Laura’s Ordeal
She walked across the kitchen to the family room. She was in her bare feet. “When do you think we should have dinner?” she said as she grabbed something off the coffee table. I could feel myself getting hard as I watched her feet flit around, her innocent feet with the painted red toes. It turned me on that as casual the conversation was now, she knew what I was into, and we already agreed. Later on I’d be making love to those feet---tickling those toes and making her laugh and laugh. But for now she just innocently went about her business, moving items and opening cabinets. She reached for something high up in one of the cabinets and her shirt rose up. Her belly was exposed including her belly button almost all the way up to her ribs. I smiled as I thought about how I would play with that belly. Poking it and pinching it, nibbling on it with my teeth. She looked the furthest thing from being tickled now as she continued with the tasks she was occupied with, but I knew her laugh and I could almost hear it. If she was singing, one would say she was singing alto. And it sounded not like a panic, but almost like an incredulous question---like “AH-HA-HA-HA???” Followed by a responsive statement---“OH—HA---HA---HO---HO!”
“What are you thinking about?” She caught me.
“Thinking about all the things you promised you’d let me do to you later.”
She gave a cautious smile. “That I’d let you tickle me?”
“Absolutely.”
“But you won’t torture me right?”
“No, just make you laugh.”
“Ok. I don’t mind laughing,” she said. I wondered if she understood how much she would laugh. If she understood that when she was bound everything from the souls of her feet to her ears and neck were fair game for my fingers.
“I can’t believe you don’t mind me tying you up,” I said as got out the handcuffs. “I’ve never had a girlfriend that would let me do that before.”
“It’s ok. I trust you.” Then she laughed. “I don’t know why I trust you. But I trust you.”
“Do you always let someone you’ve only been dating a month do this to you?” I joked.
“No. I’ve never been tied up before. But I like being dominated in a relationship so, who cares.”
I spread her arms over her head and went to apply the cuffs to the sides of the bed.
“Struggle a little bit,” I instructed her. “It turns me on.”
She kind of half-tried to wriggle away from me, and I pretended to brutally hold her arms down. “It’s no use. That damned upper body strength you guys have,” she said without sounding real disappointed. She fought me in a playful way but I managed to get her wrists locked in. I kissed her hands as a gesture, a way of saying “I’m not the brute you think I am. This is all in fun.” I moved down to her ankles and attached the ankle cuffs I had.
“Boy you’re really making me immobile aren’t you.”
“That’s right,” I said. I kissed the tops of her feet.
I stood above her on all fours and instructed her, like a judge instructing a jury.
“Now let me explain to you the idea of traffic lights,” I said.
“Huh?” she replied.
“You say green light, that means I like that a lot, please continue. You say yellow light, that means hold on let me catch my breath before you begin again. And red light means I’ve had enough of that. Stop now!!!”
“Oh, gotcha, gotcha,” she said.
“Now that means two things. First of all, you have to be conservative in your replies. If you yell red light at every interval this isn’t going to be a lot of fun. My advice is, if something seems a little intense, wait it out just a bit. It may become less intense or you may wind up liking it. The second thing is, traffic lights are your safe words. Which means I am going to ignore all cries of “don’t” or “please stop,” which also allows you to use these words liberally if they turn you on.”
“Hmm…ok,” she said hesitantly. “It makes me curious what you’re going to do to me.”
“Well I wouldn’t hurt you in any way, shape, or form,” I assured her. “I’m not into pain….either giving or receiving. Other than that, anything goes unless I get a traffic signal. Get it.”
“Ahh-huhh,” she acknowledged.
“Now,” I lay on top of her slowly. “How about a serious kiss?” I slipped my arms under her and brought her body forward. Then I brought her lips to mine and kissed her long and hard. Then I rested my head on her forehead.
“Oh yeah,” I smiled coyly. “I like this. You are all….tied…up and completely at my mercy.” I kissed her again. “Now you see what the turn on is.”
“No,” she said. “Frankly I don’t. I see the turn on from my angle. It’s fun to feel out of control and at the mercy of someone you love and who loves you. But I can’t imagine wanting to tie up anyone.”
“The turn on,” I explained, “is that I could do anything to you right now. I could hurt you, violate you, do horrible things to you. But I choose instead to be good. That’s the turn on. I am your god, but right now I am a benevolent god.” We both laughed. “And right now this god wants to see and feel your breasts.” She laughed.
But I was serious. Without asking her permission I opened her blouse and gazed at her breasts. “Wow,” I said. “Those are lovely.” I played with them, squeezing them, shifting them right and left, moving them up and down, taking them into my mouth. She oohed and aahed and joked “Oh stop, that feels too good.”
“Remember, you have your traffic lights,” I said.
“Green light. Green light.” She said.
I kissed her in different areas. He ears, her eyes, her face. Every so often she would struggle and say something like “I can’t move. Help. I’m trapped.” I didn’t know if she was saying this because she knew it turned me on, or because she was really getting into it and it was turning her on. Either way, I didn’t care. I felt myself getting hard, especially at the thought that she had no idea what I was about to do to her.
Then after much heavy petting of her now naked, defenseless body, I decided it was time!
I chose a time when we both acting silly and a bit giddy. I got very close to her ear and said quietly “Where’s that little foot I was trying to tickle yesterday, but I couldn’t because you kept moving it away?”. She began to giggle. “No really,” I said kissing her face again, “where is that little pretty little sensitive foot with those pretty little perfect tiny toes? Huh, where are those little toes?” She was really laughing now, and not only wasn’t I tickling her yet, I was nowhere near her foot. “heh…heh…no…heh…heh….”
The I began to laugh. “I don’t even have to tickle you, I can just torture you through tickle talk and watch you laugh.”
“That’s right,” she joked. “You don’t. You don’t have to tickle me at all. That’s right.”
“There’s that little foot, right there,” I said.
“NO, OH……OH GOD NO…..”, there was a real sound of panic in her voice, so I felt the need to reassure her. I turned and kissed her on the mouth again. Then moving down towards her foot I noticed her gasp, felt her breathing get heavy, felt her tense up. I heard the handcuffs and anklecuffs crack to attention. I was pretty hard now.
“Hey,” I said. “Hey hey hey, relax honey. It’s me, remember. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m just going to make you giggle. You’ll enjoy it.”
“I know,” she said, “but, oh gosh, I don’t know.”
I decided to use some screwy logic on her.
“Look at it this way, hon. You believe in God, right?” I knew this would get her. She was a devout Christian. Little did she know she was dealing with a true agnostic who didn’t think twice about tying up women and making them laugh.
“Yes,” she said.
“Well if God didn’t want to you to be tickled, why would he make you so ticklish? And why would he give me 10 fingers to tickle you with?” I could tell this screwy logic got to her, because she didn’t have an answer for me.
“It’s just that my body is really sensitive. More sensitive than most. I have no tolerance for pain whatsoever. And conversely, you can massage my elbows and I will wind up moaning with pleasure.” That does it. Now I know she’s trying to turn me on.
“All the more reason,” I said. “Besides,” I moved down to her left foot, “your little foot (I took her foot into my hands) is too little (I kissed her big toe) and too sweet (I kissed her next toe) and too innocent (the middle one) and too sensitive (the next one) and too pretty (I grabbed her little toe and wiggled it furiously). (HA HA HA HA) She laughed, four HA’s in all.
“You are kidding me,” I said. “There is no way you are that ticklish.”
“Will you just do it already,” she said.
“No, I don’t think I will,” I said. “In fact, I think I’ll psychologically torture you for a bit first. Listen carefully. I need to go to the bathroom, and when I came back I’m going to find out how ticklish you really are. I’m going to start with the toes, and then I’m going to work my way up. I’m going to poke and prod, and I’m going to get creative…trying to see if I can tickle you without using my fingers. I’m going to watch you struggle, trying to escape from those cuffs. But there is no escape. I’m going to see if I can make a variety of different laughs come out of your mouth. And I may even use some tools. I want you to think about that as I’m away. Look at your feet and your belly button, look how helpless you are, and realize that in a few minutes come hell or high water you are going to be laughing. You’re going to feel little jabs, little kneads, little spiders crawling over your body. And you’re going to feel that until I want you to stop feeling it.”
I swear I saw her face turn white. So on my way out of the bedroom, I winked and said, “Relax, I’m a benevolent god. I only want to make you laugh.”
I didn’t really need to go to the bathroom, so I just washed my hands. But I took a good ten minutes, which must have been exquisite torture for her. This was the time I think I enjoyed more than the tickling. Wondering what was going through her head as she lay there. She was probably thinking of her short term fate, how ticklish she was, whether I would go easy on her, whether I really loved her or not. She probably tried a few times to get free, pulling hard at the cuffs, really struggling. She probably looked down at her feet and wondered if the poor dear things would survive what was coming up.
When I came back in she had her eyes closed. Perhaps she thought the time would go by quicker that way, or maybe that she’d even sleep through it. Fat chance. I took the opportunity to gaze at her lovely feet. I can’t say they were perfect (how many people have achingly perfect feet). But they were soft and lovely. Her arches, her soles, the tops of her toes filled me with this life-is-good feeling. And when I saw the steel ankle cuffs supporting her feet, keeping them firm in place, making them good and right for a tickling and preventing her from altering their position should she be so inclined, I became rock hard for the third time.
I woke her up by kissing her. “How you doing, hon? Sleepy?”
“Yeah” she said in a little child’s voice. I kissed her again. I messaged her temples. I played with her breasts. I made small talk. Talked about my folks, some movie I’d like to see. Then just as we were getting all lovey dovey again, I bent down to reach her ear and said quietly “You thought I forgot, didn’t you.” She began giggling. “Huh, didn’t you my pretty? Thought this big meany forgot to tickle his little dove, didn’t you?” She snickered, and I heard the cuffs tense again.
I sat on top of her and, reaching for her thigh, squoze it in rapid succession 10 times. She bucked wildly and said “Uhhhhhhhhhhh………huh huh heh heh huh!” Then I waited, then did it again. “Uhhh huhh huhh huhh huhh?” she said, this time more like a question.
“I only did that to show you that I know where your most ticklish spot is. Now,” I said. “It’s lecture time again.” I went down to her right foot (my favorite one). I took all of her toes in my hand and wiggled them without tickling. “ What are these?” I said.
“What,” she asked.
“What are these?”, I asked.
“Uh, I think…those are my toes,” she said sarcastically.
“Wrong,” I said.
“Come again?”
“These are not your toes. You see, when you walk down the street or you are at the shoe store, these are your toes. When you are tied up and getting tickled, these are your piggies. Understand?
“Oh…..gawd” she said in disgust.
“So everytime I ask you about these you call them your piggies, because if you slip up and say toes I’ll tickle the insides of your thighs. Get it?,” I said? No response.
“Get it?”, I said, reaching for her thighs.
“I GET IT….IHHHHAAAAAGET IT HUH HUH”.
“What are these?
“Piggies,” she said.
“And what am I about to do?
“Tickle my piggies.” The words made my erection throb.
I took her bare right foot in my hand.
“Now I know you promised that I could tickle you for 45 minutes, but I’ll knock 15 minutes off of that if you say the piggies rhyme with me.”
She snickered at that.
“Ok,” I said. “You know this from when you were a little girl.” I took her right big toe and moved it up and down without tickling.
“This little piggy….c’mon you know this.”
“Went to market…” she said, as if she couldn’t believe she was saying this.
“This little piggy…” this time I deliberately fingered the next toe so that it would tickle.
“Ha-ha-ha-stayed-home-ha-ha-ha.”
“This little piggy….” I said, really tickling the middle one.
“Ah-heh-heh-heh-heh-heh-heh-heh-heh!”
“What…what this did little piggy do?”
“Haad roasssbeeeeeee…..”
“What?”
“Had roast beef! Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha.”
“And what did this last little piggy do?”
“No, I don’t want to say it.”
“Why,” I asked fingering her little toe.
“Because, heh-heh, you’re going to tickle all over my foot really fast.” She was very perceptive, but I like to think she said this because she was half-anticipating it. At any rate, she had a big smile on her face from ear to ear. If she was suffering, you’d never know it from the look on her face.
“The sooner you say it, the sooner you’ll get it over with. And this little piggy.”
“Heh-heh, oh no,” she giggled. And said quietly “went wee wee wee.”
I fingered all of her toes at once and scribbled my fingers up the sides of her foot. The laughter flew out of her hard. Great deep laughs that had a tone half of panic half of acceptance.
I smooched her toes and cradled her lovely foot. Then holding it very still, I said “a kiddie kiddie coo” while spidering her sole.
“Ah ha ha ha,” she briefly said.
I paused. Then spidered.
“A koody koody koody koody coo.”
“Ah ha ha ha ha ha?”, with an upward inflection at the end.
A pause.
“A kiddie kee?”
“Oh.”
“A kiddie?”
“Ha ha ha!”
Then finally, “a coodie coodie kitchy kitchy itchy kitchy kitchy kitchy coo”. I jogged my fingers up the side of her foot with the pinky toe, skidded across her toes, down the other side, and up and down the top of her foot. I felt her body buckle, her foot kick (as best it could, which wasn’t much), and heard the metal cuffs clang against the bed rails.
“Oh? A ho ho. Oh? A ha ha ha ha ha . (Breath). Nope. Nope. No-ho-ho. I’m going to die.”
“No you’re not. You’re just going to laugh. And you can do better than that. I want to hear a real giggle. So let me see if I can make it tickle just a little more.”
“No. Oh god no.”
“Just a little honey. I won’t really torture you. But like this.” I pawed the tops of her feet which I could see were even more sensitive than the tops. That produced a new, interesting sound.
“Eeeeeh. Eeeeee-heee-heee? Eeeeeh heeeee heeee heeeee heeeee!!!”
I took the time to look behind me at her body. She tossed her head back into the pillow and her hair was all over the place. I continued to tickle and watched with delight her wrists twist and turn in their bonds. Her fingers would spread wide and then quickly clench into fists in a futile attempt to relieve the agony. Her ankles also would twist around and around, and she slammed her beautiful bottom up and down on the bed.
I gave her a minutes rest by kissing her. “How you doing sweetie? You surviving this ok?” This was not taunting, but sweet and sincere.
“It’s just that I’m so sensitive. Each touch is like a million little fish hooks in my body. And then you do that baby talk and for some reason it makes it worse. I feel really helpless.”
“You can take a little more, can’t you? This really turns me on?”
“Ok,” she said. “But you have to promise to bring me to orgasm sometime tonight.”
“That sounds more like a promise to me,” I joked. “Of course I will. But in the meantime, I’m going to eat you toes.”
“Heh-heh, no, heh-heh.”
“I’m going to eat them up.”
“Heh-heh, no…please,” she giggled in anticipation. I made a sandwich of her foot by cupping it between my hands. It really did look like a sandwich with her toes sticking out.
“Uh, I don’t want to make you nervous or anything but, this is really going to tickle.” The cuffs creaked.
“Help, someone,” she said softly and with a grin on her face.
“Ha, ha, no one can help you. You’re trapped, and you’re getting tickled,” I said playfully.
I stuck all of her toes in my mouth and made silly chewing sounds. “A yum-mum-mum-mum-mum. A rum-mum-mum-mum-mum.” I made sure not to just act silly, but to carefully and purposely tickle her. I let my teeth create just a slight amount of pressure against her toes. I gently nibbled across the very tips of her toes, biting them. I played her feet like a harmonica, blowing in between her toes. I would separate two toes at random at blow hard between them. She would never know where the tickle was going to come. “A rum-mum-mum-mum. “
“Ahh! Ahh! Oh-hohoho-ho-hah-hah-ha!”
“A rum-mum-mum.”
“Ahh-hah-hah-hah-hah.”
“A-rum-rum?”
“Ahh-hah-hah-hah?”
“Arrrrrrrgh-----num-num-num-num-num”
“Oh ho. Oh-ho-ho! Oh-ho-no-no-no-no-hah-hah-hah-hah!”
“Isn’t it amazing,” I said, “that there are millions and millions of nerves covering your feet and toes, and some of them, their only function is to send signals to your brain to make you laugh when someone like me tickles you? Isn’t that fascinating.” I circled two fingers around and around the ball of her foot.
“Yes, it….ah-hah-hah-hah-hah-hah-it’s-fascin-ah-hah-ating. Ha-ha-ha.”
“Oh my God you’re fun to tickle. I’m going to tickle you so much Laura.”
“No,” she said unconvincingly.
“Don’t ask me to stop. That would be too cruel. I need to really make you laugh. Your laugh is like music.”
“Oh no please,” she said still laughing. “I’m begging you.”
“Look at your belly. It’s so white. Like a porceline doll.”
“No, please Jim. Don’t touch me there.”
I wiggled my fingers closer and closer to her belly. “I think I’m going to get really silly and play with this belly.”
“Oh! Oh, no!” She cringed in her bonds and I could hear them tighten.
And then something wonderful happened. Her laughter turned silent. She continued to shiver and shake in her bonds, and her belly wiggled, but though her mouth was open she made not a sound. She drew in a breath, and I thought the laughter might start up, but it continued to be silent. Her eyes bulged out and she had an incredibly large grin on her face. I was in danger of premature ejaculation as my cock was about to explode. The look on her face was heaven---she looked like a clown with her big eyes and incredibly wide grin. She drew in a second breath and I knew she could contain it no longer. What came out could have been a scream but instead was one long progressive laugh. She looked like she was in extasy as she twisted all the way in one of her bonds and let out a laugh of full acceptance to her fate.
I stopped tickling and a second wonderful thing happened. She continued giggling. I refer to this as the post-tickling haze. “How you doing sweetie?” I asked. She sighed. “Huh. Heh-heh. Heh-heh-heh.” She looked like someone on laughing gas. She rolled her eyes and continued to giggle. She was making me laugh. “I stopped tickling honey but you’re still laughing.” “Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha,” she continued in between pauses.
“I c-can’t…”
“Can’t help it sweetie?”
“I’m v-very s-sensitive.”
“Still ticklish?”
“Heh-heh-don-heh-don’t touch…”
I wiggled phantom fingers quickly above her head. She began laughing like she could actually feel them.
“HAHAHHAHAHAHAHAH”
“What? What am I doing?”
“NO, HA-HA. NO.”
“This?” I pretended again.
This time a pause, a breath, and then a very deliberate “HA! HA! HA! HA!HA!”
“This is almost as fun as actually tickling you.”
I wasn’t kidding about that. She went into delirium, almost as though she were on laughing gas. She had a permanent smile on her face. I could see all her teeth. She alternated from a silent laugh to drawing in short gasps of air. And I wasn’t touching her at all. I had to touch my cock and play around with it to keep myself from coming.
“Relax. I’m not doing anything.
“Heh-heh-heh-I-heh-heh, I heh-heh-heh, I know heh-heh, I know heh-heh-heh (gasp)-HHHHH---Ha-Ha-Ha!
She continued to laugh and gasp and gasp and laugh. But her ear to ear smile is what really got me. The bonds and the cuffs reminded me that she was helpless and experiencing something that if she wanted to escape from she couldn’t (she had to experience everything I made her feel), but that smile showed me that she wasn’t truly being tortured and she wasn’t in agony, but there was a pleasure component to it. The look on her face seemed to say “I can’t believe this is happening to me, and I can’t do anything about it, but it is not all unenjoyable.”
Finally I promised her that I wouldn’t touch her until she was able to relax. It took her a good several minutes. She would stop laughing and sigh, only to begin lightly giggling again.
“Just out of curiosity, when you continue laughing like that, is it because it still tickles even though I stopped? Or is it because you’re thinking about how it felt to be tickled?”
“It’s closer to the second one, but not quite,” she said. “I’m not sure why I’m ha-ha still laughing. I just heh-heh can’t stop.”
I left the room for a minute or two to help her relax. When I came back I sat on the bed and chatted with her. We talked about all kinds of things---what a great dinner we’d had, what kind of work week we had coming up, etc. Though it helped her to wind down, it only got me more excited. Excited because I was able to contrast the serious (or at least neutral) look on her face as she spoke to me now compared to the huge grin and hysterical laughter of when she was being tickled; this is how I knew the laughter and what she was feeling was entirely genuine. Excited because though we were talking about “serious issues”, she was still tied down and spread out, arms and legs akimbo. And excited because I knew we weren’t done. I looked at her beautiful body---her feet and her belly---knowing I would stimulate them again, and that once again she would strain and struggle and shake in her bonds while laughter erupted from her mouth.
And just as I had been extremely loving and kind, I decided to be just a bit cruel. “Alright,” I said. I walked to the far end of the room and made these claw marks with my fingers. “This isn’t make believe. When I get there, I Will run these fingers all over you.”
She made a face and began to giggle again. I took several steps closer.
“How does it feel to accept the inevitable. Unless there is an earthquake or something, it is a fact that in a few minutes you will be tickled pretty intensively.”
She had a look on her face as though she were contemplating this inevitability.
“I may spend some real time with your belly, clawing and poking at it. Or I may eat your toes again. Or I may knead your knees and thighs. Whatever strikes my fancy.”
She looked scared, but with a smile on her face and a cackle in her voice. I laughed demonically and moved closer.
“Please,” she said giggling. “Please. I’m begging you.”
I laughed some more and moved my fingers closer. I became aware that she was saying these things not because she was truly in fear (although I could tell she was really nervous at the thought of being intensively tickled again), but because she knew it turned me on to hear them.
I got to the bed and began her ordeal. I began really playing with her. I tickled her entire body in a silly but determined way. I would poke a rib, squeeze a knee, poke another rib, reach for her neck, claw her belly button, stroke her foot.
The effect this had on her was incredible. She contorted her body into all sorts of positions, as best the bonds allowed her. When I would claw a side, she would scrunch her body as far as possible to the other side. When I would circle and circle the souls of her feet, she would scrunch up her toes and try to pull her feet through the stirrups. And when I would squeeze a kneecap, or…horror of horrors…reach in between her thighs and rub, she would buck up and down.
Her laughter was all over the place. It was like five different people laughing, as I tickled different parts.
Her feet---“Ah-ha-ha-heh-ha-heh-ha-heh-ha.”
Her belly---“Oh-ho-ho-who-who—ho-ho.”
Her neck---“Tsssss---ceck—ceck—ceck-heck—heh—heh” (Ernie laughs)
Her knees and thighs----“Ha-ha-HAAAAAAAAAA-HAAA-HAAA---NO---HO---HO----PLEASE----HA—HA—HA—I’M---HABEGGING---YOU---WHO---WHOO WHOOO!”
Altogether it was like a symphony.
“Ah! Ah-ha-ha. Ha! Ho. Ho-Ho-Ho-Ho-ha-ha-heh-heh. Tsssss-tssss-ceck-ceckk-heh-heh-heh-heh. He-he-HAAH-HAAH-NOT THERE—HAH---HAH-HAH—HAH.” I laughed at her cruelly. My lust knew no bounds.
I paused. “Oh my God you are ticklish. Your body is so ticklish Laura. It’s just so sensitive and ticklish.”
“Oh, please. Please stop.”
“Look at those beautiful toes. And that soft, white tummy with the little belly button. It’s like it’s asking me to tickle it. And your thighs, They’re just so inviting.”
“Please. I’ve never laughed so hard. I can still feel your fingers all over my body. From my neck down to my to….my piggies.”
She caught herself. “Good girl,” I said.
“No more tickling, please. I beg you.
“What will you give me?” I joked.
“I’ll do anything. I’ll give you the best blowjob you ever had.”
“Seriously/”
“Seriously. I’ll do anything to avoid the tickling.”
I took her up on it. I sat on top of her, with my butt resting just under her boobs. She took my cock into her wet, warm mouth and loving caressed it. I jerked back and forth to give myself pleasure. Every once in a while I would wiggle a finger under her neck to get her giggling, but just enough to make her chuckle and not choke. “My darling…my ticklish darling,” I said as I came in her mouth.
For weeks and weeks to come, I subjected Laura to many different ticklish experiences. I bound her in all sorts of positions, and used all sorts of instruments of many different areas of her body.
--I suspended her upside down, tickling her feet, thighs and belly. The suspension made it difficult for her to even wriggle her feet, which simultaneously made it easy to tickle them. I systematically played with the entirety of her feet, toes to heels, sometimes using paintbrushes as if I was making an oil painting. Laura had fantastic thighs---not fat, but thick like the dancers in a western saloon. It was wonderful to bite them and walk my fingers up and down them while hearing her roar with laughter. But nothing could surpass having her upside-down naked belly in front of me. Practically burying my face in it allowed me to poke and claw at it, blow into it and endlessly gnaw on it. Being upside down made her light-headed adding to her feeling of helplessness as her laughter never ceased. I took advantage of her position to occasionally pleasure her, sticking my tongue into her upside down clitoris and eating her. And eventually she would take my cock into her mouth and pleasure me as best she could. And I would occasionally tease her by saying “you can do that better,” poking her in the belly, at which point she would chuckle and laugh with my cock in her mouth and try to do it better.
--I tied her to a gymnastic pommel horse, which she straddled as if she were riding a horse. I spread her far enough apart so that her body was more draped across the horse than sitting on it. I loved this because it allowed me to totally tickle her back and her neck, which was tremendous fun. But the real fun came from running my fingers across her sides. Her laughter was deliberate, like she was addressing an assembly. But it came out in the form of “Hees.” If you can picture her saying “Fourscore and seven years ago…” except like “hee—hee---hee---hee---hee---hee---hee—hee-hee.” I would mock her with “hee-hees” of my own. At times I could stick my cock into her from behind, and this was ecstasy as she would bounce around laughing, giving me double pleasure. But sometimes it was difficult to stay in because she was bucking too much. So I would punish her if I ever fell out by tickling areas that were overwhelming to her like her thighs. She did her best to keep the bucking just enough to give me pleasure but not to knock me out of her.
---For each of the sessions I had with her, presentation was everything. Sometimes I would bind her in a way that just made her look vulnerable and adorable. Her body seemed to sing out “tickle me, that’s what I was made for.” I would tie little ribbons on her toes to make them look extra cute. One time I drew an entire what I call anatomical tickle chart on her body, head to toe. I spent an extra long session with her drawing it out. It would indicate all the areas I had grown to know, rating them for ticklishness. It served a dual purpose, as it tickled her all over while I was drawing it, and then I got to test out its accuracy when I was done. She was quite beside herself that day.
We’re not together anymore. We’ve moved on. I’m sure whoever she is with now isn’t into all the kinky things I was. But I often wonder if she looks back to our time together with fondness…and even a little longing. And I wonder if she ever had the desire to ask whoever she is now with to…hee-hee…tickle her piggies.
She walked across the kitchen to the family room. She was in her bare feet. “When do you think we should have dinner?” she said as she grabbed something off the coffee table. I could feel myself getting hard as I watched her feet flit around, her innocent feet with the painted red toes. It turned me on that as casual the conversation was now, she knew what I was into, and we already agreed. Later on I’d be making love to those feet---tickling those toes and making her laugh and laugh. But for now she just innocently went about her business, moving items and opening cabinets. She reached for something high up in one of the cabinets and her shirt rose up. Her belly was exposed including her belly button almost all the way up to her ribs. I smiled as I thought about how I would play with that belly. Poking it and pinching it, nibbling on it with my teeth. She looked the furthest thing from being tickled now as she continued with the tasks she was occupied with, but I knew her laugh and I could almost hear it. If she was singing, one would say she was singing alto. And it sounded not like a panic, but almost like an incredulous question---like “AH-HA-HA-HA???” Followed by a responsive statement---“OH—HA---HA---HO---HO!”
“What are you thinking about?” She caught me.
“Thinking about all the things you promised you’d let me do to you later.”
She gave a cautious smile. “That I’d let you tickle me?”
“Absolutely.”
“But you won’t torture me right?”
“No, just make you laugh.”
“Ok. I don’t mind laughing,” she said. I wondered if she understood how much she would laugh. If she understood that when she was bound everything from the souls of her feet to her ears and neck were fair game for my fingers.
“I can’t believe you don’t mind me tying you up,” I said as got out the handcuffs. “I’ve never had a girlfriend that would let me do that before.”
“It’s ok. I trust you.” Then she laughed. “I don’t know why I trust you. But I trust you.”
“Do you always let someone you’ve only been dating a month do this to you?” I joked.
“No. I’ve never been tied up before. But I like being dominated in a relationship so, who cares.”
I spread her arms over her head and went to apply the cuffs to the sides of the bed.
“Struggle a little bit,” I instructed her. “It turns me on.”
She kind of half-tried to wriggle away from me, and I pretended to brutally hold her arms down. “It’s no use. That damned upper body strength you guys have,” she said without sounding real disappointed. She fought me in a playful way but I managed to get her wrists locked in. I kissed her hands as a gesture, a way of saying “I’m not the brute you think I am. This is all in fun.” I moved down to her ankles and attached the ankle cuffs I had.
“Boy you’re really making me immobile aren’t you.”
“That’s right,” I said. I kissed the tops of her feet.
I stood above her on all fours and instructed her, like a judge instructing a jury.
“Now let me explain to you the idea of traffic lights,” I said.
“Huh?” she replied.
“You say green light, that means I like that a lot, please continue. You say yellow light, that means hold on let me catch my breath before you begin again. And red light means I’ve had enough of that. Stop now!!!”
“Oh, gotcha, gotcha,” she said.
“Now that means two things. First of all, you have to be conservative in your replies. If you yell red light at every interval this isn’t going to be a lot of fun. My advice is, if something seems a little intense, wait it out just a bit. It may become less intense or you may wind up liking it. The second thing is, traffic lights are your safe words. Which means I am going to ignore all cries of “don’t” or “please stop,” which also allows you to use these words liberally if they turn you on.”
“Hmm…ok,” she said hesitantly. “It makes me curious what you’re going to do to me.”
“Well I wouldn’t hurt you in any way, shape, or form,” I assured her. “I’m not into pain….either giving or receiving. Other than that, anything goes unless I get a traffic signal. Get it.”
“Ahh-huhh,” she acknowledged.
“Now,” I lay on top of her slowly. “How about a serious kiss?” I slipped my arms under her and brought her body forward. Then I brought her lips to mine and kissed her long and hard. Then I rested my head on her forehead.
“Oh yeah,” I smiled coyly. “I like this. You are all….tied…up and completely at my mercy.” I kissed her again. “Now you see what the turn on is.”
“No,” she said. “Frankly I don’t. I see the turn on from my angle. It’s fun to feel out of control and at the mercy of someone you love and who loves you. But I can’t imagine wanting to tie up anyone.”
“The turn on,” I explained, “is that I could do anything to you right now. I could hurt you, violate you, do horrible things to you. But I choose instead to be good. That’s the turn on. I am your god, but right now I am a benevolent god.” We both laughed. “And right now this god wants to see and feel your breasts.” She laughed.
But I was serious. Without asking her permission I opened her blouse and gazed at her breasts. “Wow,” I said. “Those are lovely.” I played with them, squeezing them, shifting them right and left, moving them up and down, taking them into my mouth. She oohed and aahed and joked “Oh stop, that feels too good.”
“Remember, you have your traffic lights,” I said.
“Green light. Green light.” She said.
I kissed her in different areas. He ears, her eyes, her face. Every so often she would struggle and say something like “I can’t move. Help. I’m trapped.” I didn’t know if she was saying this because she knew it turned me on, or because she was really getting into it and it was turning her on. Either way, I didn’t care. I felt myself getting hard, especially at the thought that she had no idea what I was about to do to her.
Then after much heavy petting of her now naked, defenseless body, I decided it was time!
I chose a time when we both acting silly and a bit giddy. I got very close to her ear and said quietly “Where’s that little foot I was trying to tickle yesterday, but I couldn’t because you kept moving it away?”. She began to giggle. “No really,” I said kissing her face again, “where is that little pretty little sensitive foot with those pretty little perfect tiny toes? Huh, where are those little toes?” She was really laughing now, and not only wasn’t I tickling her yet, I was nowhere near her foot. “heh…heh…no…heh…heh….”
The I began to laugh. “I don’t even have to tickle you, I can just torture you through tickle talk and watch you laugh.”
“That’s right,” she joked. “You don’t. You don’t have to tickle me at all. That’s right.”
“There’s that little foot, right there,” I said.
“NO, OH……OH GOD NO…..”, there was a real sound of panic in her voice, so I felt the need to reassure her. I turned and kissed her on the mouth again. Then moving down towards her foot I noticed her gasp, felt her breathing get heavy, felt her tense up. I heard the handcuffs and anklecuffs crack to attention. I was pretty hard now.
“Hey,” I said. “Hey hey hey, relax honey. It’s me, remember. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m just going to make you giggle. You’ll enjoy it.”
“I know,” she said, “but, oh gosh, I don’t know.”
I decided to use some screwy logic on her.
“Look at it this way, hon. You believe in God, right?” I knew this would get her. She was a devout Christian. Little did she know she was dealing with a true agnostic who didn’t think twice about tying up women and making them laugh.
“Yes,” she said.
“Well if God didn’t want to you to be tickled, why would he make you so ticklish? And why would he give me 10 fingers to tickle you with?” I could tell this screwy logic got to her, because she didn’t have an answer for me.
“It’s just that my body is really sensitive. More sensitive than most. I have no tolerance for pain whatsoever. And conversely, you can massage my elbows and I will wind up moaning with pleasure.” That does it. Now I know she’s trying to turn me on.
“All the more reason,” I said. “Besides,” I moved down to her left foot, “your little foot (I took her foot into my hands) is too little (I kissed her big toe) and too sweet (I kissed her next toe) and too innocent (the middle one) and too sensitive (the next one) and too pretty (I grabbed her little toe and wiggled it furiously). (HA HA HA HA) She laughed, four HA’s in all.
“You are kidding me,” I said. “There is no way you are that ticklish.”
“Will you just do it already,” she said.
“No, I don’t think I will,” I said. “In fact, I think I’ll psychologically torture you for a bit first. Listen carefully. I need to go to the bathroom, and when I came back I’m going to find out how ticklish you really are. I’m going to start with the toes, and then I’m going to work my way up. I’m going to poke and prod, and I’m going to get creative…trying to see if I can tickle you without using my fingers. I’m going to watch you struggle, trying to escape from those cuffs. But there is no escape. I’m going to see if I can make a variety of different laughs come out of your mouth. And I may even use some tools. I want you to think about that as I’m away. Look at your feet and your belly button, look how helpless you are, and realize that in a few minutes come hell or high water you are going to be laughing. You’re going to feel little jabs, little kneads, little spiders crawling over your body. And you’re going to feel that until I want you to stop feeling it.”
I swear I saw her face turn white. So on my way out of the bedroom, I winked and said, “Relax, I’m a benevolent god. I only want to make you laugh.”
I didn’t really need to go to the bathroom, so I just washed my hands. But I took a good ten minutes, which must have been exquisite torture for her. This was the time I think I enjoyed more than the tickling. Wondering what was going through her head as she lay there. She was probably thinking of her short term fate, how ticklish she was, whether I would go easy on her, whether I really loved her or not. She probably tried a few times to get free, pulling hard at the cuffs, really struggling. She probably looked down at her feet and wondered if the poor dear things would survive what was coming up.
When I came back in she had her eyes closed. Perhaps she thought the time would go by quicker that way, or maybe that she’d even sleep through it. Fat chance. I took the opportunity to gaze at her lovely feet. I can’t say they were perfect (how many people have achingly perfect feet). But they were soft and lovely. Her arches, her soles, the tops of her toes filled me with this life-is-good feeling. And when I saw the steel ankle cuffs supporting her feet, keeping them firm in place, making them good and right for a tickling and preventing her from altering their position should she be so inclined, I became rock hard for the third time.
I woke her up by kissing her. “How you doing, hon? Sleepy?”
“Yeah” she said in a little child’s voice. I kissed her again. I messaged her temples. I played with her breasts. I made small talk. Talked about my folks, some movie I’d like to see. Then just as we were getting all lovey dovey again, I bent down to reach her ear and said quietly “You thought I forgot, didn’t you.” She began giggling. “Huh, didn’t you my pretty? Thought this big meany forgot to tickle his little dove, didn’t you?” She snickered, and I heard the cuffs tense again.
I sat on top of her and, reaching for her thigh, squoze it in rapid succession 10 times. She bucked wildly and said “Uhhhhhhhhhhh………huh huh heh heh huh!” Then I waited, then did it again. “Uhhh huhh huhh huhh huhh?” she said, this time more like a question.
“I only did that to show you that I know where your most ticklish spot is. Now,” I said. “It’s lecture time again.” I went down to her right foot (my favorite one). I took all of her toes in my hand and wiggled them without tickling. “ What are these?” I said.
“What,” she asked.
“What are these?”, I asked.
“Uh, I think…those are my toes,” she said sarcastically.
“Wrong,” I said.
“Come again?”
“These are not your toes. You see, when you walk down the street or you are at the shoe store, these are your toes. When you are tied up and getting tickled, these are your piggies. Understand?
“Oh…..gawd” she said in disgust.
“So everytime I ask you about these you call them your piggies, because if you slip up and say toes I’ll tickle the insides of your thighs. Get it?,” I said? No response.
“Get it?”, I said, reaching for her thighs.
“I GET IT….IHHHHAAAAAGET IT HUH HUH”.
“What are these?
“Piggies,” she said.
“And what am I about to do?
“Tickle my piggies.” The words made my erection throb.
I took her bare right foot in my hand.
“Now I know you promised that I could tickle you for 45 minutes, but I’ll knock 15 minutes off of that if you say the piggies rhyme with me.”
She snickered at that.
“Ok,” I said. “You know this from when you were a little girl.” I took her right big toe and moved it up and down without tickling.
“This little piggy….c’mon you know this.”
“Went to market…” she said, as if she couldn’t believe she was saying this.
“This little piggy…” this time I deliberately fingered the next toe so that it would tickle.
“Ha-ha-ha-stayed-home-ha-ha-ha.”
“This little piggy….” I said, really tickling the middle one.
“Ah-heh-heh-heh-heh-heh-heh-heh-heh!”
“What…what this did little piggy do?”
“Haad roasssbeeeeeee…..”
“What?”
“Had roast beef! Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha.”
“And what did this last little piggy do?”
“No, I don’t want to say it.”
“Why,” I asked fingering her little toe.
“Because, heh-heh, you’re going to tickle all over my foot really fast.” She was very perceptive, but I like to think she said this because she was half-anticipating it. At any rate, she had a big smile on her face from ear to ear. If she was suffering, you’d never know it from the look on her face.
“The sooner you say it, the sooner you’ll get it over with. And this little piggy.”
“Heh-heh, oh no,” she giggled. And said quietly “went wee wee wee.”
I fingered all of her toes at once and scribbled my fingers up the sides of her foot. The laughter flew out of her hard. Great deep laughs that had a tone half of panic half of acceptance.
I smooched her toes and cradled her lovely foot. Then holding it very still, I said “a kiddie kiddie coo” while spidering her sole.
“Ah ha ha ha,” she briefly said.
I paused. Then spidered.
“A koody koody koody koody coo.”
“Ah ha ha ha ha ha?”, with an upward inflection at the end.
A pause.
“A kiddie kee?”
“Oh.”
“A kiddie?”
“Ha ha ha!”
Then finally, “a coodie coodie kitchy kitchy itchy kitchy kitchy kitchy coo”. I jogged my fingers up the side of her foot with the pinky toe, skidded across her toes, down the other side, and up and down the top of her foot. I felt her body buckle, her foot kick (as best it could, which wasn’t much), and heard the metal cuffs clang against the bed rails.
“Oh? A ho ho. Oh? A ha ha ha ha ha . (Breath). Nope. Nope. No-ho-ho. I’m going to die.”
“No you’re not. You’re just going to laugh. And you can do better than that. I want to hear a real giggle. So let me see if I can make it tickle just a little more.”
“No. Oh god no.”
“Just a little honey. I won’t really torture you. But like this.” I pawed the tops of her feet which I could see were even more sensitive than the tops. That produced a new, interesting sound.
“Eeeeeh. Eeeeee-heee-heee? Eeeeeh heeeee heeee heeeee heeeee!!!”
I took the time to look behind me at her body. She tossed her head back into the pillow and her hair was all over the place. I continued to tickle and watched with delight her wrists twist and turn in their bonds. Her fingers would spread wide and then quickly clench into fists in a futile attempt to relieve the agony. Her ankles also would twist around and around, and she slammed her beautiful bottom up and down on the bed.
I gave her a minutes rest by kissing her. “How you doing sweetie? You surviving this ok?” This was not taunting, but sweet and sincere.
“It’s just that I’m so sensitive. Each touch is like a million little fish hooks in my body. And then you do that baby talk and for some reason it makes it worse. I feel really helpless.”
“You can take a little more, can’t you? This really turns me on?”
“Ok,” she said. “But you have to promise to bring me to orgasm sometime tonight.”
“That sounds more like a promise to me,” I joked. “Of course I will. But in the meantime, I’m going to eat you toes.”
“Heh-heh, no, heh-heh.”
“I’m going to eat them up.”
“Heh-heh, no…please,” she giggled in anticipation. I made a sandwich of her foot by cupping it between my hands. It really did look like a sandwich with her toes sticking out.
“Uh, I don’t want to make you nervous or anything but, this is really going to tickle.” The cuffs creaked.
“Help, someone,” she said softly and with a grin on her face.
“Ha, ha, no one can help you. You’re trapped, and you’re getting tickled,” I said playfully.
I stuck all of her toes in my mouth and made silly chewing sounds. “A yum-mum-mum-mum-mum. A rum-mum-mum-mum-mum.” I made sure not to just act silly, but to carefully and purposely tickle her. I let my teeth create just a slight amount of pressure against her toes. I gently nibbled across the very tips of her toes, biting them. I played her feet like a harmonica, blowing in between her toes. I would separate two toes at random at blow hard between them. She would never know where the tickle was going to come. “A rum-mum-mum-mum. “
“Ahh! Ahh! Oh-hohoho-ho-hah-hah-ha!”
“A rum-mum-mum.”
“Ahh-hah-hah-hah-hah.”
“A-rum-rum?”
“Ahh-hah-hah-hah?”
“Arrrrrrrgh-----num-num-num-num-num”
“Oh ho. Oh-ho-ho! Oh-ho-no-no-no-no-hah-hah-hah-hah!”
“Isn’t it amazing,” I said, “that there are millions and millions of nerves covering your feet and toes, and some of them, their only function is to send signals to your brain to make you laugh when someone like me tickles you? Isn’t that fascinating.” I circled two fingers around and around the ball of her foot.
“Yes, it….ah-hah-hah-hah-hah-hah-it’s-fascin-ah-hah-ating. Ha-ha-ha.”
“Oh my God you’re fun to tickle. I’m going to tickle you so much Laura.”
“No,” she said unconvincingly.
“Don’t ask me to stop. That would be too cruel. I need to really make you laugh. Your laugh is like music.”
“Oh no please,” she said still laughing. “I’m begging you.”
“Look at your belly. It’s so white. Like a porceline doll.”
“No, please Jim. Don’t touch me there.”
I wiggled my fingers closer and closer to her belly. “I think I’m going to get really silly and play with this belly.”
“Oh! Oh, no!” She cringed in her bonds and I could hear them tighten.
And then something wonderful happened. Her laughter turned silent. She continued to shiver and shake in her bonds, and her belly wiggled, but though her mouth was open she made not a sound. She drew in a breath, and I thought the laughter might start up, but it continued to be silent. Her eyes bulged out and she had an incredibly large grin on her face. I was in danger of premature ejaculation as my cock was about to explode. The look on her face was heaven---she looked like a clown with her big eyes and incredibly wide grin. She drew in a second breath and I knew she could contain it no longer. What came out could have been a scream but instead was one long progressive laugh. She looked like she was in extasy as she twisted all the way in one of her bonds and let out a laugh of full acceptance to her fate.
I stopped tickling and a second wonderful thing happened. She continued giggling. I refer to this as the post-tickling haze. “How you doing sweetie?” I asked. She sighed. “Huh. Heh-heh. Heh-heh-heh.” She looked like someone on laughing gas. She rolled her eyes and continued to giggle. She was making me laugh. “I stopped tickling honey but you’re still laughing.” “Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha,” she continued in between pauses.
“I c-can’t…”
“Can’t help it sweetie?”
“I’m v-very s-sensitive.”
“Still ticklish?”
“Heh-heh-don-heh-don’t touch…”
I wiggled phantom fingers quickly above her head. She began laughing like she could actually feel them.
“HAHAHHAHAHAHAHAH”
“What? What am I doing?”
“NO, HA-HA. NO.”
“This?” I pretended again.
This time a pause, a breath, and then a very deliberate “HA! HA! HA! HA!HA!”
“This is almost as fun as actually tickling you.”
I wasn’t kidding about that. She went into delirium, almost as though she were on laughing gas. She had a permanent smile on her face. I could see all her teeth. She alternated from a silent laugh to drawing in short gasps of air. And I wasn’t touching her at all. I had to touch my cock and play around with it to keep myself from coming.
“Relax. I’m not doing anything.
“Heh-heh-heh-I-heh-heh, I heh-heh-heh, I know heh-heh, I know heh-heh-heh (gasp)-HHHHH---Ha-Ha-Ha!
She continued to laugh and gasp and gasp and laugh. But her ear to ear smile is what really got me. The bonds and the cuffs reminded me that she was helpless and experiencing something that if she wanted to escape from she couldn’t (she had to experience everything I made her feel), but that smile showed me that she wasn’t truly being tortured and she wasn’t in agony, but there was a pleasure component to it. The look on her face seemed to say “I can’t believe this is happening to me, and I can’t do anything about it, but it is not all unenjoyable.”
Finally I promised her that I wouldn’t touch her until she was able to relax. It took her a good several minutes. She would stop laughing and sigh, only to begin lightly giggling again.
“Just out of curiosity, when you continue laughing like that, is it because it still tickles even though I stopped? Or is it because you’re thinking about how it felt to be tickled?”
“It’s closer to the second one, but not quite,” she said. “I’m not sure why I’m ha-ha still laughing. I just heh-heh can’t stop.”
I left the room for a minute or two to help her relax. When I came back I sat on the bed and chatted with her. We talked about all kinds of things---what a great dinner we’d had, what kind of work week we had coming up, etc. Though it helped her to wind down, it only got me more excited. Excited because I was able to contrast the serious (or at least neutral) look on her face as she spoke to me now compared to the huge grin and hysterical laughter of when she was being tickled; this is how I knew the laughter and what she was feeling was entirely genuine. Excited because though we were talking about “serious issues”, she was still tied down and spread out, arms and legs akimbo. And excited because I knew we weren’t done. I looked at her beautiful body---her feet and her belly---knowing I would stimulate them again, and that once again she would strain and struggle and shake in her bonds while laughter erupted from her mouth.
And just as I had been extremely loving and kind, I decided to be just a bit cruel. “Alright,” I said. I walked to the far end of the room and made these claw marks with my fingers. “This isn’t make believe. When I get there, I Will run these fingers all over you.”
She made a face and began to giggle again. I took several steps closer.
“How does it feel to accept the inevitable. Unless there is an earthquake or something, it is a fact that in a few minutes you will be tickled pretty intensively.”
She had a look on her face as though she were contemplating this inevitability.
“I may spend some real time with your belly, clawing and poking at it. Or I may eat your toes again. Or I may knead your knees and thighs. Whatever strikes my fancy.”
She looked scared, but with a smile on her face and a cackle in her voice. I laughed demonically and moved closer.
“Please,” she said giggling. “Please. I’m begging you.”
I laughed some more and moved my fingers closer. I became aware that she was saying these things not because she was truly in fear (although I could tell she was really nervous at the thought of being intensively tickled again), but because she knew it turned me on to hear them.
I got to the bed and began her ordeal. I began really playing with her. I tickled her entire body in a silly but determined way. I would poke a rib, squeeze a knee, poke another rib, reach for her neck, claw her belly button, stroke her foot.
The effect this had on her was incredible. She contorted her body into all sorts of positions, as best the bonds allowed her. When I would claw a side, she would scrunch her body as far as possible to the other side. When I would circle and circle the souls of her feet, she would scrunch up her toes and try to pull her feet through the stirrups. And when I would squeeze a kneecap, or…horror of horrors…reach in between her thighs and rub, she would buck up and down.
Her laughter was all over the place. It was like five different people laughing, as I tickled different parts.
Her feet---“Ah-ha-ha-heh-ha-heh-ha-heh-ha.”
Her belly---“Oh-ho-ho-who-who—ho-ho.”
Her neck---“Tsssss---ceck—ceck—ceck-heck—heh—heh” (Ernie laughs)
Her knees and thighs----“Ha-ha-HAAAAAAAAAA-HAAA-HAAA---NO---HO---HO----PLEASE----HA—HA—HA—I’M---HABEGGING---YOU---WHO---WHOO WHOOO!”
Altogether it was like a symphony.
“Ah! Ah-ha-ha. Ha! Ho. Ho-Ho-Ho-Ho-ha-ha-heh-heh. Tsssss-tssss-ceck-ceckk-heh-heh-heh-heh. He-he-HAAH-HAAH-NOT THERE—HAH---HAH-HAH—HAH.” I laughed at her cruelly. My lust knew no bounds.
I paused. “Oh my God you are ticklish. Your body is so ticklish Laura. It’s just so sensitive and ticklish.”
“Oh, please. Please stop.”
“Look at those beautiful toes. And that soft, white tummy with the little belly button. It’s like it’s asking me to tickle it. And your thighs, They’re just so inviting.”
“Please. I’ve never laughed so hard. I can still feel your fingers all over my body. From my neck down to my to….my piggies.”
She caught herself. “Good girl,” I said.
“No more tickling, please. I beg you.
“What will you give me?” I joked.
“I’ll do anything. I’ll give you the best blowjob you ever had.”
“Seriously/”
“Seriously. I’ll do anything to avoid the tickling.”
I took her up on it. I sat on top of her, with my butt resting just under her boobs. She took my cock into her wet, warm mouth and loving caressed it. I jerked back and forth to give myself pleasure. Every once in a while I would wiggle a finger under her neck to get her giggling, but just enough to make her chuckle and not choke. “My darling…my ticklish darling,” I said as I came in her mouth.
For weeks and weeks to come, I subjected Laura to many different ticklish experiences. I bound her in all sorts of positions, and used all sorts of instruments of many different areas of her body.
--I suspended her upside down, tickling her feet, thighs and belly. The suspension made it difficult for her to even wriggle her feet, which simultaneously made it easy to tickle them. I systematically played with the entirety of her feet, toes to heels, sometimes using paintbrushes as if I was making an oil painting. Laura had fantastic thighs---not fat, but thick like the dancers in a western saloon. It was wonderful to bite them and walk my fingers up and down them while hearing her roar with laughter. But nothing could surpass having her upside-down naked belly in front of me. Practically burying my face in it allowed me to poke and claw at it, blow into it and endlessly gnaw on it. Being upside down made her light-headed adding to her feeling of helplessness as her laughter never ceased. I took advantage of her position to occasionally pleasure her, sticking my tongue into her upside down clitoris and eating her. And eventually she would take my cock into her mouth and pleasure me as best she could. And I would occasionally tease her by saying “you can do that better,” poking her in the belly, at which point she would chuckle and laugh with my cock in her mouth and try to do it better.
--I tied her to a gymnastic pommel horse, which she straddled as if she were riding a horse. I spread her far enough apart so that her body was more draped across the horse than sitting on it. I loved this because it allowed me to totally tickle her back and her neck, which was tremendous fun. But the real fun came from running my fingers across her sides. Her laughter was deliberate, like she was addressing an assembly. But it came out in the form of “Hees.” If you can picture her saying “Fourscore and seven years ago…” except like “hee—hee---hee---hee---hee---hee---hee—hee-hee.” I would mock her with “hee-hees” of my own. At times I could stick my cock into her from behind, and this was ecstasy as she would bounce around laughing, giving me double pleasure. But sometimes it was difficult to stay in because she was bucking too much. So I would punish her if I ever fell out by tickling areas that were overwhelming to her like her thighs. She did her best to keep the bucking just enough to give me pleasure but not to knock me out of her.
---For each of the sessions I had with her, presentation was everything. Sometimes I would bind her in a way that just made her look vulnerable and adorable. Her body seemed to sing out “tickle me, that’s what I was made for.” I would tie little ribbons on her toes to make them look extra cute. One time I drew an entire what I call anatomical tickle chart on her body, head to toe. I spent an extra long session with her drawing it out. It would indicate all the areas I had grown to know, rating them for ticklishness. It served a dual purpose, as it tickled her all over while I was drawing it, and then I got to test out its accuracy when I was done. She was quite beside herself that day.
We’re not together anymore. We’ve moved on. I’m sure whoever she is with now isn’t into all the kinky things I was. But I often wonder if she looks back to our time together with fondness…and even a little longing. And I wonder if she ever had the desire to ask whoever she is now with to…hee-hee…tickle her piggies.
