OnlyForNow2015
Registered User
- Joined
- Nov 27, 2014
- Messages
- 19
- Points
- 0
"Your mom liked me best of all your girlfriends..." (FF(F)/M) (18+) (controversial)
I used to contribute stories here and I'd like to again. Here is one I've penned that I am uncertain if I should continue. I'll let the flow of demand decide if I do, especially due to the nature of it. If anyone wants it, I'll start the followup installment and let all five acts (at least, of those planned in my head) play out. This is a story from the perspective of a girl who has a tickling fetish, but you'll find that it caters to the f/m mindset that most men would enjoy if they like that genre.
= = =
Tied to the bed, puffy red nipples bigger than on any boy I’ve ever seen, as naked as the day he was born. Only, much much bigger. The look on Jay’s face as I told him all about my plan, about how this was going to be a complete sexual redemption from him. I wanted back what was mine: my tickling fetish. I’m a 21 year old girl who doesn’t ask for much, but at the very least, do NOT steal my kink and share it with your next girlfriend or I swear I’ll make you regret having that as a turn-on. What turns you on can be a very powerful weapon in the right context…
What we’d planned was bad enough, but I hadn’t intended to genuinely turn it into Jay’s tickle nightmare.
That poor boy. We really didn’t mean for it to escalate as far as it did, but I guess it’s a lesson to ticklish guys of the world. Do NOT be a shallow pig to women who know every single ticklish spot on you. Especially when they know each other. Especially when they talk to each other. Especially when they revealed to one another that they know…
…you like being tickled.
Oh, that’s right. We girls talk. You think that your tickling fetish would remain a secret? Girls can hide it, but boys can’t. That little wiggleworm between your legs gives it away, and it’s a curse to you because you can never really feign it as genuine torture. Sure, you’re howling and screaming and yelling a safeword as if your life depended on it, but alllll the blood is flowing to Mr. Peeps down there. And because of that, us girls who know you like being tickled talk about you. We giggle at you in secret, about how you BEGGED me to tie you up every night I took you home once I’d told you it was what I liked. Remember how MUCH you liked it? Remember how you wanted to do it again? Remember how instead of going down on you like all the normal guys would want, you asked me to tickle your ribs until you squealed? Remember how I introduced you to tickling, Jay? Remember how it was a part of my world before it was yours? Remember how you went and wanted to share it with the next girl you dated? Katrina?
Jay starts to shiver as soon as we tighten the ties. Immobility was actually one of Jay’s biggest fears, and when he saw the look in my eye once I pulled those ropes tight, he could tell that this wasn’t going to be like playtime. Tied tight and shivering, Jay looks petrified. It’s because I’m looking at his nipples. One time in the throes of his tied-down passion, I started petting Jay’s nipples with my fingertips and I shit you not he blurted, “TOUCH THOSE, TOUCH THOSE, PLEASE TOUCH THOSE.” Ever since then, we had designated that our special tickle spot. He would get harder than I’ve ever seen a boy when I touched them, but as soon as I would stop, his erection would go away. I used to be self-conscious about this but then he explained,
“Oh, being tickled always turns me on. It’s impossible to separate the feeling of sex from it for me now. But,” he paused, finding his words and then continuing once he’d assembled them justly, “I can fight the boner. I can make it look like I’m not turned on, but it makes me so so so so so (he said so a lot) much more ticklish. All the sensitivity of my body goes straight to, uh,” he stopped embarrassedly. I finished his sentence for him at the time by taking both of them between my fingers, rubbing softly, and whispering over his loud moan,
“The nips?”
I tickled him softer than I ever had in my entire life that day. He laughed louder, came harder, treated me so much more sweetly afterwards. Imagine that: a boy who wants his tits played with rather than his dick. Of course I found all kinds of ways in those three months to make sure Jay Jr. was happy. I even learned how to work a dick with my toes, that way my hands would always be at his chest just tic-tic-tickling away at those little two, red little tips atop giant sensitive areolas.
SO, present day, here’s Jay all naked and shivering and I can tell by his nervously twitching toes he already can’t stand this. He always would shiver when his ticklishness was starting to surge. We haven’t even touched him yet. I kept looking at his worst ticklish spots and I could see by the look on his face that he knew I was.
The joke’s on you tonight, sweetie. Katrina is an old friend. Katrina is just like me, which is probably why you were attracted to her in the first place. Probably why you thought her fingernails down your torso would feel a lot like me.
They do, don’t they?
You’ll get to compare.
So first we did what any pair of jilted ex-girlfriends ought to do to their former boytoy. We called you up and asked you if you wanted the thing you had asked us for when we both broke up with you separately. Remember? Remember how you asked me on our three-month anniversary…
“Theresa honey,” you said, “would you ever be open to tickling me with another woman present?”
“How so present?” I asked, still intent on wanting to please you.
“Well, maybe she could tickle me too. Maybe you could tickle me with a few of your friends.” Jay looked nervous, and he seemed to play the part well. I smiled and thought about it. Truth be told, the thought of sharing you killed me inside and I didn’t want you to know it yet. Which is why I said,
“I’ll think about it.”
That was when you said, “Well I… kinda need to know now.”
Why? Why couldn’t you just let a maybe be a maybe? Why did you have to start that fight? That fight where you said you’re 23 and you want to experience a multi-girl tickling session, and how if we end up being serious and it doesn’t happen, that you would resent me for taking that chance away. “I will have felt like a chump if I could have had that when I was a free man,” were the last words you said before I made you a free man.
Then you dated Katrina for two weeks. You told her all about it. You enjoyed a fortnight of her nails grazing down your feet and her palms rubbing across your ni-
No, I don’t want to think about someone else tickling our special spot without me present. That’s why I went and did this for you, darling. You need to know now? Well fine, we’ll give it to you.
Katrina got the ax as well, but because she flatout refused. Where I was too shy to want to have you shared with anybody else, Katrina was angry at the notion of you wanting to experiment sexually outside the confines of a monogamous relationship. You’re a complete idiot, you know. Both Katrina and I would have done all kinds of things to your tall ticklish body, but you wanted more. You wanted something that no one woman could give you. You wanted one, two, maybe even three ticklers on you!
So, you broke up with Katrina. And then Katrina called me, told me the specifics, I went wide-eyed and hung up and cried, then called her back to tell her that we had both dated the very same guy. Then I told her about my tickling fetish. I hate you for that, Jay. None of my friends outside of the boys I’ve been with have ever known, and here I am needing to contextualize everything about this. More of my kink that you made me share that I wish I hadn’t in this situation.
So, I’d decided to take it back. And boy did I.
Generally speaking, there are two particular types of women that will know all of a boy’s tickle spots: His lover due to the exploratory nature of an intimate relationship and the sensations that a tickle can bring, and his mother who was very likely the first person to ever run her fingers down any ticklish spot the boy knows about.
Katrina and I found it fitting to tie him to his mother’s bed, naked. She was out at work, but she would be home at 8pm. It was now 6pm. Two hours. This is the ticking time bomb that we gave Jay, and this was when the mere shiver turned into writhing. Before even telling him what would happen, he knew what was up.
He knew I was using his biggest fear on him. Tickling? Oh, no. He loves that. Which is exactly why his biggest fear is what it is.
His biggest fear is being tickled by his mom. And, if you have a tickling fetish like I do, I bet you are too.
Don’t you boys reading out there lie to me. Don’t you dare. I bet your mom tickled you all the time when you were a kid, and I bet you try really hard to not think about it. Did she ever tickle you when you were older? As an adult? It probably wasn’t as grandiose of an event like being tickled as a kid is, but I bet one time, in for Thanksgiving and crashing on the couch for a college-less weekend getaway. You raise your arms up to stretch while you’re at the dinner table and your mom pokes you in the rib. You react. You laugh. Then you realized the brief brief brief feeling of sexual pleasure that came from it. From the tickle. I hate it when my mom tickles me because of how maddeningly erotic of a sensation all tickling is to me. I used to think I’d never wish such a thing on my worst enemy, but, I didn’t have an enemy like Jay at the time.
“Do you understand what’s going to happen to you?” Katrina said. She hadn’t said very much yet, but I could tell she was getting her rocks off on the slightly-incestual nature of what we were going to do to him. Why else did she feel the need to re-explain it aloud?
“Two hours, mister. That’s what you get from us.” Katrina started poking him in the ribs, testing the restraints (which were flawless because I’m a boss), pulling out those little yelps. I started prodding his ribs too without even realizing it. Four pointer fingers with freshly manicured nails, poke poke poking into this poor boys naked ribcage. “Two hours for two girls to tickle you. And then, on the third hour…”
“NO NO NO NO NO,” Jay finally yelled. “DON’T DO THAT, not her. Please. I… that would be traumatizing. Humiliating. It would be s-ahahaa” we turn our pokes into all-out rib tickles. Squirmy feminine fingers dancing across a writhing boy abdomen. 6’3’’ of ticklish man and we’re starting at the epicenter to watch all the energy leave his body. That’ll increase his sensitivity for when Mommy comes home. We tickled his ribs until we were certain he’d shut up, then resumed only pokes.
“As I was saying, the third hour will be our third tickler. And what a coincidence, because she was your first tickler.” Jay looked up at me when she said this, eyes pleading. I rarely felt like cruelty was a bad thing, but in that moment, I felt cruel. This really was his fear. He had told me so the same night he confessed his semi-claustrophobia. I had always had to leave the ropes a little loose, or pin him with my body instead. He never minded that. One time I tickled his nips while his face was buried in my lap and Jay Jr. was buried between my breasts. I made him wait 35 minutes to come that time.
At about thirty minutes into that thirty-five minute session, I said to him (and completely haphazardly, because well, he was laughing into my pussy and it felt too good not to say something dumb), “Mommy’s gonna make you squeal so hard once I get off.” Don’t make fun of me, it felt hot at the time. It turned me on to say it, but his laughter stopped and I felt the circulation in his penis acquire that sort of disappointing flaccidity. Shit. I pulled an emergency manuever and started sucking his left nipple while pinching softly at the other with my right. That got him back up, laughing into my vagina again before he finally came with amazing force between my breasts.
He explained to me after the fact that he never wanted to have to think about his mom while he was being tickled or having sex. “My mom used to tickle me a lot as a kid,” he said. “She hasn’t in years, but, it would be so weird if she did.” I poked his side and he got mad. Apparently, since we were talking about mom in that moment, it was an inappropriate time.
“It’s a good thing you’re so excellent at hiding when you’re aroused, mister ticklish,” Katrina said between rib and tummy pokes now. I had started exploring the area where his ribs turn up and into his right armpit. A favorite of mine. “You’ll need to be able to hide it later when Mo-”
“DON’T SAY IT.” Jay yelled. I wasn’t about to tolerate yelling, so onto the nips my fingernails went. Jay Jr. Was looking like Jay Sr. in no time. Katrina started tickling his tummy as he buckled helplessly and barely mobily against the bed.
His mom’s bed, need I remind you. We decided that we were going to remind Jay of that at least once every ten minutes. “You have a boner in your mom’s bed,” Katrina teased. Jay would probably have screamed at us again if he wasn’t already screaming from the tummy/nipple tagteam me and my girlie were maneuvering. The look on his face was torn. He was so turned on, and he was so not enjoying it. The setting was ruining it for him. He was getting his tickling, but at the cost of being reminded of the implications of where he was. At the greater cost of what could happen at 8pm.
I stopped tickling his nipples. I wanted them plenty charged, and I didn’t want him feeling that sexual just yet. These things need to build up. His dread at the thought of Mom coming home and finding him here, the revulsion as he has to explain what’s going on, and the best part of all: the fear that she might actually tickle him.
Because you see, this is where I thought it would end. I thought it would be a two hour tickling for a dear ex-boyfriend of mine. I thought we’d let him up at a quarter to 8, let him dress, clean up Mom’s bed (since part of the plan was making him come; trust me and read on, it isn’t a gift in the way we wanted to do it). We had it all planned perfectly and then found ourselves completely unprepared. We were unprepared for the plan to backfire in the way it did.
We weren’t going to have his mom tickle him. That would be, as I said from my own claim at having this kink, absurd. Besides, how on Earth would we have pulled it off? “Two girls tickling your nude adult, hyperticklish babyboy on your bed. Wanna join?” And Jay knew this too. Jay probably only let his mind wander to ‘being tickled by Mommy’ because we made him think about it. The true horror to him was having to explain himself.
So, here’s what we did. Here’s where we went wrong. We tickled him for the first hour and said very little, aside from reminding him that he was having a sexy time in Mom’s room. We set a timer on Katrina’s phone so that it would go off every five minutes, and when it did, we both rubbed a nipple. Just a nipple, no tickling elsewhere. He would still laugh but it was a moaning sort of laugh that caused him to absolutely agree with the boner he was sporting. Sometimes we’d use hands, sometimes our feet, sometimes our mouths. We always mixed it up so the sensations would be maddeningly inconsistent. It was the best hour I’d ever spent tickling someone.
At 7:15, as the timer was going off, the part of the plan to scare him had finally come. I had three acts in mind. Act 1: tickle and turn on poor Jay in his mom’s bed, Act 2: Make him think Mom is coming to tickle him, Act 3: Reveal Mom won’t be tickling him at 7:55, bring him into his room, tickle him all night to where he can’t make a peep. At the end I would make him orgasm while making sure he’s got his Mom on the brain.
What was I thinking? I was thinking I could ruin tickling for him forever by making the association in his mind to a sexual encounter he did not want.
In order for Act 2 to work, what we did at 7:15 needed to happen. As it was known, his mom would not willingly tickle her naked son on her bed while two girls he used to date encourage her. No universe (outside of porn, which is ridiculous) has such a thing happen. Untying one limb at a time to make sure he didn’t escape, retying the limbs back down as we could, we dressed him up for him. He thought it was over because he was having clothes returned to him. But, there was a twist about the clothes.
Jay was now wearing a closed (for now) button Hawaiian shirt, a pair of boxers where the peephole has no way of closing, a blindfold, and socks. We would have used his mom’s linens to blind and gag him, but that went against the plan. That would have seemed too erotic, where the idea of getting Mom to tickle him would mean this having to be devoid of sex. It would have to be like tickling her babyboy, else she wouldn’t do it. But we were going to untie him at 7:55 anyway, so what did it matter? I decided to move the hole of his boxers so that, if he happened to get an erection, it would have to poke straight up and out. Blowing his cover. The only spot that tickled him enough to make him HAVE to have a boner was his nipples though, so if Mom got him anywhere else, I figured he’d be fine.
Barely clothed, tied to the bed, thinking Mom will come home and tickle him to smithereens now that he’s clothed and the situation isn’t as sexual. But what of the ties? Bondage is pretty kinky and uncalled for, and clearly he didn’t do it himself. That’s where Katrina’s bright idea came into play: the note.
The note was the prop that we told Jay all about, since he was blindfolded and couldn’t read it himself. Katrina had written it herself and devlishly chose to read it aloud to him. He started wriggling in his bonds really badly when he realized how much it would work at making Mom tickle him. We left the note on his chest, poked at his sides and tummy some more. Before we left, I stopped at the foot of the bed. His feet, I forgot about those. I poked at the arches of them and he squealed so fucking adorably beneath his gag. I’d be getting those later.
But
I wouldn’t be the first one to have tickled Jay’s feet that night. Katrina wouldn’t either.
In Jay’s bedroom and living up to the part where we pretend that we’ve left, the note on Jay’s tied-up self, it’s now 7:25. We’re in Jay’s room with the door closed and we’re giggling quietly to ourselves at how scared he must be. It’s the funniest thing we’ve ever done.
Until we hear the front door open.
We look at each other and realized, we’ve fucked up.
Footsteps of clicking heels on hardwood floor. Then, two plops. Softer footsteps being made now. They draw closer to Jay’s room and I realize, Fuck, is this a crime? I sure hoped not, but I didn’t find out because the feet went sailing past Jay’s door and down the hallway to the other bedroom. Oh no. Oh no no no, Jay sweetheart, I thought you said she was coming home at 8. It’s only 7:30, it’s-
“Jay? Wha- what on earth!” the woman’s voice exclaims through the walls. Katrina is grinning so wildly, my face in a bit of horror. What have I done to him? What have I done to us? Will he call the police once she unties him? Do they even know we’re in the house? All these questions ring through my mind in the silence following his Mom finding him like that. We weren’t sure what had happened until we heard her speaking again. She was reading the note out loud.
“Dear Mom, Jay made me really really mad. He says that he’s 18 now and doesn’t need to do chores. I told him he was the youngest and he told me it…” Jay’s mom Julie paused, a stern tone finishing the rest of the sentence, “was something women were good at.” The tone she took must have sent a shiver down Jay’s spine. It sent one down mine. She continued reading,
“He told me he’d do the dishes if I did the laundry. So I did the laundry while he dicked around in the kitchen. Then he left to go to his friends’, came back, and I jumped him. I didn’t really know what to do with him, so I figured I’d leave him here until you came home to let him out. Enjoy your present for after work, Mom. Love, your eldest daughter Suzie.” She stopped, and I thought maybe that would be it. Maybe she wouldn’t see the P.S. Aat the bottom, the one that Jay had squealed beneath his gag when he realized it was in there.
But, silence. Silence silence silence, until we hear a woman’s laugh. It’s Jay’s Mom. She’s laughing sweetly, and reveals what was so funny to her. “Oh, that’s adorable,” she said. I want to see what’s happening so bad, but we can’t. But, one can see without eyes. It was very clear as to what happened next. Out loud, the words of Katrina’s brilliant P.S. rang in my mind.
“P.S.,” Julie said out loud giggling, “Careful when you untie him. Tying him up was very hard since he’s so ticklish.” More of her giggling. “Oh Jay, still?” We can hear muffled pleas coming from Jay, but only for a moment. I expect to hear Jay’s voice at any moment, assuming the gag would be removed to hear his answer. But again, this does not happen.
You know what does happen?
Tapping.
A slow rap-tap-tapping. We didn’t know what it was at first, until I looked down at my manicured hands. No… The sound of acrylic nails tapping onto a hard surface is undeniable, and as I realized what the sound was, she said it. Tapping her nails on what I assume was the wall, or the door, Julie said it.
“You know what else girls are good at, sweetie?” Julie shut the door behind her and locked it.
I used to contribute stories here and I'd like to again. Here is one I've penned that I am uncertain if I should continue. I'll let the flow of demand decide if I do, especially due to the nature of it. If anyone wants it, I'll start the followup installment and let all five acts (at least, of those planned in my head) play out. This is a story from the perspective of a girl who has a tickling fetish, but you'll find that it caters to the f/m mindset that most men would enjoy if they like that genre.
= = =
Tied to the bed, puffy red nipples bigger than on any boy I’ve ever seen, as naked as the day he was born. Only, much much bigger. The look on Jay’s face as I told him all about my plan, about how this was going to be a complete sexual redemption from him. I wanted back what was mine: my tickling fetish. I’m a 21 year old girl who doesn’t ask for much, but at the very least, do NOT steal my kink and share it with your next girlfriend or I swear I’ll make you regret having that as a turn-on. What turns you on can be a very powerful weapon in the right context…
What we’d planned was bad enough, but I hadn’t intended to genuinely turn it into Jay’s tickle nightmare.
That poor boy. We really didn’t mean for it to escalate as far as it did, but I guess it’s a lesson to ticklish guys of the world. Do NOT be a shallow pig to women who know every single ticklish spot on you. Especially when they know each other. Especially when they talk to each other. Especially when they revealed to one another that they know…
…you like being tickled.
Oh, that’s right. We girls talk. You think that your tickling fetish would remain a secret? Girls can hide it, but boys can’t. That little wiggleworm between your legs gives it away, and it’s a curse to you because you can never really feign it as genuine torture. Sure, you’re howling and screaming and yelling a safeword as if your life depended on it, but alllll the blood is flowing to Mr. Peeps down there. And because of that, us girls who know you like being tickled talk about you. We giggle at you in secret, about how you BEGGED me to tie you up every night I took you home once I’d told you it was what I liked. Remember how MUCH you liked it? Remember how you wanted to do it again? Remember how instead of going down on you like all the normal guys would want, you asked me to tickle your ribs until you squealed? Remember how I introduced you to tickling, Jay? Remember how it was a part of my world before it was yours? Remember how you went and wanted to share it with the next girl you dated? Katrina?
Jay starts to shiver as soon as we tighten the ties. Immobility was actually one of Jay’s biggest fears, and when he saw the look in my eye once I pulled those ropes tight, he could tell that this wasn’t going to be like playtime. Tied tight and shivering, Jay looks petrified. It’s because I’m looking at his nipples. One time in the throes of his tied-down passion, I started petting Jay’s nipples with my fingertips and I shit you not he blurted, “TOUCH THOSE, TOUCH THOSE, PLEASE TOUCH THOSE.” Ever since then, we had designated that our special tickle spot. He would get harder than I’ve ever seen a boy when I touched them, but as soon as I would stop, his erection would go away. I used to be self-conscious about this but then he explained,
“Oh, being tickled always turns me on. It’s impossible to separate the feeling of sex from it for me now. But,” he paused, finding his words and then continuing once he’d assembled them justly, “I can fight the boner. I can make it look like I’m not turned on, but it makes me so so so so so (he said so a lot) much more ticklish. All the sensitivity of my body goes straight to, uh,” he stopped embarrassedly. I finished his sentence for him at the time by taking both of them between my fingers, rubbing softly, and whispering over his loud moan,
“The nips?”
I tickled him softer than I ever had in my entire life that day. He laughed louder, came harder, treated me so much more sweetly afterwards. Imagine that: a boy who wants his tits played with rather than his dick. Of course I found all kinds of ways in those three months to make sure Jay Jr. was happy. I even learned how to work a dick with my toes, that way my hands would always be at his chest just tic-tic-tickling away at those little two, red little tips atop giant sensitive areolas.SO, present day, here’s Jay all naked and shivering and I can tell by his nervously twitching toes he already can’t stand this. He always would shiver when his ticklishness was starting to surge. We haven’t even touched him yet. I kept looking at his worst ticklish spots and I could see by the look on his face that he knew I was.
The joke’s on you tonight, sweetie. Katrina is an old friend. Katrina is just like me, which is probably why you were attracted to her in the first place. Probably why you thought her fingernails down your torso would feel a lot like me.
They do, don’t they?
You’ll get to compare.
So first we did what any pair of jilted ex-girlfriends ought to do to their former boytoy. We called you up and asked you if you wanted the thing you had asked us for when we both broke up with you separately. Remember? Remember how you asked me on our three-month anniversary…
“Theresa honey,” you said, “would you ever be open to tickling me with another woman present?”
“How so present?” I asked, still intent on wanting to please you.
“Well, maybe she could tickle me too. Maybe you could tickle me with a few of your friends.” Jay looked nervous, and he seemed to play the part well. I smiled and thought about it. Truth be told, the thought of sharing you killed me inside and I didn’t want you to know it yet. Which is why I said,
“I’ll think about it.”
That was when you said, “Well I… kinda need to know now.”
Why? Why couldn’t you just let a maybe be a maybe? Why did you have to start that fight? That fight where you said you’re 23 and you want to experience a multi-girl tickling session, and how if we end up being serious and it doesn’t happen, that you would resent me for taking that chance away. “I will have felt like a chump if I could have had that when I was a free man,” were the last words you said before I made you a free man.
Then you dated Katrina for two weeks. You told her all about it. You enjoyed a fortnight of her nails grazing down your feet and her palms rubbing across your ni-
No, I don’t want to think about someone else tickling our special spot without me present. That’s why I went and did this for you, darling. You need to know now? Well fine, we’ll give it to you.
Katrina got the ax as well, but because she flatout refused. Where I was too shy to want to have you shared with anybody else, Katrina was angry at the notion of you wanting to experiment sexually outside the confines of a monogamous relationship. You’re a complete idiot, you know. Both Katrina and I would have done all kinds of things to your tall ticklish body, but you wanted more. You wanted something that no one woman could give you. You wanted one, two, maybe even three ticklers on you!
So, you broke up with Katrina. And then Katrina called me, told me the specifics, I went wide-eyed and hung up and cried, then called her back to tell her that we had both dated the very same guy. Then I told her about my tickling fetish. I hate you for that, Jay. None of my friends outside of the boys I’ve been with have ever known, and here I am needing to contextualize everything about this. More of my kink that you made me share that I wish I hadn’t in this situation.
So, I’d decided to take it back. And boy did I.
Generally speaking, there are two particular types of women that will know all of a boy’s tickle spots: His lover due to the exploratory nature of an intimate relationship and the sensations that a tickle can bring, and his mother who was very likely the first person to ever run her fingers down any ticklish spot the boy knows about.
Katrina and I found it fitting to tie him to his mother’s bed, naked. She was out at work, but she would be home at 8pm. It was now 6pm. Two hours. This is the ticking time bomb that we gave Jay, and this was when the mere shiver turned into writhing. Before even telling him what would happen, he knew what was up.
He knew I was using his biggest fear on him. Tickling? Oh, no. He loves that. Which is exactly why his biggest fear is what it is.
His biggest fear is being tickled by his mom. And, if you have a tickling fetish like I do, I bet you are too.
Don’t you boys reading out there lie to me. Don’t you dare. I bet your mom tickled you all the time when you were a kid, and I bet you try really hard to not think about it. Did she ever tickle you when you were older? As an adult? It probably wasn’t as grandiose of an event like being tickled as a kid is, but I bet one time, in for Thanksgiving and crashing on the couch for a college-less weekend getaway. You raise your arms up to stretch while you’re at the dinner table and your mom pokes you in the rib. You react. You laugh. Then you realized the brief brief brief feeling of sexual pleasure that came from it. From the tickle. I hate it when my mom tickles me because of how maddeningly erotic of a sensation all tickling is to me. I used to think I’d never wish such a thing on my worst enemy, but, I didn’t have an enemy like Jay at the time.
“Do you understand what’s going to happen to you?” Katrina said. She hadn’t said very much yet, but I could tell she was getting her rocks off on the slightly-incestual nature of what we were going to do to him. Why else did she feel the need to re-explain it aloud?
“Two hours, mister. That’s what you get from us.” Katrina started poking him in the ribs, testing the restraints (which were flawless because I’m a boss), pulling out those little yelps. I started prodding his ribs too without even realizing it. Four pointer fingers with freshly manicured nails, poke poke poking into this poor boys naked ribcage. “Two hours for two girls to tickle you. And then, on the third hour…”
“NO NO NO NO NO,” Jay finally yelled. “DON’T DO THAT, not her. Please. I… that would be traumatizing. Humiliating. It would be s-ahahaa” we turn our pokes into all-out rib tickles. Squirmy feminine fingers dancing across a writhing boy abdomen. 6’3’’ of ticklish man and we’re starting at the epicenter to watch all the energy leave his body. That’ll increase his sensitivity for when Mommy comes home. We tickled his ribs until we were certain he’d shut up, then resumed only pokes.
“As I was saying, the third hour will be our third tickler. And what a coincidence, because she was your first tickler.” Jay looked up at me when she said this, eyes pleading. I rarely felt like cruelty was a bad thing, but in that moment, I felt cruel. This really was his fear. He had told me so the same night he confessed his semi-claustrophobia. I had always had to leave the ropes a little loose, or pin him with my body instead. He never minded that. One time I tickled his nips while his face was buried in my lap and Jay Jr. was buried between my breasts. I made him wait 35 minutes to come that time.
At about thirty minutes into that thirty-five minute session, I said to him (and completely haphazardly, because well, he was laughing into my pussy and it felt too good not to say something dumb), “Mommy’s gonna make you squeal so hard once I get off.” Don’t make fun of me, it felt hot at the time. It turned me on to say it, but his laughter stopped and I felt the circulation in his penis acquire that sort of disappointing flaccidity. Shit. I pulled an emergency manuever and started sucking his left nipple while pinching softly at the other with my right. That got him back up, laughing into my vagina again before he finally came with amazing force between my breasts.
He explained to me after the fact that he never wanted to have to think about his mom while he was being tickled or having sex. “My mom used to tickle me a lot as a kid,” he said. “She hasn’t in years, but, it would be so weird if she did.” I poked his side and he got mad. Apparently, since we were talking about mom in that moment, it was an inappropriate time.
“It’s a good thing you’re so excellent at hiding when you’re aroused, mister ticklish,” Katrina said between rib and tummy pokes now. I had started exploring the area where his ribs turn up and into his right armpit. A favorite of mine. “You’ll need to be able to hide it later when Mo-”
“DON’T SAY IT.” Jay yelled. I wasn’t about to tolerate yelling, so onto the nips my fingernails went. Jay Jr. Was looking like Jay Sr. in no time. Katrina started tickling his tummy as he buckled helplessly and barely mobily against the bed.
His mom’s bed, need I remind you. We decided that we were going to remind Jay of that at least once every ten minutes. “You have a boner in your mom’s bed,” Katrina teased. Jay would probably have screamed at us again if he wasn’t already screaming from the tummy/nipple tagteam me and my girlie were maneuvering. The look on his face was torn. He was so turned on, and he was so not enjoying it. The setting was ruining it for him. He was getting his tickling, but at the cost of being reminded of the implications of where he was. At the greater cost of what could happen at 8pm.
I stopped tickling his nipples. I wanted them plenty charged, and I didn’t want him feeling that sexual just yet. These things need to build up. His dread at the thought of Mom coming home and finding him here, the revulsion as he has to explain what’s going on, and the best part of all: the fear that she might actually tickle him.
Because you see, this is where I thought it would end. I thought it would be a two hour tickling for a dear ex-boyfriend of mine. I thought we’d let him up at a quarter to 8, let him dress, clean up Mom’s bed (since part of the plan was making him come; trust me and read on, it isn’t a gift in the way we wanted to do it). We had it all planned perfectly and then found ourselves completely unprepared. We were unprepared for the plan to backfire in the way it did.
We weren’t going to have his mom tickle him. That would be, as I said from my own claim at having this kink, absurd. Besides, how on Earth would we have pulled it off? “Two girls tickling your nude adult, hyperticklish babyboy on your bed. Wanna join?” And Jay knew this too. Jay probably only let his mind wander to ‘being tickled by Mommy’ because we made him think about it. The true horror to him was having to explain himself.
So, here’s what we did. Here’s where we went wrong. We tickled him for the first hour and said very little, aside from reminding him that he was having a sexy time in Mom’s room. We set a timer on Katrina’s phone so that it would go off every five minutes, and when it did, we both rubbed a nipple. Just a nipple, no tickling elsewhere. He would still laugh but it was a moaning sort of laugh that caused him to absolutely agree with the boner he was sporting. Sometimes we’d use hands, sometimes our feet, sometimes our mouths. We always mixed it up so the sensations would be maddeningly inconsistent. It was the best hour I’d ever spent tickling someone.
At 7:15, as the timer was going off, the part of the plan to scare him had finally come. I had three acts in mind. Act 1: tickle and turn on poor Jay in his mom’s bed, Act 2: Make him think Mom is coming to tickle him, Act 3: Reveal Mom won’t be tickling him at 7:55, bring him into his room, tickle him all night to where he can’t make a peep. At the end I would make him orgasm while making sure he’s got his Mom on the brain.
What was I thinking? I was thinking I could ruin tickling for him forever by making the association in his mind to a sexual encounter he did not want.
In order for Act 2 to work, what we did at 7:15 needed to happen. As it was known, his mom would not willingly tickle her naked son on her bed while two girls he used to date encourage her. No universe (outside of porn, which is ridiculous) has such a thing happen. Untying one limb at a time to make sure he didn’t escape, retying the limbs back down as we could, we dressed him up for him. He thought it was over because he was having clothes returned to him. But, there was a twist about the clothes.
Jay was now wearing a closed (for now) button Hawaiian shirt, a pair of boxers where the peephole has no way of closing, a blindfold, and socks. We would have used his mom’s linens to blind and gag him, but that went against the plan. That would have seemed too erotic, where the idea of getting Mom to tickle him would mean this having to be devoid of sex. It would have to be like tickling her babyboy, else she wouldn’t do it. But we were going to untie him at 7:55 anyway, so what did it matter? I decided to move the hole of his boxers so that, if he happened to get an erection, it would have to poke straight up and out. Blowing his cover. The only spot that tickled him enough to make him HAVE to have a boner was his nipples though, so if Mom got him anywhere else, I figured he’d be fine.
Barely clothed, tied to the bed, thinking Mom will come home and tickle him to smithereens now that he’s clothed and the situation isn’t as sexual. But what of the ties? Bondage is pretty kinky and uncalled for, and clearly he didn’t do it himself. That’s where Katrina’s bright idea came into play: the note.
The note was the prop that we told Jay all about, since he was blindfolded and couldn’t read it himself. Katrina had written it herself and devlishly chose to read it aloud to him. He started wriggling in his bonds really badly when he realized how much it would work at making Mom tickle him. We left the note on his chest, poked at his sides and tummy some more. Before we left, I stopped at the foot of the bed. His feet, I forgot about those. I poked at the arches of them and he squealed so fucking adorably beneath his gag. I’d be getting those later.
But
I wouldn’t be the first one to have tickled Jay’s feet that night. Katrina wouldn’t either.
In Jay’s bedroom and living up to the part where we pretend that we’ve left, the note on Jay’s tied-up self, it’s now 7:25. We’re in Jay’s room with the door closed and we’re giggling quietly to ourselves at how scared he must be. It’s the funniest thing we’ve ever done.
Until we hear the front door open.
We look at each other and realized, we’ve fucked up.
Footsteps of clicking heels on hardwood floor. Then, two plops. Softer footsteps being made now. They draw closer to Jay’s room and I realize, Fuck, is this a crime? I sure hoped not, but I didn’t find out because the feet went sailing past Jay’s door and down the hallway to the other bedroom. Oh no. Oh no no no, Jay sweetheart, I thought you said she was coming home at 8. It’s only 7:30, it’s-
“Jay? Wha- what on earth!” the woman’s voice exclaims through the walls. Katrina is grinning so wildly, my face in a bit of horror. What have I done to him? What have I done to us? Will he call the police once she unties him? Do they even know we’re in the house? All these questions ring through my mind in the silence following his Mom finding him like that. We weren’t sure what had happened until we heard her speaking again. She was reading the note out loud.
“Dear Mom, Jay made me really really mad. He says that he’s 18 now and doesn’t need to do chores. I told him he was the youngest and he told me it…” Jay’s mom Julie paused, a stern tone finishing the rest of the sentence, “was something women were good at.” The tone she took must have sent a shiver down Jay’s spine. It sent one down mine. She continued reading,
“He told me he’d do the dishes if I did the laundry. So I did the laundry while he dicked around in the kitchen. Then he left to go to his friends’, came back, and I jumped him. I didn’t really know what to do with him, so I figured I’d leave him here until you came home to let him out. Enjoy your present for after work, Mom. Love, your eldest daughter Suzie.” She stopped, and I thought maybe that would be it. Maybe she wouldn’t see the P.S. Aat the bottom, the one that Jay had squealed beneath his gag when he realized it was in there.
But, silence. Silence silence silence, until we hear a woman’s laugh. It’s Jay’s Mom. She’s laughing sweetly, and reveals what was so funny to her. “Oh, that’s adorable,” she said. I want to see what’s happening so bad, but we can’t. But, one can see without eyes. It was very clear as to what happened next. Out loud, the words of Katrina’s brilliant P.S. rang in my mind.
“P.S.,” Julie said out loud giggling, “Careful when you untie him. Tying him up was very hard since he’s so ticklish.” More of her giggling. “Oh Jay, still?” We can hear muffled pleas coming from Jay, but only for a moment. I expect to hear Jay’s voice at any moment, assuming the gag would be removed to hear his answer. But again, this does not happen.
You know what does happen?
Tapping.
A slow rap-tap-tapping. We didn’t know what it was at first, until I looked down at my manicured hands. No… The sound of acrylic nails tapping onto a hard surface is undeniable, and as I realized what the sound was, she said it. Tapping her nails on what I assume was the wall, or the door, Julie said it.
“You know what else girls are good at, sweetie?” Julie shut the door behind her and locked it.
