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"So... where's your rope?" - M/F possibility on Thursday?
- Thread starter quinn65
- Start date
prankstersnlove
TMF Novice
- Joined
- Nov 20, 2010
- Messages
- 60
- Points
- 8
I was hanging on to every word you wrote so far that I was eagerly awaiting 8. Hope all went well, looking forward to refreshing the page over and over for the update lol
quinn65
3rd Level Red Feather
- Joined
- Sep 30, 2001
- Messages
- 1,554
- Points
- 113
Mission accomplished 😎
Aftercare. We're on the couch watching a movie and she's curled up asleep against my chest. She barely made it 30 minutes into Jaws.
I'll finish the story as quickly as I can, but it might take the weekend to get rolling.
Spoiler alert:
Aftercare. We're on the couch watching a movie and she's curled up asleep against my chest. She barely made it 30 minutes into Jaws.
I'll finish the story as quickly as I can, but it might take the weekend to get rolling.
Spoiler alert:
she's ticklish 😁
quinn65
3rd Level Red Feather
- Joined
- Sep 30, 2001
- Messages
- 1,554
- Points
- 113
I won't have much time to write today but I can share a funny story about last night.
After rushing out the door I got about three quarters of the way to her place along some fairly remote, heavily wooded roads… and in the middle of nowhere hit a traffic backup. After sitting dead still for 10 minutes I got out and walked around a curve far enough to see that a little hatchback had t-boned into an Amazon delivery van ahead.
At least I had a couple of bars on my cell, so I texted her.
Quinn:
Beth:
Quinn:
Beth:
Quinn:
Beth:
Quinn:
Beth:
Quinn:
Beth:
Quinn:
Beth:
Quinn:
Beth:
Quinn:
Beth:
Quinn:
Beth:
So I did. Got there a little after 8:30. Beautiful cozy place, tucked back in the trees.
I grabbed my day pack full of ropes, scarves, and toys from the front seat and started climbing the front porch steps. Halfway up, the door opened.
And there she was...
...to be continued 😉
After rushing out the door I got about three quarters of the way to her place along some fairly remote, heavily wooded roads… and in the middle of nowhere hit a traffic backup. After sitting dead still for 10 minutes I got out and walked around a curve far enough to see that a little hatchback had t-boned into an Amazon delivery van ahead.
At least I had a couple of bars on my cell, so I texted her.
Quinn:
Beth:
Quinn:
Beth:
Quinn:
Beth:
Quinn:
Beth:
Quinn:
Beth:
Quinn:
Beth:
Quinn:
Beth:
Quinn:
Beth:
Quinn:
Beth:
So I did. Got there a little after 8:30. Beautiful cozy place, tucked back in the trees.
I grabbed my day pack full of ropes, scarves, and toys from the front seat and started climbing the front porch steps. Halfway up, the door opened.
And there she was...
...to be continued 😉
The interaction between you two is wonderful and you both no doubt were flushed with that "first time anticipation and excitement" energy.
Your lead up is equal parts exciting and playful, you are pretty much teasing us too.
However, and I believe I am expressing this on behalf of the majority of the TMF:
PLEASE TELL US YOU TWO FULLY TOOK ADVANTAGE OF THIS INCREDIBLE OPPORTUNITY BY TICKLE TEASING THE SHIT OF HER!!!!
Respectfully submitted of course, lol.
Your lead up is equal parts exciting and playful, you are pretty much teasing us too.
However, and I believe I am expressing this on behalf of the majority of the TMF:
PLEASE TELL US YOU TWO FULLY TOOK ADVANTAGE OF THIS INCREDIBLE OPPORTUNITY BY TICKLE TEASING THE SHIT OF HER!!!!
Respectfully submitted of course, lol.
HuskyMarcher
TMF Regular
- Joined
- Apr 16, 2001
- Messages
- 165
- Points
- 18
Honestly, if anything, leaving it on a cliffhanger is doing the session justice via replicating The Tease, and leaving us hungry for the release of knowing 😛
phil605_ca
TMF Regular
- Joined
- Oct 10, 2002
- Messages
- 158
- Points
- 18
No worries about the cliffhanger. experience tell us that you're the one who takes his time, checks and doublechecks, edits and makes sure he does the story justice. it's all worth the wait!
Thanks
Phil
Thanks
Phil
Agreed!!!!
quinn65
3rd Level Red Feather
- Joined
- Sep 30, 2001
- Messages
- 1,554
- Points
- 113
Ok, this is clearly going to have to come in a piece at a time. Sorry man, I write how I write. I just think the whole thing is sexier when the scene is set and you've gotten to know Beth a little. She's an amazing and complex lady. This turned out to be one of my favorite sessions, so I want to do it right.
Here comes...
Here comes...
quinn65
3rd Level Red Feather
- Joined
- Sep 30, 2001
- Messages
- 1,554
- Points
- 113
And there she was…
Beth looked spectacular—barefoot, demure, and flustered, pale skin beneath the revealing white robe suddenly flushing pink from her chest to her ears.
I was seeing more of her than I ever had, and the view was striking. The faint gardener’s tan on her face and forearms gave lie to the rest of her—skin so creamy it was almost translucent, scattered here and there with fine freckles. Where the robe exposed her chest and thighs, her blush glowed like embers in a low fire.
She tugged at the robe’s edges, shy, trying to conceal herself, but everything she covered only revealed skin somewhere else. Finally she shifted her weight, one bare foot curling against the wood floor as if trying to disappear into it.
“My God,” I murmured.
Her smile was quick and self-conscious, eyes darting away before finding mine again. “You made it. Nice Dom look. Want a tour?”
Leaning into the vibe, I was wearing black jeans and a black dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up past my elbows. A heavy black watch on one wrist was offset by a black leather cuff sporting a pewter triskelion on the other. The effect may have ended at my flip-flops, which I planned to slip off at the door anyway.
I pictured her moving through the cabin ahead of me, the robe loosening with each step, swaying just enough to reveal a flash of hip, the inside of a thigh—while knowing exactly where the evening would end.
“A tour sounds great,” I said.
With a come-in gesture, Beth turned and led me from the entryway into the large main living room, walking almost tiptoe as her bare feet whispered over the wide-plank floor.
Very nice calves.
“This is the living room, obviously,” she said, her voice light but pitched just a little higher than usual. She gestured to a sprung and comfortable-looking deep green sectional scattered with patterned throw pillows, a woven blanket draped over the back. Fading sunlight filtered in through the tall windows, dappling the room in shadow as it passed through the trees outside. Islands of soft light surrounded lit candles placed around the room, giving off smells of sandalwood and vanilla. Dutifully pulled away from the corner bookshelves stood the chair, awaiting my hostess. A small bar occupied the opposite corner—ice bucket sweating, glasses neatly lined.
I walked across the room, removing the Elijah Craig from my day pack and placing the pack in the chair’s seat. I turned and took the bourbon to the bar.
“Pour you some?” I asked.
“God yes.”
I poured hers over ice and took mine neat, wondering if she'd notice. A slight cock of her head as she took her glass told me she did, but she didn’t say anything.
Sipping drinks, we passed into the kitchen, warm and homey. Dried herbs hung in neat bunches above the counter, the faint scent of rosemary and thyme in the air. A ceramic bowl on the table overflowed with tomatoes and peppers from her garden. She opened a narrow pantry door, showing off shelves lined with jars of preserves, all the while making nervous small talk.
It must have felt odd, I thought, to stand in her own kitchen discussing gardening with a new male guest, wearing next to nothing, primed for arousal, knowing she would soon submit to him, tied, seduced, and moaning with pleasure.
She moved on quickly, pointing out a guest room, the back door that led to the garden, and finally her painting studio facing the rear deck—a cozy, cluttered space with canvases stacked against the wall and brushes fanned in a jar. She lingered there, fiddling with the art supplies. Her words were starting to tumble faster, her hands making vague gestures. “And that’s…well, there’s a little loft upstairs where, uh—” She trailed off, looking down, her blush darkening from pink to bright red, realizing the tour was drawing to a close.
Playing the Dom, I stepped close and lifted her chin. She gasped softly at the touch. “I love your place,” I said, my voice calm. “Let’s head back to the living room.”
Her eyes cut to mine and her lips parted slightly. She nodded, and I moved my hand to her shoulder, guiding her into the hall. When she spoke again, the awkwardness was replaced with a sexy coastal Georgia timbre creeping into her voice.
“My oh my, sir, it's not like you can just… grab a girl and tie her up.”
“Tonight it is, and once she's tied, she’ll be glad she behaved herself when told what to do.”
I couldn’t help smiling.
She shot me a quick smile in return, acknowledging the game.
“Well then.”
We stopped next to the chair, and she turned to me.
...to be continued
Beth looked spectacular—barefoot, demure, and flustered, pale skin beneath the revealing white robe suddenly flushing pink from her chest to her ears.
I was seeing more of her than I ever had, and the view was striking. The faint gardener’s tan on her face and forearms gave lie to the rest of her—skin so creamy it was almost translucent, scattered here and there with fine freckles. Where the robe exposed her chest and thighs, her blush glowed like embers in a low fire.
She tugged at the robe’s edges, shy, trying to conceal herself, but everything she covered only revealed skin somewhere else. Finally she shifted her weight, one bare foot curling against the wood floor as if trying to disappear into it.
“My God,” I murmured.
Her smile was quick and self-conscious, eyes darting away before finding mine again. “You made it. Nice Dom look. Want a tour?”
Leaning into the vibe, I was wearing black jeans and a black dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up past my elbows. A heavy black watch on one wrist was offset by a black leather cuff sporting a pewter triskelion on the other. The effect may have ended at my flip-flops, which I planned to slip off at the door anyway.
I pictured her moving through the cabin ahead of me, the robe loosening with each step, swaying just enough to reveal a flash of hip, the inside of a thigh—while knowing exactly where the evening would end.
“A tour sounds great,” I said.
With a come-in gesture, Beth turned and led me from the entryway into the large main living room, walking almost tiptoe as her bare feet whispered over the wide-plank floor.
Very nice calves.
“This is the living room, obviously,” she said, her voice light but pitched just a little higher than usual. She gestured to a sprung and comfortable-looking deep green sectional scattered with patterned throw pillows, a woven blanket draped over the back. Fading sunlight filtered in through the tall windows, dappling the room in shadow as it passed through the trees outside. Islands of soft light surrounded lit candles placed around the room, giving off smells of sandalwood and vanilla. Dutifully pulled away from the corner bookshelves stood the chair, awaiting my hostess. A small bar occupied the opposite corner—ice bucket sweating, glasses neatly lined.
I walked across the room, removing the Elijah Craig from my day pack and placing the pack in the chair’s seat. I turned and took the bourbon to the bar.
“Pour you some?” I asked.
“God yes.”
I poured hers over ice and took mine neat, wondering if she'd notice. A slight cock of her head as she took her glass told me she did, but she didn’t say anything.
Sipping drinks, we passed into the kitchen, warm and homey. Dried herbs hung in neat bunches above the counter, the faint scent of rosemary and thyme in the air. A ceramic bowl on the table overflowed with tomatoes and peppers from her garden. She opened a narrow pantry door, showing off shelves lined with jars of preserves, all the while making nervous small talk.
It must have felt odd, I thought, to stand in her own kitchen discussing gardening with a new male guest, wearing next to nothing, primed for arousal, knowing she would soon submit to him, tied, seduced, and moaning with pleasure.
She moved on quickly, pointing out a guest room, the back door that led to the garden, and finally her painting studio facing the rear deck—a cozy, cluttered space with canvases stacked against the wall and brushes fanned in a jar. She lingered there, fiddling with the art supplies. Her words were starting to tumble faster, her hands making vague gestures. “And that’s…well, there’s a little loft upstairs where, uh—” She trailed off, looking down, her blush darkening from pink to bright red, realizing the tour was drawing to a close.
Playing the Dom, I stepped close and lifted her chin. She gasped softly at the touch. “I love your place,” I said, my voice calm. “Let’s head back to the living room.”
Her eyes cut to mine and her lips parted slightly. She nodded, and I moved my hand to her shoulder, guiding her into the hall. When she spoke again, the awkwardness was replaced with a sexy coastal Georgia timbre creeping into her voice.
“My oh my, sir, it's not like you can just… grab a girl and tie her up.”
“Tonight it is, and once she's tied, she’ll be glad she behaved herself when told what to do.”
I couldn’t help smiling.
She shot me a quick smile in return, acknowledging the game.
“Well then.”
We stopped next to the chair, and she turned to me.
...to be continued
tickle_prince
Verified
- Joined
- Mar 6, 2003
- Messages
- 1,718
- Points
- 63
if it’s had a big impact on you, I think it’s right too just slow it down, so you can process it all first before writing it out. I always need time to process stuff, because you live for that moment, then you need time to reflect on it, so you can get it right, and organise your thoughts on paper, I am sure it will all be worth the wait in the end 😄
quinn65
3rd Level Red Feather
- Joined
- Sep 30, 2001
- Messages
- 1,554
- Points
- 113
We stopped next to the chair, and she turned to me.
“You smell amazing,” I said.
“I should,” she replied, “I’ve spent all day being pampered.”
“It worked.”
“It was a wonderful hell, getting spoiled and fussed at and rubbed all over, feeling the way I do. I was ready to climb the walls before they finished.”
“Well let’s take care of that then.”
“Ok… oh Jesus.” It was adorable how easily she blushed. I had a feeling her skin spoke in shades of pink, a language I’d love to learn. “I can’t believe I’m actually doing this.”
“Shhh,” I said, reaching into my pack and drawing out a long coil of soft cotton rope. “Stand still. Hold out your arms a little.”
“Oh my God,” she murmured, but obeyed, biting her lower lip.
I shook out and halved the rope, preparing to tie a chest harness.
If you’re into bondage, a chest harness is your friend. It encircles the breasts and shoulders, wrapping multiple times, providing solid anchor points in all the right places for almost any position. And the position I had in mind–see the rope365 image earlier in the thread or down below–was a little complex. Plus I intended to modify it on the fly, now that I’d seen the chair.
Beth snickered and giggled as I moved around her, looping and snugging the line.
“I’ve been trying to imagine how you’d tie me,” she mused, “but this is already pretty elaborate, and I haven’t even sat down yet.”
“Don’t worry,” I assured her. “I’ve got a plan.”
“I’m sure you do.”
I pulled a loose pile of black silk from my bag and shook out a single long, narrow scarf. “Cross your wrists in front of you, palms facing your chest.”
“Oh boy, here we go…”
She watched closely as I bound her wrists and then anchored them to the harness at her solar plexus. Her eyes kept flicking from my hands to my face and back again, as if searching for clues.
When I finished, she gave her hands an experimental twist, then wriggled her fingers over her breasts helplessly. “Ok, that works.”
Next I anchored three running lines to a point just above and between her shoulder blades on the back of the harness. Curious, she craned her neck to see.
“Hold still.”
“Dammit, what are you…”
I leaned over until our eyes met. "You're supposed to be behaving yourself.”
“That was never my strong suit.”
“Well it won’t matter in a few minutes.” I grabbed the running lines and guided her backward toward the chair, draping them over the backrest. “Follow my lead, I’m going to sit you down at an angle.”
She began to mutter as I moved her. “Oh my God oh God ohGodohGodohGod…”
I sat her at a 45-degree angle across the seat–head toward the back left corner and legs toward the front right. Moving around behind her, I belayed the middle running line from her harness around the chair’s back leg.
“Now, hook your right leg over the armrest and scoot forward til I say stop. You won’t slide off; the harness will take your weight.”
“Okayyyy…” She began scootching her hips down as I let out the line, twisting slightly to her left as her right leg pulled higher and her shoulders sank lower. “My butt’s about to slide off the end.”
“Keep going…”
“Oh Lord.”
A little whimper slipped out as her tailbone cleared the seat's edge. I let her slide a few inches more and then anchored the rope. “You’re there.”
She took in her pose, her voice slightly breathy. “This seems… a little obscene.”
I quickly tied off the remaining two lines behind the chair, one to the other rear leg and the third to the left front. Triangles are good when you’re holding people still.
With her right leg over the armrest, she had splayed out her left to brace herself, even though the harness ropes held her. As I moved around to the front of the chair, things slowed a little. She watched me nervously–and a little wantonly–knowing what I’d see when I knelt in front of her.
My first real look.
Jesus Christ, she was biting her lip.
Subtly, she tilted her left knee outward to give me a better view.
It was dark outside now, but the room’s soft light supplied by lamps and candles was enough to see her clearly. With her pale thighs open, the deep pink of her sex almost glowed. Even her inner thighs were blushing. She was tumid, and there was wetness there, glistening even in shadow.
I must have stared for several beats, because she was looking right at me when my eyes finally found her face.
“I’m so fucking hot… this is embarrassing,” she breathed, twisting her wrists. “I’m going crazy.”
"Just wait..." I managed.
Quickly, I bound her right ankle to both side chair legs, her pretty bare foot circling in the air, narrow and elegant and perfect with fresh coral polish on her nails, same as her fingers.
“Pedicure?” I asked.
“Of course.”
“That was risky–I might be a foot guy.”
“Well if you are,” she teased, wiggling her toes, “you’re a lucky one. It cost me a fortune.”
I took a shaky breath, glancing to my right. “So let’s go see the other one,” I said, scooting to her left foot. I tied a scarf around that ankle as well, snug but not tight.
More toe wiggling. Maybe she'd guessed. I gave her a wink.
“Now I need this leg.”
“I’m not sure I…”
But as she spoke, I lifted her leg at the calf and drew it across her body.
“Ooh!” she gasped as I stole her leverage, her body settling a fraction lower.
I crossed her left leg over her right knee, and immediately tied the scarf’s loose end to the back chair leg. She watched me curiously as I raised myself to turn and inspect between her legs, hoping beyond hope…
And God, it was gorgeous. I had thought the press of her legs might hide her sex, but the result was just the opposite. Whether it was her anatomy, or the swelling of her arousal, or just divine intervention, her pussy, flushing now from pink to rose as I watched, pouted wet and shameless between her thighs.
She could feel how she was on display; I could see it in the way she tried, instinctively, to curl away from my gaze—only to be stopped by the bindings.
“Oh dear Lord. I can’t… This is….”
“You’re doing great,” I assured her. I moved around and finished tying off her left ankle, then pulled a final silk scarf from the pile. This one I wound around her knees, locking them together, and then anchored them to a spot on the chest harness high between her breasts, leaving her no way to straighten.
The final result ended up a little different and slightly more thorough than the template I’d used from rope365, but it was doing the job perfectly.
Beth’s expression became almost indignant after I locked her knees to her chest, taking her last bit of leverage. It’s a debilitating feeling, having your genitals exposed and being unable to protect them, especially if you're hopelessly aroused. She was slowly coming to terms with how helpless she was—a moment treasured by every rigger.
With a final check of the knots, I stepped back to admire my work.
The moment she realized I was finished, she set her mouth into an adorable, stubborn little line and threw herself into struggling for real. Her whole body flushed red. The ropes and silk pressed into her skin as she twisted, soft grunts and short laughs escaping each time she tried to straighten her legs or shift her hips. But the ties held. At best, she could steal an inch or two in any direction before they drew her back into place.
I have a foot fetish, and hers were thoroughly fetching as they kicked and spun, but by far the most erotic thing about her struggles was the helpless exposure of her sex. I watched rapt as her hips squirmed furiously, her body frantic to shield her most sensitive nerves. But she could do nothing to hide her growing arousal, helplessly exposed as her pussy blushed even more deeply, the flesh darkening from rose to crimson.
Now she was panting. A final, all-out pull set every muscle in her body straining—but the effort gave her nothing. Color rose high in her face, along her throat, and down across the swell of her breasts where her bound hands flailed uselessly.
Finally she stilled, chest heaving, surrendering to the bondage.
...to be continued
“You smell amazing,” I said.
“I should,” she replied, “I’ve spent all day being pampered.”
“It worked.”
“It was a wonderful hell, getting spoiled and fussed at and rubbed all over, feeling the way I do. I was ready to climb the walls before they finished.”
“Well let’s take care of that then.”
“Ok… oh Jesus.” It was adorable how easily she blushed. I had a feeling her skin spoke in shades of pink, a language I’d love to learn. “I can’t believe I’m actually doing this.”
“Shhh,” I said, reaching into my pack and drawing out a long coil of soft cotton rope. “Stand still. Hold out your arms a little.”
“Oh my God,” she murmured, but obeyed, biting her lower lip.
I shook out and halved the rope, preparing to tie a chest harness.
If you’re into bondage, a chest harness is your friend. It encircles the breasts and shoulders, wrapping multiple times, providing solid anchor points in all the right places for almost any position. And the position I had in mind–see the rope365 image earlier in the thread or down below–was a little complex. Plus I intended to modify it on the fly, now that I’d seen the chair.
Beth snickered and giggled as I moved around her, looping and snugging the line.
“I’ve been trying to imagine how you’d tie me,” she mused, “but this is already pretty elaborate, and I haven’t even sat down yet.”
“Don’t worry,” I assured her. “I’ve got a plan.”
“I’m sure you do.”
I pulled a loose pile of black silk from my bag and shook out a single long, narrow scarf. “Cross your wrists in front of you, palms facing your chest.”
“Oh boy, here we go…”
She watched closely as I bound her wrists and then anchored them to the harness at her solar plexus. Her eyes kept flicking from my hands to my face and back again, as if searching for clues.
When I finished, she gave her hands an experimental twist, then wriggled her fingers over her breasts helplessly. “Ok, that works.”
Next I anchored three running lines to a point just above and between her shoulder blades on the back of the harness. Curious, she craned her neck to see.
“Hold still.”
“Dammit, what are you…”
I leaned over until our eyes met. "You're supposed to be behaving yourself.”
“That was never my strong suit.”
“Well it won’t matter in a few minutes.” I grabbed the running lines and guided her backward toward the chair, draping them over the backrest. “Follow my lead, I’m going to sit you down at an angle.”
She began to mutter as I moved her. “Oh my God oh God ohGodohGodohGod…”
I sat her at a 45-degree angle across the seat–head toward the back left corner and legs toward the front right. Moving around behind her, I belayed the middle running line from her harness around the chair’s back leg.
“Now, hook your right leg over the armrest and scoot forward til I say stop. You won’t slide off; the harness will take your weight.”
“Okayyyy…” She began scootching her hips down as I let out the line, twisting slightly to her left as her right leg pulled higher and her shoulders sank lower. “My butt’s about to slide off the end.”
“Keep going…”
“Oh Lord.”
A little whimper slipped out as her tailbone cleared the seat's edge. I let her slide a few inches more and then anchored the rope. “You’re there.”
She took in her pose, her voice slightly breathy. “This seems… a little obscene.”
I quickly tied off the remaining two lines behind the chair, one to the other rear leg and the third to the left front. Triangles are good when you’re holding people still.
With her right leg over the armrest, she had splayed out her left to brace herself, even though the harness ropes held her. As I moved around to the front of the chair, things slowed a little. She watched me nervously–and a little wantonly–knowing what I’d see when I knelt in front of her.
My first real look.
Jesus Christ, she was biting her lip.
Subtly, she tilted her left knee outward to give me a better view.
It was dark outside now, but the room’s soft light supplied by lamps and candles was enough to see her clearly. With her pale thighs open, the deep pink of her sex almost glowed. Even her inner thighs were blushing. She was tumid, and there was wetness there, glistening even in shadow.
I must have stared for several beats, because she was looking right at me when my eyes finally found her face.
“I’m so fucking hot… this is embarrassing,” she breathed, twisting her wrists. “I’m going crazy.”
"Just wait..." I managed.
Quickly, I bound her right ankle to both side chair legs, her pretty bare foot circling in the air, narrow and elegant and perfect with fresh coral polish on her nails, same as her fingers.
“Pedicure?” I asked.
“Of course.”
“That was risky–I might be a foot guy.”
“Well if you are,” she teased, wiggling her toes, “you’re a lucky one. It cost me a fortune.”
I took a shaky breath, glancing to my right. “So let’s go see the other one,” I said, scooting to her left foot. I tied a scarf around that ankle as well, snug but not tight.
More toe wiggling. Maybe she'd guessed. I gave her a wink.
“Now I need this leg.”
“I’m not sure I…”
But as she spoke, I lifted her leg at the calf and drew it across her body.
“Ooh!” she gasped as I stole her leverage, her body settling a fraction lower.
I crossed her left leg over her right knee, and immediately tied the scarf’s loose end to the back chair leg. She watched me curiously as I raised myself to turn and inspect between her legs, hoping beyond hope…
And God, it was gorgeous. I had thought the press of her legs might hide her sex, but the result was just the opposite. Whether it was her anatomy, or the swelling of her arousal, or just divine intervention, her pussy, flushing now from pink to rose as I watched, pouted wet and shameless between her thighs.
She could feel how she was on display; I could see it in the way she tried, instinctively, to curl away from my gaze—only to be stopped by the bindings.
“Oh dear Lord. I can’t… This is….”
“You’re doing great,” I assured her. I moved around and finished tying off her left ankle, then pulled a final silk scarf from the pile. This one I wound around her knees, locking them together, and then anchored them to a spot on the chest harness high between her breasts, leaving her no way to straighten.
The final result ended up a little different and slightly more thorough than the template I’d used from rope365, but it was doing the job perfectly.
Beth’s expression became almost indignant after I locked her knees to her chest, taking her last bit of leverage. It’s a debilitating feeling, having your genitals exposed and being unable to protect them, especially if you're hopelessly aroused. She was slowly coming to terms with how helpless she was—a moment treasured by every rigger.
With a final check of the knots, I stepped back to admire my work.
The moment she realized I was finished, she set her mouth into an adorable, stubborn little line and threw herself into struggling for real. Her whole body flushed red. The ropes and silk pressed into her skin as she twisted, soft grunts and short laughs escaping each time she tried to straighten her legs or shift her hips. But the ties held. At best, she could steal an inch or two in any direction before they drew her back into place.
I have a foot fetish, and hers were thoroughly fetching as they kicked and spun, but by far the most erotic thing about her struggles was the helpless exposure of her sex. I watched rapt as her hips squirmed furiously, her body frantic to shield her most sensitive nerves. But she could do nothing to hide her growing arousal, helplessly exposed as her pussy blushed even more deeply, the flesh darkening from rose to crimson.
Now she was panting. A final, all-out pull set every muscle in her body straining—but the effort gave her nothing. Color rose high in her face, along her throat, and down across the swell of her breasts where her bound hands flailed uselessly.
Finally she stilled, chest heaving, surrendering to the bondage.
...to be continued
Last edited:
quinn65
3rd Level Red Feather
- Joined
- Sep 30, 2001
- Messages
- 1,554
- Points
- 113
Finally she stilled, chest heaving, surrendering to the bondage.
When she looked up, her eyes were almost wild with lust and shame.
“This is humiliating!” she exclaimed, astonished, still catching her breath.
I knelt back in front of her, rummaging in my pack.
“Why do you say that?”
“I can’t move, I’m trussed up like a sex toy, and I’m about to explode!”
“Well you’ve been tied up before, right?” I found what I needed and drew them out quietly.
“Not like this! My ex was more of a wrists-to-the-headboard kind of guy–Oh God!–and I could always get out.”
“You ok?” I teased, idly taking her in as she watched me.
“That was a shudder, you bastard.” She wriggled prettily. “I’m pulsing down there. You must be getting quite a show from where you’re sitting.”
“I am. You literally glow when you’re hot. It’s hypnotizing.”
“I haven’t orgasmed in three damn days. I’m about to climax before you even touch me.”
“Now that would be a huge mistake.”
“Well there’s not much I can do about it. Oh GOD!”
Man, those shudders really made her squirm.
I leaned forward, drew a breath, and blew gently across her lips.
She screamed.
“Holy CRAP–give a girl some warning!”
“You just might have the world’s most sensitive pussy.”
That earned me a glare.
“And we seem to have forgotten the whole Dom business. You’re being pretty bratty for someone in your predicament.”
“BRATTY?!”
She was getting a little wild. Time to dial things up and reign them in.
I gave her a flat stare.
“Listen, Beth. Here’s what we’re going to do.”
I had her attention. I raised up my hands, each of which held a small artist’s paintbrush. Her eyes flew wide.
“What are those for?”
“In a few seconds, I’m going to use them to just barely stroke the edges of those bright red pussy lips,” I said, nodding toward her sex.
“Oh God! Brushes?! I’ll….”
“But you’re not allowed to come.”
“I’m WHAT?!”
“Not. Allowed. To come.”
“But…”
“Beth, shhh. I know I’ll be torturing you, but you really need to hold yourself together.”
“Or what?”
“Or when you do lose control and come–and I know you will–I’m going to tickle your feet.”
For a second, nothing–just her staring at me, mouth parting slightly, as the words sunk in. Then her eyes grew wide. She kicked her legs once, hard, and curled her toes.
“You have got to be kidding!” I swear her southern accent got thicker.
I smiled and cut my eyes to her feet. “I didn’t hear a ‘sir.’”
“Wait, hold on,” she said, the ‘sir’ forgotten. “You can’t tickle me like this–that’s inhuman!”
“I most certainly can. And still no sir?”
“Ok, ok–sorry–sir, please don’t tickle me. I will absolutely die!”
“Are we negotiating now?”
“No! Yes! Quinn, I can’t stand my feet being tickled! Look–Oh God!–spank me instead! That’s what Erik liked! My bare ass is right there, it can’t move!” Her eyes were still wide with shock, but there was the glimmer of a smile under the panic. Whether in anticipation or disbelief, I’m not sure.
“No reason not to do both, but it’s pretty clear tickling scares you to death. Spanking might be more a reward than a punishment. But listen,” I reasoned, “just hold back your orgasm, and you won’t have to worry about any of it.”
“I CAN’T!”
I leaned forward, lifting the brushes. “That’s what training is for.”
“NO!!!”
Bracing my left hand on the armrest and my right on her cheek, I held the brushes like pencils and laid their tips high on the sensitive edges of her labia. She twitched and whimpered at the touch, growling high in the back of her throat as I traced a slow, agonizing stroke down each side. Her hips spasmed wildly but were easy to ride with my hands, held as they were.
I reversed at the bottom, drawing the brushes upward.
Intent on my strokes, I couldn’t see her face, but her muffled screams spoke volumes.
“MMMPH!! MMMMMMMMMPH!!! BAAAHHHHH!!! HAHAHA!!! OH GOD! Ooh boy ooooh boy oh Jesus goddammit SON OF A BITCH!!!” The teasing reanimated her struggles, hips bucking and squirming in frustration, trying alternately to pull away from the brush tips and press closer.
I could feel the heat rolling off of her.
And if I glanced to the side, I could see her pretty bare feet kicking helplessly, like she was trying to run in thin air.
Finally I pulled away to look up at her face, and found her staring daggers at me.
“You bastard!” she scolded. “Don’t stop! I can’t move anything!”
She was a terrible sub, but an exquisite torture victim. I decided then and there to use the Dom stuff selectively instead of trying to seriously discipline her. It was too much fun to watch her rage and sputter under sexual torment.
“Don’t stop? You know what happens if you let go...”
“You’ve GOTTA press harder… Quinn, please… please, sir I’m begging… just don’t tickle me if I come PLEASE don’t tickle me…”
Rational thought was gone; she was slaved to this orgasm. She needed release at all costs.
“Ok, professor. Happy to oblige.”
I laid the brushes aside and began working her with my fingers, sliding them further into her wetness, rubbing and stroking, but avoiding her clit. Moaning wantonly, she tried to pull away at first but then curled her torso hungrily, seeking clitoral contact, her cries beginning to fill the room.
“Ahhhh I'm sorry… Ooohhhh… God I'm sorry… Oh God, oh boy… I can't… Oooohhhhh…”
She was gonna be loud.
“Yeah, won’t last long,” I promised as she whimpered and squirmed. “Get ready for some tickling.”
She was incredibly responsive. And vocal. But even in her state, the thought of being tickled stayed on her mind and gave her some fight. She worked it into her litany of moans: “Oh GOD that feels so good… oh ohhh ohhhhh… I can’t… I can’t… I can’t stop it. GAHHHD… Please don’t tickle me, I’ll die. Rrrrr… Ahhhh… No… PLEASE… oh God oh boy oh boy oh boy oh no oh no ohno-ohno-ohno PLEASE! I CAN’T STOP I CAN’T OH GOD OH GOD aaaAAAAHHHhh!!!”
She came hard, struggling to curl into herself as her legs first clenched the armrest, and then violently attempted to straighten, her body spasming hard against the bondage. She thrashed side to side and threw her head back, a crescendo of wild, helpless cries tearing from her throat.
I hadn't even touched her clit until she climaxed. As she peaked, I slid my fingers up to it and squeezed, drawing from her a final loud scream of release before I backed off to let her recover. Her face was bright red, her eyes half-lidded, her breath coming in ragged gasps.
Her legs and hips twitched as aftershocks rippled through her.
I shifted slightly and placed one hand gently over her left foot, then hooked my thumb over the top of her right, fingers grazing her arch.
Her head snapped up instantly, eyes locked onto mine in a panic. Her body stayed very still but her feet started to flail.
“OH GOD! I’M SORRY! I COULDN’T STOP IT! DON’T YOU DARE TICKLE ME LIKE THIS! I CAN’T EVEN–PLEASE! SIR–QUINN–PLEASE!!! DAMN IT NOOO!!!”
I tickled.
She exploded.
Three loud, piercing screams were followed by a roar of helpless laughter like water rushing through rapids in a stream. She tried to reign it in, but after each determined growl the laughter overwhelmed her again, trouncing her willpower.
She tried to kick her feet but their helplessness only seemed to make her laugh harder, hair flying as she whipped her head side to side.
She was still recovering from a soul-shaking orgasm, so however ticklish she normally was, this was completely blowing her fuses. I imagine she hadn’t been tickled in decades, and now it was utterly unraveling her. In good conscience I could only keep it up for half a minute.
There would be plenty more chances, and I had already made my point: she really needed to fight the next orgasm.
“Oh my GOD that was AWFUL!!!” She raged, eyes wild and blushing furiously as I pulled away. “That was TORTURE!!! You can't just–aaaahhHHHH you fucker holy shit I'm still sen–ooohhHHHhhh no not again Jesus!”
Of course I was back between her legs, this time sliding my finger over and around her clit, still swollen and sensitive from a minute before. Her scolding stopped as she bit her lip, the friction taming her outrage. Her head fell forward and she glared up at me through a curtain of bangs as she gasped.
“So every time I come…” she breathed.
“The tickling gets worse.”
I slid a finger inside her while rubbing her clit with my thumb. Her low growls turned to helpless sighs as she flinched and kicked.
“God damn you,” she managed. “I hate being tickled but this game is making me hotter.”
“Poor girl… helpless and horny and ticklish.” I dusted the fingers of my free hand over the backs of her thighs.
“OooooohHHHhhh GOD!!!” Her hips were spasming again. “Fuck you buddy!”
“You’re forgetting the ‘sirs.’”
“Screw that AAAHHHHH!!!! No!!! Rrrrr…..”
“You growl like a kitten.”
Now she was really starting to thrash. I eased back a little to let her fight it. It was adorable to watch.
“Ahh! Ahh! Ahh! Ahh! You’re teasing me!”
“We're just getting started.”
“I can’t… I can’t… JESUS! Oh God, I can’t stop it! PLEASE don’t tickle me again!”
“If you go I’ll tickle you harder.”
“OH GOD!!! I CAN’T!!! AaaahHHHHhh!!!”
Another string of screams tore through the room as she spasmed against the ties again. This time, as she peaked, I laid a series of firm, open-hand slaps across her bottom, still leaving her ass several shades lighter than her sex. We locked eyes as she climaxed, her expression the epitome of shock.
“YOU!!!” Her voice was outrage mixed with humor, eyes glittering with arousal as she recovered again. “That was–WAAAAHAHAHAHHAHA PLEASE NOOOO!!!”
The tickling broke her instantly. What this round lacked in surprise, it made up for in anticipation. There was no fight in her to try and control the laughter this time–she just let it flow from her belly, kicking and flailing.
...to be continued
When she looked up, her eyes were almost wild with lust and shame.
“This is humiliating!” she exclaimed, astonished, still catching her breath.
I knelt back in front of her, rummaging in my pack.
“Why do you say that?”
“I can’t move, I’m trussed up like a sex toy, and I’m about to explode!”
“Well you’ve been tied up before, right?” I found what I needed and drew them out quietly.
“Not like this! My ex was more of a wrists-to-the-headboard kind of guy–Oh God!–and I could always get out.”
“You ok?” I teased, idly taking her in as she watched me.
“That was a shudder, you bastard.” She wriggled prettily. “I’m pulsing down there. You must be getting quite a show from where you’re sitting.”
“I am. You literally glow when you’re hot. It’s hypnotizing.”
“I haven’t orgasmed in three damn days. I’m about to climax before you even touch me.”
“Now that would be a huge mistake.”
“Well there’s not much I can do about it. Oh GOD!”
Man, those shudders really made her squirm.
I leaned forward, drew a breath, and blew gently across her lips.
She screamed.
“Holy CRAP–give a girl some warning!”
“You just might have the world’s most sensitive pussy.”
That earned me a glare.
“And we seem to have forgotten the whole Dom business. You’re being pretty bratty for someone in your predicament.”
“BRATTY?!”
She was getting a little wild. Time to dial things up and reign them in.
I gave her a flat stare.
“Listen, Beth. Here’s what we’re going to do.”
I had her attention. I raised up my hands, each of which held a small artist’s paintbrush. Her eyes flew wide.
“What are those for?”
“In a few seconds, I’m going to use them to just barely stroke the edges of those bright red pussy lips,” I said, nodding toward her sex.
“Oh God! Brushes?! I’ll….”
“But you’re not allowed to come.”
“I’m WHAT?!”
“Not. Allowed. To come.”
“But…”
“Beth, shhh. I know I’ll be torturing you, but you really need to hold yourself together.”
“Or what?”
“Or when you do lose control and come–and I know you will–I’m going to tickle your feet.”
For a second, nothing–just her staring at me, mouth parting slightly, as the words sunk in. Then her eyes grew wide. She kicked her legs once, hard, and curled her toes.
“You have got to be kidding!” I swear her southern accent got thicker.
I smiled and cut my eyes to her feet. “I didn’t hear a ‘sir.’”
“Wait, hold on,” she said, the ‘sir’ forgotten. “You can’t tickle me like this–that’s inhuman!”
“I most certainly can. And still no sir?”
“Ok, ok–sorry–sir, please don’t tickle me. I will absolutely die!”
“Are we negotiating now?”
“No! Yes! Quinn, I can’t stand my feet being tickled! Look–Oh God!–spank me instead! That’s what Erik liked! My bare ass is right there, it can’t move!” Her eyes were still wide with shock, but there was the glimmer of a smile under the panic. Whether in anticipation or disbelief, I’m not sure.
“No reason not to do both, but it’s pretty clear tickling scares you to death. Spanking might be more a reward than a punishment. But listen,” I reasoned, “just hold back your orgasm, and you won’t have to worry about any of it.”
“I CAN’T!”
I leaned forward, lifting the brushes. “That’s what training is for.”
“NO!!!”
Bracing my left hand on the armrest and my right on her cheek, I held the brushes like pencils and laid their tips high on the sensitive edges of her labia. She twitched and whimpered at the touch, growling high in the back of her throat as I traced a slow, agonizing stroke down each side. Her hips spasmed wildly but were easy to ride with my hands, held as they were.
I reversed at the bottom, drawing the brushes upward.
Intent on my strokes, I couldn’t see her face, but her muffled screams spoke volumes.
“MMMPH!! MMMMMMMMMPH!!! BAAAHHHHH!!! HAHAHA!!! OH GOD! Ooh boy ooooh boy oh Jesus goddammit SON OF A BITCH!!!” The teasing reanimated her struggles, hips bucking and squirming in frustration, trying alternately to pull away from the brush tips and press closer.
I could feel the heat rolling off of her.
And if I glanced to the side, I could see her pretty bare feet kicking helplessly, like she was trying to run in thin air.
Finally I pulled away to look up at her face, and found her staring daggers at me.
“You bastard!” she scolded. “Don’t stop! I can’t move anything!”
She was a terrible sub, but an exquisite torture victim. I decided then and there to use the Dom stuff selectively instead of trying to seriously discipline her. It was too much fun to watch her rage and sputter under sexual torment.
“Don’t stop? You know what happens if you let go...”
“You’ve GOTTA press harder… Quinn, please… please, sir I’m begging… just don’t tickle me if I come PLEASE don’t tickle me…”
Rational thought was gone; she was slaved to this orgasm. She needed release at all costs.
“Ok, professor. Happy to oblige.”
I laid the brushes aside and began working her with my fingers, sliding them further into her wetness, rubbing and stroking, but avoiding her clit. Moaning wantonly, she tried to pull away at first but then curled her torso hungrily, seeking clitoral contact, her cries beginning to fill the room.
“Ahhhh I'm sorry… Ooohhhh… God I'm sorry… Oh God, oh boy… I can't… Oooohhhhh…”
She was gonna be loud.
“Yeah, won’t last long,” I promised as she whimpered and squirmed. “Get ready for some tickling.”
She was incredibly responsive. And vocal. But even in her state, the thought of being tickled stayed on her mind and gave her some fight. She worked it into her litany of moans: “Oh GOD that feels so good… oh ohhh ohhhhh… I can’t… I can’t… I can’t stop it. GAHHHD… Please don’t tickle me, I’ll die. Rrrrr… Ahhhh… No… PLEASE… oh God oh boy oh boy oh boy oh no oh no ohno-ohno-ohno PLEASE! I CAN’T STOP I CAN’T OH GOD OH GOD aaaAAAAHHHhh!!!”
She came hard, struggling to curl into herself as her legs first clenched the armrest, and then violently attempted to straighten, her body spasming hard against the bondage. She thrashed side to side and threw her head back, a crescendo of wild, helpless cries tearing from her throat.
I hadn't even touched her clit until she climaxed. As she peaked, I slid my fingers up to it and squeezed, drawing from her a final loud scream of release before I backed off to let her recover. Her face was bright red, her eyes half-lidded, her breath coming in ragged gasps.
Her legs and hips twitched as aftershocks rippled through her.
I shifted slightly and placed one hand gently over her left foot, then hooked my thumb over the top of her right, fingers grazing her arch.
Her head snapped up instantly, eyes locked onto mine in a panic. Her body stayed very still but her feet started to flail.
“OH GOD! I’M SORRY! I COULDN’T STOP IT! DON’T YOU DARE TICKLE ME LIKE THIS! I CAN’T EVEN–PLEASE! SIR–QUINN–PLEASE!!! DAMN IT NOOO!!!”
I tickled.
She exploded.
Three loud, piercing screams were followed by a roar of helpless laughter like water rushing through rapids in a stream. She tried to reign it in, but after each determined growl the laughter overwhelmed her again, trouncing her willpower.
She tried to kick her feet but their helplessness only seemed to make her laugh harder, hair flying as she whipped her head side to side.
She was still recovering from a soul-shaking orgasm, so however ticklish she normally was, this was completely blowing her fuses. I imagine she hadn’t been tickled in decades, and now it was utterly unraveling her. In good conscience I could only keep it up for half a minute.
There would be plenty more chances, and I had already made my point: she really needed to fight the next orgasm.
“Oh my GOD that was AWFUL!!!” She raged, eyes wild and blushing furiously as I pulled away. “That was TORTURE!!! You can't just–aaaahhHHHH you fucker holy shit I'm still sen–ooohhHHHhhh no not again Jesus!”
Of course I was back between her legs, this time sliding my finger over and around her clit, still swollen and sensitive from a minute before. Her scolding stopped as she bit her lip, the friction taming her outrage. Her head fell forward and she glared up at me through a curtain of bangs as she gasped.
“So every time I come…” she breathed.
“The tickling gets worse.”
I slid a finger inside her while rubbing her clit with my thumb. Her low growls turned to helpless sighs as she flinched and kicked.
“God damn you,” she managed. “I hate being tickled but this game is making me hotter.”
“Poor girl… helpless and horny and ticklish.” I dusted the fingers of my free hand over the backs of her thighs.
“OooooohHHHhhh GOD!!!” Her hips were spasming again. “Fuck you buddy!”
“You’re forgetting the ‘sirs.’”
“Screw that AAAHHHHH!!!! No!!! Rrrrr…..”
“You growl like a kitten.”
Now she was really starting to thrash. I eased back a little to let her fight it. It was adorable to watch.
“Ahh! Ahh! Ahh! Ahh! You’re teasing me!”
“We're just getting started.”
“I can’t… I can’t… JESUS! Oh God, I can’t stop it! PLEASE don’t tickle me again!”
“If you go I’ll tickle you harder.”
“OH GOD!!! I CAN’T!!! AaaahHHHHhh!!!”
Another string of screams tore through the room as she spasmed against the ties again. This time, as she peaked, I laid a series of firm, open-hand slaps across her bottom, still leaving her ass several shades lighter than her sex. We locked eyes as she climaxed, her expression the epitome of shock.
“YOU!!!” Her voice was outrage mixed with humor, eyes glittering with arousal as she recovered again. “That was–WAAAAHAHAHAHHAHA PLEASE NOOOO!!!”
The tickling broke her instantly. What this round lacked in surprise, it made up for in anticipation. There was no fight in her to try and control the laughter this time–she just let it flow from her belly, kicking and flailing.
...to be continued
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phil605_ca
TMF Regular
- Joined
- Oct 10, 2002
- Messages
- 158
- Points
- 18
Loving this, outstanding!
tickle_prince
Verified
- Joined
- Mar 6, 2003
- Messages
- 1,718
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See..totally worth the wait.. as I said 😁 and told so well too, truly an extraordinary experience you had bud
finalcountdown
TMF Poster
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- Oct 12, 2006
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- 148
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- 18
Do you have a feet lookalike image for her similar to how you’ve done them in the past? She’s incredible can’t wait for the next part to drop!
quinn65
3rd Level Red Feather
- Joined
- Sep 30, 2001
- Messages
- 1,554
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- 113
Good point, I normally do that for true stories and forgot. Here's a face match and some similar foot pics. For the face match I take her actual photo, do an image search to find the most similar person I can, and then cartoonize it. Not sure why I do it that way, but there you go.
She's a pretty blonde Georgia girl with pretty southern girl feet.
p.s. Every time I see you post I get the damn song stuck in my head... 😉
p.p.s. If someone wants to take that photo, age her maybe 5-10 years (the AI made her look younger), and give her dark-rimmed professor glasses, I'll tell you how close you got.
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So, she's an adorable Southern Belle with sexy ticklish feet and a spunky personality...
I'm certain I am speaking for the entire community when I say, HARD PASS! ;o)
My goodness, you have described and depicted a true tickling gem. So looking forward to more.
Quinn…If at all possible, you have to get a pic of her feet - with her permission- and post them here. This story, coupled with the exquisite details and descriptive style BEGS for them to be displayed, in all their respective regalia!
quinn65
3rd Level Red Feather
- Joined
- Sep 30, 2001
- Messages
- 1,554
- Points
- 113
Sorry not to post actuals, but let me tell you, if she gave me the picture above I'd believe those were her feet. The polish color is even close to Thursday's...
I didn't ask but I'd guess she was size 7-7.5.
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