Well i showed Isobel the picture of her initiation by tickle scarab...
This one http://www.tickletheater.com/showthread.php?t=52450
... and she said that it was all very well, and that she likes the idea of trying to hold something up while being madly tickled.
But in all fairness she wouldn't have tried to stop the beetles getting in to tickle her, she would, in fact, lay under the outlets and welcomed the tickle swarm - and when they had nibbled their fill and tickled her within an inch of her sanity she would have lain there and asked for more.
Ok i said to her, tell me your favourite tickle fantasy. And this is what she told me. This is what she thinks about - or some variant or this - it's what makes her sweat and writhe in the small hours. It's what she is thinking about when she should be paying attention to something important. It's what makes her stay in the shower a bit longer than she should in the morning.
It will usually start with her exploring some new planet, she has to squeeze through a tight passageway to get to where her research subject is, so tight she has to slip off her space suit. The passage will be oozing with something sticky and slippery and she will slither through it and there will be little critters and protrusions that will tickle her all the way, and the passage is so tight she will not be able to brush them off and stop the tickles.
Finally she falls out the end into a chamber, where, as soon as she lands she is grabbed and wrapped up by some unspecified alien creature. Accustomed to devouring much smaller prey of totally incomparable physiognomy to hers the creature will try to pull her into its maw, not realising that in the process poor immobile Isobel is getting tickled to death by its slippery rubbery paws.
The creature is tickling her in her favourite place, the soft area between her ribs and hips, her oblique muscles - she is so helplessly ticklish there but would happily be tickled there for all eternity, even when her laughter turns silent, when she knows nothing but the flood of tickles, she would rather pass out than have the tickling stop.
This is what gets her quite flustered, she has no chance of stopping it tickling her, no language with which to communicate, no hope of rescue... just tickling.
In fact, having told me all that, she's heading for the shower right now... naughty girl.
This one http://www.tickletheater.com/showthread.php?t=52450
... and she said that it was all very well, and that she likes the idea of trying to hold something up while being madly tickled.
But in all fairness she wouldn't have tried to stop the beetles getting in to tickle her, she would, in fact, lay under the outlets and welcomed the tickle swarm - and when they had nibbled their fill and tickled her within an inch of her sanity she would have lain there and asked for more.
Ok i said to her, tell me your favourite tickle fantasy. And this is what she told me. This is what she thinks about - or some variant or this - it's what makes her sweat and writhe in the small hours. It's what she is thinking about when she should be paying attention to something important. It's what makes her stay in the shower a bit longer than she should in the morning.
It will usually start with her exploring some new planet, she has to squeeze through a tight passageway to get to where her research subject is, so tight she has to slip off her space suit. The passage will be oozing with something sticky and slippery and she will slither through it and there will be little critters and protrusions that will tickle her all the way, and the passage is so tight she will not be able to brush them off and stop the tickles.
Finally she falls out the end into a chamber, where, as soon as she lands she is grabbed and wrapped up by some unspecified alien creature. Accustomed to devouring much smaller prey of totally incomparable physiognomy to hers the creature will try to pull her into its maw, not realising that in the process poor immobile Isobel is getting tickled to death by its slippery rubbery paws.
The creature is tickling her in her favourite place, the soft area between her ribs and hips, her oblique muscles - she is so helplessly ticklish there but would happily be tickled there for all eternity, even when her laughter turns silent, when she knows nothing but the flood of tickles, she would rather pass out than have the tickling stop.
This is what gets her quite flustered, she has no chance of stopping it tickling her, no language with which to communicate, no hope of rescue... just tickling.
In fact, having told me all that, she's heading for the shower right now... naughty girl.
