ThePurpleQuill
TMF Regular
- Joined
- Jan 11, 2018
- Messages
- 161
- Points
- 18
The creaking hinges of your front door promptly announce your arrival, a long hard week having finally been put behind you. Gently you clasp the door shut, slipping off your shoes as you hang your coat atop the wall, expecting to be greeted by your loving wife. Listening carefully, after a conspicuous delay, you hear a subtle patter approaching from around the corner, its pace hesitant to say the least. Having finally revealed herself from the adjacent kitchen, you are confronted by a most concerning sight: shoulders sloped forward, eyes glued to the floor, she embodies the sensation of absolute shame to say the least. She embraces you, burying her face in your chest, languishing in the secrets she has kept from you over the past several months, and you are about to hear all of them.
Taking you by the hand, she pulls you into the living room, seating you upon the couch as you gaze up at her with rightful concern. Seating herself beside you, taking your hands into hers, she confesses that which had burdened her all this time: that she has been unfaithful, having sought pleasure from another man outside your union, and that she is finally compelled to confess her misdeeds in the hopes of your forgiveness. But, before the words can even fall from your lips, she injects a follow-up that throws your entire being out of balance: that she has been in the possession of an unknown figure, seeking them out for the sole purpose of ticklish and orgasmic bliss, and that she is thrust into a state of complete confusion because of it.
She explains how, relinquishing her body to them to use her in a thousand different ways, she reaches the pinnacle of orgasmic ecstasy, something which should be in spite of the status of a proper married woman. She is torn for, though she knows you would want to grant her pleasure, having to seek to satisfy such desires outside her marriage, she is riddled with guilt. You are speechless, mouth agape as you try to decipher exactly what your wife has told you, not knowing that, in just a brief moment, you won’t have to.
Reaching behind her, retrieving an unseen object from the lamp table, she hands you a small jewel case with a video disc as its contents. She tells you to put it in your video player so you may watch it together, hoping that everything will be made clear, and that you may ultimately forgive her. You take it from her hands, gazing upon the handwritten title of the disc in black marker of A Star is Born. Hoisting yourself from your seat, you make your way to the television, inserting it into your video player underneath. Taking the remote in hand, you press play, seating yourself back with your wife, her hands nervously shuffling in her lap. As the blank screen slowly fades away, you are dumbstruck by the sight of your wife in a most compromising positions.
She is bound, stretched taut in an x-shape with each of her four limps protruding out in all directions. As the camera angle pans around her figure, you find her standing underneath a large workout frame, located in the middle of a bare white room the location of which you do not recognize. Thick leather restraints adorn her wrists and ankles, bound with nylon rope to the metal beams surrounding her on all sides. Her attire is that of the same midnight blue tank top and denim shorts she is wearing now, making it seem as though it had only been a few hours prior that this video had been made. You find her feet, bound shoulder width apart, her flip flops lying precariously at the edge of the screen as it makes its way up the contraption. Reaching the top, the camera pans from her head down, a large blindfold nestled atop her eyes, covering nearly half of her tender face. Yet despite this, you can tell she is nervous and, outside of your understanding, that excites you. The screen fades to black, only to reveal a stationary shot of her entire figure, having not moved one inch. You can see her nervously curl her toes, only long enough for the realization to sink in that she’s truly not going anywhere.
“What are you here for?” an omnipotent voice breaks the silence, one which seems so familiar, yet just can’t quite ascertain. She bows her head forward, shrouding an unstoppable smirk scrawling itself across her face, hoping to hide that want for what is about to happen to her, live in front of a camera for all to bear witness.
“To be tickled,” she answers solemnly, the sides of her lips showing just how hard she is trying to fight her glee, betraying just how much she truly wants it.
“And why are you here to be tickled?” he tenderly asks her, addressing this grown woman as though she were a defenseless child. You gaze upon your wife’s response, her submissive demeanor making it seem surreal to have her sitting right beside you.
“For my husband,” she answers, a slight crack in her voice demonstrating the pain in which she feels she has caused you, and the thought of that which she is going to endure.
“You love to be tickled, don’t you dear?” he asks her, watching her head gently nod in confirmation, not uttering one sound. “He must be so happy knowing you’re here to be tickled, right?” She again bows her head, the sheen of red across her face betraying the sense of complete shame she feels at this moment. She shakes her head, still hiding that which she doesn’t want him to know but, from your point of view, is clear as day.
“How shameful,” he goads her, a condescending tone in his voice denoting exactly what both your and he know to be true. “Putting yourself in such a position at the ultimate mercy of another man without your husband knowledge: is that most becoming of a married woman? I’d hardly think so.” She blushes even further, the complete sense of pitiful submission she feels pinning her mentally in a corner, exactly where he wants her.
“It’s not proper to put yourself in such a compromising position young lady, one where somebody with just much too much time on their hands could take advantage of you in such a helpless position,” he tells her, knowing just how to mentally prime her for the impeding torments. You watch her bite the side of her lip, anticipating the myriad of ways in which she will be tormented by this unknown figure, all right in front of your eyes. “I guess we’re just going to have to punish you for that.” The hairs on the back of your neck stand up, not wanting to know just what he has in store for your lovingly confused wife but, strangely enough, not having the willpower to turn off the TV.
“Just remember hubby: this is what you wanted.” A shiver rolls down your spine, realizing just what exactly is going on: the fulfillment of your darkest fantasies, all about to come to life right in front of your eyes. You had teased such an event before, casting the bait into the dark recesses of the web, seeing if anybody would take a bite. It is one thing to entertain the idea of it happening, even roleplaying the idea with another depraved mind, but never could you have dealt with the possibility of it happening you real. Just as you are about to turn to your wife beside you, your attention is once again thrust upon the screen.
You watch as the figure enters the scene, silently making his way behind your wife. Clad in all black, not one identifying feature upon his person, he walks with an eerie silence, not one sound emanating from his footsteps. Placing himself square behind her person, you watch carefully as he reveals two fine paintbrushes, one nestled between each of his fingers. Ever so carefully, with surgical precision, he places them atop the crux just under her wrists before gently dragging them down the length of her arms in tandem.
She gasps, a mixture of surprise and excitement the moment they touch the bottom of her wrists. He is methodical, dragging them painstakingly slowly down the length of her arm, watching her shoulders tremble as she slowly accepts his merciless touch. She can feel every bristle caressing her quivering flesh, starting and stopping as to always keep her on her toes, her face turning red with the amount of force required to suppress her laughter. The minute they reach her biceps, they unexpectedly change: drawing circles upon her supple skin, tracing to and fro despite her best efforts to shake them off, she is utterly helpless watching her resistance fall by the wayside.
“Pfffffffffhfhfhfhfhfhfhfhf!” she sputters, attempting with all her restraint to keep composure, yet despite being destined to fail. If the tickling itself was going to be half as bad as the anticipation, then she may not last the several hours he has planned for her. The closer the dastardly brushes get to their destination, the more you see her tightly pursed lips peeling back, revealing that bright toothy grin you long for every night you come home. Her breathless giggles teeter through her clenched teeth, hoping to relieve even a bit of her ticklish torments to no avail.
“I’m sorry: does that tickle?” he teases her, that one phrase enough to push her completely over the edge as, without hesitation, he begins tracing his way across her supple underarms. Her mouth thrusts open in a display of forced mirth, eliciting a silent scream followed by a torrent of cackling laughter. Traversing the scale of her underarms, he wields those paintbrushes like instruments of hellish torture, extracting primal guffaws from her gullet despite their gentle design. She attempts a half-hearted escape, tugging against her restraints, bouncing atop the balls of her feet as though she were about to leap right out of her bondage. Slowly she falls back into place, hoping that her captor may have just overlooked her pitiful attempt at freedom.
Unfortunately for her, that’s not the way the cookie crumbles.
“And just where do you think you’re going?” he asks her, caressing the front of her underarms just beside her breasts, an entirely new sensation for her to deal with. Being immersed in such endless sensations, she hasn’t the breath left to answer him promptly, her silent screams for help falling on deaf ears. “Not talking huh? We’ll just see about fixing that.”
“Waaaaaaaaaaaahahahahahahahaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!” she bellows, throwing her head back in ticklish bliss as, abandoning his paintbrushes at her sides, he swiftly digs his fingers into the tender flesh of her underarms. Her gleaming white teeth laid bare, she spews forth a torrent of forced laughter, echoing gently off these solemn white walls only to dissipate into oblivion. Massaging deep into her quivering muscles, he savors every last sound emanating from your wife’s mouth, hellbent on extracting the most primal of ticklish reactions for his (or your) ultimate pleasure.
“Are you by chance ticklish young lady?” he taunts her, in between spurts of hapless cries and shrieking howls, knowing for sure that he has her right in the palms of his hands. “You can tell me, it’s alright.” Not a moment passes before he changes positions, priming his wriggling fingers right over the outline of her prominent ribs.
“Ihehehehehehem ticklish! I’M TICKLISHEHEHEHEHEHE!!” she screeches, unable to cope as he thrusts his fingers into her tender ribs, such a sight to behold out of reach underneath her firmly placed blindfold. You gaze upon the fluorescent screen, nearly half your body having gone numb by this point. Every second you watch of this wretched film is filled with fascination, horror, betrayal, and pure sexual ecstasy: here you sit, watching an unknown man have his way with your wife for what could have been for months, tickling and teasing her in ways you would have never imagined someone having the nerve to even think of. Yet here you are, the remote nestled in your hand, and not one inch closer to turning it off than you were half an hour ago.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAA!” she cackles forth, feeling as he digs into the tender spot just under her breasts, his pulsating fingers making quick work of her in no time at all. He finds that spot, one which he has stumbled upon time and time again, renewing her suffering as though it had only been this one time. What horrid indifference he possesses, callously treating her as nothing but his little tickle toy, his psychological manipulation making her all but completely helpless to his influence. Yet their exists within her captor a patience, one unyielding force within him that is keeping him right on the edge of her sanity. Gazing upon her, he watches as he peels away at her resistance sliver by minuscule sliver, watching her transform into that which is dependent on his ticklish touch, validating her existence as his little plaything.
“Mercyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyheheheheheheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!” she squeals at the tops of her lungs, his menacing fingers ravaging up and down her sides with wild abandonment, the sheer unpredictability throwing her into a maelstrom of ticklish terror. “Nahahahat the sides! Noooooooooooooooohohohohohohoooooooooooo!” He can feel the sweat accumulating across her body, the sheer strain of such exertion taking a toll on her both physically as well as mentally. So primed she was already, fully receptive to any punishment or pleasure that would be bestowed upon her, it was surprising to find her reactions so subdued to begin with. Yet the longer she stays in his clutches, the more she will lose herself, overwhelmed by the tickles she so ravenously sought to please you.
If only you could reach through the screen, resting your hand atop her blindfold, you would feel the torrential downpour of sweat and tears it is currently soaked in. For all that it is worth, everything she is enduring at this moment, in her confused state, is all for you, hoping that it will be all that is needed for you to forgive her for her persistent betrayals. Yet never in your wildest dreams could you imagine pushing your wife this far, taking away so much power and control from her, using her for your pleasure and your pleasure only. Even in your most guarded moments, that would be out of the question, yet here you are, gazing upon the sight of someone else doing exactly that. No, what you see before you is the manifestation of your darkest fantasies, those having been mined from the deepest trenches of the internet being fulfilled in the distant hope of your loving wife winning back your trust no matter what the cost to her physical or mental state…
…and you just can’t get enough of it...
You stare intensely into the glistening screen, eyes locked onto the image of your beloved wife for the past several moments. Chest heaving, head bowed slightly forward in submission, you recognize the labors of her torments slowly getting the better of her, forgetting the fact that you are merely watching a recording of what has already transpired, and that she is sitting right beside you this very moment. You watched firsthand as, bound helplessly spread eagle to capitalize on her most delectable of vulnerabilities, she succumbed to an onslaught of unyielding tickle torture. You could only gaze upon her subdued form as a masked assailant ravaged her body like none before, taking ownership of her as his little tickle toy ripe for his perpetual amusement. Not one inch of her tantalizing flesh was left unscathed, eliciting a myriad of animalistic cries emanating from her supple lips, echoing against the walls of this hallowed chamber. Her glistening body, doused by the sweat and tears of such torturous exertion, merely proved the perfect canvas in which to guide his ticklish implements effortlessly across her flesh time and time again.
But, if you thought for one second, he had reached the limits of his abysmal cruelty, prepare yourself to be sorely mistaken.
“So sorry to keep you waiting my dear,” he announces, reentering the frame as he circles your darling in preparation for Stage II of her endless torments. You watch in uninterrupted fascination as he detaches her ankles from the device, positioning them together as he wraps a long length of Velcro just atop her fidgeting feet. Reaching up to the front of her shorts, he takes the button into her hands and, in one swift motion, disengages it, gazing upward as she blushes in embarrassment. Taking a line of string from his back pocket, he ties it around the two front loops of her shorts, binding the other end to the front of her undergarments, its thin material having been slowly exposed through the duration of her suffering.
“I think you know exactly what’s coming next, don’t you dear?” he asks her, watching as she purses her lips tightly together, a futile attempt to regain some power over her situation. Reaching behind her neck, he undoes the strap of her bra, hoisting the two straps in front of her mouth.
“Open up young lady,” he demands, watching as she gently separates her lips, placing the straps in between her glistening white teeth much to her utter chagrin. Having finally finished preparing his second stage of torments, he turns towards the camera, finally addressing his audience.
“Do you recognize this?” he asks the camera, revealing a ring atop his finger you have just now noticed and, much to your shock, fully recognize. “You should: it’s yours.” You remember that fateful day: an impromptu trek into the local adult shop yielding one pair of vibrating panties, an addition to spice up your bedroom activities much to her pleasure. How long you two indulged in its capabilities you haven’t the slightest clue but, now, you will bear witness to the extent of which they may be used.
“Oh, I’m sure you two had the most fun with these, am I right?” he asks you, noting just how silent his captive is being much to his delight. “Good, because now that I’ve got her right where I want her, it’s time to put your wifey here to the ultimate test. You see, marriage is sacred, as she knows oh so well, which means that it is you and you alone that she desires. If, for even one moment, she finds herself yearning after anybody in a sexual manner other than you, then that would prove a most damned betrayal, right young lady?” You watch her shudder in suppressed shame, knowing full well just how she has betrayed you, seeking out the ticklish bliss of orgasmic pleasures outside her marriage, giving her reason to create this very video to win back your love.
It is the ultimate betrayal, all for the sake of the ultimate loyalty.
“So, we’re going to test that bond here and now, seeing just how long she can control herself lest she succumb to a little “accident” if you will. However, as you and I both know, there’s nothing stopping her the minute it gets started. Just think about which is to inevitably come first: will her body shudder with shameful tremors of sexual ecstasy for a woman of her stature, or will her moans of pleasure release the bonds from her clenched teeth, exposing her bare breasts to the open air for an unknown stranger like myself to see? It’s only the inevitable, my darling.”
With a flick of the wrist, he pulls at the button hidden within the ring, forcing you to watch the change in your wife’s demeanor as she shifts from torturous tickles to unbearable sexual arousal. A dull murmur is all you can hear of its workings underneath her shorts, but in the back of your mind you know full well the susceptibility she has to such pleasures, knowing for sure she could never hold herself back no matter what the stakes. Slowly but surely, she begins losing composure, fidgeting against her restraints in desperate attempt to shift away from the teasing against her womanhood. Rubbing her legs together, throwing her head back as she elicits a tortured moan of gratification, you find her body slowly betraying her, and the more you look on, the less control you sense in your own libido during her ordeal.
“Look at her: just pitiful,” he notes, having gained full control of her sex in the palm of his hands. Making his way behind her, he positions his head between the crook of her neck and left shoulder, framing his masked face as he narrates every moment of her resistance. “Not even one minute has passed, and already she is turning to jell-o. Just think: one wrong moan, one fleeting moment of lost control, and you can say goodbye to your modesty young lady. Tick-tock, tick-tock, it’s just a matter of time.” The suspense is killing you: either she lets go of the strap, bearing her nude body to a stranger, or she has an orgasm, climaxing in front of a recording camera in the ultimate form of betrayal against your sacred bond.
Either way, you can do nothing but look forward to the result.
Her curling toes denote the utter frustration she feels this very moment, having not one scrap of control over her body as she falls deeper into forced ecstasy. With that same tender touch, the masked figure begins caressing the erogenous zones of his captive, further extracting her sexual pleasure despite her most valiant efforts. Little could you imagine yourself getting so flustered by the sight of another man groping your love while, at the same time, so aroused by his effectiveness with her angelic body. With every swipe of her earlobes, she can only gasp in suppressed pleasure. With every stroke of her neck and collarbone, her coos of forced ecstasy can only become more prominent. And, with every poke and prod of her buxom bosom, flicking at her hardened nipples piercing through her bra, her moans of orgasmic bliss can no longer be suppressed. Having had the energy syphoned out of her through hours of tickle torture, she has only the energy to grip the binds above her, her fingers turning white in vain attempt at alleviating some of her torments.
“Come now dearie, you know you want to,” he speaks softly into her left ear, tracing his fingers once again over the vulnerable hollows of her underarms. “Just give in, and it will all be over.” By this gesture, she finds herself confronted with a new sensation, that mixture of ticklish lust she had only imagined herself gaining. Slowly but surely, she has found the wires in her brain, those differentiating between tickling and sensual stimulation, slowly being crossed, forcing her to experience both simultaneously much to her ongoing agony. Now, resisting the urge to groan at the peak of climax, she must also suppress her girlish giggles from morphing into unbridled laughter.
Inch by inch he begins once again exploring her body with renewed fervor, exploiting her newfound arousal with every prod and pinch. Teetering laughter juxtaposed with forced expressions of orgasmic bliss are all that fill your senses, unable to even turn towards your wife sitting beside you, for fear of betraying either your absolute disgust or utter infatuation. The thought even crossed your mind that she would forever be like this, unable to differentiate between either stimuli, a blessing in disguise that you only wish you could have bestowed upon her yourself. However, such was never to come to fruition, as you could only watch helplessly as she experienced the worst fate of all: both simultaneously, dropping the strap of her bra before crying out in orgasmic bliss, exposing her bare breasts for all to see with a face turned red as a beet.
“Naughty little girls need to be punished,” he decrees without even a hint of victory in his voice as though there was no challenge in his conquest at all. Reaching offscreen, he drags a padded leather workout bench into the shot. He hoists her legs atop the bench, kneeling atop its plush material as he wraps a belt around her knees and ankles. Unable to form one coherent thought, she can only watch blindly through her covered eyes as she is manipulated to his liking. Much to your surprise, a small window appears at the bottom of the screen, capturing the perfect angle of the soles of her feet as though a camera was waiting there all along.
“Let’s not waste any time now, shall we?” he notes, a hint of impatience emanating from his voice. You hear a squirt bottle offscreen, seeing the figure coat your wife’s soles in a thick layer of lotion, massaging them deep into her tender flesh as she moans in ecstasy. She moans in pleasure, not having the wherewithal to control herself any longer, having such pleasures overtake her senses. “Enjoy it while it lasts, dearie.” Stepping away from the shot, he makes his way to a small chest, your angle only giving you an audible taste of what is to come. The whirring of her panties initiates again, her breathing becoming more prominent as she dissolves in orgasmic bliss, the heightened sensation of her feet becoming that much more evident with the cool air kissing her soles. However, such enjoyment is short lived as, witnessing a sight to behold, you see a hard-bristled hairbrush come into focus and, in one fell, swoop, descend upon your wife’s soles with wild abandonment.
“WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!” she wails at the tops of her lungs, throwing her head back in forced mirth as she is sent into a maelstrom of ticklish stimulation. Nothing could have prepared her for the coming onslaught that she was to face, her heightened sensitivity from such a massive climax making it that much more unbearable. Shrieking into oblivion, she can feel every nib atop every bristle ravage her tender feet, left completely alone until this very moment of unrelenting suffering. He scrapes it deep into her quivering flesh, indulging in his talent as she can do nothing to resist his influence over her body.
“NAHAHAHAT THERE!!! NAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAT THEREHEHEHEHEHE!!!” She is rendered absolutely pitiful, begging to no one but the wall she is forced to face, with every shred of mercy having been left by her assailant at the door the very minute he began. The soles of her feet turn a darkened hue of pink, relentless inflicted by the hardened bristles of his finely chosen hairbrush that could have readily come from her very bathroom. Yet with every passing few minutes, by the combination of tickling and sexual stimulation, she is confronted by yet another forced orgasm reverberating through her body, heightening her susceptibility to the tickles to an even greater degree. It is in this horrendous state that she is blind to all that is coming her way, a myriad of tickling tools placed adjacent to her feet ripe for utilizing to their maximum potential.
“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOHOHOHOHOHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!” That wail alone, elicited the moment she feels the teeth of the plastic comb enter her flailing toes, was enough to send shockwaves down the lower half of her person. By now, staring into her contorted face, you can witness the streams of tears flowing below the blindfold, unable to absorb any more of her emanations. Having achieved her fifth orgasm, she is reduced to mere whimpers for mercy, not even a muscle twitch left in her to resist any further. It is only after a grueling thirty minutes that he leaves her there, letting the sobbing mess of a woman you call your wife hang in her bondage, collecting whatever shred of dignity he hasn’t stripped away from her. Cleaning up his mess, unwrapping her ankles as to leave her dangling there in her binds, he confronts her one last time for all to hear.
“Do you still love being tickled?” he interrogates her, the harsh tone of his voice testing her mental limitations, holding on even after all of her endless torments.
“…yes…” she barely is able to utter, the hoarse tone of her strained gullet demonstrating just how much strain and anguish she was willing to go through, all for the sake of your love.
“Do you now?” he claps back, making her shudder with such a surprise answer. “So, you’re saying you’re nothing but a little tickle pet, willing to be tickled at the drop of a hat? Is that what you’re saying?”
“…yes…” she squeaks out again, this time after a longer hesitation, the thought of relinquishing even a modicum more of power to her captor sending shockwaves down her spine.
“And all this was done for your husband, all for his forgiveness, in the name of love?” he barks, moving towards the camera to begin shutting it down. “Isn’t that right?”
“…yes…” is the only thing you hear before the screen turns blank, with only the subtle sound of the television screen accompanying you two. You gaze into her eyes, noting the tears that have collected atop her shirt, those of regret and hope that her actions may be forgiven. Reaching towards her, you take her into your arms, hoping to demonstrate with this moment of silence that you have indeed forgiven her, a message that she hears loud and clear. It is during this time that, sliding her hand over your pants, she feels a prominent wet spot above your crotch, confirming just how much you enjoyed her video to climax to it once…
…not knowing that it had been at least four times, you estimate, having lost count long ago.
The End
Taking you by the hand, she pulls you into the living room, seating you upon the couch as you gaze up at her with rightful concern. Seating herself beside you, taking your hands into hers, she confesses that which had burdened her all this time: that she has been unfaithful, having sought pleasure from another man outside your union, and that she is finally compelled to confess her misdeeds in the hopes of your forgiveness. But, before the words can even fall from your lips, she injects a follow-up that throws your entire being out of balance: that she has been in the possession of an unknown figure, seeking them out for the sole purpose of ticklish and orgasmic bliss, and that she is thrust into a state of complete confusion because of it.
She explains how, relinquishing her body to them to use her in a thousand different ways, she reaches the pinnacle of orgasmic ecstasy, something which should be in spite of the status of a proper married woman. She is torn for, though she knows you would want to grant her pleasure, having to seek to satisfy such desires outside her marriage, she is riddled with guilt. You are speechless, mouth agape as you try to decipher exactly what your wife has told you, not knowing that, in just a brief moment, you won’t have to.
Reaching behind her, retrieving an unseen object from the lamp table, she hands you a small jewel case with a video disc as its contents. She tells you to put it in your video player so you may watch it together, hoping that everything will be made clear, and that you may ultimately forgive her. You take it from her hands, gazing upon the handwritten title of the disc in black marker of A Star is Born. Hoisting yourself from your seat, you make your way to the television, inserting it into your video player underneath. Taking the remote in hand, you press play, seating yourself back with your wife, her hands nervously shuffling in her lap. As the blank screen slowly fades away, you are dumbstruck by the sight of your wife in a most compromising positions.
She is bound, stretched taut in an x-shape with each of her four limps protruding out in all directions. As the camera angle pans around her figure, you find her standing underneath a large workout frame, located in the middle of a bare white room the location of which you do not recognize. Thick leather restraints adorn her wrists and ankles, bound with nylon rope to the metal beams surrounding her on all sides. Her attire is that of the same midnight blue tank top and denim shorts she is wearing now, making it seem as though it had only been a few hours prior that this video had been made. You find her feet, bound shoulder width apart, her flip flops lying precariously at the edge of the screen as it makes its way up the contraption. Reaching the top, the camera pans from her head down, a large blindfold nestled atop her eyes, covering nearly half of her tender face. Yet despite this, you can tell she is nervous and, outside of your understanding, that excites you. The screen fades to black, only to reveal a stationary shot of her entire figure, having not moved one inch. You can see her nervously curl her toes, only long enough for the realization to sink in that she’s truly not going anywhere.
“What are you here for?” an omnipotent voice breaks the silence, one which seems so familiar, yet just can’t quite ascertain. She bows her head forward, shrouding an unstoppable smirk scrawling itself across her face, hoping to hide that want for what is about to happen to her, live in front of a camera for all to bear witness.
“To be tickled,” she answers solemnly, the sides of her lips showing just how hard she is trying to fight her glee, betraying just how much she truly wants it.
“And why are you here to be tickled?” he tenderly asks her, addressing this grown woman as though she were a defenseless child. You gaze upon your wife’s response, her submissive demeanor making it seem surreal to have her sitting right beside you.
“For my husband,” she answers, a slight crack in her voice demonstrating the pain in which she feels she has caused you, and the thought of that which she is going to endure.
“You love to be tickled, don’t you dear?” he asks her, watching her head gently nod in confirmation, not uttering one sound. “He must be so happy knowing you’re here to be tickled, right?” She again bows her head, the sheen of red across her face betraying the sense of complete shame she feels at this moment. She shakes her head, still hiding that which she doesn’t want him to know but, from your point of view, is clear as day.
“How shameful,” he goads her, a condescending tone in his voice denoting exactly what both your and he know to be true. “Putting yourself in such a position at the ultimate mercy of another man without your husband knowledge: is that most becoming of a married woman? I’d hardly think so.” She blushes even further, the complete sense of pitiful submission she feels pinning her mentally in a corner, exactly where he wants her.
“It’s not proper to put yourself in such a compromising position young lady, one where somebody with just much too much time on their hands could take advantage of you in such a helpless position,” he tells her, knowing just how to mentally prime her for the impeding torments. You watch her bite the side of her lip, anticipating the myriad of ways in which she will be tormented by this unknown figure, all right in front of your eyes. “I guess we’re just going to have to punish you for that.” The hairs on the back of your neck stand up, not wanting to know just what he has in store for your lovingly confused wife but, strangely enough, not having the willpower to turn off the TV.
“Just remember hubby: this is what you wanted.” A shiver rolls down your spine, realizing just what exactly is going on: the fulfillment of your darkest fantasies, all about to come to life right in front of your eyes. You had teased such an event before, casting the bait into the dark recesses of the web, seeing if anybody would take a bite. It is one thing to entertain the idea of it happening, even roleplaying the idea with another depraved mind, but never could you have dealt with the possibility of it happening you real. Just as you are about to turn to your wife beside you, your attention is once again thrust upon the screen.
You watch as the figure enters the scene, silently making his way behind your wife. Clad in all black, not one identifying feature upon his person, he walks with an eerie silence, not one sound emanating from his footsteps. Placing himself square behind her person, you watch carefully as he reveals two fine paintbrushes, one nestled between each of his fingers. Ever so carefully, with surgical precision, he places them atop the crux just under her wrists before gently dragging them down the length of her arms in tandem.
She gasps, a mixture of surprise and excitement the moment they touch the bottom of her wrists. He is methodical, dragging them painstakingly slowly down the length of her arm, watching her shoulders tremble as she slowly accepts his merciless touch. She can feel every bristle caressing her quivering flesh, starting and stopping as to always keep her on her toes, her face turning red with the amount of force required to suppress her laughter. The minute they reach her biceps, they unexpectedly change: drawing circles upon her supple skin, tracing to and fro despite her best efforts to shake them off, she is utterly helpless watching her resistance fall by the wayside.
“Pfffffffffhfhfhfhfhfhfhfhf!” she sputters, attempting with all her restraint to keep composure, yet despite being destined to fail. If the tickling itself was going to be half as bad as the anticipation, then she may not last the several hours he has planned for her. The closer the dastardly brushes get to their destination, the more you see her tightly pursed lips peeling back, revealing that bright toothy grin you long for every night you come home. Her breathless giggles teeter through her clenched teeth, hoping to relieve even a bit of her ticklish torments to no avail.
“I’m sorry: does that tickle?” he teases her, that one phrase enough to push her completely over the edge as, without hesitation, he begins tracing his way across her supple underarms. Her mouth thrusts open in a display of forced mirth, eliciting a silent scream followed by a torrent of cackling laughter. Traversing the scale of her underarms, he wields those paintbrushes like instruments of hellish torture, extracting primal guffaws from her gullet despite their gentle design. She attempts a half-hearted escape, tugging against her restraints, bouncing atop the balls of her feet as though she were about to leap right out of her bondage. Slowly she falls back into place, hoping that her captor may have just overlooked her pitiful attempt at freedom.
Unfortunately for her, that’s not the way the cookie crumbles.
“And just where do you think you’re going?” he asks her, caressing the front of her underarms just beside her breasts, an entirely new sensation for her to deal with. Being immersed in such endless sensations, she hasn’t the breath left to answer him promptly, her silent screams for help falling on deaf ears. “Not talking huh? We’ll just see about fixing that.”
“Waaaaaaaaaaaahahahahahahahaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!” she bellows, throwing her head back in ticklish bliss as, abandoning his paintbrushes at her sides, he swiftly digs his fingers into the tender flesh of her underarms. Her gleaming white teeth laid bare, she spews forth a torrent of forced laughter, echoing gently off these solemn white walls only to dissipate into oblivion. Massaging deep into her quivering muscles, he savors every last sound emanating from your wife’s mouth, hellbent on extracting the most primal of ticklish reactions for his (or your) ultimate pleasure.
“Are you by chance ticklish young lady?” he taunts her, in between spurts of hapless cries and shrieking howls, knowing for sure that he has her right in the palms of his hands. “You can tell me, it’s alright.” Not a moment passes before he changes positions, priming his wriggling fingers right over the outline of her prominent ribs.
“Ihehehehehehem ticklish! I’M TICKLISHEHEHEHEHEHE!!” she screeches, unable to cope as he thrusts his fingers into her tender ribs, such a sight to behold out of reach underneath her firmly placed blindfold. You gaze upon the fluorescent screen, nearly half your body having gone numb by this point. Every second you watch of this wretched film is filled with fascination, horror, betrayal, and pure sexual ecstasy: here you sit, watching an unknown man have his way with your wife for what could have been for months, tickling and teasing her in ways you would have never imagined someone having the nerve to even think of. Yet here you are, the remote nestled in your hand, and not one inch closer to turning it off than you were half an hour ago.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAA!” she cackles forth, feeling as he digs into the tender spot just under her breasts, his pulsating fingers making quick work of her in no time at all. He finds that spot, one which he has stumbled upon time and time again, renewing her suffering as though it had only been this one time. What horrid indifference he possesses, callously treating her as nothing but his little tickle toy, his psychological manipulation making her all but completely helpless to his influence. Yet their exists within her captor a patience, one unyielding force within him that is keeping him right on the edge of her sanity. Gazing upon her, he watches as he peels away at her resistance sliver by minuscule sliver, watching her transform into that which is dependent on his ticklish touch, validating her existence as his little plaything.
“Mercyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyheheheheheheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!” she squeals at the tops of her lungs, his menacing fingers ravaging up and down her sides with wild abandonment, the sheer unpredictability throwing her into a maelstrom of ticklish terror. “Nahahahat the sides! Noooooooooooooooohohohohohohoooooooooooo!” He can feel the sweat accumulating across her body, the sheer strain of such exertion taking a toll on her both physically as well as mentally. So primed she was already, fully receptive to any punishment or pleasure that would be bestowed upon her, it was surprising to find her reactions so subdued to begin with. Yet the longer she stays in his clutches, the more she will lose herself, overwhelmed by the tickles she so ravenously sought to please you.
If only you could reach through the screen, resting your hand atop her blindfold, you would feel the torrential downpour of sweat and tears it is currently soaked in. For all that it is worth, everything she is enduring at this moment, in her confused state, is all for you, hoping that it will be all that is needed for you to forgive her for her persistent betrayals. Yet never in your wildest dreams could you imagine pushing your wife this far, taking away so much power and control from her, using her for your pleasure and your pleasure only. Even in your most guarded moments, that would be out of the question, yet here you are, gazing upon the sight of someone else doing exactly that. No, what you see before you is the manifestation of your darkest fantasies, those having been mined from the deepest trenches of the internet being fulfilled in the distant hope of your loving wife winning back your trust no matter what the cost to her physical or mental state…
…and you just can’t get enough of it...
You stare intensely into the glistening screen, eyes locked onto the image of your beloved wife for the past several moments. Chest heaving, head bowed slightly forward in submission, you recognize the labors of her torments slowly getting the better of her, forgetting the fact that you are merely watching a recording of what has already transpired, and that she is sitting right beside you this very moment. You watched firsthand as, bound helplessly spread eagle to capitalize on her most delectable of vulnerabilities, she succumbed to an onslaught of unyielding tickle torture. You could only gaze upon her subdued form as a masked assailant ravaged her body like none before, taking ownership of her as his little tickle toy ripe for his perpetual amusement. Not one inch of her tantalizing flesh was left unscathed, eliciting a myriad of animalistic cries emanating from her supple lips, echoing against the walls of this hallowed chamber. Her glistening body, doused by the sweat and tears of such torturous exertion, merely proved the perfect canvas in which to guide his ticklish implements effortlessly across her flesh time and time again.
But, if you thought for one second, he had reached the limits of his abysmal cruelty, prepare yourself to be sorely mistaken.
“So sorry to keep you waiting my dear,” he announces, reentering the frame as he circles your darling in preparation for Stage II of her endless torments. You watch in uninterrupted fascination as he detaches her ankles from the device, positioning them together as he wraps a long length of Velcro just atop her fidgeting feet. Reaching up to the front of her shorts, he takes the button into her hands and, in one swift motion, disengages it, gazing upward as she blushes in embarrassment. Taking a line of string from his back pocket, he ties it around the two front loops of her shorts, binding the other end to the front of her undergarments, its thin material having been slowly exposed through the duration of her suffering.
“I think you know exactly what’s coming next, don’t you dear?” he asks her, watching as she purses her lips tightly together, a futile attempt to regain some power over her situation. Reaching behind her neck, he undoes the strap of her bra, hoisting the two straps in front of her mouth.
“Open up young lady,” he demands, watching as she gently separates her lips, placing the straps in between her glistening white teeth much to her utter chagrin. Having finally finished preparing his second stage of torments, he turns towards the camera, finally addressing his audience.
“Do you recognize this?” he asks the camera, revealing a ring atop his finger you have just now noticed and, much to your shock, fully recognize. “You should: it’s yours.” You remember that fateful day: an impromptu trek into the local adult shop yielding one pair of vibrating panties, an addition to spice up your bedroom activities much to her pleasure. How long you two indulged in its capabilities you haven’t the slightest clue but, now, you will bear witness to the extent of which they may be used.
“Oh, I’m sure you two had the most fun with these, am I right?” he asks you, noting just how silent his captive is being much to his delight. “Good, because now that I’ve got her right where I want her, it’s time to put your wifey here to the ultimate test. You see, marriage is sacred, as she knows oh so well, which means that it is you and you alone that she desires. If, for even one moment, she finds herself yearning after anybody in a sexual manner other than you, then that would prove a most damned betrayal, right young lady?” You watch her shudder in suppressed shame, knowing full well just how she has betrayed you, seeking out the ticklish bliss of orgasmic pleasures outside her marriage, giving her reason to create this very video to win back your love.
It is the ultimate betrayal, all for the sake of the ultimate loyalty.
“So, we’re going to test that bond here and now, seeing just how long she can control herself lest she succumb to a little “accident” if you will. However, as you and I both know, there’s nothing stopping her the minute it gets started. Just think about which is to inevitably come first: will her body shudder with shameful tremors of sexual ecstasy for a woman of her stature, or will her moans of pleasure release the bonds from her clenched teeth, exposing her bare breasts to the open air for an unknown stranger like myself to see? It’s only the inevitable, my darling.”
With a flick of the wrist, he pulls at the button hidden within the ring, forcing you to watch the change in your wife’s demeanor as she shifts from torturous tickles to unbearable sexual arousal. A dull murmur is all you can hear of its workings underneath her shorts, but in the back of your mind you know full well the susceptibility she has to such pleasures, knowing for sure she could never hold herself back no matter what the stakes. Slowly but surely, she begins losing composure, fidgeting against her restraints in desperate attempt to shift away from the teasing against her womanhood. Rubbing her legs together, throwing her head back as she elicits a tortured moan of gratification, you find her body slowly betraying her, and the more you look on, the less control you sense in your own libido during her ordeal.
“Look at her: just pitiful,” he notes, having gained full control of her sex in the palm of his hands. Making his way behind her, he positions his head between the crook of her neck and left shoulder, framing his masked face as he narrates every moment of her resistance. “Not even one minute has passed, and already she is turning to jell-o. Just think: one wrong moan, one fleeting moment of lost control, and you can say goodbye to your modesty young lady. Tick-tock, tick-tock, it’s just a matter of time.” The suspense is killing you: either she lets go of the strap, bearing her nude body to a stranger, or she has an orgasm, climaxing in front of a recording camera in the ultimate form of betrayal against your sacred bond.
Either way, you can do nothing but look forward to the result.
Her curling toes denote the utter frustration she feels this very moment, having not one scrap of control over her body as she falls deeper into forced ecstasy. With that same tender touch, the masked figure begins caressing the erogenous zones of his captive, further extracting her sexual pleasure despite her most valiant efforts. Little could you imagine yourself getting so flustered by the sight of another man groping your love while, at the same time, so aroused by his effectiveness with her angelic body. With every swipe of her earlobes, she can only gasp in suppressed pleasure. With every stroke of her neck and collarbone, her coos of forced ecstasy can only become more prominent. And, with every poke and prod of her buxom bosom, flicking at her hardened nipples piercing through her bra, her moans of orgasmic bliss can no longer be suppressed. Having had the energy syphoned out of her through hours of tickle torture, she has only the energy to grip the binds above her, her fingers turning white in vain attempt at alleviating some of her torments.
“Come now dearie, you know you want to,” he speaks softly into her left ear, tracing his fingers once again over the vulnerable hollows of her underarms. “Just give in, and it will all be over.” By this gesture, she finds herself confronted with a new sensation, that mixture of ticklish lust she had only imagined herself gaining. Slowly but surely, she has found the wires in her brain, those differentiating between tickling and sensual stimulation, slowly being crossed, forcing her to experience both simultaneously much to her ongoing agony. Now, resisting the urge to groan at the peak of climax, she must also suppress her girlish giggles from morphing into unbridled laughter.
Inch by inch he begins once again exploring her body with renewed fervor, exploiting her newfound arousal with every prod and pinch. Teetering laughter juxtaposed with forced expressions of orgasmic bliss are all that fill your senses, unable to even turn towards your wife sitting beside you, for fear of betraying either your absolute disgust or utter infatuation. The thought even crossed your mind that she would forever be like this, unable to differentiate between either stimuli, a blessing in disguise that you only wish you could have bestowed upon her yourself. However, such was never to come to fruition, as you could only watch helplessly as she experienced the worst fate of all: both simultaneously, dropping the strap of her bra before crying out in orgasmic bliss, exposing her bare breasts for all to see with a face turned red as a beet.
“Naughty little girls need to be punished,” he decrees without even a hint of victory in his voice as though there was no challenge in his conquest at all. Reaching offscreen, he drags a padded leather workout bench into the shot. He hoists her legs atop the bench, kneeling atop its plush material as he wraps a belt around her knees and ankles. Unable to form one coherent thought, she can only watch blindly through her covered eyes as she is manipulated to his liking. Much to your surprise, a small window appears at the bottom of the screen, capturing the perfect angle of the soles of her feet as though a camera was waiting there all along.
“Let’s not waste any time now, shall we?” he notes, a hint of impatience emanating from his voice. You hear a squirt bottle offscreen, seeing the figure coat your wife’s soles in a thick layer of lotion, massaging them deep into her tender flesh as she moans in ecstasy. She moans in pleasure, not having the wherewithal to control herself any longer, having such pleasures overtake her senses. “Enjoy it while it lasts, dearie.” Stepping away from the shot, he makes his way to a small chest, your angle only giving you an audible taste of what is to come. The whirring of her panties initiates again, her breathing becoming more prominent as she dissolves in orgasmic bliss, the heightened sensation of her feet becoming that much more evident with the cool air kissing her soles. However, such enjoyment is short lived as, witnessing a sight to behold, you see a hard-bristled hairbrush come into focus and, in one fell, swoop, descend upon your wife’s soles with wild abandonment.
“WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!” she wails at the tops of her lungs, throwing her head back in forced mirth as she is sent into a maelstrom of ticklish stimulation. Nothing could have prepared her for the coming onslaught that she was to face, her heightened sensitivity from such a massive climax making it that much more unbearable. Shrieking into oblivion, she can feel every nib atop every bristle ravage her tender feet, left completely alone until this very moment of unrelenting suffering. He scrapes it deep into her quivering flesh, indulging in his talent as she can do nothing to resist his influence over her body.
“NAHAHAHAT THERE!!! NAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAT THEREHEHEHEHEHE!!!” She is rendered absolutely pitiful, begging to no one but the wall she is forced to face, with every shred of mercy having been left by her assailant at the door the very minute he began. The soles of her feet turn a darkened hue of pink, relentless inflicted by the hardened bristles of his finely chosen hairbrush that could have readily come from her very bathroom. Yet with every passing few minutes, by the combination of tickling and sexual stimulation, she is confronted by yet another forced orgasm reverberating through her body, heightening her susceptibility to the tickles to an even greater degree. It is in this horrendous state that she is blind to all that is coming her way, a myriad of tickling tools placed adjacent to her feet ripe for utilizing to their maximum potential.
“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOHOHOHOHOHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!” That wail alone, elicited the moment she feels the teeth of the plastic comb enter her flailing toes, was enough to send shockwaves down the lower half of her person. By now, staring into her contorted face, you can witness the streams of tears flowing below the blindfold, unable to absorb any more of her emanations. Having achieved her fifth orgasm, she is reduced to mere whimpers for mercy, not even a muscle twitch left in her to resist any further. It is only after a grueling thirty minutes that he leaves her there, letting the sobbing mess of a woman you call your wife hang in her bondage, collecting whatever shred of dignity he hasn’t stripped away from her. Cleaning up his mess, unwrapping her ankles as to leave her dangling there in her binds, he confronts her one last time for all to hear.
“Do you still love being tickled?” he interrogates her, the harsh tone of his voice testing her mental limitations, holding on even after all of her endless torments.
“…yes…” she barely is able to utter, the hoarse tone of her strained gullet demonstrating just how much strain and anguish she was willing to go through, all for the sake of your love.
“Do you now?” he claps back, making her shudder with such a surprise answer. “So, you’re saying you’re nothing but a little tickle pet, willing to be tickled at the drop of a hat? Is that what you’re saying?”
“…yes…” she squeaks out again, this time after a longer hesitation, the thought of relinquishing even a modicum more of power to her captor sending shockwaves down her spine.
“And all this was done for your husband, all for his forgiveness, in the name of love?” he barks, moving towards the camera to begin shutting it down. “Isn’t that right?”
“…yes…” is the only thing you hear before the screen turns blank, with only the subtle sound of the television screen accompanying you two. You gaze into her eyes, noting the tears that have collected atop her shirt, those of regret and hope that her actions may be forgiven. Reaching towards her, you take her into your arms, hoping to demonstrate with this moment of silence that you have indeed forgiven her, a message that she hears loud and clear. It is during this time that, sliding her hand over your pants, she feels a prominent wet spot above your crotch, confirming just how much you enjoyed her video to climax to it once…
…not knowing that it had been at least four times, you estimate, having lost count long ago.
The End
