anonnew
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- Joined
- Jan 10, 2003
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A thunderstorm woke me up early on the Saturday morning of Labor Day weekend. Here's how I wish it would have gone...
-----
I hadn't seen a thunderstorm like this in quite a while. Thunder was rumbling nearly continuously, with lightning flashes sometimes several times a second. The wind was
whipping water against the windows so hard, it was like trying to sleep through a carwash.
I look over and see that you woke up, too. You raise the blinds on the window at the head of our bed, and I roll onto my stomach and prop myself up on my elbows to
watch the storm.
With all the commotion outside, I didn't notice that you weren't looking out the window anymore until it was too late. With one swift move, youre straddling the backs of
my legs, pinning me down to the bed. I know where this is headed, but I'm playing catch-up at this point, and there's no way I can get my arms down before your fingertips
start tickling my armpits. I try anyway, so that when the inevitable happens and I burst out laughing with a reflex "Noooo!", all I've done is trap your fingers in one of my
more ticklish spots, and we both know it.
I laugh and occasionally scream into the pillow, but all I can do to fight you off is roll a little side to side, which does no good whatsoever. Which is fantastic. I love nothing
more than when you surprise me and drive me crazy this way, and there's nothing I can do about it.
You start tickling your way down my sides, wiggling your fingers against my ribs. I never had my ribs "counted" before I met you, and you love teasing me, telling me how
you have to start counting all over again whenever you hit a spot that tickles so much that I beg you to stop through my laughter. I love that you know that "Stop! Please! It
tickles!" just means you've found a good spot and that the last thing I really want you to do is stop, even if I can't help saying it.
After a relentless few minutes, and you slow down a bit to let me catch my breath, lightly sweeping your fingertips back and forth along my sides. It feels amazing, tingly and
relaxing at the same time. You love the way I respond to whatever you're doing in the moment, and you grin in the darkness as you see me slide my arms back up to rest
them under my head. "Not for long," you think to yourself, since you know that what you're planning next is going to bring them right back down.
You drag your fingertips a little bit lower down my sides with each pass, listening to my giggles, hearing them get a little bit louder the closer you get to my hips. You can see
I've caught my breath again, so it must be time to make me lose it.
Which is exactly what happens as soon as you slide your fingers under my hips and wiggle them in the hollows by my hip bones. You know how ticklish this spot is on me,
how I can never have someone go in my pockets to get my keys if my hands are full, and how in any other position, tickling my hips would have me curled up in a ball in
under a second. Trapped on my stomach, though, with you pinning down my legs, I can't even curl up to try to defend myself. All I can do is laugh, and plead with you
"Nooo! Not there!!! PLEASE!" It's such an intense spot that you don't torture me there for long, but you return again and again, with lots of tickling up my sides and ribs and under my arms in between.
When I need another break, you turn your attention to my back, tickling lightly up and down, lingering deliciously on the spots on each side of my lower back that always
make me gasp and break out in goosebumps. I'm breathing more heavily the more you focus your attentions on that spot, starting to feel almost dizzy, and you can feel me
responding to your touch in the way I'm moving underneath you.
You lean forward, pressing against me a bit, and whisper into my ear, "Good thing we have a three-day weekend ahead of us..."
-----
I hadn't seen a thunderstorm like this in quite a while. Thunder was rumbling nearly continuously, with lightning flashes sometimes several times a second. The wind was
whipping water against the windows so hard, it was like trying to sleep through a carwash.
I look over and see that you woke up, too. You raise the blinds on the window at the head of our bed, and I roll onto my stomach and prop myself up on my elbows to
watch the storm.
With all the commotion outside, I didn't notice that you weren't looking out the window anymore until it was too late. With one swift move, youre straddling the backs of
my legs, pinning me down to the bed. I know where this is headed, but I'm playing catch-up at this point, and there's no way I can get my arms down before your fingertips
start tickling my armpits. I try anyway, so that when the inevitable happens and I burst out laughing with a reflex "Noooo!", all I've done is trap your fingers in one of my
more ticklish spots, and we both know it.
I laugh and occasionally scream into the pillow, but all I can do to fight you off is roll a little side to side, which does no good whatsoever. Which is fantastic. I love nothing
more than when you surprise me and drive me crazy this way, and there's nothing I can do about it.
You start tickling your way down my sides, wiggling your fingers against my ribs. I never had my ribs "counted" before I met you, and you love teasing me, telling me how
you have to start counting all over again whenever you hit a spot that tickles so much that I beg you to stop through my laughter. I love that you know that "Stop! Please! It
tickles!" just means you've found a good spot and that the last thing I really want you to do is stop, even if I can't help saying it.
After a relentless few minutes, and you slow down a bit to let me catch my breath, lightly sweeping your fingertips back and forth along my sides. It feels amazing, tingly and
relaxing at the same time. You love the way I respond to whatever you're doing in the moment, and you grin in the darkness as you see me slide my arms back up to rest
them under my head. "Not for long," you think to yourself, since you know that what you're planning next is going to bring them right back down.
You drag your fingertips a little bit lower down my sides with each pass, listening to my giggles, hearing them get a little bit louder the closer you get to my hips. You can see
I've caught my breath again, so it must be time to make me lose it.
Which is exactly what happens as soon as you slide your fingers under my hips and wiggle them in the hollows by my hip bones. You know how ticklish this spot is on me,
how I can never have someone go in my pockets to get my keys if my hands are full, and how in any other position, tickling my hips would have me curled up in a ball in
under a second. Trapped on my stomach, though, with you pinning down my legs, I can't even curl up to try to defend myself. All I can do is laugh, and plead with you
"Nooo! Not there!!! PLEASE!" It's such an intense spot that you don't torture me there for long, but you return again and again, with lots of tickling up my sides and ribs and under my arms in between.
When I need another break, you turn your attention to my back, tickling lightly up and down, lingering deliciously on the spots on each side of my lower back that always
make me gasp and break out in goosebumps. I'm breathing more heavily the more you focus your attentions on that spot, starting to feel almost dizzy, and you can feel me
responding to your touch in the way I'm moving underneath you.
You lean forward, pressing against me a bit, and whisper into my ear, "Good thing we have a three-day weekend ahead of us..."
