and frantic. His toes curl down in instinctive defense, sealing off the tender spots you want. Smiling, your fingers slip in, prying his toes open, forcing them back until the sensitive underside are exposed again.
"Don't hide from me," you murmur, pressing the buzzing tip into the crease where toe meets sole. He bursts with laughter, thrashing against the floor, but you keep his foot pinned, toothbrush gliding mercilessly over each spot.
You move slowly, torturing him toe by toe, pressing the vibrating bristles under each pad, then teasing the very tips until hes beside himself with laughter. Each time his toes snap shut, you peel them back open, patient, relentless, like you're unwrapping a gift again and again.
When you switch to the other foot, hes already breathless with giggles, knowing you should show mercy, but you give him none, tracing every spot, every crease, before zeroing in on those curling toes again.
By the time you finally pull away, both feet are twitching, his toes flexing as if the sensations are still there. For a moment, he thinks its over, his head falling back to the floor, lips parted, eyes closed, breath shakey. Without warning, you lean forward and slide the buzzing tip back between his thighs and press it gently against his sac. The shock tears through him instantly, his laughter bursts out raw and broken. His hips buck upward, thighs trembling, as if his whole body cant decide whether to escape or melt.
In a heartbeat, he rises and rolls you onto your back, pinning you with his weight. The victory in his eyes is quick, wild and before you can protest, his fingers dive into your ribs. The first gentle squeeze makes you buck hard, laughter bursting from you uncontrollably. He doesnt pause, his fingers rake up and down your sides in relentless bursts, knowing exactly how to unravel you.
Your arms fail to push him off, his weight keeps you in place as his hand is free to scribble mercilessly along your ribs, underarms and sides. The sensation makes you writhe and arch beneath him, laughter spilling uncontrollably from your lips.
Then his mouth claims yours, hot, insistent, while his fingers continue their merciless attack. The kiss swallows your laughter, but it only makes the helpless giggles swell, bubbling into his mouth, until you can't breathe from the mix of passion and torment.
He breaks the kiss just long enough to watch you thrash and gasp, a wicked grin tugging at his lips. "My turn," he murmurs. "I'm taking you to my bed now. Im going to fuck you and tickle you until you can't breathe."
The words steal what little breath you have left. Before you can respond, he scoops you up effortlessly, your body pressed tight against his chest. His grip is unyielding, carrying you through the hall while your laughter lingers in the air, half nerves, half anticipation.
His promise still hangs in the air when his hands moved to your clothes, tugging them away with eager urgency. The fabric catches, twisting around your arm, then bunching at your knees. You both laugh at the ridiculousness of it, the clumsy rush breaking the tension for just a moment. He growls with playful frustration, helping you wiggle free, until at last your clothes are scattered on the floor.
The laughter hasn't faded when his mouth finds yours again; hungry, heated, claiming. His kiss drives you backwards onto the mattress until your shoulders press onto the pillows, his body hovering above yours as he guides you to the center of the bed.
You barely have time to breath before his hands decend, fingers scrabbling mercilessly across your stomach and ribs. The suddenness of it steals every bit of orientation; you thrash, helpless giggles bubbling into frantic laughter as his weight keeps you pinned. His lips are still close, brushing against your cheek as you squeal, your laughter spilling hot into his mouth when he steals another kiss.
Sam rises to his knees, staring at you for a moment, drinking you in, watching you pant and giggle from aftershocks. Then his hand slides lower, gripping your thigh and lifting it over his hip. In the same fluid motion, he enters you; slow, deliberate, filling you completely even as his other hand darts out to continue to torment your sides. The duel sensation is overwhelming, ticklish fire racing through your ribs while his thrusts claim you, slow and deep.
You arch against him, laughter breaking into gasps and moans, the two sensations tangling until you cant separate one from the other. His eyes locked to yours, wicked and adoring all at once before he pulls your thigh tighter against his hip and slams into you hard. Once, twice, three times. The first orgasm hits you suddenly, unexpectedly. It happens without warning, no gradual climb, no time to brace. One second your gasping, writhing beneath the tickling, the next the heat surges through you in a violent, unstoppable wave. Your body arches hard against his, laughter breaking into a raw cry as your release siezes you.
It rips through you fast and fierce, so abrupt it feels like your body betrayed you, walls fluttering around his length, shaking under him, pleasure detonating while his hand still torments your ribs. The mix of helpless laughter and sharp release blinds you, a blur of sensations too tangled to separate.
"Good girl." He whispers, the words sending a jolt of pleasure though your body so suddenly that your arousal spiked all over again.
His hips roll deeper, his hand never relenting, keeping you suspended in that unbearable mix of pleasure and ticklish torment until you're trembling beneath him, breathless, undone.
His hand trails over your stomach, the brush of his fingertips is feather-light, almost tender, laughter bursting fresh from your lips. Every nerve feels raw and heightened and he knows it.
"Oh, you're sensitive now, aren't you?" He murmurs, voice thick with delight. Hes still burried deep inside, holding you open, your thigh pressing high against his side.
The release left you raw, but instead of giving you peace, he drags you deeper into it. Every time you gasp for air, his thrusts push deeper, his fingers teasing mercilessly, keeping you right on the knifes edge between unbearable and bliss.
You tremble beneath him, shaking your head but he doesnt falter. His hand leaves your tummy, before finding the curve of your waist, squeezing enough to make you shriek. Then it returns, scratching, stroking, tickling; each touch amplified a hundredfold by the sensitive state of your body.
Another thrust tears through you, hitting deep, timed perfectly with a sudden gentle dig of fingers into your side. You cry out, hips arching, overwhelmed as another wave threatens already; too soon, too sharp, and he knows exactly what hes doing.
You try to resist, try to hold the second wave back, but his rhythm is merciless. Every thrust drives deeper, every scrape of his fingers along your ribs forces laughter into whimpering moans, and the overstimulation is too much to withstand.
The climax rips through you in an unstoppable surge; faster, harder than the first. Your body bows against him, nails digging into the sheets as you convulse, laughter breaking into a hoarse cry. Heat floods through you, your walls tightening desperately around him, pulling him down into your release.
It drags him with you. His breath catches, hips jerking hard as the sensation overtakes him. His gorgous face twists in surrender, brows drawn tight, lips parting, eyes fluttering closed as pleasure rolls across his features like a storm breaking.
He spills into you in sharp, shuddering bursts, his body locking tight before collapsing, chest heaving, dropping his weight onto you with a groan, burying his face in your neck.
The bed creaks beneath the both of you, tangled, spent, your bodies still twitching together with the remnants of sensation, his hand finally stills against your ribs, fingers splayed as though clinging to you. He exhales raggedly, voice muffled into your neck.
"Mine. My good girl."
Last edited:
