april
2nd Level Red Feather
- Joined
- Dec 16, 2006
- Messages
- 1,274
- Points
- 63
https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTM6epaUK/
Merrit
Merrit collapsed against the velvet sheets, eyes closed, chest still heaving from the release you finally allowed. His hair was stuck to his forehead, his lips parted. For a heartbeat, he's silent; nothing but the sound of his ragged breathing.
You crawl up to him, thinking he's spent. He opened his eyes slowly.
And you see it.
The midnight blue has almost turned black. His dimples flicker, but it's not a smile. It's a dangerous curve of his mouth; soft but absolutely deadly.
“Petal…” he said softly. “What have you done?”
He sat up gracefully, catching your wrist with one elegant hand. His grip is still trembling from exhaustion, but it's firm. He drags you closer, until you're kneeling between his knees. His head dips; his breath ghosting over your neck.
“You bound me. You tickled me.” He nips at your lower lip, just hard enough to make you gasp. “And then you made me beg…” his tongue flicked against the corner of your mouth, a dark mockery of tenderness.
He tilts his head, dimples showing now, but in a way that's more dangerous than charming.
“Do you know what that means, Petal?”
The shadows rise from the bed like smoke. In a blink you're flat on your back, pinned to the mattress. Merrit crawls over to you, his hair falling into his face, his eyes blazing with that furious midnight hunger.
“It means…” he draws a single finger down your ribs; feather-light, making you shudder. “...that I get to make you laugh until you cry.”
He bends to your ear, his voice a whisper of silk and threat. “Sweet, sweet revenge.”
His fingers skate down your sides, then up again, pausing just above your underarms. He smiles, dimples deep, watching you squirm.
“Oh, love,” he murmured. “I'm going to edge you so gently…tickling you until you're nothing but laughter.”
He lowered his head to your neck, lips brushing the tender skin.
“You're going to beg me the way I begged you,” he promised, his voice a low rumble. “And you're going to love every second.”
His shadows snap into place, coiling around your wrists and ankles, dragging you under him in one, fluid motion.
“You held me down,” he whispered, tracing a slow circle over your collarbone. “Made me beg like a starved dog. You kept me right on the edge until I couldn't think. Now…” his voice softened into a deceptively gentle tenor. “Now you're going to feel exactly what you did to me.”
Another slow stroke just under your arm. Your muscles jump under his touch. He smiled faintly.
“Do you know what's coming?” He asked almost tenderly, as though speaking to a child who misbehaved. “First, I'm going to keep you on edge. Slow. Drawn-out. You'll want my touch so badly, you'll tremble. And just when you're about to slip…” His fingers spidered lightly over your stomach, a ghost of the tickling to come. “...I'll add these. Tiny, vicious little touches. They'll make you laugh. They'll make you squirm. You won't know if you're begging me to stop or to give you more.”
He shifts his weight so that his mouth is beside your ear, his breath hot.
“How terrible do you want it to feel?” He whispered. “Because I can make it terrible. I can make it delicious. I can make you scream.”
He lets the question hang, then answers it himself.
“This is what I'm going to do next.” His voice is calm, clinical. “I'm going to touch you lightly, right here…” His fingertips draw a short path to your ribcage, “...until you're shaking. Then I'll slide lower, still light, still teasing, until you're gasping. And when you think you've adjusted, I'll add my nails. Little scratches. Just enough to make you lose control.”
He raised his head, watching your reaction; drinking in the panic rising in your wide eyes.
“And then, petal, when you're right on the edge, when you're thrashing and laughing and pleading like I did…I'll stop. And you'll stay right there, right where I left you, until I decide you've learned.”
His fingers flexed just above your skin again.
“Do you understand what I'm going to do to you?” He asks too softly. “Tell me you understand.”
“Merrit, I…” He cuts your words short as he lowers himself so that his face is just above yours, his midnight blue eyes searching, catching every flicker of anticipation and dread. His voice stays low, calm, but now it comes with a thread of cruel amusement.
“Good,” he murmured. “I want you awake for every second of this.”
His fingertips began anew, tracing over your ribs, not enough to elicit laughter, but enough to make your skin crawl with sensitivity. Each spiral of touch draws closer to your underarms. He narrates every motion, his voice rising and falling on a dark drawl.
“Right now, I'm waking up the nerves under your skin. Softly, slowly, making you hypersensitive. When I finally touch you properly, you won't be able to stand it.”
He drags his nails lightly over your underarms. A shudder jerks through you before you can stop it.
He smirked.
“There it is,” he whispered. “Your body knows what's coming.”
Without warning, his fingers spider there, for but a moment, then back off again. A squeak escapes you. He does it again, a little longer this time, and a breathy giggle slips out of you.
“That's the beginning,” he explained gently. “Little bursts. Just enough to break your control. Just enough to remind you you're mine.”
He slid his hands lower, palms gliding over your hips, nails scratching lightly at the tender curves of your thighs, not quite tickling, not quite caressing; a maddening in-between.
“Here,” he murmured. “This is where I'll mix it in. A stroke…a pause…a tickle. You won't know which is coming until it happens.”
His fingers flex again and he gives you a sudden, sharp tickle at your ribs. You jolt and laugh helplessly. Merrit's eyes darken with satisfaction.
“Tell me,” he purrs. “Does it feel terrible yet? Or just terrible enough?”
His breath remains hot against your ear, as his fingers continue their methodical, cruel dance.
“I'm going to keep doing this," he continued. “Slow, then quickly, then slow again. Every time you think you're safe, I'll strike. Every time you're about to lose yourself, I'll stop.”
Another sudden squeeze to your ribs. Another burst of helpless laughter.
“That's what it's going to feel like,” he explained, calm and deliberate. “Like standing on the edge of a cliff. I'll push you closer and closer until you're shuddering. You'll beg me to stop and keep going in the same breath. And then, when you're right where I want you…” he draws his tongue in a single, languid stripe up your neck. “You'll only just begin to understand.”
Merrit straddled your hips, so you're completely pinned and at his mercy. The shadows around your wrists tighten a little more, silk-like but unbreakable. His head dips, black hair brushing your cheeks as he talks.
“You're trembling already,” he whispered, his voice sweet and sinfully delighted. “Good. Stay right there.”
His hands moved at a languid pace down your stomach, fingertips dragging in long, measured lines down to your hips and back up. Every stroke is too slow; it leaves a trail of sensitivity in its wake.
“This isn't meant to be unbearable yet. This is me drawing heat to the surface. Making every nerve come alive. The slower I go, the more you'll feel it when I change.”
His fingers suddenly cup your sides, and begin a gentle, rolling squeeze; again, not enough to tickle, but enough to make you arch involuntarily. He keeps his face right above yours, watching every reaction.
“Do you see? You can't even stop your body. You're starting to rise to it aren't you?” He whispered. “That's edging, Petal. That's me taking you up.”
A sudden flick of his nails under your arm makes you yelp out and laugh. He smiles wickedly.
“And that…” he says darkly, “is me knocking your balance out from under you.”
He goes back to the slow, steady touch; palms gliding over your hips, thumbs circling at the edge of your pelvis, moving lower, then away again. Each time you start to settle into the rhythm, he stops and adds a few electric strokes up your ribs and across your inner thighs, making you jolt and giggle helplessly before he returns to the slow build.
“Up…” he murmured.
His hands stroke down.
“Almost there…”
His nails flicker over your thighs and you burst out laughing.
“Not yet…”
Another lazy glide of his hands, then a vicious squeeze. You thrash, but his thighs hold you easily. And now you notice that the faint curve of his mouth is no longer a smile, its hunger.
Then his hands are everywhere.
Fingers skittering under your arms in a rapid, fluttering pattern that makes your body jump and buck, nails grazing your ribs in little scratching arcs, thumbs pressing and releasing at the hollows of your hips. Each time you suck in a breath, thinking you've got a moment, he's somewhere else; thighs, neck, hips, sides; a barrage of light, merciless touches.
Your body reacts before your mind can; breathy giggles spilling out of you, then breaking into full laughter as you writhe under him, shoulders straining against the bonds. You gasp, trying to get words out, but another squeeze to your ribs sends a squeal through your teeth.
Merritt's voice comes in low and smooth, sliding under the sound of your laughter. “How long before you start begging, my dear?”
He pokes at your ribs in a fast, precise pattern. Your back arches straight off the bed, laughter bursting from you as you throw your head back into the pillows. You try to twist away but there's nowhere to hide from his clever hands. His smile grows darker as you start to gasp between laughs, “No…no more…please!”
He leans over, eye to eye, hands still working your sides.
“Please what?” He asks. “Please stop? Please, more? You don't even know anymore, do you? You don't even know what's going to happen next.”
The binds don't just hold you now; they feel like they're a part of you. Every time you jerk away from his hands, the shadows tug you back into place. Merrit stills for a moment to analyze his work. The last trace of a teacher's patience is gone. There's no more explaining, no more warning; only that soft, dangerous curve of his mouth.
There's no preamble.
No gentle, teasing buildup.
He pounces.
His fingers strike deep into the soft hollows beneath your arms. No fluttering now, no light flicks; his thumbs press hard into the center while his other fingers claw and squeeze with merciless speed. It's like he's trying to dig the laughter out of you, forcing it to the surface whether you want it or not.
Your reaction is instant and violent as your mouth rips open on a scream-laugh and your whole body bucks wildly beneath him.
“MERRIT! NOHOHOHOHOHO!”
He doesn't acknowledge you.
He doesn't let up.
Not for a second.
His hands stay locked there, switching between squeezing grips and sharp, precise scratches, so your nerves never adjust. He watched you intently; every wild twist of your body, every ragged burst of laughter.
“I begged you here,” he growled low in your ear. “And you laughed while I broke.”
His fingers dug harder, thumbs rotating deep.
“So, laugh now, petal. Laugh for me.”
You do. You can't not. Its frantic, high-pitched, uncontrollable. Tears prick at your eyes, your chest heaves, and he still does not move on. When you gasp “Please!” it only makes him squeeze harder, dragging more shrieks out of you.
Just when you thought you might pass out, he switches. His hands slide to your ribs and hook in, each finger finding a gap between the bones with terrifying accuracy. He kneads like a sculptor shaping clay, sometimes pressing in, sometimes pinching small sections of skin, sometimes giving sharp, sudden squeezes.
It's a whole new hell.
“AHH! NOOO, MERRIT! NOT THERE!”
He smiles and leans so far over, his lips brush your temple as you scream.
“Yes. Here. Right here.”
Squeeze, dig, knead.
“Every spot you tickled on me, I'll wring it out of you. Every second I begged…”
Pinch, pinch, pinch.
“I'll make you pay threefold.”
Press, rotate, poke.
“Break for me,” he purred, voice sickly sweet. “Just like I broke for you.”
He pulled back just for a heartbeat, staring at you with that terrible calm. His blue-black eyes were steady, almost luminous in the dim light. His beauty was startlingly at this distance; pale and perfect, black hair falling across his brow in careless strands. It was the face of an angel who planned to ruin you.
Then his hands came down.
His fingers dug straight back into your ribcage with inhuman precision, pressing deeply, finding the nerves that went straight to your core and clawing at them; heavy, deep, unrelenting tickling that felt like they reached all the way to your bones.
The sound ripped out of you instantly, a scream of laughter that bent into a sob. “N-NO…OH GOD'S…PLEASE STOP!”
He didn't even glance at your face. He just kept going, his hands roaming with surgical accuracy from your ribs to your stomach, down your thighs and back up into your underarms. Your laughter poured out ragged and hysterical, every cry a jolt of panic, your body shaking so hard, the sheets bunched beneath you.
Then suddenly…he stopped.
The silence was as shocking as his touch. You lay there gasping, tears streaking your face, your body twitching with aftershocks, lungs pulling in air like you'd been drowning.
You knew instantly it wasn't mercy. His abyssal eyes watched you, expression unreadable, waiting.
“No…please…don't start again.” You begged, your voice breaking into hiccuped breaths. “Merrit, please! No more! No more!”
He tilted his head slightly, dimples flickering as though teasing at a private joke. And then just as you found your breath, he began again.
You screamed before his fingers even made contact, your body twisting spastically against the shadows. It was unbearable, every stroke a new eruption of ticklish agony, laughter tearing from you until you thought you'd choke on it.
Minute after minute passed. You lost all sense of time, but you felt the rhythm. He would stop again, let you collapse, sobbing, gasping, and then before you could recover, before your nerves stopped screaming, his hands would return.
Each pause was its own torment. You lay there between bouts, trembling, sucking in air, begging for it to stop. The ability to speak, to plead made it worse; you heard yourself begging and knew it wouldn't save you.
And still the cycle continued. His hands came back. Your body convulsed, hysterical laughter spilling out, tears soaking the sheets, your mind dissolving into panic. Every pause dragged your dread higher, each new bout left you more frantic, thrashing and screaming under him, your plea's turning into sobs.
“Ahh, there's the sound,” he drawls with cruel satisfaction. “Sweet, panicked laughter. Remember how you had me there?”
He shifts his hands beneath you, to the soft curves of your backside, as they begin to cup and bounce, spidering across the surface like quicksilver, all ten fingers scrabbling rapidly over the same spots until you're shrieking. It's relentless but playful, like a cat toying with its prey.
“MERRIT, AHAHAHAHA! I CAN'T…PLEASE!”
“Can't?” He repeats as his hands move faster, switching to deep, rhythmic squeezes, keeping you lost and breathless. “Do you think I care if you can or can't? You will, until I decide otherwise.”
Merrit slows, just slightly, lowering his hands possessively over your hips.
“Because you started this.” He whispered darkly. “And I will always…finish it.”
The shadows surge upward, yanking you into the air and flipping you over with a sudden, dizzying lift. You dangle helplessly above the bed, limbs spread wide as Merrit slides smoothly beneath you. His head tilts back, that slow, wicked smile returning just before his hands launch upward, striking all at once; releasing a storm of unrelenting tickles that wrings wild, broken laughter from your throat. Merrit's grin lingers, dark and triumphant, as your laughter fills the room and the world fades to nothing but his merciless touch.
Merrit
Merrit collapsed against the velvet sheets, eyes closed, chest still heaving from the release you finally allowed. His hair was stuck to his forehead, his lips parted. For a heartbeat, he's silent; nothing but the sound of his ragged breathing.
You crawl up to him, thinking he's spent. He opened his eyes slowly.
And you see it.
The midnight blue has almost turned black. His dimples flicker, but it's not a smile. It's a dangerous curve of his mouth; soft but absolutely deadly.
“Petal…” he said softly. “What have you done?”
He sat up gracefully, catching your wrist with one elegant hand. His grip is still trembling from exhaustion, but it's firm. He drags you closer, until you're kneeling between his knees. His head dips; his breath ghosting over your neck.
“You bound me. You tickled me.” He nips at your lower lip, just hard enough to make you gasp. “And then you made me beg…” his tongue flicked against the corner of your mouth, a dark mockery of tenderness.
He tilts his head, dimples showing now, but in a way that's more dangerous than charming.
“Do you know what that means, Petal?”
The shadows rise from the bed like smoke. In a blink you're flat on your back, pinned to the mattress. Merrit crawls over to you, his hair falling into his face, his eyes blazing with that furious midnight hunger.
“It means…” he draws a single finger down your ribs; feather-light, making you shudder. “...that I get to make you laugh until you cry.”
He bends to your ear, his voice a whisper of silk and threat. “Sweet, sweet revenge.”
His fingers skate down your sides, then up again, pausing just above your underarms. He smiles, dimples deep, watching you squirm.
“Oh, love,” he murmured. “I'm going to edge you so gently…tickling you until you're nothing but laughter.”
He lowered his head to your neck, lips brushing the tender skin.
“You're going to beg me the way I begged you,” he promised, his voice a low rumble. “And you're going to love every second.”
His shadows snap into place, coiling around your wrists and ankles, dragging you under him in one, fluid motion.
“You held me down,” he whispered, tracing a slow circle over your collarbone. “Made me beg like a starved dog. You kept me right on the edge until I couldn't think. Now…” his voice softened into a deceptively gentle tenor. “Now you're going to feel exactly what you did to me.”
Another slow stroke just under your arm. Your muscles jump under his touch. He smiled faintly.
“Do you know what's coming?” He asked almost tenderly, as though speaking to a child who misbehaved. “First, I'm going to keep you on edge. Slow. Drawn-out. You'll want my touch so badly, you'll tremble. And just when you're about to slip…” His fingers spidered lightly over your stomach, a ghost of the tickling to come. “...I'll add these. Tiny, vicious little touches. They'll make you laugh. They'll make you squirm. You won't know if you're begging me to stop or to give you more.”
He shifts his weight so that his mouth is beside your ear, his breath hot.
“How terrible do you want it to feel?” He whispered. “Because I can make it terrible. I can make it delicious. I can make you scream.”
He lets the question hang, then answers it himself.
“This is what I'm going to do next.” His voice is calm, clinical. “I'm going to touch you lightly, right here…” His fingertips draw a short path to your ribcage, “...until you're shaking. Then I'll slide lower, still light, still teasing, until you're gasping. And when you think you've adjusted, I'll add my nails. Little scratches. Just enough to make you lose control.”
He raised his head, watching your reaction; drinking in the panic rising in your wide eyes.
“And then, petal, when you're right on the edge, when you're thrashing and laughing and pleading like I did…I'll stop. And you'll stay right there, right where I left you, until I decide you've learned.”
His fingers flexed just above your skin again.
“Do you understand what I'm going to do to you?” He asks too softly. “Tell me you understand.”
“Merrit, I…” He cuts your words short as he lowers himself so that his face is just above yours, his midnight blue eyes searching, catching every flicker of anticipation and dread. His voice stays low, calm, but now it comes with a thread of cruel amusement.
“Good,” he murmured. “I want you awake for every second of this.”
His fingertips began anew, tracing over your ribs, not enough to elicit laughter, but enough to make your skin crawl with sensitivity. Each spiral of touch draws closer to your underarms. He narrates every motion, his voice rising and falling on a dark drawl.
“Right now, I'm waking up the nerves under your skin. Softly, slowly, making you hypersensitive. When I finally touch you properly, you won't be able to stand it.”
He drags his nails lightly over your underarms. A shudder jerks through you before you can stop it.
He smirked.
“There it is,” he whispered. “Your body knows what's coming.”
Without warning, his fingers spider there, for but a moment, then back off again. A squeak escapes you. He does it again, a little longer this time, and a breathy giggle slips out of you.
“That's the beginning,” he explained gently. “Little bursts. Just enough to break your control. Just enough to remind you you're mine.”
He slid his hands lower, palms gliding over your hips, nails scratching lightly at the tender curves of your thighs, not quite tickling, not quite caressing; a maddening in-between.
“Here,” he murmured. “This is where I'll mix it in. A stroke…a pause…a tickle. You won't know which is coming until it happens.”
His fingers flex again and he gives you a sudden, sharp tickle at your ribs. You jolt and laugh helplessly. Merrit's eyes darken with satisfaction.
“Tell me,” he purrs. “Does it feel terrible yet? Or just terrible enough?”
His breath remains hot against your ear, as his fingers continue their methodical, cruel dance.
“I'm going to keep doing this," he continued. “Slow, then quickly, then slow again. Every time you think you're safe, I'll strike. Every time you're about to lose yourself, I'll stop.”
Another sudden squeeze to your ribs. Another burst of helpless laughter.
“That's what it's going to feel like,” he explained, calm and deliberate. “Like standing on the edge of a cliff. I'll push you closer and closer until you're shuddering. You'll beg me to stop and keep going in the same breath. And then, when you're right where I want you…” he draws his tongue in a single, languid stripe up your neck. “You'll only just begin to understand.”
Merrit straddled your hips, so you're completely pinned and at his mercy. The shadows around your wrists tighten a little more, silk-like but unbreakable. His head dips, black hair brushing your cheeks as he talks.
“You're trembling already,” he whispered, his voice sweet and sinfully delighted. “Good. Stay right there.”
His hands moved at a languid pace down your stomach, fingertips dragging in long, measured lines down to your hips and back up. Every stroke is too slow; it leaves a trail of sensitivity in its wake.
“This isn't meant to be unbearable yet. This is me drawing heat to the surface. Making every nerve come alive. The slower I go, the more you'll feel it when I change.”
His fingers suddenly cup your sides, and begin a gentle, rolling squeeze; again, not enough to tickle, but enough to make you arch involuntarily. He keeps his face right above yours, watching every reaction.
“Do you see? You can't even stop your body. You're starting to rise to it aren't you?” He whispered. “That's edging, Petal. That's me taking you up.”
A sudden flick of his nails under your arm makes you yelp out and laugh. He smiles wickedly.
“And that…” he says darkly, “is me knocking your balance out from under you.”
He goes back to the slow, steady touch; palms gliding over your hips, thumbs circling at the edge of your pelvis, moving lower, then away again. Each time you start to settle into the rhythm, he stops and adds a few electric strokes up your ribs and across your inner thighs, making you jolt and giggle helplessly before he returns to the slow build.
“Up…” he murmured.
His hands stroke down.
“Almost there…”
His nails flicker over your thighs and you burst out laughing.
“Not yet…”
Another lazy glide of his hands, then a vicious squeeze. You thrash, but his thighs hold you easily. And now you notice that the faint curve of his mouth is no longer a smile, its hunger.
Then his hands are everywhere.
Fingers skittering under your arms in a rapid, fluttering pattern that makes your body jump and buck, nails grazing your ribs in little scratching arcs, thumbs pressing and releasing at the hollows of your hips. Each time you suck in a breath, thinking you've got a moment, he's somewhere else; thighs, neck, hips, sides; a barrage of light, merciless touches.
Your body reacts before your mind can; breathy giggles spilling out of you, then breaking into full laughter as you writhe under him, shoulders straining against the bonds. You gasp, trying to get words out, but another squeeze to your ribs sends a squeal through your teeth.
Merritt's voice comes in low and smooth, sliding under the sound of your laughter. “How long before you start begging, my dear?”
He pokes at your ribs in a fast, precise pattern. Your back arches straight off the bed, laughter bursting from you as you throw your head back into the pillows. You try to twist away but there's nowhere to hide from his clever hands. His smile grows darker as you start to gasp between laughs, “No…no more…please!”
He leans over, eye to eye, hands still working your sides.
“Please what?” He asks. “Please stop? Please, more? You don't even know anymore, do you? You don't even know what's going to happen next.”
The binds don't just hold you now; they feel like they're a part of you. Every time you jerk away from his hands, the shadows tug you back into place. Merrit stills for a moment to analyze his work. The last trace of a teacher's patience is gone. There's no more explaining, no more warning; only that soft, dangerous curve of his mouth.
There's no preamble.
No gentle, teasing buildup.
He pounces.
His fingers strike deep into the soft hollows beneath your arms. No fluttering now, no light flicks; his thumbs press hard into the center while his other fingers claw and squeeze with merciless speed. It's like he's trying to dig the laughter out of you, forcing it to the surface whether you want it or not.
Your reaction is instant and violent as your mouth rips open on a scream-laugh and your whole body bucks wildly beneath him.
“MERRIT! NOHOHOHOHOHO!”
He doesn't acknowledge you.
He doesn't let up.
Not for a second.
His hands stay locked there, switching between squeezing grips and sharp, precise scratches, so your nerves never adjust. He watched you intently; every wild twist of your body, every ragged burst of laughter.
“I begged you here,” he growled low in your ear. “And you laughed while I broke.”
His fingers dug harder, thumbs rotating deep.
“So, laugh now, petal. Laugh for me.”
You do. You can't not. Its frantic, high-pitched, uncontrollable. Tears prick at your eyes, your chest heaves, and he still does not move on. When you gasp “Please!” it only makes him squeeze harder, dragging more shrieks out of you.
Just when you thought you might pass out, he switches. His hands slide to your ribs and hook in, each finger finding a gap between the bones with terrifying accuracy. He kneads like a sculptor shaping clay, sometimes pressing in, sometimes pinching small sections of skin, sometimes giving sharp, sudden squeezes.
It's a whole new hell.
“AHH! NOOO, MERRIT! NOT THERE!”
He smiles and leans so far over, his lips brush your temple as you scream.
“Yes. Here. Right here.”
Squeeze, dig, knead.
“Every spot you tickled on me, I'll wring it out of you. Every second I begged…”
Pinch, pinch, pinch.
“I'll make you pay threefold.”
Press, rotate, poke.
“Break for me,” he purred, voice sickly sweet. “Just like I broke for you.”
He pulled back just for a heartbeat, staring at you with that terrible calm. His blue-black eyes were steady, almost luminous in the dim light. His beauty was startlingly at this distance; pale and perfect, black hair falling across his brow in careless strands. It was the face of an angel who planned to ruin you.
Then his hands came down.
His fingers dug straight back into your ribcage with inhuman precision, pressing deeply, finding the nerves that went straight to your core and clawing at them; heavy, deep, unrelenting tickling that felt like they reached all the way to your bones.
The sound ripped out of you instantly, a scream of laughter that bent into a sob. “N-NO…OH GOD'S…PLEASE STOP!”
He didn't even glance at your face. He just kept going, his hands roaming with surgical accuracy from your ribs to your stomach, down your thighs and back up into your underarms. Your laughter poured out ragged and hysterical, every cry a jolt of panic, your body shaking so hard, the sheets bunched beneath you.
Then suddenly…he stopped.
The silence was as shocking as his touch. You lay there gasping, tears streaking your face, your body twitching with aftershocks, lungs pulling in air like you'd been drowning.
You knew instantly it wasn't mercy. His abyssal eyes watched you, expression unreadable, waiting.
“No…please…don't start again.” You begged, your voice breaking into hiccuped breaths. “Merrit, please! No more! No more!”
He tilted his head slightly, dimples flickering as though teasing at a private joke. And then just as you found your breath, he began again.
You screamed before his fingers even made contact, your body twisting spastically against the shadows. It was unbearable, every stroke a new eruption of ticklish agony, laughter tearing from you until you thought you'd choke on it.
Minute after minute passed. You lost all sense of time, but you felt the rhythm. He would stop again, let you collapse, sobbing, gasping, and then before you could recover, before your nerves stopped screaming, his hands would return.
Each pause was its own torment. You lay there between bouts, trembling, sucking in air, begging for it to stop. The ability to speak, to plead made it worse; you heard yourself begging and knew it wouldn't save you.
And still the cycle continued. His hands came back. Your body convulsed, hysterical laughter spilling out, tears soaking the sheets, your mind dissolving into panic. Every pause dragged your dread higher, each new bout left you more frantic, thrashing and screaming under him, your plea's turning into sobs.
“Ahh, there's the sound,” he drawls with cruel satisfaction. “Sweet, panicked laughter. Remember how you had me there?”
He shifts his hands beneath you, to the soft curves of your backside, as they begin to cup and bounce, spidering across the surface like quicksilver, all ten fingers scrabbling rapidly over the same spots until you're shrieking. It's relentless but playful, like a cat toying with its prey.
“MERRIT, AHAHAHAHA! I CAN'T…PLEASE!”
“Can't?” He repeats as his hands move faster, switching to deep, rhythmic squeezes, keeping you lost and breathless. “Do you think I care if you can or can't? You will, until I decide otherwise.”
Merrit slows, just slightly, lowering his hands possessively over your hips.
“Because you started this.” He whispered darkly. “And I will always…finish it.”
The shadows surge upward, yanking you into the air and flipping you over with a sudden, dizzying lift. You dangle helplessly above the bed, limbs spread wide as Merrit slides smoothly beneath you. His head tilts back, that slow, wicked smile returning just before his hands launch upward, striking all at once; releasing a storm of unrelenting tickles that wrings wild, broken laughter from your throat. Merrit's grin lingers, dark and triumphant, as your laughter fills the room and the world fades to nothing but his merciless touch.
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