The Ticklish Birthday Gift
The scent of garlic and simmering tomatoes still hung in the air of the cozy apartment, a ghost of the pasta dinner and bottle of red wine Brad and Leah had enjoyed together to celebrate Brad's birthday. Brad just wanted to spend the rest of the evening with Leah watching movies on the couch.
"There's a kinky fantasy I'd like to try, if you're up for it," Brad added.
"I'm all yours tonight, birthday boy," Leah said with an eager smile. "Do your worst."
"Oh, I intend to."
Brad, like a magician presenting his lovely, barefoot assistant, took Leah by the hand and led her to the middle of the living room.
"Close your eyes. No peeking."
Leah waited in anticipation as her imagination ran wild with possibilities of what Brad had planned for her.
Zzzzt. Zzzzt.
A sharp plastic sound cut through the air. Leah could feel black plastic zip tie handcuffs cinch tightly around her wrists behind her back.
Zzzzt. Zzzzt.
Another pair fastened around her ankles.
Zzzzt.
A regular black zip tie looped around her knees and was pulled tight. Leah bit her lip with nervous excitement.
"On your knees." Brad's voice was firm, yet playful.
Leah fell to her knees on the cold wood living room floor, her eyes still shut, and embraced her submissive role. She licked her lips suggestively, opened her mouth wide, and stuck out her tongue theatrically, presenting herself as a living work of art. Leah stayed perfectly still, using her freshly pedicured red toes to grip the floorboards and prop herself up for stability. Her bare soles were stretched taut and ready to spring into action. Brad circled Leah slowly like a proud sculptor admiring his new creation.
Leah felt something press against her tongue. It was a blue cloth rolled into a dense, unforgiving ball. Brad stuffed it deep into her open mouth, using his fingers to pack it in until her cheeks bulged like a chipmunk preparing for winter.
Leah's eyes opened, her brain short-circuiting with confusion. The seductive fantasy she had imagined in her head screeched to a halt.
Wait, what? This isn't in the script.
Zzzzt.
A final zip tie tightened between her lips and behind her head, securing the mouth-filling gag in place.
"Mmmpph?!" Leah protested.
"You did say you were all mine tonight, right?"
Leah rolled her eyes in a dramatic, exasperated motion.
"Alright, birthday gift. To the couch."
Leah used her spring loaded arches to propel herself upwards onto her feet. What followed was a masterclass in undignified locomotion. She lifted herself high onto her tiptoes and sprang forward like a human pogo stick, bouncing over to the couch. She spun herself around with a few awkward hops, struggling to maintain her balance with her ankles connected, before flopping backwards onto the couch cushions.
"Comfortable?" Brad teased as he grabbed the TV remote.
Leah stared back at Brad unflinchingly with a look of annoyance on her face as she thought to herself, This is it? This is his fantasy? Really? All he wants to do is watch a movie together while I'm bound and gagged? It's so boring. I mean, I'm still fully clothed for god's sake.
Brad flicked on the TV and started the movie. It began with a tied up woman lying on a couch, struggling helplessly to get free. A man with a devious grin sits beside her on the couch and begins to mercilessly tickle her bound feet, causing her to squeal with laughter.
As Leah watched the woman on screen suffer her ticklish fate, her eyes widened in despair as her toes reflexively curled and her soles scrunched. Her eyes darted from the screen to her own pedicured bare feet, which suddenly felt so... exposed.
Oh. Oh no.
It dawned on Leah that she wasn't just a captive audience. She was the star of the interactive, high-definition sequel.
"This one's a classic," Brad said nonchalantly as he sat on the couch, propping Leah's bare feet into his lap. He squirted an excessive amount of coconut oil directly from the bottle, sending it splashing against her wrinkled soles. The oil flowed down Leah’s delicate arches and dripped from her heels, turning her feet into glistening, defenseless targets.
With his left hand, Brad took a firm grip on the zip tie connecting Leah’s ankles, and with his right, he began gently stroking her vulnerable, shiny soles with his fingertips. Leah held out, her jaw clenched, determined to project an aura of unticklish indifference.
Do not laugh, whatever you do, Leah commanded her body. Do not give him the satisfaction. He'll get bored if you don't give in. My feet are not ticklish. I am a fortress.
Leah's internal pep talk held for approximately 11 seconds as she bravely remained a silent, unbreakable statue. A tiny, choked snort escaped her nose, followed by a sudden involuntary jolt as Brad's fingers danced over a particularly sensitive spot on her left arch. It was the first crack of the dam, followed by a tidal wave of uncontrollable suppressed laughter. Brad easily thwarted her attempt to yank her feet free from his grasp. Leah's struggles only seemed to amuse and encourage him.
"You're a natural, sweetie." Brad offered words of encouragement. "I never knew you had such expressive feet, and I think you're even more ticklish than the actress. We should send in your headshot!"
After about five minutes, which felt like an eternity for Leah, the tickling stopped. She gasped for air through her nose, catching her breath as her body trembled and her sides ached with laughter-induced exhaustion.
Finally. Thank goodness that's over with.
Brad effortlessly rolled Leah onto her stomach, mirroring the on-screen action, and straddled her legs like a cowboy taming a wild horse. Leah's trapped soles now faced the ceiling. Brad pulled a thin strand of natural colored brown jute twine from his pocket and meticulously tied her big toes together. The toe-tie, Leah realized, was a diabolical invention of elegant cruelty that would make it impossible for her to shield or hide her feet from his touch. Her feet had become a single, unified, and gleaming canvas of ticklish misery. Brad began to re-lube Leah's unprotected soles with ruthless efficiency.
You have got to be fucking kidding me.
Brad launched into his main tickle assault on Leah's arches, lightly brushing and stroking them using his fingertips. After a few minutes, Brad's persistent fingers increased their intensity, spidering and scratching over every nook and cranny of her soles. It wasn't just tickling anymore. It was a symphony of torment conducted by a mad maestro. Leah's entire body convulsed in a single, unified squirm against her bonds, like a fish on the line.
"Wicky-wicky-wow!" Brad vocalized jokingly, pretending Leah's soles were his personal turntables, leaving her hopelessly lost in laughter. "DJ Tickles in the house!"
Brad maintained a laser-like focus, using his masterful touch to send bolts of laughter through her wriggling form. He watched Leah's toe-tied feet dance together frantically in a helpless tango, twisting and turning desperately to escape the relentless onslaught.
Brad paused to rest and wipe the sweat from his brow into his shirt, sparking a flicker of hope in Leah's chest that he was finished. After a short break, however, he resumed his tickling with renewed vigor. A new wave of muffled squeals erupted from behind her gag as his fingers scribbled up and down her soles.
Leah eventually accepted her ticklish fate. She was happy to be with Brad, even if it meant being his toe-tied tickle toy for the evening. The pure, unadulterated, goofy joy on the face of the man she loved made all the undignified squirming worthwhile. She was his perfect birthday gift.
As Brad continued his playful torment, Leah, in the midst of her ticklish agony, fantasized how the rest of the night would unfold.
You think this is the main event? Honey, this is just the opening act. Just you wait, DJ Tickles. Your set is about to end. The moment these zip ties are off, I'm dragging you into the bedroom. My headlining act is going to bring the house down.
The scent of garlic and simmering tomatoes still hung in the air of the cozy apartment, a ghost of the pasta dinner and bottle of red wine Brad and Leah had enjoyed together to celebrate Brad's birthday. Brad just wanted to spend the rest of the evening with Leah watching movies on the couch.
"There's a kinky fantasy I'd like to try, if you're up for it," Brad added.
"I'm all yours tonight, birthday boy," Leah said with an eager smile. "Do your worst."
"Oh, I intend to."
Brad, like a magician presenting his lovely, barefoot assistant, took Leah by the hand and led her to the middle of the living room.
"Close your eyes. No peeking."
Leah waited in anticipation as her imagination ran wild with possibilities of what Brad had planned for her.
Zzzzt. Zzzzt.
A sharp plastic sound cut through the air. Leah could feel black plastic zip tie handcuffs cinch tightly around her wrists behind her back.
Zzzzt. Zzzzt.
Another pair fastened around her ankles.
Zzzzt.
A regular black zip tie looped around her knees and was pulled tight. Leah bit her lip with nervous excitement.
"On your knees." Brad's voice was firm, yet playful.
Leah fell to her knees on the cold wood living room floor, her eyes still shut, and embraced her submissive role. She licked her lips suggestively, opened her mouth wide, and stuck out her tongue theatrically, presenting herself as a living work of art. Leah stayed perfectly still, using her freshly pedicured red toes to grip the floorboards and prop herself up for stability. Her bare soles were stretched taut and ready to spring into action. Brad circled Leah slowly like a proud sculptor admiring his new creation.
Leah felt something press against her tongue. It was a blue cloth rolled into a dense, unforgiving ball. Brad stuffed it deep into her open mouth, using his fingers to pack it in until her cheeks bulged like a chipmunk preparing for winter.
Leah's eyes opened, her brain short-circuiting with confusion. The seductive fantasy she had imagined in her head screeched to a halt.
Wait, what? This isn't in the script.
Zzzzt.
A final zip tie tightened between her lips and behind her head, securing the mouth-filling gag in place.
"Mmmpph?!" Leah protested.
"You did say you were all mine tonight, right?"
Leah rolled her eyes in a dramatic, exasperated motion.
"Alright, birthday gift. To the couch."
Leah used her spring loaded arches to propel herself upwards onto her feet. What followed was a masterclass in undignified locomotion. She lifted herself high onto her tiptoes and sprang forward like a human pogo stick, bouncing over to the couch. She spun herself around with a few awkward hops, struggling to maintain her balance with her ankles connected, before flopping backwards onto the couch cushions.
"Comfortable?" Brad teased as he grabbed the TV remote.
Leah stared back at Brad unflinchingly with a look of annoyance on her face as she thought to herself, This is it? This is his fantasy? Really? All he wants to do is watch a movie together while I'm bound and gagged? It's so boring. I mean, I'm still fully clothed for god's sake.
Brad flicked on the TV and started the movie. It began with a tied up woman lying on a couch, struggling helplessly to get free. A man with a devious grin sits beside her on the couch and begins to mercilessly tickle her bound feet, causing her to squeal with laughter.
As Leah watched the woman on screen suffer her ticklish fate, her eyes widened in despair as her toes reflexively curled and her soles scrunched. Her eyes darted from the screen to her own pedicured bare feet, which suddenly felt so... exposed.
Oh. Oh no.
It dawned on Leah that she wasn't just a captive audience. She was the star of the interactive, high-definition sequel.
"This one's a classic," Brad said nonchalantly as he sat on the couch, propping Leah's bare feet into his lap. He squirted an excessive amount of coconut oil directly from the bottle, sending it splashing against her wrinkled soles. The oil flowed down Leah’s delicate arches and dripped from her heels, turning her feet into glistening, defenseless targets.
With his left hand, Brad took a firm grip on the zip tie connecting Leah’s ankles, and with his right, he began gently stroking her vulnerable, shiny soles with his fingertips. Leah held out, her jaw clenched, determined to project an aura of unticklish indifference.
Do not laugh, whatever you do, Leah commanded her body. Do not give him the satisfaction. He'll get bored if you don't give in. My feet are not ticklish. I am a fortress.
Leah's internal pep talk held for approximately 11 seconds as she bravely remained a silent, unbreakable statue. A tiny, choked snort escaped her nose, followed by a sudden involuntary jolt as Brad's fingers danced over a particularly sensitive spot on her left arch. It was the first crack of the dam, followed by a tidal wave of uncontrollable suppressed laughter. Brad easily thwarted her attempt to yank her feet free from his grasp. Leah's struggles only seemed to amuse and encourage him.
"You're a natural, sweetie." Brad offered words of encouragement. "I never knew you had such expressive feet, and I think you're even more ticklish than the actress. We should send in your headshot!"
After about five minutes, which felt like an eternity for Leah, the tickling stopped. She gasped for air through her nose, catching her breath as her body trembled and her sides ached with laughter-induced exhaustion.
Finally. Thank goodness that's over with.
Brad effortlessly rolled Leah onto her stomach, mirroring the on-screen action, and straddled her legs like a cowboy taming a wild horse. Leah's trapped soles now faced the ceiling. Brad pulled a thin strand of natural colored brown jute twine from his pocket and meticulously tied her big toes together. The toe-tie, Leah realized, was a diabolical invention of elegant cruelty that would make it impossible for her to shield or hide her feet from his touch. Her feet had become a single, unified, and gleaming canvas of ticklish misery. Brad began to re-lube Leah's unprotected soles with ruthless efficiency.
You have got to be fucking kidding me.
Brad launched into his main tickle assault on Leah's arches, lightly brushing and stroking them using his fingertips. After a few minutes, Brad's persistent fingers increased their intensity, spidering and scratching over every nook and cranny of her soles. It wasn't just tickling anymore. It was a symphony of torment conducted by a mad maestro. Leah's entire body convulsed in a single, unified squirm against her bonds, like a fish on the line.
"Wicky-wicky-wow!" Brad vocalized jokingly, pretending Leah's soles were his personal turntables, leaving her hopelessly lost in laughter. "DJ Tickles in the house!"
Brad maintained a laser-like focus, using his masterful touch to send bolts of laughter through her wriggling form. He watched Leah's toe-tied feet dance together frantically in a helpless tango, twisting and turning desperately to escape the relentless onslaught.
Brad paused to rest and wipe the sweat from his brow into his shirt, sparking a flicker of hope in Leah's chest that he was finished. After a short break, however, he resumed his tickling with renewed vigor. A new wave of muffled squeals erupted from behind her gag as his fingers scribbled up and down her soles.
Leah eventually accepted her ticklish fate. She was happy to be with Brad, even if it meant being his toe-tied tickle toy for the evening. The pure, unadulterated, goofy joy on the face of the man she loved made all the undignified squirming worthwhile. She was his perfect birthday gift.
As Brad continued his playful torment, Leah, in the midst of her ticklish agony, fantasized how the rest of the night would unfold.
You think this is the main event? Honey, this is just the opening act. Just you wait, DJ Tickles. Your set is about to end. The moment these zip ties are off, I'm dragging you into the bedroom. My headlining act is going to bring the house down.
