I walk in and you’re right where I left you.
Obviously.
I watch your fingers nervously intertwine. It appears your wrists are attempting to budge, but the rope is wrapped many times and the binds holding your elbows to the table are…tight.
The ballgag in your mouth glistens slightly. I watch your eyes search for me as the door closes.
You inhale sharply and your belly retreats toward your spine, which is slightly arched off the tabletop. The shirt, if we can call it that, comes to about the bottom of your ribcage. There’s nothing else to speak of, clothing-wise. I wonder if you’re already wet?
I come around the far side of the table and lean my body over yours, placing two hands on either side of your rib cage. You breathe in and to my surprise, dissolve in a fit of very nervous sounding laughter.
“Oh no…you doing okay in here?
You shake your head, laughter taking over your whole body.
“What seems to be the problem?” I ask. “Are you a bit nervous?”
You nod slightly, still convulsing with laughter. I take a moment to admire your face. It’s my favorite thing, when you get like this. So taken by the anticipation of what’s to come, you are totally incapacitated by it. And I’ve learned how to take full advantage. I lean my face in close to yours. Your laughter grows even harder and you close your eyes tight.
“Have you made a terrible mistake,” I ask quietly, grinning.
You nod weakly. You have barely breathed since I arrived, you’re laughing so hard.
“I don’t know why you’re laughing,” I say. “Nothing is happening to you.”
You finally inhale and try to speak through your gag but nothing comes out.
“Are you trying to tell me something?” I ask.
I take the ball gag out for moment.
“What was that?”
“Please don’t…” you say, dissolving once again into silent giggles.
“Please don’t what,” I reply.
“Dooohohohohohooooon’t…” you can’t even speak, you’re so distraught.
“Don’t what?? I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about, you’ll have to speak up.”
Something is in the air tonight, I’ve never seen you like this – unable to speak even before I touch you. I lean in so close, I can feel your chest lightly against mine. In an effort to inhale, you shake your body as much as the restraints will allow.
“Please just don’t, you know what I meeeeaaahahahahaaa…” you can’t even get through it.
“What are you afraid of?” I ask. I want you to tell me how ticklish you are. I want you to beg me not to tickle you, for you to force yourself to say the words, as excruciating as it would be. I tilt my head. I know you won’t say it, so I’m going to have to.
“Is this little girl ticklish?” I ask. You half gasp, half moan in reply before letting the laughter once again take over.
“Is this little girl just too ticklish and now she’s gotten herself into a big old mess?”
You nod innocently, making your eyes, which are half-filled with laughter-induced tears, as big as possible.
“Well what are we going to do with this ticklish thing?” I ask. “What should happen to ticklish little things that let themselves get into this kind of trouble?”
“let them go?” you manage to squeak out.
“See that’s funny, because that is the exact opposite of what I was thinking,” I say. I pick up the ball gag again and begin bringing it down toward your horrified mouth.
“No no pleeeeeeeaaaasshhahahaha…” you attempt to beg but the gag is in your mouth before the words come out. You just melt into the table. You knew when I walked in the begging would only make it worse…but you did it anyway. Partly because you’re really that ticklish. And partly because you want this to be as bad as I want it to be. We both want you right on the edge of sanity.
I step back, I roll up my shirtsleeves. “I’m sorry, honey,” I say. “But someone this beautiful and this ticklish just…isn’t being let go.” Your eyes grow wide, your muscles pull against the ropes, and my ravenous fingers descend.
Obviously.
I watch your fingers nervously intertwine. It appears your wrists are attempting to budge, but the rope is wrapped many times and the binds holding your elbows to the table are…tight.
The ballgag in your mouth glistens slightly. I watch your eyes search for me as the door closes.
You inhale sharply and your belly retreats toward your spine, which is slightly arched off the tabletop. The shirt, if we can call it that, comes to about the bottom of your ribcage. There’s nothing else to speak of, clothing-wise. I wonder if you’re already wet?
I come around the far side of the table and lean my body over yours, placing two hands on either side of your rib cage. You breathe in and to my surprise, dissolve in a fit of very nervous sounding laughter.
“Oh no…you doing okay in here?
You shake your head, laughter taking over your whole body.
“What seems to be the problem?” I ask. “Are you a bit nervous?”
You nod slightly, still convulsing with laughter. I take a moment to admire your face. It’s my favorite thing, when you get like this. So taken by the anticipation of what’s to come, you are totally incapacitated by it. And I’ve learned how to take full advantage. I lean my face in close to yours. Your laughter grows even harder and you close your eyes tight.
“Have you made a terrible mistake,” I ask quietly, grinning.
You nod weakly. You have barely breathed since I arrived, you’re laughing so hard.
“I don’t know why you’re laughing,” I say. “Nothing is happening to you.”
You finally inhale and try to speak through your gag but nothing comes out.
“Are you trying to tell me something?” I ask.
I take the ball gag out for moment.
“What was that?”
“Please don’t…” you say, dissolving once again into silent giggles.
“Please don’t what,” I reply.
“Dooohohohohohooooon’t…” you can’t even speak, you’re so distraught.
“Don’t what?? I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about, you’ll have to speak up.”
Something is in the air tonight, I’ve never seen you like this – unable to speak even before I touch you. I lean in so close, I can feel your chest lightly against mine. In an effort to inhale, you shake your body as much as the restraints will allow.
“Please just don’t, you know what I meeeeaaahahahahaaa…” you can’t even get through it.
“What are you afraid of?” I ask. I want you to tell me how ticklish you are. I want you to beg me not to tickle you, for you to force yourself to say the words, as excruciating as it would be. I tilt my head. I know you won’t say it, so I’m going to have to.
“Is this little girl ticklish?” I ask. You half gasp, half moan in reply before letting the laughter once again take over.
“Is this little girl just too ticklish and now she’s gotten herself into a big old mess?”
You nod innocently, making your eyes, which are half-filled with laughter-induced tears, as big as possible.
“Well what are we going to do with this ticklish thing?” I ask. “What should happen to ticklish little things that let themselves get into this kind of trouble?”
“let them go?” you manage to squeak out.
“See that’s funny, because that is the exact opposite of what I was thinking,” I say. I pick up the ball gag again and begin bringing it down toward your horrified mouth.
“No no pleeeeeeeaaaasshhahahaha…” you attempt to beg but the gag is in your mouth before the words come out. You just melt into the table. You knew when I walked in the begging would only make it worse…but you did it anyway. Partly because you’re really that ticklish. And partly because you want this to be as bad as I want it to be. We both want you right on the edge of sanity.
I step back, I roll up my shirtsleeves. “I’m sorry, honey,” I say. “But someone this beautiful and this ticklish just…isn’t being let go.” Your eyes grow wide, your muscles pull against the ropes, and my ravenous fingers descend.
