tkl-pen
1st Level Orange Feather
- Joined
- Dec 30, 2001
- Messages
- 2,001
- Points
- 0
THE AMERICAN TICKLING CHRONICLES
PART 003 - MIRANDA MARCH
TICKLING VERSION
“Well, well, what have we here,” she heard a man’s voice say right behind
her. Miranda straightened up instantly only to be taken into his powerful
waiting arms. She had carefully opened the door to the hotel room in case
her roommate, Sandy, was asleep, quietly walked in and placed her suitcase
on the floor. In fact, she had already caught a glimpse of Sandy’s sleeping
form on the bed nearest the door.
“Ow,” she said, as she felt the pinprick of a small needle in the right cheek
of her ass, right through her denim skirt, “what the hell is that?”
Miranda collapsed almost immediately and fell into the man’s waiting arms
as she dropped toward the floor. He scooped her up with practiced
precision and carried her to the massage table on the far side of the room.
He gently lowered her to the surface of the table, where the leatherette felt
cold to her.
Miranda, a brown-eyed brunette 21-year old standing 5 feet 4 inches in
height and weighing one hundred twenty four pounds was one of the
youngest wrestlers in the company. She, like Sandy, had come to Las Vegas
to take part in an all-female wrestling show the following day. She was
quite excited to be a part of this particular show since she was getting a
more important part for the first time. She had travelled today wearing a
pink hoodie, light blue denim skirt, white socks and running shoes.
“I know you can hear me,” said the man as he carried her to the specially
outfitted massage table, “since the drug I gave you only paralyzes you for a
little while. That will give me the time to prepare you for this evening’s
entertainment without having to fight you. I am not going to hurt you,
though, so don’t worry about that.”
Once she was on the surface of the massage table, he lifted her into a sitting
position. He took hold of the bottom edge of her hoodie and easily pulled it
up and over her head to remove it, revealing a pink bra with white
polkadots. He lowered her back down to lie flat on her back.
“This is a very special table to which I introduced Sandy earlier today,” he
explained, “and now you will be the guest of honor. I wasn’t expecting you
to come to this room since I arranged for the room number to be changed in
the hotel’s computer. Like they say, though, there’s always room for one
more. Perhaps I’ll consider Sandy the dinner and you the dessert today.”
He lifted her left arm slightly over her head and buckled a leather wrist cuff
around it, a wrist cuff that was attached to a winch at the end of the table by
a length of light chain. He then similarly secured her right wrist into
another leather wrist cuff attached to a second winch. The wrist cuffs were
only slightly past her head and her arms remained bent at the elbows.
Miranda could hear him attaching something to the foot end of the table but
she could’nt even open her eyes because of the drug he had injected into her
butt cheek. She couldn’t believe how helpless she was as the man continued
his preparations for whatever he planned to do to her. The feeling was very
disconcerting to her.
He moved over to the bed where the exhausted Sandy was sleeping and
lifted the blankets. She still wore the wrist and ankle restraints, both pairs
with a short chain connecting them. With a length of rope, he tied the wrist
restraints to the head end of the bed and the ankle restraints to the foot end,
ensuring that she would not be able to get off the bed if she wakened. He
gently replaced the the blankets over her and returned to the massage table
to finish securing Miranda.
The man buckled a leather cuff around her left ankle, an ankle cuff that was
similarly attached by a length of light chain to one of the two winches he
had only moments earlier attached to the foot end of the massage table.
Next, her right ankle was similarly secured to the remaining winch. After
that, he buckled additional leather straps around her legs above the knees.
She knew instinctively that she was going to be completely helpless when
the drug wore off and she regained control of her muscles.
“One more thing I want you to know before the drug wears off,” he told her,
“is that this room is quite soundproof. If you choose to scream, swear or
otherwise misbehave when you regain control, I will gag you with this
bridle gag that I am now putting on the table nearby. I’m sure you
understand and I know that you can hear me. I warn you now, one scream
and I’ll gag you for the next three hours.”
Miranda’s drug wore off only moments later, since he had given her a much
smaller shot than Sandy earlier that day, as he was starting to unlace her
running shoes. She pulled at her wrists and tried to struggle against the
restraints holding her legs.
“What the hell are you doing,” she said, as he removed her shoes in a slow
and deliberately teasing manner, “I haven’t done anything to you and, hell,
like I don’t even know you!”
“Perhaps not,” he said, “but I do know you. I have seen you and your fellow
performers on television numerous times and I promised myself that I would
avail of this opportunity if that became possible. It took some substantial
effort on my part, of course, but here you are.”
“What are you going to do to me,” she asked, as he pulled off her little
white socks.
“I am going to tickle you,” he said.
“Shit, no,” she responded, “I’m like sooo ticklish. You can’t!”
“Oh, but I can,” he said, kissing her toes and then her stomach, “and I will.”
“No, please,” she said, “I’m like gonna scream if you do.”
“Like I told you before,” he warned, pointing to the table nearby, “if you
scream, I’ll put that bridle gag in your mouth and you won’t even be able to
talk for the next three hours.”
He kissed her neck, right on the sensitive and vulnerable front portion of her
throat, and then holding her had with one hand and pushing her hair aside
with the other, started licking and nibbling on her ears. Occasionally, he
would even force his tongue right into her ears and swirl it around inside.
“Shit,” she said, as she tried to turn her head away from his touch and
fought against her restraints with every ounce of strength she had, “don’t do
that. Like get away from me!”
“I have no intention of getting away from you,” he told her, as he started to
lick and nibble on her nose, forcing his tongue into her nostrils and
sneaking a kiss onto her lips when he had the chance, “I want to eat you
up.”
“No, please,” she pleaded, “like just let me go!”
“I’m afraid not,” he said, as he continued to lick and nible her nose and her
ears, “you taste much too good for me to stop now.”
He kissed her on the lips again and, without even realizing it, Miranda
kissed him back as he did so. This fact, seemingly minor, was not lost on
him. He had been tickling and licking her ears, nose and throat for more
than half an hour by this time.
“You have very pretty feet,” he told her, as he moved to the foot end of the
table and momentarily tickled the soles of her feet, “I’m going to have a lot
of fun with these.”
“Nohoho, aahaahaa, nohoho,” she laughed, struggling and squirming in the
leather restraints, “my feet are like really ticklish.”
“Aaaahaaahaaaaa, shihihit,” she laughed, as he moved to her midsection and
tickled both sides of her body, “that tihihickles.”
“Aren’t you enjoying yourself,” he asked, “don’t you like to be tickled?”
“No, I like hate to be tickled,” she said.
“Why don’t you like to be tickled,” he asked.
“Like because it tickles,” she said, “that’s why!”
“No, we need to go deeper than that I think,” he told her, “have you ever
been tickled before perhaps?”
“When I was little, my sisters used to like hold me down and tickle me,” she
told him, “and they like wouldn’t stop.”
“Were you the youngest then,” he asked, “of how many children?”
“Yea, I was the youngest,” she said, “and I had like two sisters who liked to
tickle the crap out of me.”
“I see,” he said, as he started to tickle her belly button with his tongue and
her abdomen with his fingers, “I wonder if they could tickle you as perfectly
as I can.”
“Aaaahaa, dohohon’t,” she cried, as she squirmed against her bonds trying
to turn her body away from his tongue, “stohohop! Like get awayhayhay
from meeheehee!”
“My, you are so wonderfully ticklish,” he said, as he stroked a finger along
the lower edge of her bra, “perhaps I should take this bra off and see what
ticklish treasures you have underneath.”
“No,” she complained, as he cut her bra straps with a pair of bandage
scissors, “please don’t strip me.”
“My,” he said, as he lifted the bra from her breasts, “you don’t disappoint,
do you? Your breasts are stunningly beautiful, small and perky, with
absolutely perfect nipples. What a shame that you hide them in a bra!”
“Don’t tickle me there, please,” she said, “I don’t want anyone to touch my
breasts.”
“That is so sad,” he said, as he picked up a small rectangular wooden case,
“I believe that God must have given you those perfect breasts to share with
others. Do you know what these are?”
He withdrew two small brushes, quite similar to artist’s paint brushes but
with sharp pointed tips, from the wooden case.
“Yes,” she said, “they’re like paint brushes.”
“That’s the first time I have heard you use the word like correctly,” he said,
as he touched the tip of one of the brushes, “they are, indeed, like the paint
brushes that artists use. The only difference is the sharply pointed tips that
these have. They are Japanese calligraphy brushes, known as fude, that are
used for writing Japanese characters on important documents.”
“Whatever,” she said.
“What are you doing,” she asked, as he moved to the head end of the table
and winched her arms up until they extended fully upward from her
shoulders.
“I’m just extending your arms,” he said, “so that you can get the full
sensation of these little brushes.”
“Yea, like okay,” she said, “whatever.”
“Let’s just see if we can change your attitude with these,” he said, as he
started stroking the bottom outline of her breasts, where they met her
tummy, “perhaps you’ll learn to be a little more respectful.”
“Shit, stohop that,” she said, “you’re like torturing me!”
As he continued stroking her belly button, her tummy, her sides, her midriff,
all the way back up to her neck and ears, she fought and struggled against
her restraints. No matter what he did to her, she didn’t want to give in to the
sensations. She went nearly ballistic when he started to tickle her armpits
with the terrible little brushes, sometimes making small circles, other times
making long strokes.
“Aaaahaaahaaa, shihihiiiit,” she laughed, as he continued to tickle her
armpits for a long half hour or more, “I can’t stahahahand it anymohohore!”
He again suddenly kissed her lips and she, against her own best judgment,
kissed him back automatically.
Without warning he climbed up onto the massage table and straddled her
waist. He started poking and tickling her belly, her hips and her ribs.
“Get the hell of me,” she said, as he watched her nipples grown hard, “what
are you doing to me?”
“Well, I think I’m arousing you,” he said, as he stroked her armpits softly
with his fingers, the sheen of her sweat now clearly evident.
“God, you’re like turning me on,” she told him, as he got off the massage
table and started licking her armpits, nibbling her ears and occasionally
kissing her lips, “I don’t believe this!”
He stopped tickling Miranda and went to the bed to check on Sandy who
was still soundly asleep. He gave Miranda a few sips of water.
“What are you doing now,” she said, as he started to crank the winches that
were attached to her ankles, stretching her legs to their full length.
“I’m extending your legs so that I’ll be able to tickle your feet without your
putting up much of a fight,” he explained.
“No, please don’t tickle my feet,” she pleaded, “that’s my most ticklish
spot.”
He brought a chair to the foot end of the table and sat down. He started by
licking and biting her heels, nibbling away at the flesh from the edges to the
middle of each soft, round heel. After a while, he nibbled at the outer edges
of her feet, moving between her heels and the sides of her feet, nibbling and
licking constantly as he did so. After about half an hour of that, he moved
his attention to the soles of her feet, from the delicate instep onto the crease
on the balls of her feet, as she fought desperately not to laugh. He held each
foot in such a way that she couldn’t flex her toes. She squirmed and
struggled, tried to move anything she could to stop the sensations.
“Ohohooo, shihihit,” she laughed, unable to hold it in for more than a few
seconds, “dohohon’t tihihickle me thehehere!”
Miranda went almost ballistic when he moved his tongue onto her toes,
taking each toe into his mouth and licking the toe as well as the spaces
along its sides and underneath.
“Aaahaahaa,’ she laughed and cried, “I haaate youhoohoo!”
Soon there were new sensations as he applied little electrical devices
including a hummingbird and an electric toothbrush to the soles of her feet.
She rolled her head from side to side, unable to even laugh anymore, as the
tickling torture on her feet continued unabated for over an hour. When he
finally stopped, it was all she could do to try and catch her breath.
Without warning he again moved to her midsection and started an intense
tickling of her ribs and belly using both hands and all of his fingers.
Miranda laughed and laughed as she tried to move her body into some other
position that would lessen the sensations. Strapped down as she was, and
stretched to the utmost with the winches, it was to no avail. She wasn’t
going to move.
When he had enough of that, he kissed her belly, softly and lengthily, and
licked some of the sweat from her belly button. Her chest was heaving up
and down as she was still trying to catch her breath. He unbuckled her belt
and pulled the light blue denim skirt down to her knees. Then, using one
hand on her pussy to bring her off and the other hand to tickle her, be
brought her to climax.
“Oohh, aahh,” she moaned, as he continued to stroke and massage her
clitoris through the silky cloth of her panties, “oohh myy Gohohod!”
Miranda arched her back as she exploded into orgasm, clenching her fists
and flexing her toes, the sheen of sweat all over her perfect twenty-one year
old body. He kissed her feet and licked the sweat off while she was in the
height of her climax. He kissed her lips when the climax subsided.
“Wow,” she said, “shit, I’ve never felt anything like that.”
“Now, you get a choice,” said the man, “I can continue to tickle you for
another two or three hours or you can come onto that other bed with me for
a new adventure. You choose!”
“Okay, okay,” she said, aroused nearly out of her mind, her nipples hard and
engorged with blood, her pussy dripping wet with her juices, “I’ll have sex
with you.”
And so, like he had done with Sandy several hours earlier, the man released
Miranda’s straps placing her in wrist and ankle restraints, the latter with a
length of chain between to allow her to seperate her legs. He picked her up
and carried her to the bed, while Sandy still slept on the other. He again
gave her such a powerful and intense tickle orgasm that she, like Sandy
before her, passed out.
After several minutes, he collected all of his things, folded the massage
table, took the wrist and ankle restraints off the two girls, covered
everything with the white tablecloth, and left the room. The two girls,
Miranda and Sandy, would have quite a memory when they wakened in the
morning.
PART 003 - MIRANDA MARCH
TICKLING VERSION
“Well, well, what have we here,” she heard a man’s voice say right behind
her. Miranda straightened up instantly only to be taken into his powerful
waiting arms. She had carefully opened the door to the hotel room in case
her roommate, Sandy, was asleep, quietly walked in and placed her suitcase
on the floor. In fact, she had already caught a glimpse of Sandy’s sleeping
form on the bed nearest the door.
“Ow,” she said, as she felt the pinprick of a small needle in the right cheek
of her ass, right through her denim skirt, “what the hell is that?”
Miranda collapsed almost immediately and fell into the man’s waiting arms
as she dropped toward the floor. He scooped her up with practiced
precision and carried her to the massage table on the far side of the room.
He gently lowered her to the surface of the table, where the leatherette felt
cold to her.
Miranda, a brown-eyed brunette 21-year old standing 5 feet 4 inches in
height and weighing one hundred twenty four pounds was one of the
youngest wrestlers in the company. She, like Sandy, had come to Las Vegas
to take part in an all-female wrestling show the following day. She was
quite excited to be a part of this particular show since she was getting a
more important part for the first time. She had travelled today wearing a
pink hoodie, light blue denim skirt, white socks and running shoes.
“I know you can hear me,” said the man as he carried her to the specially
outfitted massage table, “since the drug I gave you only paralyzes you for a
little while. That will give me the time to prepare you for this evening’s
entertainment without having to fight you. I am not going to hurt you,
though, so don’t worry about that.”
Once she was on the surface of the massage table, he lifted her into a sitting
position. He took hold of the bottom edge of her hoodie and easily pulled it
up and over her head to remove it, revealing a pink bra with white
polkadots. He lowered her back down to lie flat on her back.
“This is a very special table to which I introduced Sandy earlier today,” he
explained, “and now you will be the guest of honor. I wasn’t expecting you
to come to this room since I arranged for the room number to be changed in
the hotel’s computer. Like they say, though, there’s always room for one
more. Perhaps I’ll consider Sandy the dinner and you the dessert today.”
He lifted her left arm slightly over her head and buckled a leather wrist cuff
around it, a wrist cuff that was attached to a winch at the end of the table by
a length of light chain. He then similarly secured her right wrist into
another leather wrist cuff attached to a second winch. The wrist cuffs were
only slightly past her head and her arms remained bent at the elbows.
Miranda could hear him attaching something to the foot end of the table but
she could’nt even open her eyes because of the drug he had injected into her
butt cheek. She couldn’t believe how helpless she was as the man continued
his preparations for whatever he planned to do to her. The feeling was very
disconcerting to her.
He moved over to the bed where the exhausted Sandy was sleeping and
lifted the blankets. She still wore the wrist and ankle restraints, both pairs
with a short chain connecting them. With a length of rope, he tied the wrist
restraints to the head end of the bed and the ankle restraints to the foot end,
ensuring that she would not be able to get off the bed if she wakened. He
gently replaced the the blankets over her and returned to the massage table
to finish securing Miranda.
The man buckled a leather cuff around her left ankle, an ankle cuff that was
similarly attached by a length of light chain to one of the two winches he
had only moments earlier attached to the foot end of the massage table.
Next, her right ankle was similarly secured to the remaining winch. After
that, he buckled additional leather straps around her legs above the knees.
She knew instinctively that she was going to be completely helpless when
the drug wore off and she regained control of her muscles.
“One more thing I want you to know before the drug wears off,” he told her,
“is that this room is quite soundproof. If you choose to scream, swear or
otherwise misbehave when you regain control, I will gag you with this
bridle gag that I am now putting on the table nearby. I’m sure you
understand and I know that you can hear me. I warn you now, one scream
and I’ll gag you for the next three hours.”
Miranda’s drug wore off only moments later, since he had given her a much
smaller shot than Sandy earlier that day, as he was starting to unlace her
running shoes. She pulled at her wrists and tried to struggle against the
restraints holding her legs.
“What the hell are you doing,” she said, as he removed her shoes in a slow
and deliberately teasing manner, “I haven’t done anything to you and, hell,
like I don’t even know you!”
“Perhaps not,” he said, “but I do know you. I have seen you and your fellow
performers on television numerous times and I promised myself that I would
avail of this opportunity if that became possible. It took some substantial
effort on my part, of course, but here you are.”
“What are you going to do to me,” she asked, as he pulled off her little
white socks.
“I am going to tickle you,” he said.
“Shit, no,” she responded, “I’m like sooo ticklish. You can’t!”
“Oh, but I can,” he said, kissing her toes and then her stomach, “and I will.”
“No, please,” she said, “I’m like gonna scream if you do.”
“Like I told you before,” he warned, pointing to the table nearby, “if you
scream, I’ll put that bridle gag in your mouth and you won’t even be able to
talk for the next three hours.”
He kissed her neck, right on the sensitive and vulnerable front portion of her
throat, and then holding her had with one hand and pushing her hair aside
with the other, started licking and nibbling on her ears. Occasionally, he
would even force his tongue right into her ears and swirl it around inside.
“Shit,” she said, as she tried to turn her head away from his touch and
fought against her restraints with every ounce of strength she had, “don’t do
that. Like get away from me!”
“I have no intention of getting away from you,” he told her, as he started to
lick and nibble on her nose, forcing his tongue into her nostrils and
sneaking a kiss onto her lips when he had the chance, “I want to eat you
up.”
“No, please,” she pleaded, “like just let me go!”
“I’m afraid not,” he said, as he continued to lick and nible her nose and her
ears, “you taste much too good for me to stop now.”
He kissed her on the lips again and, without even realizing it, Miranda
kissed him back as he did so. This fact, seemingly minor, was not lost on
him. He had been tickling and licking her ears, nose and throat for more
than half an hour by this time.
“You have very pretty feet,” he told her, as he moved to the foot end of the
table and momentarily tickled the soles of her feet, “I’m going to have a lot
of fun with these.”
“Nohoho, aahaahaa, nohoho,” she laughed, struggling and squirming in the
leather restraints, “my feet are like really ticklish.”
“Aaaahaaahaaaaa, shihihit,” she laughed, as he moved to her midsection and
tickled both sides of her body, “that tihihickles.”
“Aren’t you enjoying yourself,” he asked, “don’t you like to be tickled?”
“No, I like hate to be tickled,” she said.
“Why don’t you like to be tickled,” he asked.
“Like because it tickles,” she said, “that’s why!”
“No, we need to go deeper than that I think,” he told her, “have you ever
been tickled before perhaps?”
“When I was little, my sisters used to like hold me down and tickle me,” she
told him, “and they like wouldn’t stop.”
“Were you the youngest then,” he asked, “of how many children?”
“Yea, I was the youngest,” she said, “and I had like two sisters who liked to
tickle the crap out of me.”
“I see,” he said, as he started to tickle her belly button with his tongue and
her abdomen with his fingers, “I wonder if they could tickle you as perfectly
as I can.”
“Aaaahaa, dohohon’t,” she cried, as she squirmed against her bonds trying
to turn her body away from his tongue, “stohohop! Like get awayhayhay
from meeheehee!”
“My, you are so wonderfully ticklish,” he said, as he stroked a finger along
the lower edge of her bra, “perhaps I should take this bra off and see what
ticklish treasures you have underneath.”
“No,” she complained, as he cut her bra straps with a pair of bandage
scissors, “please don’t strip me.”
“My,” he said, as he lifted the bra from her breasts, “you don’t disappoint,
do you? Your breasts are stunningly beautiful, small and perky, with
absolutely perfect nipples. What a shame that you hide them in a bra!”
“Don’t tickle me there, please,” she said, “I don’t want anyone to touch my
breasts.”
“That is so sad,” he said, as he picked up a small rectangular wooden case,
“I believe that God must have given you those perfect breasts to share with
others. Do you know what these are?”
He withdrew two small brushes, quite similar to artist’s paint brushes but
with sharp pointed tips, from the wooden case.
“Yes,” she said, “they’re like paint brushes.”
“That’s the first time I have heard you use the word like correctly,” he said,
as he touched the tip of one of the brushes, “they are, indeed, like the paint
brushes that artists use. The only difference is the sharply pointed tips that
these have. They are Japanese calligraphy brushes, known as fude, that are
used for writing Japanese characters on important documents.”
“Whatever,” she said.
“What are you doing,” she asked, as he moved to the head end of the table
and winched her arms up until they extended fully upward from her
shoulders.
“I’m just extending your arms,” he said, “so that you can get the full
sensation of these little brushes.”
“Yea, like okay,” she said, “whatever.”
“Let’s just see if we can change your attitude with these,” he said, as he
started stroking the bottom outline of her breasts, where they met her
tummy, “perhaps you’ll learn to be a little more respectful.”
“Shit, stohop that,” she said, “you’re like torturing me!”
As he continued stroking her belly button, her tummy, her sides, her midriff,
all the way back up to her neck and ears, she fought and struggled against
her restraints. No matter what he did to her, she didn’t want to give in to the
sensations. She went nearly ballistic when he started to tickle her armpits
with the terrible little brushes, sometimes making small circles, other times
making long strokes.
“Aaaahaaahaaa, shihihiiiit,” she laughed, as he continued to tickle her
armpits for a long half hour or more, “I can’t stahahahand it anymohohore!”
He again suddenly kissed her lips and she, against her own best judgment,
kissed him back automatically.
Without warning he climbed up onto the massage table and straddled her
waist. He started poking and tickling her belly, her hips and her ribs.
“Get the hell of me,” she said, as he watched her nipples grown hard, “what
are you doing to me?”
“Well, I think I’m arousing you,” he said, as he stroked her armpits softly
with his fingers, the sheen of her sweat now clearly evident.
“God, you’re like turning me on,” she told him, as he got off the massage
table and started licking her armpits, nibbling her ears and occasionally
kissing her lips, “I don’t believe this!”
He stopped tickling Miranda and went to the bed to check on Sandy who
was still soundly asleep. He gave Miranda a few sips of water.
“What are you doing now,” she said, as he started to crank the winches that
were attached to her ankles, stretching her legs to their full length.
“I’m extending your legs so that I’ll be able to tickle your feet without your
putting up much of a fight,” he explained.
“No, please don’t tickle my feet,” she pleaded, “that’s my most ticklish
spot.”
He brought a chair to the foot end of the table and sat down. He started by
licking and biting her heels, nibbling away at the flesh from the edges to the
middle of each soft, round heel. After a while, he nibbled at the outer edges
of her feet, moving between her heels and the sides of her feet, nibbling and
licking constantly as he did so. After about half an hour of that, he moved
his attention to the soles of her feet, from the delicate instep onto the crease
on the balls of her feet, as she fought desperately not to laugh. He held each
foot in such a way that she couldn’t flex her toes. She squirmed and
struggled, tried to move anything she could to stop the sensations.
“Ohohooo, shihihit,” she laughed, unable to hold it in for more than a few
seconds, “dohohon’t tihihickle me thehehere!”
Miranda went almost ballistic when he moved his tongue onto her toes,
taking each toe into his mouth and licking the toe as well as the spaces
along its sides and underneath.
“Aaahaahaa,’ she laughed and cried, “I haaate youhoohoo!”
Soon there were new sensations as he applied little electrical devices
including a hummingbird and an electric toothbrush to the soles of her feet.
She rolled her head from side to side, unable to even laugh anymore, as the
tickling torture on her feet continued unabated for over an hour. When he
finally stopped, it was all she could do to try and catch her breath.
Without warning he again moved to her midsection and started an intense
tickling of her ribs and belly using both hands and all of his fingers.
Miranda laughed and laughed as she tried to move her body into some other
position that would lessen the sensations. Strapped down as she was, and
stretched to the utmost with the winches, it was to no avail. She wasn’t
going to move.
When he had enough of that, he kissed her belly, softly and lengthily, and
licked some of the sweat from her belly button. Her chest was heaving up
and down as she was still trying to catch her breath. He unbuckled her belt
and pulled the light blue denim skirt down to her knees. Then, using one
hand on her pussy to bring her off and the other hand to tickle her, be
brought her to climax.
“Oohh, aahh,” she moaned, as he continued to stroke and massage her
clitoris through the silky cloth of her panties, “oohh myy Gohohod!”
Miranda arched her back as she exploded into orgasm, clenching her fists
and flexing her toes, the sheen of sweat all over her perfect twenty-one year
old body. He kissed her feet and licked the sweat off while she was in the
height of her climax. He kissed her lips when the climax subsided.
“Wow,” she said, “shit, I’ve never felt anything like that.”
“Now, you get a choice,” said the man, “I can continue to tickle you for
another two or three hours or you can come onto that other bed with me for
a new adventure. You choose!”
“Okay, okay,” she said, aroused nearly out of her mind, her nipples hard and
engorged with blood, her pussy dripping wet with her juices, “I’ll have sex
with you.”
And so, like he had done with Sandy several hours earlier, the man released
Miranda’s straps placing her in wrist and ankle restraints, the latter with a
length of chain between to allow her to seperate her legs. He picked her up
and carried her to the bed, while Sandy still slept on the other. He again
gave her such a powerful and intense tickle orgasm that she, like Sandy
before her, passed out.
After several minutes, he collected all of his things, folded the massage
table, took the wrist and ankle restraints off the two girls, covered
everything with the white tablecloth, and left the room. The two girls,
Miranda and Sandy, would have quite a memory when they wakened in the
morning.
