The_Spirit
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(F/F, mildly erotic, yet highly inspired by my insatiable appetite for the Tickling fetish)
I am but a mere man, an artist if you will, with but a mind and soul to offer this world,
and my true penchant for tickling women inspires my words to become unfurled.
Is it warped, is it normal, well it's been tailored to fit me,
I know what I like, I like what I know, and the rest is history.
A Poetic Tickling Tale Titled:
_____________________
The Mighty Violet (and aka as 'The Long Count')**
** ©2008 The Spirit. All rights reserved.
By The Spirit
e-mail: [email protected]
The excitement was scalding at the sorority's rented theater that night,
for a celebrity wrestler named Violet was to appear for an exhibition fight.
The only thing missing, was a leader to volunteer to wrestle the famous star,
but soon a boisterous and emphatic Sister named Minnie jumped down to spar.
Now 'Skinny' Minnie whose last name was Mckinney, was already quite tipsy,
from the exhausted draught that freely flowed that eve in Ol' Poughkeepsie.
All the Sorority girls settled in and were tightly glued to their chairs,
The ring stage was set, the referee was prepared to oversee the affairs.
The bibulous miss hammed it up for the roaring crowd, cursing the Champ with spoken smut.
Sure she was cute, but clearly not bright, for if she were, her own lips would be tightly shut.
Instead Minnie, wedged her cherry red playsuit snuggly where her curves and creases intersect,
while Violet, donned in full battle gear and mask, fumed at her opponents outward disrespect.
As sportsmanship dictates Violet reached out her hand in good will at the sound of the bell,
but instead of returning the gesture, Minnie kicked the Champ in the shins and wished her well.
Violet was the Champ for very good reason, for she knew instinctively how to punish her foes,
like tending to a garden, by plucking each petal, de-thorning the stem before shearing the rose.
Violet was greeted by a slap to her cheek, yet the follow-up missed, and was but a swoosh gone by.
Her response was swift, and before Minnie knew what hit, her shorts were yanked down to mid-thigh.
The sorority squalled it's approval as justice served, like a harmonious choir from rioting vigilantes,
and cheered at the sight of Minnie, the blushing combatant, standing dazed, displaying her panties.
The red-faced belle had no time to restore her drawers, before being cut down to the ground,
a scissor hold from the rear-guard hooked her firmly in place, and she feared her fate of feeling bound.
That feeling was bolstered further when Violet key-locked both of her tiny wrists in but a single hand,
and jerked them up, and forced them behind her own head, then back down spineward into no man's land.
The Violet Shadow was going for an over-head Kimora, which is hard to describe to you my dear reader,
but even those high in the bleachers that night, saw the twisted predicament of the minority leader.
Minnie was furious and scowled, she dreaded that this was the worst possible outcome for the match,
and could not imagine that things could get any worse, but Violet had her own devilish plan to hatch.
For she had one free hand you see, and with Miss Mckinney interlaced as she was, and un-alert,
she now had ample cause, to implement a search warrant beneath her fidgety foes rising t-shirt.
At first, Violet was curious as to whether Minnie was wearing a matching bra, so up her fingers marched,
the gleeful giggles replaced Minnie's huffy threats, she uncoiled with her chest up, and her back arched.
This altercation lead to a freak declaration that Minnie was alarmingly ticklish beyond compare,
and was deserving of a lesson to never forget and this opportunity Violet would not spare.
Our Heroine peeled up Minnie's rouge cotton Tee over her chest, until it bunched just below her neck,
and so, her bare midriff waved Violet's hand home like a plane arriving at it's destined landing deck.
Now half stripped with her white, two-pieced undergarments clearly on display she profanely cursed,
but when Violet's wiggling fingers prodded her sides, out from her luscious lips, savage laughter burst.
This was not Vaudeville, nor pre-planned theater, but rather a rare public dismantling of the best sort,
for Skinny Minnie Mckinney was in the process of having her cognition prosecuted in Violet's high court.
Keenly noted that every time she squeezed and pinched the fleshy pulp of Minnie's ribs or healthy waistline,
that aside from the evoked laughter, her melon-like breasts bounced wildly, set now by Violet's own design.
Her wealthy cleavage tripped the light fantastic, and brassiered boobs danced the Can-Can to her own laughter,
this was not the Moulin Rouge, but rather The Bardavon that housed this classic, still talked about thereafter.
Eliciting joyous smiles, silly spasms, excited giggling and laughter, for, if you will, Violet was a free-will abductor,
and when the tickling tempo varied, as did the projected response, 'twas the ballad of the Choir and the Conductor.
Each onlooker thought the scene funny, and assumed that she must be enjoying herself, such was the case,
but poor Minnie was fuming, irate, and mortified and yet she couldn't wipe the smile from her own foolish face.
Soon her own reflexes were behaving backwards for her nipples hardened and she felt herself slick and wet,
and if you haven't been lost by now oh dear reader, let's us just say that it was not from her own bodily sweat.
For now Violet controlled all of Minnie's feelings, vocals, physiologic responses and each ending of all her nerves,
and let me add, that this befitting end is what each spoiled, ill-natured, radiant beauty across this land deserves.
You may wonder if her pampered and pedicured feet got stripped and met a similar and sensual fate too?
They sure did, right after her breasts, underarms and sensitive thighs made their Ol' Poughkeepsie debut.
The referee never did step in to stop the wrestling match, she kept restarting her count, and let it go,
and Skinny Minnie Mckinney, as you'd suspect, did reach a climax, about three-quarters way through the show.
Unless you were there that night, or use your imagination, you won't know how the last quarter ended,
and such a fiasco was never repeated until The Violet Shadow fought again to keep her Championship defended.
And being The Spirit of whom I am, let me add that Skinny Minnie got an affluent spanking for good measure,
which is a different blessed topic to this poem of rampant tickling I've bestowed for your reading pleasure.
_____________________
Oh my friends, If you'll be so kind as to leave me some type of feedback to this, my offering of a rhyming tale,
then an Easter Egg full of color to visually stimulate your creative fancy may closely follow this unusaul trail.
Thanks.
I am but a mere man, an artist if you will, with but a mind and soul to offer this world,
and my true penchant for tickling women inspires my words to become unfurled.
Is it warped, is it normal, well it's been tailored to fit me,
I know what I like, I like what I know, and the rest is history.
A Poetic Tickling Tale Titled:
_____________________
The Mighty Violet (and aka as 'The Long Count')**
** ©2008 The Spirit. All rights reserved.
By The Spirit
e-mail: [email protected]
The excitement was scalding at the sorority's rented theater that night,
for a celebrity wrestler named Violet was to appear for an exhibition fight.
The only thing missing, was a leader to volunteer to wrestle the famous star,
but soon a boisterous and emphatic Sister named Minnie jumped down to spar.
Now 'Skinny' Minnie whose last name was Mckinney, was already quite tipsy,
from the exhausted draught that freely flowed that eve in Ol' Poughkeepsie.
All the Sorority girls settled in and were tightly glued to their chairs,
The ring stage was set, the referee was prepared to oversee the affairs.
The bibulous miss hammed it up for the roaring crowd, cursing the Champ with spoken smut.
Sure she was cute, but clearly not bright, for if she were, her own lips would be tightly shut.
Instead Minnie, wedged her cherry red playsuit snuggly where her curves and creases intersect,
while Violet, donned in full battle gear and mask, fumed at her opponents outward disrespect.
As sportsmanship dictates Violet reached out her hand in good will at the sound of the bell,
but instead of returning the gesture, Minnie kicked the Champ in the shins and wished her well.
Violet was the Champ for very good reason, for she knew instinctively how to punish her foes,
like tending to a garden, by plucking each petal, de-thorning the stem before shearing the rose.
Violet was greeted by a slap to her cheek, yet the follow-up missed, and was but a swoosh gone by.
Her response was swift, and before Minnie knew what hit, her shorts were yanked down to mid-thigh.
The sorority squalled it's approval as justice served, like a harmonious choir from rioting vigilantes,
and cheered at the sight of Minnie, the blushing combatant, standing dazed, displaying her panties.
The red-faced belle had no time to restore her drawers, before being cut down to the ground,
a scissor hold from the rear-guard hooked her firmly in place, and she feared her fate of feeling bound.
That feeling was bolstered further when Violet key-locked both of her tiny wrists in but a single hand,
and jerked them up, and forced them behind her own head, then back down spineward into no man's land.
The Violet Shadow was going for an over-head Kimora, which is hard to describe to you my dear reader,
but even those high in the bleachers that night, saw the twisted predicament of the minority leader.
Minnie was furious and scowled, she dreaded that this was the worst possible outcome for the match,
and could not imagine that things could get any worse, but Violet had her own devilish plan to hatch.
For she had one free hand you see, and with Miss Mckinney interlaced as she was, and un-alert,
she now had ample cause, to implement a search warrant beneath her fidgety foes rising t-shirt.
At first, Violet was curious as to whether Minnie was wearing a matching bra, so up her fingers marched,
the gleeful giggles replaced Minnie's huffy threats, she uncoiled with her chest up, and her back arched.
This altercation lead to a freak declaration that Minnie was alarmingly ticklish beyond compare,
and was deserving of a lesson to never forget and this opportunity Violet would not spare.
Our Heroine peeled up Minnie's rouge cotton Tee over her chest, until it bunched just below her neck,
and so, her bare midriff waved Violet's hand home like a plane arriving at it's destined landing deck.
Now half stripped with her white, two-pieced undergarments clearly on display she profanely cursed,
but when Violet's wiggling fingers prodded her sides, out from her luscious lips, savage laughter burst.
This was not Vaudeville, nor pre-planned theater, but rather a rare public dismantling of the best sort,
for Skinny Minnie Mckinney was in the process of having her cognition prosecuted in Violet's high court.
Keenly noted that every time she squeezed and pinched the fleshy pulp of Minnie's ribs or healthy waistline,
that aside from the evoked laughter, her melon-like breasts bounced wildly, set now by Violet's own design.
Her wealthy cleavage tripped the light fantastic, and brassiered boobs danced the Can-Can to her own laughter,
this was not the Moulin Rouge, but rather The Bardavon that housed this classic, still talked about thereafter.
Eliciting joyous smiles, silly spasms, excited giggling and laughter, for, if you will, Violet was a free-will abductor,
and when the tickling tempo varied, as did the projected response, 'twas the ballad of the Choir and the Conductor.
Each onlooker thought the scene funny, and assumed that she must be enjoying herself, such was the case,
but poor Minnie was fuming, irate, and mortified and yet she couldn't wipe the smile from her own foolish face.
Soon her own reflexes were behaving backwards for her nipples hardened and she felt herself slick and wet,
and if you haven't been lost by now oh dear reader, let's us just say that it was not from her own bodily sweat.
For now Violet controlled all of Minnie's feelings, vocals, physiologic responses and each ending of all her nerves,
and let me add, that this befitting end is what each spoiled, ill-natured, radiant beauty across this land deserves.
You may wonder if her pampered and pedicured feet got stripped and met a similar and sensual fate too?
They sure did, right after her breasts, underarms and sensitive thighs made their Ol' Poughkeepsie debut.
The referee never did step in to stop the wrestling match, she kept restarting her count, and let it go,
and Skinny Minnie Mckinney, as you'd suspect, did reach a climax, about three-quarters way through the show.
Unless you were there that night, or use your imagination, you won't know how the last quarter ended,
and such a fiasco was never repeated until The Violet Shadow fought again to keep her Championship defended.
And being The Spirit of whom I am, let me add that Skinny Minnie got an affluent spanking for good measure,
which is a different blessed topic to this poem of rampant tickling I've bestowed for your reading pleasure.
_____________________
Oh my friends, If you'll be so kind as to leave me some type of feedback to this, my offering of a rhyming tale,
then an Easter Egg full of color to visually stimulate your creative fancy may closely follow this unusaul trail.
Thanks.