Eternal Tomboy
TMF Master
- Joined
- Aug 5, 2001
- Messages
- 980
- Points
- 18
This is always the hardest part for me - the awkward waiting. First in the hotel lobby while they process the reservation my 'ler made for us, then the slow elevator ride, and finally the long walk towards the room that will be our playground for the next few hours. It's during this 10-15 minutes of waiting when I'm acutely aware that I'm doing something most people would see as "wrong" - seeking tickle play outside my marriage. I feel like every person I pass is judging me, and my nerves are completely on edge. But I know this feeling will pass the second we close that hotel room door behind us and it's just him and I.
On the other hand, he is the picture of calm confidence in the business clothes I know he'll ditch once we're upstairs. He isn't even ruffled when he's told that the computers are down and it will take awhile longer to process our reservation - FUCK!!! Now the small talk begins as we take a seat in the lobby and wait for the universe to stop screwing with us. God, I am such utter shit at making small talk, especially now with him.
Little does he know, while he's filling me in on his crazy work week, my brain is starting to throw a temper tantrum like a petulant 2-year old. It's bitching about having to wait for the endorphin/adrenaline cocktail it knows is sitting just out of reach - all because of a stupid computer. C'mon, FOCUS! You can do this. Carry on a normal conversation like a human being, and stop thinking like the tickle-crazed freak you really are right now. My brain won't listen.
After what seems like forever, we can finally head upstairs to our room. I brought a couple of beers from home because I thought he could use some time to unwind from the stress of his work week. As we crack them open and lounge on the couch, the whole atmosphere around us seems to breath a sigh of relief. I prop my socked feet on his lap (which lost their sneakers the second we hit the hotel room), and he gently massages them while we talk for a little while. All of the anxiety and impatience I was feeling downstairs is gone. Yes, I want the tickling to start, but I'm also really enjoying this moment of getting to know him a little bit better.
This is our second play session, and in total, we've only known each other for about a month - from the time he first responded to my personal ad until now. I still have NO idea how he managed to get passed my defenses so quickly. There is usually a lengthy vetting process (via email) that I put my potential playmates through, so I can get to know them and test our compatibility. This can sometimes go on for weeks (if not months) before we meet face-to-face. But somehow, he skirted passed all that with a few charming strokes of his keyboard, and asked me out for lunch instead - and against my naturally neurotic nature, I said yes. I knew after the first hour in the restaurant that we were going to click.
That's not to say I truly trust him at this point; I know that won't happen for awhile because that's just how I'm wired. Some people think my suspicion stems from living in New York my whole life, but that's not the truth.... though it doesn't help matters, I'm sure. I've watched women that I love being hurt by men for most of my life, and that taught me to keep my guard up around them. But I'm willing to suspend my trust issues for him because my gut is telling me that freedom lies on the other side of my fear..... and I've spent WAY too long being afraid.
Once our beers are finished, he changes into comfy play clothes, and takes out the under-mattress-restraint system he purchased a couple weeks ago for our first play session. Just watching him set everything up, and then walk over to me to put the padded Velcro cuffs on my wrists is enough to make the butterflies in my stomach start to stir. I lay down on the mattress and he puts the cuffs around my ankles. He keeps my stripped socks on.... at least for the moment. I'm under no false delusions that my feet will be allowed to keep this thin barrier of protection for long. Within a minute or two, I'm completely secured, face up, spread eagle, on the mattress. I've never been tied face up before - preferring the security of being face down, so I can hide the reactions I don't want him to see. I'm surprised by how vulnerable I feel in this new position, with each of my limbs stretched to their limits across the king-size bed, and no ability to protect myself or hide. I shove down my natural instinct to panic, and try to take slow, deep breaths.
Before I can alllow any feelings of fear to gain ground, he reaches down and tickles both my feet with his hands. My legs immediately try to pull away from his ticklish touch, but the restraints don't allow me to escape. My stubborn streak urges me to fight the sensation, and not give him the satisfaction of gaining the upper hand this quickly, but his hands are relentless, and my giggles and squirming quickly betray me.
"Oh yeah, your feet are definitely a 5," he teases; making reference to the fact that I had given my feet a 5 out of 10 rating on the ticklish scale. "More like an 7 - and that's without using anything but my hands!"
His teasing and tickles amp up my laughter and I'm fighting hard against the restraints. Ok, so MAYBE I was a little off in my rating, lol. I plead ignorance because I haven't been tickled like this in years, and my memory led me to believe that my feet weren't all that ticklish.... my memory always was kind of shitty.
After a minute or so, he decides that I've kept my socks on long enough and begins to tug one of them off. I push my toes against the mattress in an effort to make it harder for him to strip me of the little protection I've got against him.
"Oh no, I'll NEVER get your socks off now!" he jokes sarcastically about my lame attempt to protect myself.
He lightly tickles the top of my foot (which is nearly as ticklish as the bottom), and I immediately lose my grip on the mattress. Within seconds both my socks are gone. Now I know I'm fucked because he already figured out during our first session that using either his mouth or a combination of lubricant and a brush on my bare feet bring them up to an almost unbearably ticklish level. So now it's just a matter of when he's going to break out the heavy artillery. I know it's coming.
He changes course and heads up my legs so he can torment my knees and hips for awhile. My hips are definitely among the top three most ticklish places on my body - another gem he discovered during our first session. Like an idiot, I told him that lighter tickles work best in this area - I'm regretting that decision now. He takes a couple of his fingers and gets them inside the pocket near my hip and wiggles them around. My thrashing and laughter intensifies.
Then just when I think the tickling is as bad as it's going to get, he takes the hand that isn't tormenting my hip, and scribbles his fingers around my neck and collarbone. He's now torturing two of my worst tickle spots at once, and as a result, he's got this weird mix of laughter, cursing, snorting, growling, and squeaking coming out of my mouth. I keep trying to scoot myself as far away from him on the bed as possible, but my restrains only allow me an inch or two - certainly not enough to distance myself from his 6'5" frame. I guess I should count myself lucky that he's just using his hands on my neck; had he decided to use his mouth, he'd probably be forcing a safeword out of me instead of the garbled mess he's getting now.
I have no idea how long the tickling goes on for. Time ceases to exist when I'm being tickled like this because all my brain can process is the overwhelming sensation. My ability to reason, negotiate, or even verbally express more than a word or two is completely gone. My vocabulary becomes limited to monosyllabic words that I can manage to get out amidst the laughter - usually words like: stop! please! don't! wait! I can't!, as well as some colorful expletives when he finds a really ticklish spot.
He turns his attention away from my neck and hips and decides to test my ribs. One of his hands is almost large enough to span one side of my ribcage from under my breasts to just above my waist. He uses his fingers to dig in all at once, and the intense ticklish sensations I was feeling a moment ago is replaced with one far more manageable. My thrashing and incoherent babbles stop and I've just got the occasional squeak and giggle coming out now.
"This is like a vacation for you," he jokes because he sees I'm much less ticklish in this new area of attack.
"It definitely is," I'm able to say once I catch my breath. In my head I know that if he were to use more of a random poking method of tickling on my ribs (instead of the scribbles he's using now), the "vacation" I'm getting would be short lived. But I'm sure as hell not going to offer up that little tidbit of insider info to him now. I need the break.
Probably getting bored with my mediocre ticklish reactions, he decides to change spots again. He heads back down to my feet. SHIT!! I know what's coming next....
He reaches into the bag he brought and takes out the lube and the dog grooming glove (with rubber bristles) that I was dumb enough to give him at our last play date. Being a Vet Assistant, I'm around pet supplies all the time, and the day I saw this glove, I just KNEW it would make a devastating tickle tool for feet. As our last session proved, I was right. So I basically brought an implement for my own destruction to a tickle fight - probably not the smartest thing I've ever done.
He sits himself in between my legs at the foot of the bed and starts to lube up one of my feet. Just the way his hand and fingers are gliding around my sole and toes is enough to get a few giggles out of me. I hear the sound of him opening up the adjustable Velcro strap that's on the wrist of the glove so he can secure it onto his hand. I hold my breath and brace myself......
The second he starts scrubbing the ball of my foot and toes with the brush, I completely lose it!! The ticklish sensations are at an unbearable 9-10 and I'm trying desperately to get my foot away from him. He slides one of the hotel pillows under my ankle and then lays on my leg, essentially immobilizing me. The frictionless scrubbing on my foot continues and my laughter changes back and forth from a loud incoherent mess to silence as I try to catch a lungful of air when I can. I'm back to thrashing and begging, hoping for just a moment or two of mercy from him. My pleas seem to fall on deaf ears, because he keeps up the torture without pause.
"You know what you need to say to get me to stop," he teases and tries to prompt me to use the safeword.
A minute goes by? Five? Ten? I have no idea. He decides my other foot must be feeling neglected, so he lubes that one up too and begins the whole torturous process all over again. If at all possible, this foot tickles even more because it's a brand new area of attack. I can practically feel the safeword in the back of my throat. Just then, divine intervention - there's a knock on the hotel room door.
"Housekeeping," a woman outside the door announces.
Now I'm panicked that she is going to use her key to come into the room and find me restrained down to the mattress. I'm a sweaty mess and I'm panting like I just ran a marathon. Nervous giggles keep bubbling out of my mouth as he goes to check things out. I hear what I think is her asking whether or not we need the room cleaned, which he obviously declines. When he comes back to the bed, I joke that she must've heard me laughing and begging and was coming to my rescue.
"Are you kidding? She was already at the next room when I peeked my head out the door. She doesn't care about you," he laughs.
I feign distress, "Come back! Please help me!" I say, giggling.
"No one's helping you," he teases and begins to tickle my feet again. "I'm going to set a ten minute timer, no stops unless you safeword," he threatens playfully.
Then he begins the countdown. Every minute that ticks by he counts off and lets me know how much time I have left of my torture. After he announces, "3 minutes, still 7 more to go...." I cave like a house of cards because there's NO WAY I can take another seven minutes of this!
"YOU WIN!! YOU WIN!!" I blurt out the safeword through my hysterics.
He laughs and stops tickling me. For a solid five minutes following, I try to catch my breath and slow down my heartbeat to a more normal rhythm so that it doesn't feel like it's trying to jackhammer its way through my ribcage. My adrenaline and endorphin levels are cranked to a ridiculously high level - as far as I'm concerned, tickling is the best drug out there 😀
But I'm SO mad at myself for caving in! No one has ever been able to force me to safeword before - it was like a strange point of pride for me as a 'lee. I've always managed to withstand any tickling a guy has put me through without surrendering. Now I've lost all bragging rights to future playmates. I suppose it's a small price to pay for the "high" I'm feeling right now.
He unclips my restraints but my limbs don't want to move yet. I'm like a piece of cooked spaghetti laying there on the sweat-soaked sheets. He offers me water and a towel, and when I'm ready to get on my feet, we replace the comforter that we had stripped off the bed, so we can lay down on top of that instead of the puddle I created during the last hour and a half of being tickled. Who needs a gym membership when I can get workouts like this??
We spend the next half hour chatting. He's laying on his back, and I'm curled up on my side, facing him. I've got one of my feet resting on his belly and he is very gently stroking my sole - not enough to really tickle; it feels nice and relaxing. I love having my feet played with. After awhile, he continues the very light touches he's been giving my foot up the back of my leg. When his hand reaches the back of my knee and thigh, it tickles too much to keep still. I don't even think he was trying to tickle me on purpose, but he's made aware of the fact that he's doing it now because I start to squirm and giggle. I still try to keep my foot in place on his belly. I'm SUCH a glutton for punishment!
"Oh, I forgot about the back of your legs this time! I'll have to remember to tickle that spot during our next session," he says and gives me a few more light tickles.
I love the fact that we've quickly gotten to the point where we both assume there will be a next time. This reassurance has taken the urgency out of my quest for tickle partners. Now I know I can find other playmates at a more leisurely pace and make sure that we are very compatible before I make another leap into a session with someone else.
When I took out my personal ad a month ago, I had hopes of being right where I am now, but never imagined it would really happen. I feel like I'm dreaming. Somebody pinch me please.... actually, make it a tickle 🙂
P.S. - Here's a pic of the glove that forced me to safeword. 'Lers, I would definitely recommend adding it to your tickling toy box (along with a good quality lubricant, otherwise it might hurt). And 'lees, if you see this glove - RUN!!!
Here's a link where you can buy this evil thing (sorry to my fellow 'lees - I feel like I'm betraying you, lol):
https://www.chewy.com/four-paws-magic-coat-love-glove/dp/106915?utm_source=google-product&utm_medium=cpc&utm_campaign=hg&utm_content=Four%20Paws&utm_term=&gclid=EAIaIQobChMI27-E8evv3wIVyEwNCh0wjApOEAkYAyABEgKvyfD_BwE
On the other hand, he is the picture of calm confidence in the business clothes I know he'll ditch once we're upstairs. He isn't even ruffled when he's told that the computers are down and it will take awhile longer to process our reservation - FUCK!!! Now the small talk begins as we take a seat in the lobby and wait for the universe to stop screwing with us. God, I am such utter shit at making small talk, especially now with him.
Little does he know, while he's filling me in on his crazy work week, my brain is starting to throw a temper tantrum like a petulant 2-year old. It's bitching about having to wait for the endorphin/adrenaline cocktail it knows is sitting just out of reach - all because of a stupid computer. C'mon, FOCUS! You can do this. Carry on a normal conversation like a human being, and stop thinking like the tickle-crazed freak you really are right now. My brain won't listen.
After what seems like forever, we can finally head upstairs to our room. I brought a couple of beers from home because I thought he could use some time to unwind from the stress of his work week. As we crack them open and lounge on the couch, the whole atmosphere around us seems to breath a sigh of relief. I prop my socked feet on his lap (which lost their sneakers the second we hit the hotel room), and he gently massages them while we talk for a little while. All of the anxiety and impatience I was feeling downstairs is gone. Yes, I want the tickling to start, but I'm also really enjoying this moment of getting to know him a little bit better.
This is our second play session, and in total, we've only known each other for about a month - from the time he first responded to my personal ad until now. I still have NO idea how he managed to get passed my defenses so quickly. There is usually a lengthy vetting process (via email) that I put my potential playmates through, so I can get to know them and test our compatibility. This can sometimes go on for weeks (if not months) before we meet face-to-face. But somehow, he skirted passed all that with a few charming strokes of his keyboard, and asked me out for lunch instead - and against my naturally neurotic nature, I said yes. I knew after the first hour in the restaurant that we were going to click.
That's not to say I truly trust him at this point; I know that won't happen for awhile because that's just how I'm wired. Some people think my suspicion stems from living in New York my whole life, but that's not the truth.... though it doesn't help matters, I'm sure. I've watched women that I love being hurt by men for most of my life, and that taught me to keep my guard up around them. But I'm willing to suspend my trust issues for him because my gut is telling me that freedom lies on the other side of my fear..... and I've spent WAY too long being afraid.
Once our beers are finished, he changes into comfy play clothes, and takes out the under-mattress-restraint system he purchased a couple weeks ago for our first play session. Just watching him set everything up, and then walk over to me to put the padded Velcro cuffs on my wrists is enough to make the butterflies in my stomach start to stir. I lay down on the mattress and he puts the cuffs around my ankles. He keeps my stripped socks on.... at least for the moment. I'm under no false delusions that my feet will be allowed to keep this thin barrier of protection for long. Within a minute or two, I'm completely secured, face up, spread eagle, on the mattress. I've never been tied face up before - preferring the security of being face down, so I can hide the reactions I don't want him to see. I'm surprised by how vulnerable I feel in this new position, with each of my limbs stretched to their limits across the king-size bed, and no ability to protect myself or hide. I shove down my natural instinct to panic, and try to take slow, deep breaths.
Before I can alllow any feelings of fear to gain ground, he reaches down and tickles both my feet with his hands. My legs immediately try to pull away from his ticklish touch, but the restraints don't allow me to escape. My stubborn streak urges me to fight the sensation, and not give him the satisfaction of gaining the upper hand this quickly, but his hands are relentless, and my giggles and squirming quickly betray me.
"Oh yeah, your feet are definitely a 5," he teases; making reference to the fact that I had given my feet a 5 out of 10 rating on the ticklish scale. "More like an 7 - and that's without using anything but my hands!"
His teasing and tickles amp up my laughter and I'm fighting hard against the restraints. Ok, so MAYBE I was a little off in my rating, lol. I plead ignorance because I haven't been tickled like this in years, and my memory led me to believe that my feet weren't all that ticklish.... my memory always was kind of shitty.
After a minute or so, he decides that I've kept my socks on long enough and begins to tug one of them off. I push my toes against the mattress in an effort to make it harder for him to strip me of the little protection I've got against him.
"Oh no, I'll NEVER get your socks off now!" he jokes sarcastically about my lame attempt to protect myself.
He lightly tickles the top of my foot (which is nearly as ticklish as the bottom), and I immediately lose my grip on the mattress. Within seconds both my socks are gone. Now I know I'm fucked because he already figured out during our first session that using either his mouth or a combination of lubricant and a brush on my bare feet bring them up to an almost unbearably ticklish level. So now it's just a matter of when he's going to break out the heavy artillery. I know it's coming.
He changes course and heads up my legs so he can torment my knees and hips for awhile. My hips are definitely among the top three most ticklish places on my body - another gem he discovered during our first session. Like an idiot, I told him that lighter tickles work best in this area - I'm regretting that decision now. He takes a couple of his fingers and gets them inside the pocket near my hip and wiggles them around. My thrashing and laughter intensifies.
Then just when I think the tickling is as bad as it's going to get, he takes the hand that isn't tormenting my hip, and scribbles his fingers around my neck and collarbone. He's now torturing two of my worst tickle spots at once, and as a result, he's got this weird mix of laughter, cursing, snorting, growling, and squeaking coming out of my mouth. I keep trying to scoot myself as far away from him on the bed as possible, but my restrains only allow me an inch or two - certainly not enough to distance myself from his 6'5" frame. I guess I should count myself lucky that he's just using his hands on my neck; had he decided to use his mouth, he'd probably be forcing a safeword out of me instead of the garbled mess he's getting now.
I have no idea how long the tickling goes on for. Time ceases to exist when I'm being tickled like this because all my brain can process is the overwhelming sensation. My ability to reason, negotiate, or even verbally express more than a word or two is completely gone. My vocabulary becomes limited to monosyllabic words that I can manage to get out amidst the laughter - usually words like: stop! please! don't! wait! I can't!, as well as some colorful expletives when he finds a really ticklish spot.
He turns his attention away from my neck and hips and decides to test my ribs. One of his hands is almost large enough to span one side of my ribcage from under my breasts to just above my waist. He uses his fingers to dig in all at once, and the intense ticklish sensations I was feeling a moment ago is replaced with one far more manageable. My thrashing and incoherent babbles stop and I've just got the occasional squeak and giggle coming out now.
"This is like a vacation for you," he jokes because he sees I'm much less ticklish in this new area of attack.
"It definitely is," I'm able to say once I catch my breath. In my head I know that if he were to use more of a random poking method of tickling on my ribs (instead of the scribbles he's using now), the "vacation" I'm getting would be short lived. But I'm sure as hell not going to offer up that little tidbit of insider info to him now. I need the break.
Probably getting bored with my mediocre ticklish reactions, he decides to change spots again. He heads back down to my feet. SHIT!! I know what's coming next....
He reaches into the bag he brought and takes out the lube and the dog grooming glove (with rubber bristles) that I was dumb enough to give him at our last play date. Being a Vet Assistant, I'm around pet supplies all the time, and the day I saw this glove, I just KNEW it would make a devastating tickle tool for feet. As our last session proved, I was right. So I basically brought an implement for my own destruction to a tickle fight - probably not the smartest thing I've ever done.
He sits himself in between my legs at the foot of the bed and starts to lube up one of my feet. Just the way his hand and fingers are gliding around my sole and toes is enough to get a few giggles out of me. I hear the sound of him opening up the adjustable Velcro strap that's on the wrist of the glove so he can secure it onto his hand. I hold my breath and brace myself......
The second he starts scrubbing the ball of my foot and toes with the brush, I completely lose it!! The ticklish sensations are at an unbearable 9-10 and I'm trying desperately to get my foot away from him. He slides one of the hotel pillows under my ankle and then lays on my leg, essentially immobilizing me. The frictionless scrubbing on my foot continues and my laughter changes back and forth from a loud incoherent mess to silence as I try to catch a lungful of air when I can. I'm back to thrashing and begging, hoping for just a moment or two of mercy from him. My pleas seem to fall on deaf ears, because he keeps up the torture without pause.
"You know what you need to say to get me to stop," he teases and tries to prompt me to use the safeword.
A minute goes by? Five? Ten? I have no idea. He decides my other foot must be feeling neglected, so he lubes that one up too and begins the whole torturous process all over again. If at all possible, this foot tickles even more because it's a brand new area of attack. I can practically feel the safeword in the back of my throat. Just then, divine intervention - there's a knock on the hotel room door.
"Housekeeping," a woman outside the door announces.
Now I'm panicked that she is going to use her key to come into the room and find me restrained down to the mattress. I'm a sweaty mess and I'm panting like I just ran a marathon. Nervous giggles keep bubbling out of my mouth as he goes to check things out. I hear what I think is her asking whether or not we need the room cleaned, which he obviously declines. When he comes back to the bed, I joke that she must've heard me laughing and begging and was coming to my rescue.
"Are you kidding? She was already at the next room when I peeked my head out the door. She doesn't care about you," he laughs.
I feign distress, "Come back! Please help me!" I say, giggling.
"No one's helping you," he teases and begins to tickle my feet again. "I'm going to set a ten minute timer, no stops unless you safeword," he threatens playfully.
Then he begins the countdown. Every minute that ticks by he counts off and lets me know how much time I have left of my torture. After he announces, "3 minutes, still 7 more to go...." I cave like a house of cards because there's NO WAY I can take another seven minutes of this!
"YOU WIN!! YOU WIN!!" I blurt out the safeword through my hysterics.
He laughs and stops tickling me. For a solid five minutes following, I try to catch my breath and slow down my heartbeat to a more normal rhythm so that it doesn't feel like it's trying to jackhammer its way through my ribcage. My adrenaline and endorphin levels are cranked to a ridiculously high level - as far as I'm concerned, tickling is the best drug out there 😀
But I'm SO mad at myself for caving in! No one has ever been able to force me to safeword before - it was like a strange point of pride for me as a 'lee. I've always managed to withstand any tickling a guy has put me through without surrendering. Now I've lost all bragging rights to future playmates. I suppose it's a small price to pay for the "high" I'm feeling right now.
He unclips my restraints but my limbs don't want to move yet. I'm like a piece of cooked spaghetti laying there on the sweat-soaked sheets. He offers me water and a towel, and when I'm ready to get on my feet, we replace the comforter that we had stripped off the bed, so we can lay down on top of that instead of the puddle I created during the last hour and a half of being tickled. Who needs a gym membership when I can get workouts like this??
We spend the next half hour chatting. He's laying on his back, and I'm curled up on my side, facing him. I've got one of my feet resting on his belly and he is very gently stroking my sole - not enough to really tickle; it feels nice and relaxing. I love having my feet played with. After awhile, he continues the very light touches he's been giving my foot up the back of my leg. When his hand reaches the back of my knee and thigh, it tickles too much to keep still. I don't even think he was trying to tickle me on purpose, but he's made aware of the fact that he's doing it now because I start to squirm and giggle. I still try to keep my foot in place on his belly. I'm SUCH a glutton for punishment!
"Oh, I forgot about the back of your legs this time! I'll have to remember to tickle that spot during our next session," he says and gives me a few more light tickles.
I love the fact that we've quickly gotten to the point where we both assume there will be a next time. This reassurance has taken the urgency out of my quest for tickle partners. Now I know I can find other playmates at a more leisurely pace and make sure that we are very compatible before I make another leap into a session with someone else.
When I took out my personal ad a month ago, I had hopes of being right where I am now, but never imagined it would really happen. I feel like I'm dreaming. Somebody pinch me please.... actually, make it a tickle 🙂
P.S. - Here's a pic of the glove that forced me to safeword. 'Lers, I would definitely recommend adding it to your tickling toy box (along with a good quality lubricant, otherwise it might hurt). And 'lees, if you see this glove - RUN!!!
Here's a link where you can buy this evil thing (sorry to my fellow 'lees - I feel like I'm betraying you, lol):
https://www.chewy.com/four-paws-magic-coat-love-glove/dp/106915?utm_source=google-product&utm_medium=cpc&utm_campaign=hg&utm_content=Four%20Paws&utm_term=&gclid=EAIaIQobChMI27-E8evv3wIVyEwNCh0wjApOEAkYAyABEgKvyfD_BwE
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