laughter_n_love
TMF Regular
- Joined
- Nov 2, 2001
- Messages
- 297
- Points
- 18
"Good morning, Linda! Hiya Toby! Hey little Christopher!" Rochelle beamed and affectionately tickled Christopher's cheek, eliciting a grin and a gurgle from the infant. "Toby, Max is already outside with his ball, waiting for you." Toby grinned and sped away to the back yard as fast as his 4 year old legs could carry him. The two ladies followed at a more leisurely pace, with Rochelle continuing to fuss over the child cradled snugly in his mother's arms.
"You really need to have one of these you know," Linda grinned. "You'll make such a great Mommy."
"I know," Rochelle replied as they took seats out on the back deck. "Soon, I hope." Out on the grass, Toby and Max, her Golden Retriever puppy, were already engaged in a fierce game of Keep Away.
"What's the holdup?" Linda asked as Rochelle began pouring them coffee.
"I don't know. Something seems to be bothering Jack lately. He's been acting sorta weird." Rochelle and Linda had been neighbors just over a year now, and having their morning coffee together had become a regular occurrence over the past few weeks. Despite Linda being a good 7 years older, the two were fast becoming the best of friends.
"Weird how?"
"It's hard to say. Distant, I guess. Like his mind is somewhere else."
Linda paused. "Do you think he's cheating on you?"
It was Rochelle's turn to pause. "No, I don't think so." Another pause. "Jesus I hope not!"
"Relax, Shelly, I'm sure he isn't. You guys have only been married for 2 years. It takes at least five for them to start screwing around!"
Rochelle didn't laugh at Linda's poor attempt at humor. "I never even thought he might be..."
"Shelly, look, forget I said it. Jack is too good of a man to do something like that. He can be trusted." Rochelle nodded, still lost in her thoughts. While Christopher played her hair, Linda looked to uproot the seeds of negativity she'd planted. "How has the sex been?" she asked hopefully.
"Okay, I guess. Nothing special. A little stale maybe." Rochelle had visions of her husband in the arms of another woman and paled.
"Oh," said a disappointed Linda. "How about the tickling?"
"The what?" Rochelle looked up from her trance.
"The tickling. How has that been?"
"What are you talking about?"
"You know. How has the tickling been going?"
"Linda, I haven't the foggiest what you are talking about. What tickling?"
Linda rolled her eyes as if this were obvious. "You know, where you tease Jack, then he ties you up and tickles you, and then you have mind blowing sex." All this was said with the face of a professional poker player. Rochelle looked for any hint of a joke and found nothing.
Rochelle blushed twelve shades of crimson. She and Linda had talked about many subjects during their morning coffee chats, some of them steamier than others, but this was the first time the subject of bondage had ever come up. "Linda, you can't be serious. That's absurd."
"Absurd?! What's absurd about it?"
"Ties me up and tickles me? That's insane!"
"No it isn't. Phil does it to me all the time."
Rochelle, whose color was just returning to normal, flushed pink yet again. "You're joking."
"I'm not. Christopher, no, don't play with Mommy's earrings."
A moment of silence passed between the two women, with Toby's constant giggling providing the only background noise in the still morning air. Rochelle couldn't believe what she was hearing, yet she was bursting with questions. Finally she couldn't contain her curiosity any longer. "And you let him?"
"Of course I let him." A look of realization suddenly came into Linda's face. "Shelly, are you telling me that in all the time you've been married, you've never once let Jack tie and tickle you?"
Rochelle didn't know what to think. "No...no...never..."
"Of course! That explains it then. That's why Jack's been acting weird," announced Linda like Sherlock Holmes wrapping up a case.
"But...he's never said...what...why would he want to?" Rochelle was as confused as she could ever remember being.
"All men want to." Linda was looking at her with concern. "You really don't know about this?"
Rochelle shook her head in embarrassment. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "No, I don't."
"It's okay, I just assumed you did. I thought all women knew about men's tickling fetishes."
"Tickling fetishes?" Nothing Linda was saying made any sense at all.
"Yes, all men have a fetish for tickling. It's like hardwired into their DNA or something. Christopher, Mommy said No!"
Rochelle searched her memory banks for any remembrance of hearing such a fact, and nothing even rang a bell. "I've never heard that."
Linda shrugged. "Well, they do. Every one of them."
Rochelle thought about the times Jack had playfully tickled her. Just little pokes in her ribs or a squeezing of her knee. Nothing intense. It had never been anything more than a bit of good fun, but had she been missing the boat completely? Had he been trying to tell her something with those innocent tickles?
"So...so what do I do?"
"There's nothing to it. Tease him a little. Flirt with him. Act a little naughty, if you know what I mean. Drop the hint that you deserve a little tickling, and let him take care of the rest."
Rochelle paled. She imagined her husband tying her to their four-poster bed for the purpose of tickling her. While the thought of being tied during sex titillated her senses, she couldn't imagine being tickled like that. It would be unbearable.
"Isn't...isn't it torture?"
"Well, yes and no. Sure, it tickles all right, but it feels good too. And it's so worth it afterward."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, after Phil tickles me for awhile, he's so horny that the sex is incredible. I mean...he's like...insatiable. I swear, that man is harder than granite after he's worked me over for a bit."
Rochelle swallowed hard. As outrageous as the things Linda was saying sounded to her, they did all seem to make sense. Jack was distant. He did seem uninterested in her in the bedroom. If she'd been denying him one of his primal urges for their entire 4 year relationship, could she really blame him? Linda seemed so positive that this was something she should have known all along, and yet she hadn't. Didn't that make her a failure as a woman and as a wife?
The solution was right in front of her, and yet she hesitated. Tied and tickled. No way. There was no way she could do it. The problem wasn't that she hated to be tickled. Far from it. She never minded the feel of Jack's hands on her for any reason, and a little tickle now and then was okay by her. The problem was, Rochelle wasn't just ticklish, she was super ticklish. And not just in spots. For her it was everywhere. It was one thing for Jack to give her a little poke that made her jump and giggle and have that be the end of it. It was quite another to be tied helpless and have him tickle torturing her. There would be no way to stop it, no way to pull away. She'd go nuts. No way. There had to be another solution. Anything would be preferable to that.
"I...I don't think I can..."
"Why not?"
"Because..."
"Because?"
"Because..I'm just way too ticklish."
"Oh!" Linda laughed. "Don't worry about that. I'm the same way."
"You don't understand...I'll die if Jack ties and tickles me. I really, really can't handle being tickled."
"Shelly, trust me. You won't die. In fact, you'll probably love it."
"I highly doubt that!" Rochelle exclaimed, glad to finally say something she was sure of.
"Christopher, my button is not a chew toy." Linda reached for the coffee decanter to freshen up her cup. To Rochelle, she said with a grin, "Trust me Shel. It will do wonders for your sex life."
**************
Rochelle was waiting for Jack when he got home from work that night. He opened the door to see his wife standing before him, giggling and blushing. She wore only a short robe made of silk; one that barely covered her bottom and hid even less in the front. He could tell she was fresh from the bath; her hair was pinned up and still wet, the way he liked it, and she was lightly perfumed. Her shapely legs were shiny from a recent shaving and lotioning, and even her toes were decorated with a fresh coat of cherry polish. She stood on tip toe with her hands on his shoulders to kiss him hello. She also 'accidentally' brushed her hip up against his crotch.
"Welcome home, Jack. I've missed you," she breathed into his ear, running her hands along his shoulders and back.
"I'll say," he grinned. "What's the occasion?"
"Whatever do you mean, dear?" she said coyly. She backed a step away and toyed with the belt on her robe, threatening to pull it open but not doing so.
He gave her a quizzical look. "Are you feeling all right, Shelly?"
She tittered and ran her hands over her own breasts and down her hips and exposed thighs. "I feel all right to me. Don't I look all right?"
"Yeah, you look great. Come over here and let me have a feel for myself."
"Not yet. Come sit on the couch and tell me about your day." She took him by the tie and led him to the sofa. He followed along, confused. She sat him at one end of the couch and plopped down on the other so she could face him with her legs bent and her feet flat on the cushions. Jack had a clear view of his wife's womanhood and the hands that crept down to touch herself there. Her eyes sparkled with mischief.
Jack reached for her. "Ahh ahh ahh! Not til I hear about your day." She fended him off by placing the toes of one delicate foot on his chest.
Jack was flustered. What game was his wife up to? He stammered his way through telling her about the meetings he'd had today and the presentation he'd given. All the while, Rochelle lightly fingered herself and rubbed his chest and shoulders with her feet and toes.
"Okay, now I've told you. Now come over here." Jack growled, a bit impatient. Rochelle's toes had brushed up against the bulge in his pants more than once while he talked, and his hormones were raging.
"Shouldn't we have dinner first, dear?" Rochelle asked, again fending him off with a foot.
"Shelly, this isn't funny any more. Quit teasing me."
Rochelle feigned surprise at his words and tone. "I'm sorry, Jack. Have I been teasing you?"
"You know damned well that you have."
Up until this point, she'd played the part of the temptress to a tee. Rochelle was proud of her body, and was not shy about her sexuality, so this part of the game had been easy. But the part she had been dreading all along was finally upon her. She bit her lip to keep it from trembling.
"I'm sorry that I've been bad, baby." Her voice wavered a bit. "Perhaps you should punish me."
"Huh?"
Rochelle dove off the deep end. "I think you should tickle me for being a tease." Her body trembled as she spoke these words.
A slow smile crept across Jack's face. "Oh you do, do you?"
Rochelle's brain screamed to tell him no, that she had made a mistake. "Uh huh. I think I need a good tickling to learn my lesson." She could hardly believe the words were coming out of her mouth.
"Okay Jack," Rochelle's brain wailed, "tell me I'm nuts and tickling is the last thing on your mind right now! Tell me to screw that and you want to fuck, right now!"
"I think you are right, Shelly," he said, and her heart sank in her chest. She bit down on her lip so hard it nearly drew blood. Linda had been right.
"The...the bedroom...follow me," she said, but it didn't sound like her voice. She would never invite her husband into the bedroom to tickle her, but yet she had just done that very thing. The whole scene was more than surreal. It felt more like a dream than reality. She barely acknowledged that she was leading him by the hand to the room where they slept. The room she had already prepared.
The soft glow of many candles greeted them as they entered the bedroom. Their queen sized bed had been stripped of it's linens until only the bottom sheet remained. On this bottom sheet, rose petals were strewn about. Attached to the posts in each of the bed's corners was a nylon. The other ends of the nylons all pointed to the center of the mattress. A huge, almost comical looking feather also awaited them on the bed.
Rochelle allowed her husband to reach around her from behind and untie the belt on her robe. His lips were on her neck, and his body was pressed against hers. She rolled her head to expose more of her neck for him, purring, and reached up with her hands to tousle his hair. He felt good, and she liked what he was doing. Secretly, she hoped that he would wish to skip the torturous foreplay and move straight on to the mind blowing sex. That fantasy was dispelled almost immediately as she felt his fingertips lightly tickling both of her sides at once. She squealed and bounced out of his grasp, the robe falling from her shoulders as she did so.
He was grinning widely at her. "On the bed, honey. Time for your punishment."
Rochelle swallowed hard and slid her naked body onto the bed. The feeling that this was all a dream that she would soon awaken from had not left her. "Maybe he'll just tie me up and forget about tickling me. He won't be able to resist me once I'm helpless," she thought to herself, but her thoughts lacked any conviction. If Jack had waited 4 plus years for this, he wasn't going to let her off so easily.
Jack was quickly roping her limbs off to each corner of the bed. She offered no resistance as he manipulated her. He moved with surprising speed, his face betraying an intensity she did not often seen in him. "He only gets like that when he's passionate about something, like sports or weight lifting," she thought, and suppressed a groan at the realization. The knots about her wrists and ankles were tight, almost too tight, and they seemed a little too perfect for a man who worked with his pen and not his hands. "How is he so good at this?" she wondered. She watched her husband with a bit of awe and fear, as if she were looking upon stranger. When he was done, her body was stretched taut, spread out like a virgin on Prom night. He'd granted her no slack whatsoever, not even a little room for wiggling or bucking. With a smirk of approval, he circled the bed, admiring his handiwork.
Rochelle lay silently, her breathing deep and wavering, her mind caught up in a whirlwind of emotions. One the one hand, there was a raw sensuality to being bound like this in front of the man she loved, making her wonder why she had never suggested that he tie her up before. She could only imagine how wanton and naked she must look to him. Her nipples were standing at attention like hard pencil erasers, and her sex was moist and waiting. Every inch of her skin was available for him to enjoy. Nothing was left to the imagination. The contrast of her nakedness and helplessness to his suit and tie had her lusting for him. Aching for him. She felt almost drunk with heady desire. He was in control, complete control, and she was his for the taking. His to dominate and devour. His to conquer and claim as his own. She wanted him to ravage her body, wanted to feel his teeth on her flesh, wanted to cry out for him to come and fuck her hard. She squirmed in her bonds, her hips grinding into the mattress of their own volition.
On the other hand, she had never felt so exposed or vulnerable in her entire life. He could do whatever he wished to her, and she was powerless to stop it. And what he wished to do was tickle her, she knew that. Goose pimples broke out all over at the thought of his torturing her sensitive skin. She was ticklish from head to toe, and there would be no relief, no escape. No way of covering up. No way of running away. Would he tickle her lightly or ruthlessly? Would he be merciful, or would he take 4 years of frustration out on her? As ticklish as she was, would she be able to handle more than just a little tickling? Could she survive it if he chose to tickle her to her limits and beyond? The anticipation of torments unimagined had her trembling in fright. He'd yet to touch her, and already she felt ready to leap out of her skin. The millions of nerve endings that lay just below the surface of her ticklish flesh were all on high alert, each one ready to broadcast unbearable signals of ticklish agony to her already panicked brain.
The combination of lust and fear brewing inside Rochelle was intoxicating to the point of almost maddening. She felt she would scream if he didn't touch her soon, and was sure she would scream the moment he did.
The look on Jack's face told her that he was relishing the moment. It was obvious that he had indeed been waiting all these years to have his wife in this very situation, and now that he had her, he was going to enjoy every savory second of it. Picking up the huge feather she had left out for him and twirling it mockingly between his fingertips, he gave her an evil grin that said, "You're mine". Rochelle involuntarily shuddered at the sight.
"Let him take care of the rest," Linda had said. That was just what Rochelle was afraid of. What was Jack capable of? How would he torture her first? The trembling of her bottom lip could not be stopped.
It turned out that Jack wasn't quite ready to begin torturing her just yet. He bent over and produced the belt from the robe Rochelle was no longer wearing. She deduced at once what his intentions were.
Rochelle broke the tension and the silence. "No Jack. Please. Don't put that over my eyes. Please. I want to see. At least let me see." She was borderline babbling.
Jack shook his head. "Shhhhhhh, it's okay. I won't hurt you." The mock blindfold was wrapped around her head and knotted behind her ear. Rochelle heard her husband's soothing words, and though she believed them, they could not stop the enveloping darkness of the blindfold from elevating her panic.
"Jack, please! I'm scared! I don't want to do this anymore!" But was that the truth? As terrified as she was of being even more helpless than before, hadn't the blindfold added to her lust as well? Not only could she no longer stop him from touching her wherever he liked, but now she couldn't see it coming either. All she could do is lay there and feel...and suffer...and enjoy. Rochelle's heart rate kicked up a few notches.
She felt him brushing a lock of hair away from her mouth, felt him kiss her deeply on the lips. She swooned. Her loins fluttered as she greedily accepted his mouth on hers. Their lips crushed one another as their tongues mingled and danced. Rochelle was on fire. She ached to feel his hands on her breasts, to feel his mouth between her legs, to feel his body on top of hers. "Touch me!" her body screamed.
But Jack pulled away, disengaging his lips from hers. She groaned and reached with her mouth, seeking to regain contact with him, but he wasn't letting himself be found. She felt his weight lift off the bed beside her, heard him move a step or two away. Her ears were wide open, listening hard for more, but only silence could be heard. The moment stretched on. She strained to hear him
in the darkness, but there was nothing.
A wave of terror washed over her again, temporarily dousing the fires between her legs. "Jack?" she whispered. She whispered because she was afraid, like a little girl lost alone in the dark. Had Jack left the room? She didn't think so, but she couldn't be sure. What was he doing?
Something tickled at her nose. She gave a short scream of surprise and lurched her head to the side. The tickling sensation moved to her ear, which was now exposed, and that was received with a lurch of her head to the other side. She then felt the tickling repeated in her other ear.
So it had begun. Jack was using the huge feather on her face. Rochelle playfully thrashed her head from side to side, trying to avoid sneezing or feeling the plumage in her ear canals. She giggled; it was more annoying than tickly, but not entirely unpleasant. If this was the sort of tickling Jack had in store for her, then her fears were grossly over exaggerated. "Jaaaack! Quit tickling my face!" She figured it wouldn't hurt to play along. He'd waited a long time for this; she may as well play the part of the damsel in distress. The tickling sensations found her cheeks and mouth, and Rochelle mock pretended to bite at the feather. Nope, this wasn't so bad at all.
The feather began to dance under her chin and along her collarbone. These sensations were a little more of the 'ticklish' variety, causing the return of the goose pimples. Rochelle struggled to lower her chin and shrug her shoulders, but couldn't quite keep the feather away from these hot spots. She no longer giggled to play along; now she giggled because she couldn't help herself.
"Cut it out, Jack! Stop it! Get that off me!" Her words were punctuated by the scratchy giggles produced by pressing one's chin into one's chest. She didn't mind what he was doing to her so much, and sincerely hoped that if she played her part of the tortured victim well enough, this was as intense as it would get. She figured that if she could convince him she was suffering now, there would be no reason for him to take the game further. It wasn't a bad plan, but she had no way of knowing how fruitless it was.
The feather began to tease her lower. It flirted with her underarms and fluttered across her engorged nipples. Rochelle's torment and arousal both increased accordingly. Each pass of the feather near her underarms had her gasping, and each lingering feathering of one of her nipples was met with "mmmmmmmm"s and "oooohhh"s of approval. The skin Jack teased around and between these areas kept her giggling steadily. She gyrated and squirmed as much as the nylons around her wrists and ankles would allow, but the feather never lost contact with the roundness of her breasts. "It tickles, but it feels good too," Linda had said. Rochelle had to agree. She was being tickled to the point where it was nearly torturous, but she was finding the experience more than just a little pleasant. It felt fun to squirm and laugh, to lay there and be teased by the wicked feather. The wetness between her legs betrayed just how much she was enjoying this game.
The feather explored her lower still. She felt the wispy plumage dancing along her flat stomach and snaking over to her taut rib cage on either side. There was nothing sensuous about being tickled in these places; here, it just tickled. Rochelle's enjoyment of the game was quickly dissipating as Jack attacked two of her more ticklish spots. Her laughter increased in volume, and her twisting from side to side became more desperate.
"Jack!...Enough!...Staahaahaap!...Please!...Jack!"
But Jack didn't stop. He feathered her incessantly, increasing his range of coverage as he did so. He teased Rochelle by occasionally brushing against her nipples from time to time, but mostly he focused on more ticklish zones. The feather no longer threatened her underarms, now it zeroed right in on the sensitive hollows in the center of each for an prolonged stay. It traveled the length of each protruding rib on her left side before repeating the torture on it's twin on the right side. It circled her belly button in endless loops before eventually settling on it for an extended tickling. It discovered the flesh between her navel and her shaved womanhood as a most unexpected and ticklish target and feasted on her there. Rochelle bucked and laughed no matter where he struck. Her sensitivity to the feather was at an all time high. She found herself repeating "Jack!" and "Stop!" when she could catch a breath between giggles.
Finally the feather did stop. Rochelle lay panting, slumped in her bonds. Jack really had tied her well; she had hardly been able to squirm during the torturous tickling. She tried to relax, happy to no longer be struggling to avoid the ruthless feather. "Being tickled is exhausting!" she thought. Now that it was over, she had a chance to reflect on the ordeal. The finale had been a bit extreme, a bit more than she would have liked, but over all, she was pleased with the experience. She was smoldering with desire, and the nylons and the feather had a lot to do with that. Plus, if Jack was even half as horny as she was right now, the sex they would soon be having would be killer. It would be "worth it" as Linda had said. So what if Jack had found dozens of unknown tickle spots on her torso? It wasn't the means that was important, it was the end.
"Honey, that's was wild! It was actually kind of fuooooOOOOOOHHHHH...." Rochelle's confession was cut off by the irritating feeling of the feather tickling her inner thighs. She bucked hard, desperate to close her legs, but there was no give in the nylons holding her ankles flush with the bedposts. Apparently, her tickle torture wasn't quite over like she thought. Not only was it not over, but it had immediately gotten worse. Much worse. Her inner thighs were like sacred ground, like virgin territory. Not only were they baby soft and smooth to the touch, but it turns out they were off the charts ticklish. It took only a moment of feathering her here in these uncharted waters to have her whooping and thrashing with a frenzy.
"Noooooo!" she screamed, and meant it. Her legs spasmed as Jack and his feather tickled them without mercy. He was dangerously close to her heated womanhood, but instead of intensifying her lust, it only increased her torment. The closer he got to pay dirt, the more it tickled. The joints where her legs joined her pelvis proved to be the pinnacles of her anguish; she was insanely ticklish in these normally hidden spots. Rochelle's laughter grew as wild as her struggles for escape. To her, it felt like mindless ants swarming all over her thighs and pubic region. This was the type of tickle torture she had anticipated and dreaded, the kind that would drive her mad.
Rochelle guessed that Jack must have sensed her need for relief, for he did not tickle her long between her legs. The feather was replaced by his fingers, which stroked her love button and teased her opening. She immediately calmed, cooing and moaning and grinding against his hand. The logic behind this fetish men had for tickling was starting to become clear to her; she could not remember ever being more primed for sex or more needy for her husband's touch. It was like an aphrodisiac, a twisted but strangely effective form of foreplay. Her sex was slippery with her juices, and Jack's hand glided effortlessly across her lips and core, sending waves of pleasure through her body.
"Oooooh, Jack...yeah...touch me...touch me like that....oh...."
She thought she heard her husband chuckle, but couldn't be sure. Not that it mattered. He could have sung The Star Spangled Banner at this point and she wouldn't have noticed. Consumed by the feelings of his thumb massaging her love button and his fingers slipping inside her to stimulate her g-spot, Rochelle was lost in her own private world of pleasure. All of her senses seemed to be concentrated on the warm place between her legs as seeds of a mighty orgasm were planted and nurtured there. Her body jerked and convulsed. Jack was touching her just right, the way only he knew how, and it wouldn't be long before his expert fingers had her climaxing like a wildcat. Her head rolled from side to side as she gritted her teeth and moaned. The tension building between her legs was massive.
"Oh God...oh yeah...oh God...oh God..."
Rochelle felt the moment approaching. Jack's fingers were playing her like a piano, and it was time for the grand finale. Her body vibrated on the bed, her arms and legs tensed up like a bow string. Her head banged against the pillow, although she was not aware of it, and her hand clenched into fists while her toes pointed outward. It was coming. So close. So very close. Almost here...
And then the manual manipulation of her erogenous zones stopped. The hand that had pushed her to the brink of orgasm withdrew. Rochelle whimpered. "Jack...please...don't stop...finish me..." Her loins tingled, begging to be touched.
This time she did hear her husband's chuckle. He leaned in close to her ear and whispered back, "Not yet, sweetie."
The feather was back between her legs, tickling her thighs and upper groin. Rochelle wailed, her cry a mixture of surprise and frustration and torment. She flopped around uselessly on the bed, unable to believe her husband was tickling her again, and unable to deal with the maddening sensations between her legs. Just a moment before, the most powerful release of her life had been within her reach, and now, just seconds later, she was back in the throes of a futile struggle to evade more torturous tickling. Both desperate for release and desperate for escape, she didn't know what to do or how to feel. There was no precedent in her brain that told her how to deal with a situation like this. To make matters worse, Jack was now feathering her sex as well. He was touching her lightly; too light to bring her off, but perfect for teasing this highly sensitive area of her body. Jack's masterful use of the quill had her twitching and squirming to avoid it while at the same time grinding her hips to get off on it. He kept her on the brink of orgasm in this fashion, right on that unbearable line between build up and climax, but did not push her over the edge. It was torture, pure and simple. Rochelle screeched loudly in protest.
It was hard to say whether or not Jack was being cruel to her, for no sooner had Rochelle let loose with her animalistic cry than the feather was replaced by his mouth. It only took a moment. Just a well placed swirl of his tongue, with just enough pressure, and Rochelle was exploding. A high pitched, siren-like sound escaped from her throat. Her body arched, forcing her sex upward to smash against his mouth, forcing her limbs to tremble with vibrations. She climaxed for what felt like forever. Orgasm engulfed her, washing over her entire body again and again, from the tips of her toes to the ends of her hair, until she felt like an electric current was running through her. Jack drew it all out of her with his tongue, following her spastic movements, coaxing every last ounce of build up out of her. It was the climax to end all climaxes.
When it was done, Rochelle lay still, unable to move, and unwilling to try. She felt like crying, so great was the release she felt. Had she had the will to speak, she would have uttered just one word. "Incredible." Her body still tingled, but was now calm, like she was floating in a warm bath.
She was only vaguely aware of her husband leaning in near her again. It took what little energy she had to turn her head in his direction and work up a weak smile. He whispered, "They say a woman is more ticklish after she comes. Think we should find out, Shelly?" Rochelle's smile vanished in a heartbeat.
"Nooooooooooo..." she moaned pitifully. It was supposed to have come out more forcefully, but she lacked the energy to scream properly. Her brain quickly abandoned the peaceful state of bliss she had just been enjoying and returned to alarm mode. "No more..." she begged.
"Oh yes," Jack said. "Lots more."
Rochelle felt fingers rapidly tickling up and down her sides. For a moment, she lay stunned. Neither her brain nor her body was ready for such an attack just yet. Her nervous system was sluggish, like fuel lines in need of unclogging, and it took a second or two for the signals to travel up her spine. But once they did, the results were electric.
Rochelle screamed almost the exact same scream as the one before that caused Jack to stop tickling her groin and thighs. Except this time, there was no stopping. Her scream yielded way to frantic cackling. It was a hard, unpleasant sort of laughter. Tortured laughter. Her body thrashed wildly with what little room it was allowed. Jack's fingers were wiggling and scratching both sides of her waist and ribs, and there was no place for her to escape them. The nylons held her fast, giving her husband all the room and leverage he needed to attack her without refrain. She screamed again.
Jack's fingers flew over her skin. He was a tickling machine. In one instant, he was digging into her ribs. In the next, he was lightly scratching her underarms. Then he was down pinching just above her hip bones. Then he was spider-walking his fingertips across her lurching belly. Then he was squeezing at her thighs, or teasing her nipples, or jiggling a finger in her navel. The was no place that he touched or could touch that wasn't agonizingly ticklish for Rochelle. He tortured her systematically, making sure to never let her get desensitized, and making sure she never knew where he'd strike next. He had no idea just how effective this strategy was. Every stroke, pinch, claw, and wiggle hit a bulls eye in the part of her brain that recognized tickling.
She was in hysterics. Her lungs burned and her heart pounded loudly in her chest. A fine layer of sweat had broken out from the exertion of struggling, and beneath the robe belt blindfold, the first signs of wetness were starting to appear. Her stomach and throat hurt from laughing, her wrists and ankles ached from their bonds, and her muscles were growing fatigued. And yet the tickling continued. There was no escape, and there was no mercy. Rochelle was in Hell.
Just when it seemed like she couldn't take anymore, the tickling stopped. Rochelle had no way of knowing if this was due to her husband's awareness of her state of anxiety, or if it was because his fingers were tired, or if it was just part of his master plan, but she didn't much care at this point. He wasn't tickling her anymore, and that's all that was important. This wasn't a time for questions or reflection, this was a time for recovery. A coughing fit overtook her as she struggled to return to some semblance or normality in her breathing pattern. The tingling sensations that lingered over her skin even after his fingers had left eventually faded, and her heart stopped threatening to leap out of her chest. She breathed deeply, not wanting to think about what might come next.
"Did you feel more ticklish?" Jack was asking.
Rochelle ignored his question. "Jack...please...I'm begging you...untie me...please..." She wanted to be mad, but feared that any tone other than a pitiful one might bring her more trouble. She could be mad later after she was untied.
"Hmmmm, not sure, eh? We'll keep trying then."
"Jack! I mean it...let me go...I've had enough...please!" It was getting harder to keep the anger out of her voice.
It was Jack's turn to ignore her. "You know, Shelly, you have really pretty feet."
Rochelle paled and bit her trembling lip as her hopes fell. Not her feet. Anything but that. This was what she had been fearing the most. That she had survived the tickling he'd given her so far was in itself a shocker, but there would be no way she could handle him tickling her feet like this. She'd go insane. There was no doubt in her mind of that.
"No, Jack!...Don't!...I mean it!...Don't!...Not my feet!...I swear!...Don't!" She was back to babbling again. She scrunched her toes and wiggled her feet from side to side, hoping to ward off any ideas he might have of touching her there. Surely he understood that there was no way he could do this to her, didn't he?
Apparently, he didn't. Jack gave no reply to her protests, but instead answered her by placing his fingertips on the soles of both her feet. Her legs were spread wide, but not so wide that he couldn't stand at the foot of the bed and reach both feet at once. And this is precisely what he did. He'd tied her ankles flush with the bedposts so that her heels extended beyond the foot of the bed. As a result, there was no place for her to feet to hide. They dangled out in the space past the end of the bed, naked and helpless, and just begged to be tickled. There was no way a man with tickling fetish could resist them, and Jack was no exception. He tickled her feet.
Rochelle flipped into overdrive. Her legs spasmed hard as her body instinctively tried to pull her feet away. She flopped around on the bed like a fish out of water, laughing and screeching like a banshee. This was the worst tickling yet. The ticklishness of her feet defied description. And the pedicure and lotioning she'd given herself earlier was only making it worse. There were no words to describe the level of agony her husband was putting her through as his fingernails glided effortlessly down the soft skin of her soles. The Hell she thought she was in before now looked like a day in the Spa. She couldn't form words to protest. She couldn't think straight. All she could do was laugh...and suffer.
"So what do you think...does it tickle more now?"
She couldn't understand Jack's insistence on getting an answer to this question, but through her agony, she realized that salvation might lay in giving him what he wanted.
"Yes!...Yes!" she managed to scream between tortured laughter. She would have admitted to shooting JFK, being a witch, or anything else he wanted at this point. Anything to get him to stop.
"Good...I was hoping so," he said, and increased the pace of his flickering fingernails.
Rochelle lost track of time. The world drifted away until there was nothing left but her feet and the sensations traveling up her legs. The tickling of her feet and toes seemed endless, like Moby Dick or the Grammys. She lost the will to struggle, the will to fight. Beaten and subdued, like a wild horse being broken, she resigned herself to the fate that there was no mercy to be had, and no quarter to be given. Her husband was set on tickling her to death, and there was nothing she could do about it. She gave up.
And a strange thing happened as she did so. Something like a switch triggered inside in her head. Suddenly, it no longer seemed like torture. The fingernails scraping the flesh of her feet still tickled every bit as much, but Rochelle discovered that she actually seemed to be enjoying it. As the laughter poured of her lungs like a tidal wave, filling the room with the sounds of her torment, she found herself relishing the sensations. It was as if in giving in, her brain was now free to receive pleasure instead of being bombarded with signals of anguish. Suddenly it felt luxurious to be tied so helplessly. Suddenly it felt exquisite to be so naked and so vulnerable, to have her unbearable ticklishness being used against her. Rochelle found herself loving her bondage, loving the fact that she was unable to escape the wicked nails of her husband's fingertips, loving the fact that he was tickling her poor feet without mercy. The heat returned between her legs, like a sleeping dragon slowly awakening. She found herself craving more stimulation on her feet, wanting Jack to tickle her harder and faster. Her laughter grew lighter and more free as her polished toes wiggled joyfully and her feet twitched in playful delight. The dragon between her legs was wide awake now, building up a head of steam for another huge blast. As Jack attacked the ridge beneath her toes on both feet, spots that would normally have her cutting her own feet off at the ankles to escape such awful sensations, she found her loins tingling and her nipples hardening. Jack tickled and tickled, and Rochelle's sex throbbed and jumped with every touch. As she reveled in her torture, she began to wonder if she could be tickled to orgasm.
Jack never gave her the chance to find out. Had she been able to see, Rochelle would have marveled at the speed with which he moved. He was on her in an instant, his body pressed onto hers, his engorged member sliding into her without resistance. Her eyes rolled back in her head as her womanhood hungrily accepted this intrusion. She moaned loudly, the sound one of pure and unbridled ecstasy. Jack's mouth was engaging hers, his tie was flopping against her cheek, his hands were on her breasts. He pumped her at a steady pace, touching her both lightly and roughly, exploring her both tenderly and aggressively, yet showing remarkable patience for the state of excitement they were both in. Rochelle's head swam. No man had ever felt so good inside her. No man had ever stoked her fires to such a heightened state of arousal. She felt better than any human being had a right to feel. She never wanted it to end, yet she knew that neither of them could last long. As they climaxed together, a volcanic eruption of passion that ended with both of them crying raw, savage sounds of pleasure, Rochelle felt her heart being won all over again by the man whom she called her husband.
**************
The next morning over coffee, Linda noticed something different about her friend. "Are you okay, Shelly? You look a little, I don't know, dazed."
Rochelle was dazed, but she was also beaming. She couldn't wait to tell her friend. "I did what you told me, Linda. It was unbelievable!"
"You did?!" Linda's eyes grew wide. For the next 20 minutes, Rochelle recounted detail by detail the events of the night before. She conveyed the roller coaster of emotions she experienced, the depths of torment she felt, the heights of ecstasy she reached. She talked about how the experience changed her life, and how the sex between her and Jack had never been better. As she mentioned how excited they both were to play the game again tonight, she was giddy with joy.
"What that what is was like for you and Phil the first time? Is it like that every time?" Rochelle asked hopefully.
"I wouldn't know, Shelly. Phil and I have never done that. Christopher, please don't pull Mommy's hair.
Rochelle was stunned. "Wha-what? What do you mean you've never done that? You told me yesterday you did it all the time."
Linda grinned sheepishly. "Well, I lied about that."
Rochelle's eyes grew wide with astonishment. "What do you mean you lied? What about Phil's tickling fetish?"
"Phil doesn't have a tickling fetish."
"But you said all men have a tickling fetish!"
"I lied about that too. Only Jack has a tickling fetish."
Rochelle couldn't believe her ears. "Linda!" she shouted loud enough to startle the baby. Christopher began to cry as Toby and Max stopped their game to look over.
Linda rocked her baby and consoled him. "I'm sorry, Shel, but I had to lie to you. You would never have gone through with it if I hadn't."
"You're damned right I wouldn't!" Rochelle was getting angry. "You'd better start explaining!"
"Okay okay, calm down. I'll tell you. Last week the mailman accidentally put some of your mail in our box. One of the pieces was an envelope addressed to Jack. It was all brown with no markings."
"Jack gets those from work sometimes."
"No dear. That's how adult magazines are delivered." Rochelle felt a sting as the truth in Linda's words rang true. "Anyway, I tried to be subtle about it. I was going to put it back in your mailbox and pretend like I'd never seen it, but Jack saw me as I was doing it. He caught me with the envelope in my hand out by the boxes. You should have seen him. He must have thought I knew what was in it, because he turned ghost white. He started explaining to me...I guess it would be more accurate to say he started confessing to me, about how he had a tickling fetish and that it didn't make him a bad man or a freak. I had no idea what he was talking about until I realized that he thought I knew what was in the envelope, which I didn't. I saw it was eating him up inside, so I listened while he poured his heart out to me. He really needed someone to tell this to, and I guess he was too ashamed to come to you about it." Rochelle blushed slightly at this. "He mentioned how badly he wanted to introduce tickling into your sex lives, but how he was afraid of how you'd react. He said he'd trying so hard to act normal about it all these years, but how he didn't know how much longer he could take it. I promised him I would try to help by talking to you about it. He seemed so relieved, that I just had to help him. Now you understand why I did what I did, don't you?"
Rochelle nodded. She felt the anger wash away as she looked into the eyes of her friend, a friend who had lied to her in order to help save her marriage. And she thought about her husband, the man whom she loved, and how he had had such passions bottled up inside him, and had Linda to thank for helping him release them. Rochelle understood everything perfectly now.
She moved across the patio table and embraced her friend. "Thank you," she said as tears sprung into her eyes. The women held each other quietly for a moment.
"So it was really something, eh?" Linda asked as Rochelle returned to her coffee.
"You have no idea," Rochelle replied, once again beaming. "You should really try it out for yourself..."
THE END
Laughter
"You really need to have one of these you know," Linda grinned. "You'll make such a great Mommy."
"I know," Rochelle replied as they took seats out on the back deck. "Soon, I hope." Out on the grass, Toby and Max, her Golden Retriever puppy, were already engaged in a fierce game of Keep Away.
"What's the holdup?" Linda asked as Rochelle began pouring them coffee.
"I don't know. Something seems to be bothering Jack lately. He's been acting sorta weird." Rochelle and Linda had been neighbors just over a year now, and having their morning coffee together had become a regular occurrence over the past few weeks. Despite Linda being a good 7 years older, the two were fast becoming the best of friends.
"Weird how?"
"It's hard to say. Distant, I guess. Like his mind is somewhere else."
Linda paused. "Do you think he's cheating on you?"
It was Rochelle's turn to pause. "No, I don't think so." Another pause. "Jesus I hope not!"
"Relax, Shelly, I'm sure he isn't. You guys have only been married for 2 years. It takes at least five for them to start screwing around!"
Rochelle didn't laugh at Linda's poor attempt at humor. "I never even thought he might be..."
"Shelly, look, forget I said it. Jack is too good of a man to do something like that. He can be trusted." Rochelle nodded, still lost in her thoughts. While Christopher played her hair, Linda looked to uproot the seeds of negativity she'd planted. "How has the sex been?" she asked hopefully.
"Okay, I guess. Nothing special. A little stale maybe." Rochelle had visions of her husband in the arms of another woman and paled.
"Oh," said a disappointed Linda. "How about the tickling?"
"The what?" Rochelle looked up from her trance.
"The tickling. How has that been?"
"What are you talking about?"
"You know. How has the tickling been going?"
"Linda, I haven't the foggiest what you are talking about. What tickling?"
Linda rolled her eyes as if this were obvious. "You know, where you tease Jack, then he ties you up and tickles you, and then you have mind blowing sex." All this was said with the face of a professional poker player. Rochelle looked for any hint of a joke and found nothing.
Rochelle blushed twelve shades of crimson. She and Linda had talked about many subjects during their morning coffee chats, some of them steamier than others, but this was the first time the subject of bondage had ever come up. "Linda, you can't be serious. That's absurd."
"Absurd?! What's absurd about it?"
"Ties me up and tickles me? That's insane!"
"No it isn't. Phil does it to me all the time."
Rochelle, whose color was just returning to normal, flushed pink yet again. "You're joking."
"I'm not. Christopher, no, don't play with Mommy's earrings."
A moment of silence passed between the two women, with Toby's constant giggling providing the only background noise in the still morning air. Rochelle couldn't believe what she was hearing, yet she was bursting with questions. Finally she couldn't contain her curiosity any longer. "And you let him?"
"Of course I let him." A look of realization suddenly came into Linda's face. "Shelly, are you telling me that in all the time you've been married, you've never once let Jack tie and tickle you?"
Rochelle didn't know what to think. "No...no...never..."
"Of course! That explains it then. That's why Jack's been acting weird," announced Linda like Sherlock Holmes wrapping up a case.
"But...he's never said...what...why would he want to?" Rochelle was as confused as she could ever remember being.
"All men want to." Linda was looking at her with concern. "You really don't know about this?"
Rochelle shook her head in embarrassment. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "No, I don't."
"It's okay, I just assumed you did. I thought all women knew about men's tickling fetishes."
"Tickling fetishes?" Nothing Linda was saying made any sense at all.
"Yes, all men have a fetish for tickling. It's like hardwired into their DNA or something. Christopher, Mommy said No!"
Rochelle searched her memory banks for any remembrance of hearing such a fact, and nothing even rang a bell. "I've never heard that."
Linda shrugged. "Well, they do. Every one of them."
Rochelle thought about the times Jack had playfully tickled her. Just little pokes in her ribs or a squeezing of her knee. Nothing intense. It had never been anything more than a bit of good fun, but had she been missing the boat completely? Had he been trying to tell her something with those innocent tickles?
"So...so what do I do?"
"There's nothing to it. Tease him a little. Flirt with him. Act a little naughty, if you know what I mean. Drop the hint that you deserve a little tickling, and let him take care of the rest."
Rochelle paled. She imagined her husband tying her to their four-poster bed for the purpose of tickling her. While the thought of being tied during sex titillated her senses, she couldn't imagine being tickled like that. It would be unbearable.
"Isn't...isn't it torture?"
"Well, yes and no. Sure, it tickles all right, but it feels good too. And it's so worth it afterward."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, after Phil tickles me for awhile, he's so horny that the sex is incredible. I mean...he's like...insatiable. I swear, that man is harder than granite after he's worked me over for a bit."
Rochelle swallowed hard. As outrageous as the things Linda was saying sounded to her, they did all seem to make sense. Jack was distant. He did seem uninterested in her in the bedroom. If she'd been denying him one of his primal urges for their entire 4 year relationship, could she really blame him? Linda seemed so positive that this was something she should have known all along, and yet she hadn't. Didn't that make her a failure as a woman and as a wife?
The solution was right in front of her, and yet she hesitated. Tied and tickled. No way. There was no way she could do it. The problem wasn't that she hated to be tickled. Far from it. She never minded the feel of Jack's hands on her for any reason, and a little tickle now and then was okay by her. The problem was, Rochelle wasn't just ticklish, she was super ticklish. And not just in spots. For her it was everywhere. It was one thing for Jack to give her a little poke that made her jump and giggle and have that be the end of it. It was quite another to be tied helpless and have him tickle torturing her. There would be no way to stop it, no way to pull away. She'd go nuts. No way. There had to be another solution. Anything would be preferable to that.
"I...I don't think I can..."
"Why not?"
"Because..."
"Because?"
"Because..I'm just way too ticklish."
"Oh!" Linda laughed. "Don't worry about that. I'm the same way."
"You don't understand...I'll die if Jack ties and tickles me. I really, really can't handle being tickled."
"Shelly, trust me. You won't die. In fact, you'll probably love it."
"I highly doubt that!" Rochelle exclaimed, glad to finally say something she was sure of.
"Christopher, my button is not a chew toy." Linda reached for the coffee decanter to freshen up her cup. To Rochelle, she said with a grin, "Trust me Shel. It will do wonders for your sex life."
**************
Rochelle was waiting for Jack when he got home from work that night. He opened the door to see his wife standing before him, giggling and blushing. She wore only a short robe made of silk; one that barely covered her bottom and hid even less in the front. He could tell she was fresh from the bath; her hair was pinned up and still wet, the way he liked it, and she was lightly perfumed. Her shapely legs were shiny from a recent shaving and lotioning, and even her toes were decorated with a fresh coat of cherry polish. She stood on tip toe with her hands on his shoulders to kiss him hello. She also 'accidentally' brushed her hip up against his crotch.
"Welcome home, Jack. I've missed you," she breathed into his ear, running her hands along his shoulders and back.
"I'll say," he grinned. "What's the occasion?"
"Whatever do you mean, dear?" she said coyly. She backed a step away and toyed with the belt on her robe, threatening to pull it open but not doing so.
He gave her a quizzical look. "Are you feeling all right, Shelly?"
She tittered and ran her hands over her own breasts and down her hips and exposed thighs. "I feel all right to me. Don't I look all right?"
"Yeah, you look great. Come over here and let me have a feel for myself."
"Not yet. Come sit on the couch and tell me about your day." She took him by the tie and led him to the sofa. He followed along, confused. She sat him at one end of the couch and plopped down on the other so she could face him with her legs bent and her feet flat on the cushions. Jack had a clear view of his wife's womanhood and the hands that crept down to touch herself there. Her eyes sparkled with mischief.
Jack reached for her. "Ahh ahh ahh! Not til I hear about your day." She fended him off by placing the toes of one delicate foot on his chest.
Jack was flustered. What game was his wife up to? He stammered his way through telling her about the meetings he'd had today and the presentation he'd given. All the while, Rochelle lightly fingered herself and rubbed his chest and shoulders with her feet and toes.
"Okay, now I've told you. Now come over here." Jack growled, a bit impatient. Rochelle's toes had brushed up against the bulge in his pants more than once while he talked, and his hormones were raging.
"Shouldn't we have dinner first, dear?" Rochelle asked, again fending him off with a foot.
"Shelly, this isn't funny any more. Quit teasing me."
Rochelle feigned surprise at his words and tone. "I'm sorry, Jack. Have I been teasing you?"
"You know damned well that you have."
Up until this point, she'd played the part of the temptress to a tee. Rochelle was proud of her body, and was not shy about her sexuality, so this part of the game had been easy. But the part she had been dreading all along was finally upon her. She bit her lip to keep it from trembling.
"I'm sorry that I've been bad, baby." Her voice wavered a bit. "Perhaps you should punish me."
"Huh?"
Rochelle dove off the deep end. "I think you should tickle me for being a tease." Her body trembled as she spoke these words.
A slow smile crept across Jack's face. "Oh you do, do you?"
Rochelle's brain screamed to tell him no, that she had made a mistake. "Uh huh. I think I need a good tickling to learn my lesson." She could hardly believe the words were coming out of her mouth.
"Okay Jack," Rochelle's brain wailed, "tell me I'm nuts and tickling is the last thing on your mind right now! Tell me to screw that and you want to fuck, right now!"
"I think you are right, Shelly," he said, and her heart sank in her chest. She bit down on her lip so hard it nearly drew blood. Linda had been right.
"The...the bedroom...follow me," she said, but it didn't sound like her voice. She would never invite her husband into the bedroom to tickle her, but yet she had just done that very thing. The whole scene was more than surreal. It felt more like a dream than reality. She barely acknowledged that she was leading him by the hand to the room where they slept. The room she had already prepared.
The soft glow of many candles greeted them as they entered the bedroom. Their queen sized bed had been stripped of it's linens until only the bottom sheet remained. On this bottom sheet, rose petals were strewn about. Attached to the posts in each of the bed's corners was a nylon. The other ends of the nylons all pointed to the center of the mattress. A huge, almost comical looking feather also awaited them on the bed.
Rochelle allowed her husband to reach around her from behind and untie the belt on her robe. His lips were on her neck, and his body was pressed against hers. She rolled her head to expose more of her neck for him, purring, and reached up with her hands to tousle his hair. He felt good, and she liked what he was doing. Secretly, she hoped that he would wish to skip the torturous foreplay and move straight on to the mind blowing sex. That fantasy was dispelled almost immediately as she felt his fingertips lightly tickling both of her sides at once. She squealed and bounced out of his grasp, the robe falling from her shoulders as she did so.
He was grinning widely at her. "On the bed, honey. Time for your punishment."
Rochelle swallowed hard and slid her naked body onto the bed. The feeling that this was all a dream that she would soon awaken from had not left her. "Maybe he'll just tie me up and forget about tickling me. He won't be able to resist me once I'm helpless," she thought to herself, but her thoughts lacked any conviction. If Jack had waited 4 plus years for this, he wasn't going to let her off so easily.
Jack was quickly roping her limbs off to each corner of the bed. She offered no resistance as he manipulated her. He moved with surprising speed, his face betraying an intensity she did not often seen in him. "He only gets like that when he's passionate about something, like sports or weight lifting," she thought, and suppressed a groan at the realization. The knots about her wrists and ankles were tight, almost too tight, and they seemed a little too perfect for a man who worked with his pen and not his hands. "How is he so good at this?" she wondered. She watched her husband with a bit of awe and fear, as if she were looking upon stranger. When he was done, her body was stretched taut, spread out like a virgin on Prom night. He'd granted her no slack whatsoever, not even a little room for wiggling or bucking. With a smirk of approval, he circled the bed, admiring his handiwork.
Rochelle lay silently, her breathing deep and wavering, her mind caught up in a whirlwind of emotions. One the one hand, there was a raw sensuality to being bound like this in front of the man she loved, making her wonder why she had never suggested that he tie her up before. She could only imagine how wanton and naked she must look to him. Her nipples were standing at attention like hard pencil erasers, and her sex was moist and waiting. Every inch of her skin was available for him to enjoy. Nothing was left to the imagination. The contrast of her nakedness and helplessness to his suit and tie had her lusting for him. Aching for him. She felt almost drunk with heady desire. He was in control, complete control, and she was his for the taking. His to dominate and devour. His to conquer and claim as his own. She wanted him to ravage her body, wanted to feel his teeth on her flesh, wanted to cry out for him to come and fuck her hard. She squirmed in her bonds, her hips grinding into the mattress of their own volition.
On the other hand, she had never felt so exposed or vulnerable in her entire life. He could do whatever he wished to her, and she was powerless to stop it. And what he wished to do was tickle her, she knew that. Goose pimples broke out all over at the thought of his torturing her sensitive skin. She was ticklish from head to toe, and there would be no relief, no escape. No way of covering up. No way of running away. Would he tickle her lightly or ruthlessly? Would he be merciful, or would he take 4 years of frustration out on her? As ticklish as she was, would she be able to handle more than just a little tickling? Could she survive it if he chose to tickle her to her limits and beyond? The anticipation of torments unimagined had her trembling in fright. He'd yet to touch her, and already she felt ready to leap out of her skin. The millions of nerve endings that lay just below the surface of her ticklish flesh were all on high alert, each one ready to broadcast unbearable signals of ticklish agony to her already panicked brain.
The combination of lust and fear brewing inside Rochelle was intoxicating to the point of almost maddening. She felt she would scream if he didn't touch her soon, and was sure she would scream the moment he did.
The look on Jack's face told her that he was relishing the moment. It was obvious that he had indeed been waiting all these years to have his wife in this very situation, and now that he had her, he was going to enjoy every savory second of it. Picking up the huge feather she had left out for him and twirling it mockingly between his fingertips, he gave her an evil grin that said, "You're mine". Rochelle involuntarily shuddered at the sight.
"Let him take care of the rest," Linda had said. That was just what Rochelle was afraid of. What was Jack capable of? How would he torture her first? The trembling of her bottom lip could not be stopped.
It turned out that Jack wasn't quite ready to begin torturing her just yet. He bent over and produced the belt from the robe Rochelle was no longer wearing. She deduced at once what his intentions were.
Rochelle broke the tension and the silence. "No Jack. Please. Don't put that over my eyes. Please. I want to see. At least let me see." She was borderline babbling.
Jack shook his head. "Shhhhhhh, it's okay. I won't hurt you." The mock blindfold was wrapped around her head and knotted behind her ear. Rochelle heard her husband's soothing words, and though she believed them, they could not stop the enveloping darkness of the blindfold from elevating her panic.
"Jack, please! I'm scared! I don't want to do this anymore!" But was that the truth? As terrified as she was of being even more helpless than before, hadn't the blindfold added to her lust as well? Not only could she no longer stop him from touching her wherever he liked, but now she couldn't see it coming either. All she could do is lay there and feel...and suffer...and enjoy. Rochelle's heart rate kicked up a few notches.
She felt him brushing a lock of hair away from her mouth, felt him kiss her deeply on the lips. She swooned. Her loins fluttered as she greedily accepted his mouth on hers. Their lips crushed one another as their tongues mingled and danced. Rochelle was on fire. She ached to feel his hands on her breasts, to feel his mouth between her legs, to feel his body on top of hers. "Touch me!" her body screamed.
But Jack pulled away, disengaging his lips from hers. She groaned and reached with her mouth, seeking to regain contact with him, but he wasn't letting himself be found. She felt his weight lift off the bed beside her, heard him move a step or two away. Her ears were wide open, listening hard for more, but only silence could be heard. The moment stretched on. She strained to hear him
in the darkness, but there was nothing.
A wave of terror washed over her again, temporarily dousing the fires between her legs. "Jack?" she whispered. She whispered because she was afraid, like a little girl lost alone in the dark. Had Jack left the room? She didn't think so, but she couldn't be sure. What was he doing?
Something tickled at her nose. She gave a short scream of surprise and lurched her head to the side. The tickling sensation moved to her ear, which was now exposed, and that was received with a lurch of her head to the other side. She then felt the tickling repeated in her other ear.
So it had begun. Jack was using the huge feather on her face. Rochelle playfully thrashed her head from side to side, trying to avoid sneezing or feeling the plumage in her ear canals. She giggled; it was more annoying than tickly, but not entirely unpleasant. If this was the sort of tickling Jack had in store for her, then her fears were grossly over exaggerated. "Jaaaack! Quit tickling my face!" She figured it wouldn't hurt to play along. He'd waited a long time for this; she may as well play the part of the damsel in distress. The tickling sensations found her cheeks and mouth, and Rochelle mock pretended to bite at the feather. Nope, this wasn't so bad at all.
The feather began to dance under her chin and along her collarbone. These sensations were a little more of the 'ticklish' variety, causing the return of the goose pimples. Rochelle struggled to lower her chin and shrug her shoulders, but couldn't quite keep the feather away from these hot spots. She no longer giggled to play along; now she giggled because she couldn't help herself.
"Cut it out, Jack! Stop it! Get that off me!" Her words were punctuated by the scratchy giggles produced by pressing one's chin into one's chest. She didn't mind what he was doing to her so much, and sincerely hoped that if she played her part of the tortured victim well enough, this was as intense as it would get. She figured that if she could convince him she was suffering now, there would be no reason for him to take the game further. It wasn't a bad plan, but she had no way of knowing how fruitless it was.
The feather began to tease her lower. It flirted with her underarms and fluttered across her engorged nipples. Rochelle's torment and arousal both increased accordingly. Each pass of the feather near her underarms had her gasping, and each lingering feathering of one of her nipples was met with "mmmmmmmm"s and "oooohhh"s of approval. The skin Jack teased around and between these areas kept her giggling steadily. She gyrated and squirmed as much as the nylons around her wrists and ankles would allow, but the feather never lost contact with the roundness of her breasts. "It tickles, but it feels good too," Linda had said. Rochelle had to agree. She was being tickled to the point where it was nearly torturous, but she was finding the experience more than just a little pleasant. It felt fun to squirm and laugh, to lay there and be teased by the wicked feather. The wetness between her legs betrayed just how much she was enjoying this game.
The feather explored her lower still. She felt the wispy plumage dancing along her flat stomach and snaking over to her taut rib cage on either side. There was nothing sensuous about being tickled in these places; here, it just tickled. Rochelle's enjoyment of the game was quickly dissipating as Jack attacked two of her more ticklish spots. Her laughter increased in volume, and her twisting from side to side became more desperate.
"Jack!...Enough!...Staahaahaap!...Please!...Jack!"
But Jack didn't stop. He feathered her incessantly, increasing his range of coverage as he did so. He teased Rochelle by occasionally brushing against her nipples from time to time, but mostly he focused on more ticklish zones. The feather no longer threatened her underarms, now it zeroed right in on the sensitive hollows in the center of each for an prolonged stay. It traveled the length of each protruding rib on her left side before repeating the torture on it's twin on the right side. It circled her belly button in endless loops before eventually settling on it for an extended tickling. It discovered the flesh between her navel and her shaved womanhood as a most unexpected and ticklish target and feasted on her there. Rochelle bucked and laughed no matter where he struck. Her sensitivity to the feather was at an all time high. She found herself repeating "Jack!" and "Stop!" when she could catch a breath between giggles.
Finally the feather did stop. Rochelle lay panting, slumped in her bonds. Jack really had tied her well; she had hardly been able to squirm during the torturous tickling. She tried to relax, happy to no longer be struggling to avoid the ruthless feather. "Being tickled is exhausting!" she thought. Now that it was over, she had a chance to reflect on the ordeal. The finale had been a bit extreme, a bit more than she would have liked, but over all, she was pleased with the experience. She was smoldering with desire, and the nylons and the feather had a lot to do with that. Plus, if Jack was even half as horny as she was right now, the sex they would soon be having would be killer. It would be "worth it" as Linda had said. So what if Jack had found dozens of unknown tickle spots on her torso? It wasn't the means that was important, it was the end.
"Honey, that's was wild! It was actually kind of fuooooOOOOOOHHHHH...." Rochelle's confession was cut off by the irritating feeling of the feather tickling her inner thighs. She bucked hard, desperate to close her legs, but there was no give in the nylons holding her ankles flush with the bedposts. Apparently, her tickle torture wasn't quite over like she thought. Not only was it not over, but it had immediately gotten worse. Much worse. Her inner thighs were like sacred ground, like virgin territory. Not only were they baby soft and smooth to the touch, but it turns out they were off the charts ticklish. It took only a moment of feathering her here in these uncharted waters to have her whooping and thrashing with a frenzy.
"Noooooo!" she screamed, and meant it. Her legs spasmed as Jack and his feather tickled them without mercy. He was dangerously close to her heated womanhood, but instead of intensifying her lust, it only increased her torment. The closer he got to pay dirt, the more it tickled. The joints where her legs joined her pelvis proved to be the pinnacles of her anguish; she was insanely ticklish in these normally hidden spots. Rochelle's laughter grew as wild as her struggles for escape. To her, it felt like mindless ants swarming all over her thighs and pubic region. This was the type of tickle torture she had anticipated and dreaded, the kind that would drive her mad.
Rochelle guessed that Jack must have sensed her need for relief, for he did not tickle her long between her legs. The feather was replaced by his fingers, which stroked her love button and teased her opening. She immediately calmed, cooing and moaning and grinding against his hand. The logic behind this fetish men had for tickling was starting to become clear to her; she could not remember ever being more primed for sex or more needy for her husband's touch. It was like an aphrodisiac, a twisted but strangely effective form of foreplay. Her sex was slippery with her juices, and Jack's hand glided effortlessly across her lips and core, sending waves of pleasure through her body.
"Oooooh, Jack...yeah...touch me...touch me like that....oh...."
She thought she heard her husband chuckle, but couldn't be sure. Not that it mattered. He could have sung The Star Spangled Banner at this point and she wouldn't have noticed. Consumed by the feelings of his thumb massaging her love button and his fingers slipping inside her to stimulate her g-spot, Rochelle was lost in her own private world of pleasure. All of her senses seemed to be concentrated on the warm place between her legs as seeds of a mighty orgasm were planted and nurtured there. Her body jerked and convulsed. Jack was touching her just right, the way only he knew how, and it wouldn't be long before his expert fingers had her climaxing like a wildcat. Her head rolled from side to side as she gritted her teeth and moaned. The tension building between her legs was massive.
"Oh God...oh yeah...oh God...oh God..."
Rochelle felt the moment approaching. Jack's fingers were playing her like a piano, and it was time for the grand finale. Her body vibrated on the bed, her arms and legs tensed up like a bow string. Her head banged against the pillow, although she was not aware of it, and her hand clenched into fists while her toes pointed outward. It was coming. So close. So very close. Almost here...
And then the manual manipulation of her erogenous zones stopped. The hand that had pushed her to the brink of orgasm withdrew. Rochelle whimpered. "Jack...please...don't stop...finish me..." Her loins tingled, begging to be touched.
This time she did hear her husband's chuckle. He leaned in close to her ear and whispered back, "Not yet, sweetie."
The feather was back between her legs, tickling her thighs and upper groin. Rochelle wailed, her cry a mixture of surprise and frustration and torment. She flopped around uselessly on the bed, unable to believe her husband was tickling her again, and unable to deal with the maddening sensations between her legs. Just a moment before, the most powerful release of her life had been within her reach, and now, just seconds later, she was back in the throes of a futile struggle to evade more torturous tickling. Both desperate for release and desperate for escape, she didn't know what to do or how to feel. There was no precedent in her brain that told her how to deal with a situation like this. To make matters worse, Jack was now feathering her sex as well. He was touching her lightly; too light to bring her off, but perfect for teasing this highly sensitive area of her body. Jack's masterful use of the quill had her twitching and squirming to avoid it while at the same time grinding her hips to get off on it. He kept her on the brink of orgasm in this fashion, right on that unbearable line between build up and climax, but did not push her over the edge. It was torture, pure and simple. Rochelle screeched loudly in protest.
It was hard to say whether or not Jack was being cruel to her, for no sooner had Rochelle let loose with her animalistic cry than the feather was replaced by his mouth. It only took a moment. Just a well placed swirl of his tongue, with just enough pressure, and Rochelle was exploding. A high pitched, siren-like sound escaped from her throat. Her body arched, forcing her sex upward to smash against his mouth, forcing her limbs to tremble with vibrations. She climaxed for what felt like forever. Orgasm engulfed her, washing over her entire body again and again, from the tips of her toes to the ends of her hair, until she felt like an electric current was running through her. Jack drew it all out of her with his tongue, following her spastic movements, coaxing every last ounce of build up out of her. It was the climax to end all climaxes.
When it was done, Rochelle lay still, unable to move, and unwilling to try. She felt like crying, so great was the release she felt. Had she had the will to speak, she would have uttered just one word. "Incredible." Her body still tingled, but was now calm, like she was floating in a warm bath.
She was only vaguely aware of her husband leaning in near her again. It took what little energy she had to turn her head in his direction and work up a weak smile. He whispered, "They say a woman is more ticklish after she comes. Think we should find out, Shelly?" Rochelle's smile vanished in a heartbeat.
"Nooooooooooo..." she moaned pitifully. It was supposed to have come out more forcefully, but she lacked the energy to scream properly. Her brain quickly abandoned the peaceful state of bliss she had just been enjoying and returned to alarm mode. "No more..." she begged.
"Oh yes," Jack said. "Lots more."
Rochelle felt fingers rapidly tickling up and down her sides. For a moment, she lay stunned. Neither her brain nor her body was ready for such an attack just yet. Her nervous system was sluggish, like fuel lines in need of unclogging, and it took a second or two for the signals to travel up her spine. But once they did, the results were electric.
Rochelle screamed almost the exact same scream as the one before that caused Jack to stop tickling her groin and thighs. Except this time, there was no stopping. Her scream yielded way to frantic cackling. It was a hard, unpleasant sort of laughter. Tortured laughter. Her body thrashed wildly with what little room it was allowed. Jack's fingers were wiggling and scratching both sides of her waist and ribs, and there was no place for her to escape them. The nylons held her fast, giving her husband all the room and leverage he needed to attack her without refrain. She screamed again.
Jack's fingers flew over her skin. He was a tickling machine. In one instant, he was digging into her ribs. In the next, he was lightly scratching her underarms. Then he was down pinching just above her hip bones. Then he was spider-walking his fingertips across her lurching belly. Then he was squeezing at her thighs, or teasing her nipples, or jiggling a finger in her navel. The was no place that he touched or could touch that wasn't agonizingly ticklish for Rochelle. He tortured her systematically, making sure to never let her get desensitized, and making sure she never knew where he'd strike next. He had no idea just how effective this strategy was. Every stroke, pinch, claw, and wiggle hit a bulls eye in the part of her brain that recognized tickling.
She was in hysterics. Her lungs burned and her heart pounded loudly in her chest. A fine layer of sweat had broken out from the exertion of struggling, and beneath the robe belt blindfold, the first signs of wetness were starting to appear. Her stomach and throat hurt from laughing, her wrists and ankles ached from their bonds, and her muscles were growing fatigued. And yet the tickling continued. There was no escape, and there was no mercy. Rochelle was in Hell.
Just when it seemed like she couldn't take anymore, the tickling stopped. Rochelle had no way of knowing if this was due to her husband's awareness of her state of anxiety, or if it was because his fingers were tired, or if it was just part of his master plan, but she didn't much care at this point. He wasn't tickling her anymore, and that's all that was important. This wasn't a time for questions or reflection, this was a time for recovery. A coughing fit overtook her as she struggled to return to some semblance or normality in her breathing pattern. The tingling sensations that lingered over her skin even after his fingers had left eventually faded, and her heart stopped threatening to leap out of her chest. She breathed deeply, not wanting to think about what might come next.
"Did you feel more ticklish?" Jack was asking.
Rochelle ignored his question. "Jack...please...I'm begging you...untie me...please..." She wanted to be mad, but feared that any tone other than a pitiful one might bring her more trouble. She could be mad later after she was untied.
"Hmmmm, not sure, eh? We'll keep trying then."
"Jack! I mean it...let me go...I've had enough...please!" It was getting harder to keep the anger out of her voice.
It was Jack's turn to ignore her. "You know, Shelly, you have really pretty feet."
Rochelle paled and bit her trembling lip as her hopes fell. Not her feet. Anything but that. This was what she had been fearing the most. That she had survived the tickling he'd given her so far was in itself a shocker, but there would be no way she could handle him tickling her feet like this. She'd go insane. There was no doubt in her mind of that.
"No, Jack!...Don't!...I mean it!...Don't!...Not my feet!...I swear!...Don't!" She was back to babbling again. She scrunched her toes and wiggled her feet from side to side, hoping to ward off any ideas he might have of touching her there. Surely he understood that there was no way he could do this to her, didn't he?
Apparently, he didn't. Jack gave no reply to her protests, but instead answered her by placing his fingertips on the soles of both her feet. Her legs were spread wide, but not so wide that he couldn't stand at the foot of the bed and reach both feet at once. And this is precisely what he did. He'd tied her ankles flush with the bedposts so that her heels extended beyond the foot of the bed. As a result, there was no place for her to feet to hide. They dangled out in the space past the end of the bed, naked and helpless, and just begged to be tickled. There was no way a man with tickling fetish could resist them, and Jack was no exception. He tickled her feet.
Rochelle flipped into overdrive. Her legs spasmed hard as her body instinctively tried to pull her feet away. She flopped around on the bed like a fish out of water, laughing and screeching like a banshee. This was the worst tickling yet. The ticklishness of her feet defied description. And the pedicure and lotioning she'd given herself earlier was only making it worse. There were no words to describe the level of agony her husband was putting her through as his fingernails glided effortlessly down the soft skin of her soles. The Hell she thought she was in before now looked like a day in the Spa. She couldn't form words to protest. She couldn't think straight. All she could do was laugh...and suffer.
"So what do you think...does it tickle more now?"
She couldn't understand Jack's insistence on getting an answer to this question, but through her agony, she realized that salvation might lay in giving him what he wanted.
"Yes!...Yes!" she managed to scream between tortured laughter. She would have admitted to shooting JFK, being a witch, or anything else he wanted at this point. Anything to get him to stop.
"Good...I was hoping so," he said, and increased the pace of his flickering fingernails.
Rochelle lost track of time. The world drifted away until there was nothing left but her feet and the sensations traveling up her legs. The tickling of her feet and toes seemed endless, like Moby Dick or the Grammys. She lost the will to struggle, the will to fight. Beaten and subdued, like a wild horse being broken, she resigned herself to the fate that there was no mercy to be had, and no quarter to be given. Her husband was set on tickling her to death, and there was nothing she could do about it. She gave up.
And a strange thing happened as she did so. Something like a switch triggered inside in her head. Suddenly, it no longer seemed like torture. The fingernails scraping the flesh of her feet still tickled every bit as much, but Rochelle discovered that she actually seemed to be enjoying it. As the laughter poured of her lungs like a tidal wave, filling the room with the sounds of her torment, she found herself relishing the sensations. It was as if in giving in, her brain was now free to receive pleasure instead of being bombarded with signals of anguish. Suddenly it felt luxurious to be tied so helplessly. Suddenly it felt exquisite to be so naked and so vulnerable, to have her unbearable ticklishness being used against her. Rochelle found herself loving her bondage, loving the fact that she was unable to escape the wicked nails of her husband's fingertips, loving the fact that he was tickling her poor feet without mercy. The heat returned between her legs, like a sleeping dragon slowly awakening. She found herself craving more stimulation on her feet, wanting Jack to tickle her harder and faster. Her laughter grew lighter and more free as her polished toes wiggled joyfully and her feet twitched in playful delight. The dragon between her legs was wide awake now, building up a head of steam for another huge blast. As Jack attacked the ridge beneath her toes on both feet, spots that would normally have her cutting her own feet off at the ankles to escape such awful sensations, she found her loins tingling and her nipples hardening. Jack tickled and tickled, and Rochelle's sex throbbed and jumped with every touch. As she reveled in her torture, she began to wonder if she could be tickled to orgasm.
Jack never gave her the chance to find out. Had she been able to see, Rochelle would have marveled at the speed with which he moved. He was on her in an instant, his body pressed onto hers, his engorged member sliding into her without resistance. Her eyes rolled back in her head as her womanhood hungrily accepted this intrusion. She moaned loudly, the sound one of pure and unbridled ecstasy. Jack's mouth was engaging hers, his tie was flopping against her cheek, his hands were on her breasts. He pumped her at a steady pace, touching her both lightly and roughly, exploring her both tenderly and aggressively, yet showing remarkable patience for the state of excitement they were both in. Rochelle's head swam. No man had ever felt so good inside her. No man had ever stoked her fires to such a heightened state of arousal. She felt better than any human being had a right to feel. She never wanted it to end, yet she knew that neither of them could last long. As they climaxed together, a volcanic eruption of passion that ended with both of them crying raw, savage sounds of pleasure, Rochelle felt her heart being won all over again by the man whom she called her husband.
**************
The next morning over coffee, Linda noticed something different about her friend. "Are you okay, Shelly? You look a little, I don't know, dazed."
Rochelle was dazed, but she was also beaming. She couldn't wait to tell her friend. "I did what you told me, Linda. It was unbelievable!"
"You did?!" Linda's eyes grew wide. For the next 20 minutes, Rochelle recounted detail by detail the events of the night before. She conveyed the roller coaster of emotions she experienced, the depths of torment she felt, the heights of ecstasy she reached. She talked about how the experience changed her life, and how the sex between her and Jack had never been better. As she mentioned how excited they both were to play the game again tonight, she was giddy with joy.
"What that what is was like for you and Phil the first time? Is it like that every time?" Rochelle asked hopefully.
"I wouldn't know, Shelly. Phil and I have never done that. Christopher, please don't pull Mommy's hair.
Rochelle was stunned. "Wha-what? What do you mean you've never done that? You told me yesterday you did it all the time."
Linda grinned sheepishly. "Well, I lied about that."
Rochelle's eyes grew wide with astonishment. "What do you mean you lied? What about Phil's tickling fetish?"
"Phil doesn't have a tickling fetish."
"But you said all men have a tickling fetish!"
"I lied about that too. Only Jack has a tickling fetish."
Rochelle couldn't believe her ears. "Linda!" she shouted loud enough to startle the baby. Christopher began to cry as Toby and Max stopped their game to look over.
Linda rocked her baby and consoled him. "I'm sorry, Shel, but I had to lie to you. You would never have gone through with it if I hadn't."
"You're damned right I wouldn't!" Rochelle was getting angry. "You'd better start explaining!"
"Okay okay, calm down. I'll tell you. Last week the mailman accidentally put some of your mail in our box. One of the pieces was an envelope addressed to Jack. It was all brown with no markings."
"Jack gets those from work sometimes."
"No dear. That's how adult magazines are delivered." Rochelle felt a sting as the truth in Linda's words rang true. "Anyway, I tried to be subtle about it. I was going to put it back in your mailbox and pretend like I'd never seen it, but Jack saw me as I was doing it. He caught me with the envelope in my hand out by the boxes. You should have seen him. He must have thought I knew what was in it, because he turned ghost white. He started explaining to me...I guess it would be more accurate to say he started confessing to me, about how he had a tickling fetish and that it didn't make him a bad man or a freak. I had no idea what he was talking about until I realized that he thought I knew what was in the envelope, which I didn't. I saw it was eating him up inside, so I listened while he poured his heart out to me. He really needed someone to tell this to, and I guess he was too ashamed to come to you about it." Rochelle blushed slightly at this. "He mentioned how badly he wanted to introduce tickling into your sex lives, but how he was afraid of how you'd react. He said he'd trying so hard to act normal about it all these years, but how he didn't know how much longer he could take it. I promised him I would try to help by talking to you about it. He seemed so relieved, that I just had to help him. Now you understand why I did what I did, don't you?"
Rochelle nodded. She felt the anger wash away as she looked into the eyes of her friend, a friend who had lied to her in order to help save her marriage. And she thought about her husband, the man whom she loved, and how he had had such passions bottled up inside him, and had Linda to thank for helping him release them. Rochelle understood everything perfectly now.
She moved across the patio table and embraced her friend. "Thank you," she said as tears sprung into her eyes. The women held each other quietly for a moment.
"So it was really something, eh?" Linda asked as Rochelle returned to her coffee.
"You have no idea," Rochelle replied, once again beaming. "You should really try it out for yourself..."
THE END
Laughter
I would love to read more like this!!! Keep up the great work!
