GarnettRose
TMF Regular
- Joined
- Apr 5, 2024
- Messages
- 197
- Points
- 43
This is my first work for this site. I hope y'all like it.
UPDATE: Here's a link to part II. https://www.ticklingforum.com/threads/my-favorite-tormentor-the-reward.437147/
There is nothing in the world that gets me more flustered than talking about my longest-held kink…you know. Even writing it out sends my heart into a tizzy and warms my face with a cherry blush. Even as I am sitting here, writing this out, I can feel my stomach squirming with nerves or anticipation. My favorite tormentor does not have to be with me, just the memory of his devilish touch sends my nerves flying without a single touch. I don’t know why I’m like this. In every other part of my life, I pride myself on being an open book.
Quick to make friends and quicker to trust, I would answer questions about almost anything from religion to my favorite spanking implements if asked nicely enough, but the moment the dreaded T word is dropped in conversation, I flush from head to toe and begin to search frantically for any escape that I can find, hiding my secret desires and most sensitive spots as I rush towards an escape. My greatest desire is one that I have kept under lock and key for years. Years of feigning my disinterest whenever my favorite torture was brought up in casual conversation or featured in clips of movies or tv shows. Clips that would play on repeat once I was in the privacy of my room. My first orgasms came at the thought of such torture, but in polite company, all I could do was smile, nod, and hide.
Before I met and married my tormentor, my secret desire was mine and mine alone. Hidden behind thick walls of cement and insecurity, when we first fell in love on that bright and steamy summer nearly ten years ago, I was so afraid of what you’d think. Your kisses melted me like butter, made me soak through my panties and my jean shorts as we wasted summer nights away lost in each other’s touch. On those nights in the back seat of your car, on a hidden wooden trail, you found my most sensitive spots. You teased them with your tongue and teeth while I cried out in pleasure, mottling my skin with intimate bruises. How could you have known that all it would take was a flutter of your wicked fingers to send me screaming?
You certainly know all of my sensitive spots now darling. Over the years you have tied me up in every position imaginable. You have learned my body like a second language. Like a cartographer, you have mapped out every one of my hidden buttons until torturing me was no more difficult than finding your way home.
After all of the fun we’ve had, I am surprised that you have not tired of my favorite game. You may always choose the whip over the feather when push comes to shove, but you have always made space for my perversions. And though I cherish the welts left on my (bratty) ass by your crop dear, nothing can compare to the weight of your body on mine when you hold me down as I thrash against your ministrations. Especially when your fingers dig into the hollows of my ribs (Pleahehease don’t count them sir, I cant take it!).
I want nothing more than to be seen as strong, upright, and professional. I may not exactly be a type A, but that does not stop me from constantly wondering how others view me. My kink isn’t really embarrassing, but it’s intimate and it’s mine.
If people saw me as I am…if they knew. I shiver at the thought.
In all of our time together, since that sunny day at your dad’s lakehouse at 19 when you leaned towards the sensitive shell of my ear and asked me to laugh for you, I have been utterly exposed to you. Though I have told you a thousand times, you never tire of making me say it again. I get so flustered, but you just grin at me like you won the lottery.
Last time we played, you pinned me down with nothing but the strength of your arms. I had been such a bitch to you. I questioned your every move. I took joy in your frustration until you’d finally had enough. Sitting on the couch, ignoring the storm clouds my attitude had caused, you caught me unaware. Without time to flinch, you pinned me down by my shoulders. Your denim-clad thighs bracketing my hips, keeping me from squirming out of your hold.
“You’ve been such a little brat tonight princess”, you whisper into my ear, your hot breath sending shivers of pleasure down my sides. My ears were always so sensitive. You waste no time stripping me of my shirt and bra. I have nothing now. My bare breasts, stomach, and sides are completely exposed to your promised attacks. My thrashing increases as I feel the chill of the air dance across my exposed belly.
“Now what should I do with my naughty girl? You have been so mean to me tonight princess, and I think you know what you deserve.” you tease, your eyes never leaving mine.
Being as coy as I can manage pinned to the couch, I give my best approximation of a pout. “You could fuck me sir,” I simper as you roll your eyes. My breath quickens as I feel my nipples begin to pebble under the cool air. My thin bra, a pittable form of protection, stripped from my heaving chest, leaving me utterly vulnerable to your attention. Your hands hover over their peaks. Caresses that promise screaming pleasure so long as I behave. Your eyes sparkle with mischief for the briefest moment and I know that you won’t be letting me cum tonight. That’s not what bad girls deserve after all. In an instant your fingers have descended on my ribs, memorizing each ridge and valley like a pianist memorizes his scales. I shriek and thrash in your arms. I am desperate to find any kind of escape from the maddening torment but there is no use, you have me trapped
“Hahahaha pleahehehease sirhirhirhir”, I laugh, twisting in vain to try and escape your grip.
Sure we have chains and rope in our collection of toys, but my sir prefers a more personal touch when he has me writhing with giggles. My screams crescendo as your maniacal fingers bury themselves in my underarms. One of my most sensitive spots.
“It only takes one apology dear,” you say, mock sincerity dripping from your tone.
“I dohohohont knohohow what I did wrohong hahaha”, I force out between peals of laughter.
“Oh honey”, your fingers slow. They retreat from my most sensitive spots, hovering over the place I ache most for your touch. A promise and a punishment in one. It’s not enough that my sir torments me. No, you are dead set on teasing me until I break. You want me to beg, and all I want you to do is touch me and let me hide. My lungs burn as I struggle to catch my breath. I let out a pitiful moan as you cup my sex.
My panties are soaked with my wanting. I lavish in your touch for the barest of moments, my trapped hips thrusting in a vain attempt at a little more sensation. I don’t even get a single caress before you deny me, focusing instead on scrabbling your fingers against the hyper-sensitive junction of my thighs,
“Nohohoho, pleeaase hahahahah SIR!.”
You let out a gentle tut at my suffering. “I told you dear,” you taunt, “only good girls get their pussies played with.”
Tears track down my cheeks as my desperation rises.
“And besides,” you continue, “I think you are enjoying your tickles far too much to ruin them with a measly orgasm”,
I try to argue. To come up with anything that might sway you into giving my clit and my pussy the attention it so desperately needs. Any plan I could have concocted was abruptly cut off by your devious fingers spidering against the sides of my breasts.
“Sir if you cohohould just oh god hmmmm pleaheheheasee moorree. I mean-”
The sides of my breasts are just sensitive enough to leave me seesawing between endless giggles and moans for more. If you would just move your attention to the peaks of my breasts and let me grind my pussy against you…
It is at this point that I begin to feel as if my pleadings of no more have begun to change into begging for no…more. You know this. You always do.
After what felt like hours, you finally give me a breather. Even on our brakes you cuddle me in your embrace. The warmth of your breath teases the shell of my ear.
“You know,” you whisper, “It doesn’t have to be so hard. All you have to do is apologize and promise to be a good little tickle slute and I’ll give you what you need.”
“I can’t”, I cry.
You get up, slowly walking towards the foot of the bed.
“No no no no, please no,” I beg.
“You brought this on yourself princess”, you sigh, pinning my calves down before I have a chance to move.
“All you had to do was apologize and accept your tickles, but you think you’re too good for that princess”.
I shake my head, fervently praying to every deity I can think of to get out of the torture that waits for me.
Your fingers slowly move toward my soles, trapped and waiting.
“Last chance princess” you say with a grin, smug bastard.
I clamp my lips shut in my last act of defiance. I refuse to cave to your whims…no matter what my fluttering heart says.
Without warning you scrape your short nails over my bare soles with a fury and I scream. I cannot talk. I cannot laugh. I can only try to endure the onslaught of too-good, horrible sensation that lights up my feet like a switchboard.
So I scream.
I scream and cry and laugh and beg and I have no room for words I finally break under your fingers.
“I’m sorreheheheh”, I cry, my voice thick with tears and laughter.
You shine a Cheshire grime at me. So fucking pleased with yourself.
“I didn’t quite get that princess,” you pause. Giving me just enough time to gather my words.
“I’m sorry…sir.”
It takes all I have to answer you with any sense of coherence.
“Just what I wanted to hear,” you smile, pausing your ministrations. “But there’s one more piece that’s missing.”
Your attention returns to my feet. Though this time your fingers trace lazy patterns on my soles. I moan at the gentle sensation. Just enough to feel good and just on the edge of maddening.
“Please don’t make me say it sir,” I beg quietly.
“You have five seconds starting now.”
“Sir please!”
“Four.”
“No I-”
“Three.”
“I can’t”
“Two!”
“It’s so embarrassing”
“Onnneeee”
“OK fine”, I relent. The quickening of your fingers sending terror up my spine.
“Fine what darling?”, you goad, your fingers resuming their lazy travels, sending my brain into a tizzy.”
The words feel like cement on my tongue. I have to say it. My only other option is endless torture and I don’t know how much more of this that I can take. So I brace myself.
“I’m…your tickle slut,” I force out through gritted teeth.
“And what else?”, you say, your grip on my feet tightening.
“I like it okay”, I finally relent, “ I like it when you hold me down. I like your tickles. I like feeling helpless when you make me cry from how intense it is.
Your smile warms as you lean in for a kiss.
“Now was that so hard sweetheart,” you tease
“Please just kiss me sir. I promise I’ll be good”.
Finally free to sit up, you embrace me, holding my sides tight in your grasp as you pull me in for a heated kiss. Each kiss interspersed with light tickles on my side. The sound of sighing breaths interspersed with quiet giggles.
I look up at your crystal blue eyes with warm hope.
“Does this mean I get to cum tonight sir?”, I ask, my words tinted with desperation.
Your laughter booms as you look at me with sly fondness.
“Maybe next time if you are actually good, you can earn your orgasm instead of a punishment”.
Fin
UPDATE: Here's a link to part II. https://www.ticklingforum.com/threads/my-favorite-tormentor-the-reward.437147/
There is nothing in the world that gets me more flustered than talking about my longest-held kink…you know. Even writing it out sends my heart into a tizzy and warms my face with a cherry blush. Even as I am sitting here, writing this out, I can feel my stomach squirming with nerves or anticipation. My favorite tormentor does not have to be with me, just the memory of his devilish touch sends my nerves flying without a single touch. I don’t know why I’m like this. In every other part of my life, I pride myself on being an open book.
Quick to make friends and quicker to trust, I would answer questions about almost anything from religion to my favorite spanking implements if asked nicely enough, but the moment the dreaded T word is dropped in conversation, I flush from head to toe and begin to search frantically for any escape that I can find, hiding my secret desires and most sensitive spots as I rush towards an escape. My greatest desire is one that I have kept under lock and key for years. Years of feigning my disinterest whenever my favorite torture was brought up in casual conversation or featured in clips of movies or tv shows. Clips that would play on repeat once I was in the privacy of my room. My first orgasms came at the thought of such torture, but in polite company, all I could do was smile, nod, and hide.
Before I met and married my tormentor, my secret desire was mine and mine alone. Hidden behind thick walls of cement and insecurity, when we first fell in love on that bright and steamy summer nearly ten years ago, I was so afraid of what you’d think. Your kisses melted me like butter, made me soak through my panties and my jean shorts as we wasted summer nights away lost in each other’s touch. On those nights in the back seat of your car, on a hidden wooden trail, you found my most sensitive spots. You teased them with your tongue and teeth while I cried out in pleasure, mottling my skin with intimate bruises. How could you have known that all it would take was a flutter of your wicked fingers to send me screaming?
You certainly know all of my sensitive spots now darling. Over the years you have tied me up in every position imaginable. You have learned my body like a second language. Like a cartographer, you have mapped out every one of my hidden buttons until torturing me was no more difficult than finding your way home.
After all of the fun we’ve had, I am surprised that you have not tired of my favorite game. You may always choose the whip over the feather when push comes to shove, but you have always made space for my perversions. And though I cherish the welts left on my (bratty) ass by your crop dear, nothing can compare to the weight of your body on mine when you hold me down as I thrash against your ministrations. Especially when your fingers dig into the hollows of my ribs (Pleahehease don’t count them sir, I cant take it!).
I want nothing more than to be seen as strong, upright, and professional. I may not exactly be a type A, but that does not stop me from constantly wondering how others view me. My kink isn’t really embarrassing, but it’s intimate and it’s mine.
If people saw me as I am…if they knew. I shiver at the thought.
In all of our time together, since that sunny day at your dad’s lakehouse at 19 when you leaned towards the sensitive shell of my ear and asked me to laugh for you, I have been utterly exposed to you. Though I have told you a thousand times, you never tire of making me say it again. I get so flustered, but you just grin at me like you won the lottery.
Last time we played, you pinned me down with nothing but the strength of your arms. I had been such a bitch to you. I questioned your every move. I took joy in your frustration until you’d finally had enough. Sitting on the couch, ignoring the storm clouds my attitude had caused, you caught me unaware. Without time to flinch, you pinned me down by my shoulders. Your denim-clad thighs bracketing my hips, keeping me from squirming out of your hold.
“You’ve been such a little brat tonight princess”, you whisper into my ear, your hot breath sending shivers of pleasure down my sides. My ears were always so sensitive. You waste no time stripping me of my shirt and bra. I have nothing now. My bare breasts, stomach, and sides are completely exposed to your promised attacks. My thrashing increases as I feel the chill of the air dance across my exposed belly.
“Now what should I do with my naughty girl? You have been so mean to me tonight princess, and I think you know what you deserve.” you tease, your eyes never leaving mine.
Being as coy as I can manage pinned to the couch, I give my best approximation of a pout. “You could fuck me sir,” I simper as you roll your eyes. My breath quickens as I feel my nipples begin to pebble under the cool air. My thin bra, a pittable form of protection, stripped from my heaving chest, leaving me utterly vulnerable to your attention. Your hands hover over their peaks. Caresses that promise screaming pleasure so long as I behave. Your eyes sparkle with mischief for the briefest moment and I know that you won’t be letting me cum tonight. That’s not what bad girls deserve after all. In an instant your fingers have descended on my ribs, memorizing each ridge and valley like a pianist memorizes his scales. I shriek and thrash in your arms. I am desperate to find any kind of escape from the maddening torment but there is no use, you have me trapped
“Hahahaha pleahehehease sirhirhirhir”, I laugh, twisting in vain to try and escape your grip.
Sure we have chains and rope in our collection of toys, but my sir prefers a more personal touch when he has me writhing with giggles. My screams crescendo as your maniacal fingers bury themselves in my underarms. One of my most sensitive spots.
“It only takes one apology dear,” you say, mock sincerity dripping from your tone.
“I dohohohont knohohow what I did wrohong hahaha”, I force out between peals of laughter.
“Oh honey”, your fingers slow. They retreat from my most sensitive spots, hovering over the place I ache most for your touch. A promise and a punishment in one. It’s not enough that my sir torments me. No, you are dead set on teasing me until I break. You want me to beg, and all I want you to do is touch me and let me hide. My lungs burn as I struggle to catch my breath. I let out a pitiful moan as you cup my sex.
My panties are soaked with my wanting. I lavish in your touch for the barest of moments, my trapped hips thrusting in a vain attempt at a little more sensation. I don’t even get a single caress before you deny me, focusing instead on scrabbling your fingers against the hyper-sensitive junction of my thighs,
“Nohohoho, pleeaase hahahahah SIR!.”
You let out a gentle tut at my suffering. “I told you dear,” you taunt, “only good girls get their pussies played with.”
Tears track down my cheeks as my desperation rises.
“And besides,” you continue, “I think you are enjoying your tickles far too much to ruin them with a measly orgasm”,
I try to argue. To come up with anything that might sway you into giving my clit and my pussy the attention it so desperately needs. Any plan I could have concocted was abruptly cut off by your devious fingers spidering against the sides of my breasts.
“Sir if you cohohould just oh god hmmmm pleaheheheasee moorree. I mean-”
The sides of my breasts are just sensitive enough to leave me seesawing between endless giggles and moans for more. If you would just move your attention to the peaks of my breasts and let me grind my pussy against you…
It is at this point that I begin to feel as if my pleadings of no more have begun to change into begging for no…more. You know this. You always do.
After what felt like hours, you finally give me a breather. Even on our brakes you cuddle me in your embrace. The warmth of your breath teases the shell of my ear.
“You know,” you whisper, “It doesn’t have to be so hard. All you have to do is apologize and promise to be a good little tickle slute and I’ll give you what you need.”
“I can’t”, I cry.
You get up, slowly walking towards the foot of the bed.
“No no no no, please no,” I beg.
“You brought this on yourself princess”, you sigh, pinning my calves down before I have a chance to move.
“All you had to do was apologize and accept your tickles, but you think you’re too good for that princess”.
I shake my head, fervently praying to every deity I can think of to get out of the torture that waits for me.
Your fingers slowly move toward my soles, trapped and waiting.
“Last chance princess” you say with a grin, smug bastard.
I clamp my lips shut in my last act of defiance. I refuse to cave to your whims…no matter what my fluttering heart says.
Without warning you scrape your short nails over my bare soles with a fury and I scream. I cannot talk. I cannot laugh. I can only try to endure the onslaught of too-good, horrible sensation that lights up my feet like a switchboard.
So I scream.
I scream and cry and laugh and beg and I have no room for words I finally break under your fingers.
“I’m sorreheheheh”, I cry, my voice thick with tears and laughter.
You shine a Cheshire grime at me. So fucking pleased with yourself.
“I didn’t quite get that princess,” you pause. Giving me just enough time to gather my words.
“I’m sorry…sir.”
It takes all I have to answer you with any sense of coherence.
“Just what I wanted to hear,” you smile, pausing your ministrations. “But there’s one more piece that’s missing.”
Your attention returns to my feet. Though this time your fingers trace lazy patterns on my soles. I moan at the gentle sensation. Just enough to feel good and just on the edge of maddening.
“Please don’t make me say it sir,” I beg quietly.
“You have five seconds starting now.”
“Sir please!”
“Four.”
“No I-”
“Three.”
“I can’t”
“Two!”
“It’s so embarrassing”
“Onnneeee”
“OK fine”, I relent. The quickening of your fingers sending terror up my spine.
“Fine what darling?”, you goad, your fingers resuming their lazy travels, sending my brain into a tizzy.”
The words feel like cement on my tongue. I have to say it. My only other option is endless torture and I don’t know how much more of this that I can take. So I brace myself.
“I’m…your tickle slut,” I force out through gritted teeth.
“And what else?”, you say, your grip on my feet tightening.
“I like it okay”, I finally relent, “ I like it when you hold me down. I like your tickles. I like feeling helpless when you make me cry from how intense it is.
Your smile warms as you lean in for a kiss.
“Now was that so hard sweetheart,” you tease
“Please just kiss me sir. I promise I’ll be good”.
Finally free to sit up, you embrace me, holding my sides tight in your grasp as you pull me in for a heated kiss. Each kiss interspersed with light tickles on my side. The sound of sighing breaths interspersed with quiet giggles.
I look up at your crystal blue eyes with warm hope.
“Does this mean I get to cum tonight sir?”, I ask, my words tinted with desperation.
Your laughter booms as you look at me with sly fondness.
“Maybe next time if you are actually good, you can earn your orgasm instead of a punishment”.
Fin
Last edited:
Thanks for sharing your experience here. 
