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.
On the downside for her, she was still a squirming, giggling, blushing wreck. On the upside, she seemed to be recovering a bit from the flat-out panic of the earlier foot tickling. Her laughs became more natural, almost musical; they had lost their maniacal edge.
“aaaHAAAHAHA stAAHAAAHAP ple-ohaaaHAHAHA God! Okay! YELLOW YELLOW YELLOW!!!”
I eased back to gentle caresses of her arches and ankles.
She looked up and locked her gaze on mine, eyes bright, smile strained, hands fluttering on her chest like a trapped butterfly.
“Ha! Now… Ha! Hey! heeheehee… HEY now… grrrrr!!! Staaahahahap! You’re still tickling me!”
“Yellow means slow down.”
“Well STOP for a damn minute! No way am I gonna say the other one!”
We had discussed safeword rules in the lead-up. Beth had scoffed at the time, swearing I’d never make her say “red,” but she seemed kind of glad to know “yellow” at the moment.
I stopped tickling but left my fingertips in contact, drumming them ominously on the tops of her feet. It struck me that her voice had now gone full, classic, old-world Savannah. She sounded like a Chi Omega from UGA.
“Oh my GOD!!!” she panted, catching her breath. “You are an evil, evil, EVIL man!”
“Maybe so,” I teased. “You can always say 'red.'”
Beth stared at me wide-eyed, mouth open in a dazed grin. “Yeah right!!! I have never come so hard in my LIFE! Twice! And the TICKLING! That’s just MEAN!”
She wiggled her toes to underscore the point.
“Are you doing ok? Anything pinching or…?”
“And you SPANKED me!”
She seemed determined to narrate every sensation, her tone pure sorority-girl gossip... breathless, conspiratorial, as if we were huddled in a dorm lounge dissecting the juiciest scandal of the semester.
I didn’t mind.
“Did you know your voice gets more southern when…”
“When I’m turned on? I know it. I sound like I’m back in high school.”
Ah sound lahk Ah’m back in hah schewl…
As she said this, she pooched her bottom lip and looked down at herself, twisting her hips experimentally and wiggling her butt.
“It’s like I’m a damn sex piñata,” she said, half laughing, half scandalized. “You’ve got me hanging off the edge of this chair so you can just… knock orgasms out of me like candy.”
Damn. I’m sure my eyebrows went up. “That’s a colorful way to put it.”
“It's probably why I can't calm down,” she went on, the southern drawl growing breathy, still squirming in her bonds. “I'm just a horny hot mess. It’s so humiliating–all of it. The pussy tease. You making me come while I’m trying not to. Then tickling my damn feet when I lose it, you bastard…” With a flirty glare, she rocked against the bindings and gave a couple of small kicks. “It's so wrong... but it feels so damn good... and I can’t do a thing to stop you.”
Beth kept bouncing and wriggling on the chair–like a damn sex piñata, I thought–as she spoke. I didn’t interrupt. She was dissecting her own predicament like a lecture subject, and it was fascinating to hear.
There was something deeply arousing about the shy blushing of her pussy as she analyzed her own feelings, her expression caught between outrage and self-wonder. “I mean, look at me! This is embarrassing! It’s ridiculous! We work together! I’m a grown, accomplished woman, and all I can do is literally sit here and take it from you. I can’t control myself. I was raised to be a proper, dignified lady... but this feels so good I can’t…” She met my eyes, shoulders lifting in a coy, helpless shrug. “I mean… I guess that’s why I let you… why I like to be…” she trailed off.
I nodded. “You’ve been spanked before.”
“Mm hmm. Never tickled like this but definitely spanked. That was Erik’s thing, and yes it turned me on. It was the only reason we stayed together as long as we did. He was an intolerable jerk otherwise."
“Too bad, I have a switch at home. I should have brought it. Uh, do you…?”
She blushed again. Everywhere. Her voice was husky when she answered.
“There’s... ahem... a yardstick in the studio, just inside the door. Oh Lord Jesus…”
“Be right back.”
Her eyes flew wide. “You bastard!”
I found the yardstick where she said, and it was a good one. Nice, heavier wood with a metal cap tacked over each end. When I returned to the living room, she was fully in character, a sight to behold.
Her skin had flushed again to a deep, telling pink, and the soft folds helplessly displayed between her thighs had grown a deeper crimson since her earlier confession. She was twisting and writhing as hard as she could, her feet kicking in frustrated bursts, eyes locked on mine with a wide, panicked intensity as I came into view. Her hands flailed uselessly against her chest as she frantically worked at her bound wrists. Every movement telegraphed helpless vulnerability.
“Now you’re gonna spank me if I come?”
“No,” I knelt in front of her again. “I’m gonna spank you for fun, and while you come. I’ll still tickle you after.”
Her toes clenched and released. “Oh my God Quinn no…”
“I’ve also got a little surprise…” I reached into my pack.
Her eyes narrowed. “What?”
A steady, menacing hum filled the room as I thumbed the switch on the clit wand. I drew it out where she could see–a sleek handle like an electric toothbrush, ending in a slim metal stem capped with a small, dark silicone cup.
Her eyes flashed and her whole body tensed. “What is that?!” She knew exactly what it was..
I grinned. “If you break the chair when I slide this over your clit, that’s on you.”
Her struggles doubled, her voice breaking into a squeal. “No!!! Please!!!”
...to be continued
