Morning Angel
TMF Expert
- Joined
- May 10, 2003
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This story is turning out longer than I expected. Enjoy the second installment.
MA
His teasing was driving me crazy; he knew he was making the tickling more unbearable by using degrading diminutives and baby tickle-talk, but as he continued to tickle my ribs I felt the tingling of arousal deep in the pit of my stomach despite my earlier resolve. Slowly his hands drifted up further, each finding a spot in my underarms and rapidly tickling, making me shriek with laughter. He just chuckled himself and said, “Aww, does that tickle, little girl?” He dug harder into the smooth and tender flesh, kneading and squeezing it. I couldn’t even think. My body just reacted, and boy did it react! Short squeaks of laughter, followed by an eruption of wild cackling as he moved back down my ribs and assaulted my soft tummy for what seemed a lifetime. Staring me directly in the eye, he said, “Precious, it looks like your tummy is no match for my tickling fingers.” I wanted to angrily tell him exactly where he could shove his tickling fingers, but also to tell him that he could tickle me as long as he wanted, tell him that I’d let him bring me to the seventh layer of hell and back, tell him that his tickling fingers had lit a wildfire within me and most of all tell him that I needed him. But I couldn’t say any of those things. I just glared, determined that he would not break me.
At last his hands left my midriff, but it was only so that they could suddenly appear on my thighs, squeezing the super-sensitive skin right above my knees. That has always been one of my biggest weaknesses, and he knew it. I let out a short squeak and then immediately descended into silent laughter, my body jerking beneath the straps that held me down. Like an ER surgeon addressing some imaginary nurse, he said, “Uh oh, she’s in shock, I’m losing her! Better get the electrodes.” And with that he squeezed my knees harder. It really did feel as if an electric current were passing through me. Again and again he squeeze-tickled me until I thought I would faint. I was still laughing silently, and tears were flowing down my cheeks. If I hadn’t been so well restrained, I would have hit the ceiling each time.
I was gasping for air by the time he finally gave me a break. My long, dark hair was bathing in sweat. My muscles ached, yet I wanted more. I could not stop the thoughts that invaded my mind: “He was relentless, maniacal, cruel, sadistic. I think I’m in love.” I wanted him to tickle me to the most explosive climax of my life, but how could I tell him this? There must have been something in my eyes that conveyed my turmoil of emotions as I stared defiantly up at him. He stared right back with the most sadistic grin I have ever seen, and for an instant I could have sworn there was a flicker of something else... longing, perhaps, in his eyes. No, it couldn’t have been. Get a grip girl, you’re having tickle-induced hallucinations.
He leisurely sauntered over to my bare feet, toes gleaming with cherry-red polish. “Ready to beg?” he asked.
To be Continued...
MA
His teasing was driving me crazy; he knew he was making the tickling more unbearable by using degrading diminutives and baby tickle-talk, but as he continued to tickle my ribs I felt the tingling of arousal deep in the pit of my stomach despite my earlier resolve. Slowly his hands drifted up further, each finding a spot in my underarms and rapidly tickling, making me shriek with laughter. He just chuckled himself and said, “Aww, does that tickle, little girl?” He dug harder into the smooth and tender flesh, kneading and squeezing it. I couldn’t even think. My body just reacted, and boy did it react! Short squeaks of laughter, followed by an eruption of wild cackling as he moved back down my ribs and assaulted my soft tummy for what seemed a lifetime. Staring me directly in the eye, he said, “Precious, it looks like your tummy is no match for my tickling fingers.” I wanted to angrily tell him exactly where he could shove his tickling fingers, but also to tell him that he could tickle me as long as he wanted, tell him that I’d let him bring me to the seventh layer of hell and back, tell him that his tickling fingers had lit a wildfire within me and most of all tell him that I needed him. But I couldn’t say any of those things. I just glared, determined that he would not break me.
At last his hands left my midriff, but it was only so that they could suddenly appear on my thighs, squeezing the super-sensitive skin right above my knees. That has always been one of my biggest weaknesses, and he knew it. I let out a short squeak and then immediately descended into silent laughter, my body jerking beneath the straps that held me down. Like an ER surgeon addressing some imaginary nurse, he said, “Uh oh, she’s in shock, I’m losing her! Better get the electrodes.” And with that he squeezed my knees harder. It really did feel as if an electric current were passing through me. Again and again he squeeze-tickled me until I thought I would faint. I was still laughing silently, and tears were flowing down my cheeks. If I hadn’t been so well restrained, I would have hit the ceiling each time.
I was gasping for air by the time he finally gave me a break. My long, dark hair was bathing in sweat. My muscles ached, yet I wanted more. I could not stop the thoughts that invaded my mind: “He was relentless, maniacal, cruel, sadistic. I think I’m in love.” I wanted him to tickle me to the most explosive climax of my life, but how could I tell him this? There must have been something in my eyes that conveyed my turmoil of emotions as I stared defiantly up at him. He stared right back with the most sadistic grin I have ever seen, and for an instant I could have sworn there was a flicker of something else... longing, perhaps, in his eyes. No, it couldn’t have been. Get a grip girl, you’re having tickle-induced hallucinations.
He leisurely sauntered over to my bare feet, toes gleaming with cherry-red polish. “Ready to beg?” he asked.
To be Continued...
