GiggleTales
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My name is Derek. I’m 29, 6’3”, 240 pounds of solid muscle, and I’ve been a personal trainer for six years. Most clients come to me because they want results. Brooke came to me because she wanted to be pushed.
She was 23, a rising fitness model with a body that turned heads everywhere she went. Tight waist, long toned legs, perky C-cup breasts, and an ass you could bounce quarters off. She had smooth olive skin, dirty blonde hair usually pulled into a high ponytail, and the kind of confidence that made her a brat during sessions.
Tonight’s session was supposed to be a late-night core and mobility workout at my private downtown gym. The place was empty — just me, Brooke, and the low hum of the air conditioning. She showed up in a tiny black sports bra that barely contained her tits and a pair of gray micro shorts that rode up her ass with every movement.
We were twenty minutes in when she started running her mouth.
“You’re going so easy on me tonight, Derek,” she teased, wiping sweat from her abs while doing planks. “I thought you were supposed to be this big, scary trainer. All I’m feeling is gentle little taps. Come on, get rough with me.”
I smirked, circling her. “Careful what you wish for, Brooke.”
She laughed, that cocky little laugh that always got her in trouble. “Oh please. You’re all bark. I bet you couldn’t even make me tap out if you tried.”
That was it. The switch flipped.
I grabbed her by the waist, spun her around, and marched her over to the adjustable workout bench. Before she could protest, I had her on her back. The bench had built-in restraint straps for heavy resistance training — perfect for what I had in mind. I locked her wrists in the upper straps, stretching her arms tight above her head. Then I secured her ankles to the lower end, spreading her legs just enough that her inner thighs were completely exposed.
“Derek! What the fuck?!” she laughed nervously, already testing the straps. “This isn’t funny. Let me up.”
“You wanted rough,” I said calmly, grabbing the bottle of massage oil from the shelf. “You’re about to get a real lesson.”
I poured the warm oil all over her. It glistened as it ran down her abs, into the dips of her hips, across her sports bra, and down her thighs. I rubbed it in slowly, making sure every inch of her midsection and legs was slick and shining. Brooke shivered under my hands.
“Derek… come on… this is weird—”
I dug my fingers into her oiled abs without warning.
“HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” Brooke’s laughter exploded instantly, loud and frantic. Her entire body jerked against the restraints, abs contracting hard under my fingers. “No! No tickling! HAHAHAHHAHA! I’m too ticklish! Stop!”
I grinned. “Too late, princess. You teased the wrong trainer.”
My strong fingers spidered rapidly across her slick, oily stomach — fast, light scratches that made her abs dance and quiver. I traced every ridge of her six-pack, then swirled deep into her belly button with two oiled fingers.
“EEEEEEEEEEK! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! NOT MY BELLY BUTTON! OH MY GOD, DEREK! HAHAHHAHAA! Please! I’ll stop teasing! I swear!”
Her head thrashed side to side, ponytail whipping wildly. The oil made every touch ten times worse — my fingers glided effortlessly, finding every hypersensitive nerve. I raked my nails up and down her sides, digging into the soft spots just below her ribs, then back to vibrating my fingertips deep into her lower belly right above the waistband of her tiny shorts.
“HAHAHAHAHAHA! My sides! Not my fucking sides! HAHAHHAHA! Derek, you bastard! I can’t breathe! Mercy! MERCY PLEASE!”
I didn’t give her any. For the first fifteen minutes I destroyed her abs and sides. The oil made her skin so slippery that I could switch between feather-light touches and deep, squeezing kneads without any resistance. Every time I hit her belly button again she would arch violently, screaming with laughter, her breasts bouncing in that tiny sports bra.
“Look at you,” I taunted, drilling one finger into her navel while my other hand scribbled her right side. “Fitness model getting absolutely wrecked by tickling. Pathetic.”
“HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! I’M SORRY! I’M SO SORRY FOR TEASING YOU! HAHAHHAHAA! Please stop tickling my belly! It’s too much!”
Sweat mixed with the oil on her skin. Her face was bright red, tears already streaming down her cheeks. Her laughter had that perfect desperate edge — raw, uncontrollable HAHAHAHAs that echoed through the empty gym.
I climbed onto the bench, straddling her waist. My hard cock pressed against her oily stomach through my shorts as I leaned forward and attacked her underarms. The sports bra offered zero protection.
“NOT MY ARMPITS! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! NOOO! Derek, please! I hate armpit tickling! HAHAHHAHAA! Stop! Stop! I’ll do extra cardio every session! Just stop!”
Her armpits were devastatingly sensitive. I used all ten fingers, scribbling and scratching while she bucked like crazy underneath me. My erection throbbed harder every time she screamed.
Twenty-five minutes in, I slid down and focused on her lower body. I unclipped her ankles briefly, only to re-secure them wider apart. Then I poured more oil over her inner thighs and bare feet.
Brooke’s eyes widened in panic. “No… not my thighs… not my feet… Derek, I’m begging you—”
I attacked both inner thighs at once, digging my strong fingers into the ultra-sensitive flesh right below her pussy. The micro shorts had ridden up, leaving almost nothing to the imagination.
“EEEEEEEEEEEK! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! NOT THERE! THAT’S TOO CLOSE! HAHAHHAHAA! Derek, please! I’m getting wet! Stop tickling my inner thighs!”
Her hips bucked wildly. I could see the growing wet spot on her shorts as she thrashed. I kept one hand tormenting her inner thighs while the other went back to her abs, double-teaming her upper and lower body.
Thirty minutes. Brooke was breaking.
“HAHAHAHAHAHA! I can’t take it anymore! My abs… my thighs… everything is on fire! HAHAHHAHAA! Please, Derek! I’ll suck your cock! I’ll let you fuck me after this! Just stop tickling me!”
I smiled darkly. “You’ll do that anyway.”
I moved to her feet. Her soles were soft, perfectly pedicured, and insanely ticklish. I locked her ankles again and went to work — fingernails scratching up and down her arches, under her toes, across her heels. At the same time I reached up and continued tormenting her oiled belly and sides.
“NOT MY FEET! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! OH FUCK, THE TOES! NOT BETWEEN THE TOES! HAHAHHAHAA! Derek, I’m losing my mind! Please! I’ll be your good girl! I’ll never tease you again!”
Her laughter had turned hoarse and broken, mixed with desperate gasps and little sobs. Tears poured down her face. Her whole body was shiny with oil and sweat, muscles twitching uncontrollably.
I kept going for another ten minutes, switching between her feet, inner thighs, abs, belly button, and armpits in a relentless rotation. Brooke was a complete mess — screaming, begging, laughing hysterically, and soaking through her shorts.
“HAHAHA… please… HAHAHAHAHA! I’m your tickle slut! I’m whatever you want! Just stop! My body can’t handle any more!”
At the forty-five minute mark I finally slowed down, letting my fingers drift into light, teasing strokes across her quivering belly. Brooke lay there gasping, twitching, still letting out little residual giggles.
I leaned over her, my hard cock pressing against her thigh.
“You learned your lesson?” I asked.
She looked up at me with teary, glazed eyes and a weak, broken smile.
“…Yes, Sir,” she whispered hoarsely. “Now please… fuck me while I’m still tied up.”
I stripped her soaked shorts off, freed just enough of her legs, and buried myself inside her in one thrust. She was dripping wet. As I fucked her hard on the bench, she started laughing again — this time from overwhelming pleasure mixed with the leftover sensitivity.
“HAHAHA… oh god… yes… tickle me while you fuck me next time…”
I smiled, already planning the next session.
By the time we were done, Brooke could barely walk. She left the gym limping, belly and thighs still twitching, with a promise to never call me “gentle” again.
Exclusive Stories: https://patreon.com/dgpr?utm_medium...ign=creatorshare_creator&utm_content=copyLink
My name is Derek. I’m 29, 6’3”, 240 pounds of solid muscle, and I’ve been a personal trainer for six years. Most clients come to me because they want results. Brooke came to me because she wanted to be pushed.
She was 23, a rising fitness model with a body that turned heads everywhere she went. Tight waist, long toned legs, perky C-cup breasts, and an ass you could bounce quarters off. She had smooth olive skin, dirty blonde hair usually pulled into a high ponytail, and the kind of confidence that made her a brat during sessions.
Tonight’s session was supposed to be a late-night core and mobility workout at my private downtown gym. The place was empty — just me, Brooke, and the low hum of the air conditioning. She showed up in a tiny black sports bra that barely contained her tits and a pair of gray micro shorts that rode up her ass with every movement.
We were twenty minutes in when she started running her mouth.
“You’re going so easy on me tonight, Derek,” she teased, wiping sweat from her abs while doing planks. “I thought you were supposed to be this big, scary trainer. All I’m feeling is gentle little taps. Come on, get rough with me.”
I smirked, circling her. “Careful what you wish for, Brooke.”
She laughed, that cocky little laugh that always got her in trouble. “Oh please. You’re all bark. I bet you couldn’t even make me tap out if you tried.”
That was it. The switch flipped.
I grabbed her by the waist, spun her around, and marched her over to the adjustable workout bench. Before she could protest, I had her on her back. The bench had built-in restraint straps for heavy resistance training — perfect for what I had in mind. I locked her wrists in the upper straps, stretching her arms tight above her head. Then I secured her ankles to the lower end, spreading her legs just enough that her inner thighs were completely exposed.
“Derek! What the fuck?!” she laughed nervously, already testing the straps. “This isn’t funny. Let me up.”
“You wanted rough,” I said calmly, grabbing the bottle of massage oil from the shelf. “You’re about to get a real lesson.”
I poured the warm oil all over her. It glistened as it ran down her abs, into the dips of her hips, across her sports bra, and down her thighs. I rubbed it in slowly, making sure every inch of her midsection and legs was slick and shining. Brooke shivered under my hands.
“Derek… come on… this is weird—”
I dug my fingers into her oiled abs without warning.
“HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” Brooke’s laughter exploded instantly, loud and frantic. Her entire body jerked against the restraints, abs contracting hard under my fingers. “No! No tickling! HAHAHAHHAHA! I’m too ticklish! Stop!”
I grinned. “Too late, princess. You teased the wrong trainer.”
My strong fingers spidered rapidly across her slick, oily stomach — fast, light scratches that made her abs dance and quiver. I traced every ridge of her six-pack, then swirled deep into her belly button with two oiled fingers.
“EEEEEEEEEEK! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! NOT MY BELLY BUTTON! OH MY GOD, DEREK! HAHAHHAHAA! Please! I’ll stop teasing! I swear!”
Her head thrashed side to side, ponytail whipping wildly. The oil made every touch ten times worse — my fingers glided effortlessly, finding every hypersensitive nerve. I raked my nails up and down her sides, digging into the soft spots just below her ribs, then back to vibrating my fingertips deep into her lower belly right above the waistband of her tiny shorts.
“HAHAHAHAHAHA! My sides! Not my fucking sides! HAHAHHAHA! Derek, you bastard! I can’t breathe! Mercy! MERCY PLEASE!”
I didn’t give her any. For the first fifteen minutes I destroyed her abs and sides. The oil made her skin so slippery that I could switch between feather-light touches and deep, squeezing kneads without any resistance. Every time I hit her belly button again she would arch violently, screaming with laughter, her breasts bouncing in that tiny sports bra.
“Look at you,” I taunted, drilling one finger into her navel while my other hand scribbled her right side. “Fitness model getting absolutely wrecked by tickling. Pathetic.”
“HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! I’M SORRY! I’M SO SORRY FOR TEASING YOU! HAHAHHAHAA! Please stop tickling my belly! It’s too much!”
Sweat mixed with the oil on her skin. Her face was bright red, tears already streaming down her cheeks. Her laughter had that perfect desperate edge — raw, uncontrollable HAHAHAHAs that echoed through the empty gym.
I climbed onto the bench, straddling her waist. My hard cock pressed against her oily stomach through my shorts as I leaned forward and attacked her underarms. The sports bra offered zero protection.
“NOT MY ARMPITS! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! NOOO! Derek, please! I hate armpit tickling! HAHAHHAHAA! Stop! Stop! I’ll do extra cardio every session! Just stop!”
Her armpits were devastatingly sensitive. I used all ten fingers, scribbling and scratching while she bucked like crazy underneath me. My erection throbbed harder every time she screamed.
Twenty-five minutes in, I slid down and focused on her lower body. I unclipped her ankles briefly, only to re-secure them wider apart. Then I poured more oil over her inner thighs and bare feet.
Brooke’s eyes widened in panic. “No… not my thighs… not my feet… Derek, I’m begging you—”
I attacked both inner thighs at once, digging my strong fingers into the ultra-sensitive flesh right below her pussy. The micro shorts had ridden up, leaving almost nothing to the imagination.
“EEEEEEEEEEEK! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! NOT THERE! THAT’S TOO CLOSE! HAHAHHAHAA! Derek, please! I’m getting wet! Stop tickling my inner thighs!”
Her hips bucked wildly. I could see the growing wet spot on her shorts as she thrashed. I kept one hand tormenting her inner thighs while the other went back to her abs, double-teaming her upper and lower body.
Thirty minutes. Brooke was breaking.
“HAHAHAHAHAHA! I can’t take it anymore! My abs… my thighs… everything is on fire! HAHAHHAHAA! Please, Derek! I’ll suck your cock! I’ll let you fuck me after this! Just stop tickling me!”
I smiled darkly. “You’ll do that anyway.”
I moved to her feet. Her soles were soft, perfectly pedicured, and insanely ticklish. I locked her ankles again and went to work — fingernails scratching up and down her arches, under her toes, across her heels. At the same time I reached up and continued tormenting her oiled belly and sides.
“NOT MY FEET! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! OH FUCK, THE TOES! NOT BETWEEN THE TOES! HAHAHHAHAA! Derek, I’m losing my mind! Please! I’ll be your good girl! I’ll never tease you again!”
Her laughter had turned hoarse and broken, mixed with desperate gasps and little sobs. Tears poured down her face. Her whole body was shiny with oil and sweat, muscles twitching uncontrollably.
I kept going for another ten minutes, switching between her feet, inner thighs, abs, belly button, and armpits in a relentless rotation. Brooke was a complete mess — screaming, begging, laughing hysterically, and soaking through her shorts.
“HAHAHA… please… HAHAHAHAHA! I’m your tickle slut! I’m whatever you want! Just stop! My body can’t handle any more!”
At the forty-five minute mark I finally slowed down, letting my fingers drift into light, teasing strokes across her quivering belly. Brooke lay there gasping, twitching, still letting out little residual giggles.
I leaned over her, my hard cock pressing against her thigh.
“You learned your lesson?” I asked.
She looked up at me with teary, glazed eyes and a weak, broken smile.
“…Yes, Sir,” she whispered hoarsely. “Now please… fuck me while I’m still tied up.”
I stripped her soaked shorts off, freed just enough of her legs, and buried myself inside her in one thrust. She was dripping wet. As I fucked her hard on the bench, she started laughing again — this time from overwhelming pleasure mixed with the leftover sensitivity.
“HAHAHA… oh god… yes… tickle me while you fuck me next time…”
I smiled, already planning the next session.
By the time we were done, Brooke could barely walk. She left the gym limping, belly and thighs still twitching, with a promise to never call me “gentle” again.
