I've lurked for quite a while, decided it was time I joined and contributed. Here's my first effort.
Bitterness is a difficult thing to reconcile. It doesn’t really develop until you’ve brooded and brooded and the resentment has built to a level where it consumes most of the space in your brain reserved for thoughts of anything else. Every free second is dominated by the unending pain and insatiable desire to manifest your frustration.
I had this bitterness. I couldn’t remember how it had started, when it had first begun, but I had evolved slowly into the realization that I wanted my best friend, that I loved her. We had fooled around before, nothing serious, but it had been nice. Neither of us had thought much about it, and it hadn’t had any adverse effects on our friendship. We were good enough friends to get away with the occasional play.
The vital word...were. At some point, my dearest friend in the world arrived at the conclusion that she was a lesbian. This wasn’t a problem in itself, but in having such an epiphany, she began to drift away from me and any other former acquaintances, submerging herself in an expressly homosexual subculture and making it less than ambiguous that my importance and necessity in her life had greatly dwindled.
This group was all she had ever wanted. We drifted further and further over time, and I was lost in the confusion of my own swirling prejudices and her own negligence of her previous friends. She always claimed I could join her new group, and I wondered if I was a horrible person not feeling comfortable in an entirely gay group. They had their own world, and try as I or they might, I just couldn’t factor into it. I became phased out.
Then, after downscaling our friendship, we had fooled around again, much more heavily, without being drunk or seeking solace or revenge or using each other. She led us to the brink of sex, stopping just short as she realized what the implications for her lifestyle would be. “You’re not supposed to be able to turn me on that way, ” she said as she rolled off of me. We shared a moment of silence broken only by our heavy breathing, and then she had asked me to leave. It’s been three weeks and she hasn’t spoken to me since. She’s circulating rumors that I took advantage of her, tried to rape her, and people we both know are starting to scowl at me.
She’s created this elaborate lie just to make sense of what happened between us. And the lies, what people think, how she could do this, how our friendship couldn’t mean more than a sexual encounter...it’s all circling endlessly in my head, devouring my sanity, pushing me to a point where I could do....almost anything.
The best part of our fooling around, both long ago and recently, was her willingness to incorporate tickling. She made no attempt to disguise her own ticklishness, especially on her belly and at her sides, and frequently we would tickle back and forth as we rolled about. I even conjured the resolve to blow a raspberry on her belly, and she responded by cackling and then asking shyly, “Do it again.”
Unfortunately, due to both of our intentions of not becoming too serious, we never really pursued any heavy tickling. Bondage would’ve been out of the questions, as we were just buddies, though there’s always an interesting line that can be tread upon when you know you’re not serious but when you also know you’re best friends. This comfort is why I came to love her.
She has an amazing body. I guess as a part of her discovery that she at least thinks she’s a lesbian, she began working out routinely, developing very toned arms and thighs while retaining the overall softness and femininity of a petite girl. She doesn’t look like a lesbian...long brown hair with blond streaks, ample but small breasts with a trim belly and a perfect ass. She’s achieved the wonderful look of being buff without appearing buff.
She had become so confident of her looks, however, that she had started to tease me if we did hang out. She knew I was attracted to her, and she often commented (as you could to your best friends, I suppose) that she was growing increasingly buff and looking better and better naked. She would often even strip down to her bra and panties as I was waiting to go somewhere with her, I suppose because she needed to change into something else, as if she knew it was okay with just me. She also boasted of having just outgrown a bra, and I could tell that she was growing increasingly more aware of her sexuality.
Perhaps the final act of her teasing me was to take me that close and then pull out, remembering suddenly that she was a lesbian and leaving me hanging...and then not speaking to me at all and spreading lies. My anger had reached the level where I had just dropped some sleeping pills into her beer, and volunteered to drive her home.
You never think you’ll do something like this, but I guess you reach points where you realize you’re going to explode from anger if you don’t do something, and you think if you’re going to do something it might as well me something fun.
I wanted to tickle her. Past sanity. I wanted to make her beg, to absolutely take control of her soul. She deserved it. It had taken a lot of effort to even contact her and ask her to finally talk things out, and it had taken several tries just to get her to agree to come. Now she had been such a total bitch the whole night, I was completely encouraged that I was doing the right thing as she finally slumped over in the back seat.
One of my good friends worked at the student center on campus, and often had the job of locking up at 1:00 A.M. when it closed. She was well-aware of what had been going on, and was more angry than I was. When I had told her it was time to fix things and asked to borrow the key no questions asked, she had handed it over with a smile and without a word.
The part of campus where the student center was located was safely dead at two in the morning on a Sunday, and no one was around to notice me unlocking the backdoor and carrying my best friend’s unconscious form quickly through.
My idea was truly maniacal. Completely evil. I wanted to torment her mind as well as her body. I was a little disturbed at this realization, but I just wanted to watch her suffer. As I drug her into the silent, windowless weight room, I flipped on the light and observed the forum of her impending torture.
She made no attempt to mask her increasing adoration of her physique, often flexing her arms in the mirror and asking me or anyone else to feel her biceps as she flexed. She was becoming shameless, and I had chosen to use her evolving fondness of her body against her.
I won’t claim to know what part of the body it was supposed to work, but one of the machines in the weight room required the user to grasp two clamps above and to the side, forming a Y, and then pull the cables attached to the weights in a diagonal manner, such that when the exercise is completed their hands would end up crossed in front of their waist. Having a bit of an underdeveloped tickle fetish, I had often watched girls using this machine and marveled at how exposed they were when they first reached for the clamps, and let my mind run wild.
After removing everything but her panties, I first secured her feet, tying one end of stretch cord around each ankle and then pulling the cords’ hooks to the machine’s frames. I had had to guess about which length to get, but fortunately this left her feet almost completely together while stretching the cords as tight as possible. Her feet would be unable to move. Then I attached a velcro cuff to each of her wrists, and cuffed her perfectly buff arms to the clamps above her head. She was a bit short for the machine, and the position stretched her taut, just showing her ribs and accentuating her perfectly-formed breasts.
As a final touch, I adjusted the weights on each side of her to their lightest setting.
She had just begun to stir as her odd position and the chill of the room were coming to affect her, and as she began to regain consciousness I stood before her and kissed her as I had not so long ago. I knew she was attracted to me and just afraid to admit it, and I wanted to see her reaction when she wasn’t sure who she was kissing. Sure enough, she kissed me back, and even upon opening her eyes and seeing me, uttered a sheepish “Hi,” and attempted to give me a hug.
Her arms lowered about two inches and then a clink was heard. I backed away and watched as she became aware of her predicament. She was confused briefly, as she had enjoyed waking up to someone kissing her, and took her a bit to evolve into the necessary anger for the situation.
“Just what in the fuck is going on?” she said, not completely angrily, but as to say this was ridiculous. With a little effort she did lower her arms, but was unable to move her feet in the least. After a bit, not wanting to continue fighting the resistance, she let her arms drift back to the Y position. “What is this?”
I hadn’t actually considered what I would say to her, and chose in fact not to say anything. Instead, I just walked behind her and let my fingers drift to her armpits. The wall in front of her was mirrored, and as my fingers moved towards her hollows she began to twist and said, “No, don’t.” She was torn between me being her most trusted friend and the fact that I had drugged her and now had her suspended nearly naked in the gym.
I’d never tickled her pits before, and the moment I made contact with her slightly stubbly skin, she began to spasm as much as was possible, meeting the resistance of the cords that held her feet. A giggle sputtered out, and quickly she lowered her arms all the way to the X position, causing the weights on either side of her to raise. I stopped, and again walked around to her front. I stood there watching her. The weight was light enough that it wasn’t much of a bother, but we both knew it would be eventually. Hesitantly, she let the clamps pull her arms back up.
I raised a single finger, and instantly her arms came down again, the weights on either side of her jerking upwards again. I kissed her again lightly on the lips, and this time she didn’t accommodate my affection. I whispered, “You know, you’re quite a tease.”
I walked behind her, and though she was as protected as she could be, I had no trouble wiggling my fingers into her sides, causing her to shriek and laugh quite against her will. I knew this was one of her ticklish spots, and this was my first chance to exploit it without her fighting back. Her sides were smooth, and already a single drop of sweat was rolling down it, testimony to the exertion she had already offered and the strain of the situation.
“God, please,” she uttered amidst violently giggling as I began to sporadically poke both of her sides, actions that would curl her into the tiniest of balls under normal circumstances. Surprisingly, her arms flew up as I attacked both of her sides, gently massaging her flesh and eliciting peals of helpless laughter. Once she had forgotten about her arms, I returned to her pits, digging in harder this time instead of teasing.
“Shit!” she shouted loud enough to bring people investigating if any were around. Her arms quickly trapped my exploring fingers, and I continued to massage her sensitive skin for a few minutes before I removed them. She had given in to hopeless laughter, and I heard the fully-developed cries of desperation I had only had previews of before.
Finally I stopped, her arms reforming the X and her muscles visibly beginning to strain for the first time. She had discovered the psychological aspect of my game, and she uttered between heavy breaths, “You sick bastard. I can’t believe you’re this sick.”
Just for that, I went down to explore her inner thighs, which were just accessible with the slight spread of her feet. I knew for a fact that this was her most ticklish spot. I ran my fingers quickly up and down her thighs, driving her further into hysterics with each maddening touch, drawing incoherent screams of laughter and pleading. She attempted to close her legs, but any effort to move her feet just allowed the tight cords to pull her legs further apart. She was completely helpless, and I forced her into worlds of agony she never thought possible. Her laughter was unending, and her arms continuously labored to bring her hands down, delivering them within agonizing inches of being able to push my teasing fingers away.
She knew that she would be unable to defend herself, but the freedom to move her arms and the reflex to do so caused her to continually lower them. The weights would come crashing back down as she gave up, and then rise again as the ticklish stimulation became too unbearable to ignore. After 15 minutes of thigh tickling, her arms were burning with exertion and her mind was overrun with conflict as she attempted to subdue her reaction to the tickling and spare her by then throbbing biceps. Finally I stopped.
“See sweetie, this is closer to rape,” I smirked, and she suddenly seemed to be aware of all the things she had been saying, everything she had done, and even in the midst of the torture I was inflicting on her, conjured the ability to apologize and to plead for mercy. I interrupted her by adding, “And since you’re so proud of your new body and like showing it to me so often, I thought you’d want this opportunity to fully display your physique.”
“Please, I’m so sorry for how I’ve been treating you, I just...didn’t know how else to deal with everything. I meant to clear it all up with you at some point, I was just waiting until it was possible. That’s why I hadn’t said anyth..he he, no no, please not again, ple...”
I chose to interrupt her by invading her pits again. I wanted to see how determined she was to block out the tickling, now that she was good and fatigued. Her arms lowered instantly, and I watched, standing just in front of her, as they struggled mightily to protect her vulnerable flesh. She let out a whimper and finally submitted to the tickling, relaxing her exhausted muscles and allowing me to have my way with her deathly ticklish sides. She made no attempt to beg or plead, as she couldn’t speak, and knew it would be futile anyway. The torture was psychologically unbearable, as it felt like she was allowing me to inflict it. She had the capability to lower her arms, but didn’t want to. So I had my way with her sides, forcing her torso to hitch from side to side. Occasionally I heard her take up the slack in the cables, but once they met the weight her movement stopped. I massaged each rib, traced my finger slowly up and down her side, from her hip to her pit, watching as she flailed helplessly. Her long hair now covered her face, and her side was nearly slick with sweat.
I chose to conclude her ordeal by returning to her trim belly and inflicting the raspberries that she had once asked for more of. She continued to laugh, but her desperation ceased, and despite her exhaustion, she began to thrust her lesbian hips as much as she could. I returned to her thighs as I kissed her quivering tummy, and began to tease her pussy. She started to moan, and tried to lower her arms to finish herself off, but first encountered my head kissing her belly.
I got her to the edge, and before concluding her torment, increased the weight on each arm to 100 pounds. This left her with the unbearable urge to cum and the psychological feeling that she could if she would just lower her arms. “It’s bad to tease, don’t you think?” I left, but continued to watch from the hallway. She struggled valiantly for over an hour, and once the exertion got the best of her, she collapsed in her bonds, unconscious.
Once she was unconscious, I uncuffed one of her arms and quietly left the building, leaving her to free herself when she came to.
Needless to say that was the end of our friendship, but it had pretty much ended before that. Even though I fully expected to get arrested, I never heard another word from her, and no one she knew ever asked me about it. I suppose she had learned her lesson, and felt that no one would believe her if she told such a tale, and there therefore was no need to go through the embarrassment of divulging the details of her humiliation.
Bitterness is a difficult thing to reconcile. It doesn’t really develop until you’ve brooded and brooded and the resentment has built to a level where it consumes most of the space in your brain reserved for thoughts of anything else. Every free second is dominated by the unending pain and insatiable desire to manifest your frustration.
I had this bitterness. I couldn’t remember how it had started, when it had first begun, but I had evolved slowly into the realization that I wanted my best friend, that I loved her. We had fooled around before, nothing serious, but it had been nice. Neither of us had thought much about it, and it hadn’t had any adverse effects on our friendship. We were good enough friends to get away with the occasional play.
The vital word...were. At some point, my dearest friend in the world arrived at the conclusion that she was a lesbian. This wasn’t a problem in itself, but in having such an epiphany, she began to drift away from me and any other former acquaintances, submerging herself in an expressly homosexual subculture and making it less than ambiguous that my importance and necessity in her life had greatly dwindled.
This group was all she had ever wanted. We drifted further and further over time, and I was lost in the confusion of my own swirling prejudices and her own negligence of her previous friends. She always claimed I could join her new group, and I wondered if I was a horrible person not feeling comfortable in an entirely gay group. They had their own world, and try as I or they might, I just couldn’t factor into it. I became phased out.
Then, after downscaling our friendship, we had fooled around again, much more heavily, without being drunk or seeking solace or revenge or using each other. She led us to the brink of sex, stopping just short as she realized what the implications for her lifestyle would be. “You’re not supposed to be able to turn me on that way, ” she said as she rolled off of me. We shared a moment of silence broken only by our heavy breathing, and then she had asked me to leave. It’s been three weeks and she hasn’t spoken to me since. She’s circulating rumors that I took advantage of her, tried to rape her, and people we both know are starting to scowl at me.
She’s created this elaborate lie just to make sense of what happened between us. And the lies, what people think, how she could do this, how our friendship couldn’t mean more than a sexual encounter...it’s all circling endlessly in my head, devouring my sanity, pushing me to a point where I could do....almost anything.
The best part of our fooling around, both long ago and recently, was her willingness to incorporate tickling. She made no attempt to disguise her own ticklishness, especially on her belly and at her sides, and frequently we would tickle back and forth as we rolled about. I even conjured the resolve to blow a raspberry on her belly, and she responded by cackling and then asking shyly, “Do it again.”
Unfortunately, due to both of our intentions of not becoming too serious, we never really pursued any heavy tickling. Bondage would’ve been out of the questions, as we were just buddies, though there’s always an interesting line that can be tread upon when you know you’re not serious but when you also know you’re best friends. This comfort is why I came to love her.
She has an amazing body. I guess as a part of her discovery that she at least thinks she’s a lesbian, she began working out routinely, developing very toned arms and thighs while retaining the overall softness and femininity of a petite girl. She doesn’t look like a lesbian...long brown hair with blond streaks, ample but small breasts with a trim belly and a perfect ass. She’s achieved the wonderful look of being buff without appearing buff.
She had become so confident of her looks, however, that she had started to tease me if we did hang out. She knew I was attracted to her, and she often commented (as you could to your best friends, I suppose) that she was growing increasingly buff and looking better and better naked. She would often even strip down to her bra and panties as I was waiting to go somewhere with her, I suppose because she needed to change into something else, as if she knew it was okay with just me. She also boasted of having just outgrown a bra, and I could tell that she was growing increasingly more aware of her sexuality.
Perhaps the final act of her teasing me was to take me that close and then pull out, remembering suddenly that she was a lesbian and leaving me hanging...and then not speaking to me at all and spreading lies. My anger had reached the level where I had just dropped some sleeping pills into her beer, and volunteered to drive her home.
You never think you’ll do something like this, but I guess you reach points where you realize you’re going to explode from anger if you don’t do something, and you think if you’re going to do something it might as well me something fun.
I wanted to tickle her. Past sanity. I wanted to make her beg, to absolutely take control of her soul. She deserved it. It had taken a lot of effort to even contact her and ask her to finally talk things out, and it had taken several tries just to get her to agree to come. Now she had been such a total bitch the whole night, I was completely encouraged that I was doing the right thing as she finally slumped over in the back seat.
One of my good friends worked at the student center on campus, and often had the job of locking up at 1:00 A.M. when it closed. She was well-aware of what had been going on, and was more angry than I was. When I had told her it was time to fix things and asked to borrow the key no questions asked, she had handed it over with a smile and without a word.
The part of campus where the student center was located was safely dead at two in the morning on a Sunday, and no one was around to notice me unlocking the backdoor and carrying my best friend’s unconscious form quickly through.
My idea was truly maniacal. Completely evil. I wanted to torment her mind as well as her body. I was a little disturbed at this realization, but I just wanted to watch her suffer. As I drug her into the silent, windowless weight room, I flipped on the light and observed the forum of her impending torture.
She made no attempt to mask her increasing adoration of her physique, often flexing her arms in the mirror and asking me or anyone else to feel her biceps as she flexed. She was becoming shameless, and I had chosen to use her evolving fondness of her body against her.
I won’t claim to know what part of the body it was supposed to work, but one of the machines in the weight room required the user to grasp two clamps above and to the side, forming a Y, and then pull the cables attached to the weights in a diagonal manner, such that when the exercise is completed their hands would end up crossed in front of their waist. Having a bit of an underdeveloped tickle fetish, I had often watched girls using this machine and marveled at how exposed they were when they first reached for the clamps, and let my mind run wild.
After removing everything but her panties, I first secured her feet, tying one end of stretch cord around each ankle and then pulling the cords’ hooks to the machine’s frames. I had had to guess about which length to get, but fortunately this left her feet almost completely together while stretching the cords as tight as possible. Her feet would be unable to move. Then I attached a velcro cuff to each of her wrists, and cuffed her perfectly buff arms to the clamps above her head. She was a bit short for the machine, and the position stretched her taut, just showing her ribs and accentuating her perfectly-formed breasts.
As a final touch, I adjusted the weights on each side of her to their lightest setting.
She had just begun to stir as her odd position and the chill of the room were coming to affect her, and as she began to regain consciousness I stood before her and kissed her as I had not so long ago. I knew she was attracted to me and just afraid to admit it, and I wanted to see her reaction when she wasn’t sure who she was kissing. Sure enough, she kissed me back, and even upon opening her eyes and seeing me, uttered a sheepish “Hi,” and attempted to give me a hug.
Her arms lowered about two inches and then a clink was heard. I backed away and watched as she became aware of her predicament. She was confused briefly, as she had enjoyed waking up to someone kissing her, and took her a bit to evolve into the necessary anger for the situation.
“Just what in the fuck is going on?” she said, not completely angrily, but as to say this was ridiculous. With a little effort she did lower her arms, but was unable to move her feet in the least. After a bit, not wanting to continue fighting the resistance, she let her arms drift back to the Y position. “What is this?”
I hadn’t actually considered what I would say to her, and chose in fact not to say anything. Instead, I just walked behind her and let my fingers drift to her armpits. The wall in front of her was mirrored, and as my fingers moved towards her hollows she began to twist and said, “No, don’t.” She was torn between me being her most trusted friend and the fact that I had drugged her and now had her suspended nearly naked in the gym.
I’d never tickled her pits before, and the moment I made contact with her slightly stubbly skin, she began to spasm as much as was possible, meeting the resistance of the cords that held her feet. A giggle sputtered out, and quickly she lowered her arms all the way to the X position, causing the weights on either side of her to raise. I stopped, and again walked around to her front. I stood there watching her. The weight was light enough that it wasn’t much of a bother, but we both knew it would be eventually. Hesitantly, she let the clamps pull her arms back up.
I raised a single finger, and instantly her arms came down again, the weights on either side of her jerking upwards again. I kissed her again lightly on the lips, and this time she didn’t accommodate my affection. I whispered, “You know, you’re quite a tease.”
I walked behind her, and though she was as protected as she could be, I had no trouble wiggling my fingers into her sides, causing her to shriek and laugh quite against her will. I knew this was one of her ticklish spots, and this was my first chance to exploit it without her fighting back. Her sides were smooth, and already a single drop of sweat was rolling down it, testimony to the exertion she had already offered and the strain of the situation.
“God, please,” she uttered amidst violently giggling as I began to sporadically poke both of her sides, actions that would curl her into the tiniest of balls under normal circumstances. Surprisingly, her arms flew up as I attacked both of her sides, gently massaging her flesh and eliciting peals of helpless laughter. Once she had forgotten about her arms, I returned to her pits, digging in harder this time instead of teasing.
“Shit!” she shouted loud enough to bring people investigating if any were around. Her arms quickly trapped my exploring fingers, and I continued to massage her sensitive skin for a few minutes before I removed them. She had given in to hopeless laughter, and I heard the fully-developed cries of desperation I had only had previews of before.
Finally I stopped, her arms reforming the X and her muscles visibly beginning to strain for the first time. She had discovered the psychological aspect of my game, and she uttered between heavy breaths, “You sick bastard. I can’t believe you’re this sick.”
Just for that, I went down to explore her inner thighs, which were just accessible with the slight spread of her feet. I knew for a fact that this was her most ticklish spot. I ran my fingers quickly up and down her thighs, driving her further into hysterics with each maddening touch, drawing incoherent screams of laughter and pleading. She attempted to close her legs, but any effort to move her feet just allowed the tight cords to pull her legs further apart. She was completely helpless, and I forced her into worlds of agony she never thought possible. Her laughter was unending, and her arms continuously labored to bring her hands down, delivering them within agonizing inches of being able to push my teasing fingers away.
She knew that she would be unable to defend herself, but the freedom to move her arms and the reflex to do so caused her to continually lower them. The weights would come crashing back down as she gave up, and then rise again as the ticklish stimulation became too unbearable to ignore. After 15 minutes of thigh tickling, her arms were burning with exertion and her mind was overrun with conflict as she attempted to subdue her reaction to the tickling and spare her by then throbbing biceps. Finally I stopped.
“See sweetie, this is closer to rape,” I smirked, and she suddenly seemed to be aware of all the things she had been saying, everything she had done, and even in the midst of the torture I was inflicting on her, conjured the ability to apologize and to plead for mercy. I interrupted her by adding, “And since you’re so proud of your new body and like showing it to me so often, I thought you’d want this opportunity to fully display your physique.”
“Please, I’m so sorry for how I’ve been treating you, I just...didn’t know how else to deal with everything. I meant to clear it all up with you at some point, I was just waiting until it was possible. That’s why I hadn’t said anyth..he he, no no, please not again, ple...”
I chose to interrupt her by invading her pits again. I wanted to see how determined she was to block out the tickling, now that she was good and fatigued. Her arms lowered instantly, and I watched, standing just in front of her, as they struggled mightily to protect her vulnerable flesh. She let out a whimper and finally submitted to the tickling, relaxing her exhausted muscles and allowing me to have my way with her deathly ticklish sides. She made no attempt to beg or plead, as she couldn’t speak, and knew it would be futile anyway. The torture was psychologically unbearable, as it felt like she was allowing me to inflict it. She had the capability to lower her arms, but didn’t want to. So I had my way with her sides, forcing her torso to hitch from side to side. Occasionally I heard her take up the slack in the cables, but once they met the weight her movement stopped. I massaged each rib, traced my finger slowly up and down her side, from her hip to her pit, watching as she flailed helplessly. Her long hair now covered her face, and her side was nearly slick with sweat.
I chose to conclude her ordeal by returning to her trim belly and inflicting the raspberries that she had once asked for more of. She continued to laugh, but her desperation ceased, and despite her exhaustion, she began to thrust her lesbian hips as much as she could. I returned to her thighs as I kissed her quivering tummy, and began to tease her pussy. She started to moan, and tried to lower her arms to finish herself off, but first encountered my head kissing her belly.
I got her to the edge, and before concluding her torment, increased the weight on each arm to 100 pounds. This left her with the unbearable urge to cum and the psychological feeling that she could if she would just lower her arms. “It’s bad to tease, don’t you think?” I left, but continued to watch from the hallway. She struggled valiantly for over an hour, and once the exertion got the best of her, she collapsed in her bonds, unconscious.
Once she was unconscious, I uncuffed one of her arms and quietly left the building, leaving her to free herself when she came to.
Needless to say that was the end of our friendship, but it had pretty much ended before that. Even though I fully expected to get arrested, I never heard another word from her, and no one she knew ever asked me about it. I suppose she had learned her lesson, and felt that no one would believe her if she told such a tale, and there therefore was no need to go through the embarrassment of divulging the details of her humiliation.
