NOTE: I wrote this story at the request of the girl who stars in this tale. We became friends online and I found that her tickling interests are similar to mine so we have had a fun correspondance. She is from Scotland. There is sexual content in this story, so if the subject of frottage disturbs you then do not read. The character in the story is above legal age.
Sweet Mercy Tickles
By Max Speer (2002)
Part One – The Bus Ride
Mercy looked at herself in the mirror and smiled. Her new clothes made her look extraordinarily sexy. She lifted her bare arms up and pulled her long, black hair back and struck a few poses and giggled with embarrassment. Having just turned 19 and in the United States from Scotland, she wanted to impress. She had only visited one time before and fell in love with the States. It was different than the place she lived; a little scary at times. It was harder to read people from this culture than the simple place that she knew so well.
The clothing stores were now stocked with spring and summer clothes, and Mercy loved the cute, girly styles that they were showing. She picked out a peasant-type top that gathered under her full breasts and had elastic armholes that made her bare arms look very cute and sexy. She also chose a long skirt and sandals. With her jet, black hair and dark eye make-up she was more of a Goth gypsy than any girl you would suspect would come from a country like Scotland.
Mercy left the house and waited on the corner for a bus. It was still rush hour and the bus arrived, packed with people. She paid the driver and squeezed through the crowd until she found a spot to stand and hold onto the high bar that hung from the ceiling of the bus. She felt a little self-conscious of this position and snuck a peak under her arm to make sure that she was smooth as silk. She smiled inwardly when she saw that her underarm was indeed very smooth and hairless.
The bus rocked back and forth and Mercy was deep in thought. She needed to push her consciousness inward so that she didn’t feel a touch of claustrophobia.
Then a strange thing occurred. She was jolted from her thoughts with a tickling sensation under her arm. Her first impulse was to throw her arm down quickly and protect herself. She had always been extremely ticklish, especially under her arms when her old boyfriends would hold her arms over her head and tickle the living daylights out of her. Mercy had a cute laugh and it seemed to get her boyfriends very hot and bothered when they saw her squirming underneath of them and giggling like a little girl.
Mercy tried to think away the sensations but they still lingered. But before she could engineer her other hand to rub away the tickling feelings, she felt another tickle under her arm. This time, she giggled involuntarily and threw her arm down quickly, almost taking someone’s head off in the process. She looked around but everyone seemed to be in his or her own thoughts and she couldn’t tell who it was.
The bus began to rock again and, reluctantly, she lifted her bare arm again and gripped the high pole. Perhaps it was just someone’s shirt rubbing under my arm, she thought. But a minute later, she felt the unmistakable feeling of several fingers scribbling a tickle under her smooth arm. Again she burst into a rash of giggles and threw her arm down. An elderly woman looked up from her seat and stared at her.
"Someone just tickled me," Mercy said, embarrassed.
The woman gave her a dirty look. She couldn’t understand a word Mercy said between her accent and bad hearing aid.
The bus was rocking again and Mercy debated as to whether she should move. But at the next stop, more people loaded onto the bus and she was stuck, helplessly in that spot. She decided to use her other arm this time and stretched that one up and gripped the pole. She was a little nervous and feeling very ticklish at this moment.
Sure enough, a minute later, she was tickled under that arm. This time she burst out into laughter so loud it embarrassed her. She turned bright red as she put her other hand under her arm to wipe away the sensations. Now Mercy was frightened. She couldn’t figure out who it was. The man behind her seemed to be lost in his own thoughts and she was too new to the culture to know whether she should confront the man. She opted for silence.
Mercy tried to stay up as the bus rocked but it seemed impossible. She didn’t want to fall into anyone for that would be truly embarrassing, so she lifted her arm up and gripped the pole. The bus turned into a very narrow and winding road and one arm proved insufficient to keep her balance. Reluctantly, Mercy lifted both arms and gripped as the bus rocked savagely down the winding road.
Before long, amid the rocking, she began to feel a teasing touch around the armholes of her shirt. It was a deliberate tickling of her shoulders and the backs of her arms. She was excruciatingly ticklish all over her arms so it didn’t matter where they were touched. It tickled!
Mercy began to giggle and squirm and soon she felt something that made her gasp and hold her breath. It must have been a man and he must have been standing directly behind her because she felt the presence of a large erection pushed against her butt. He was tickling her and pushing against her at the same time!
Mercy didn’t know what to do, however, she knew she had to hold on tight to the pole or the rocking would send her flying against the other passengers. She gripped with all of her might as the fingers tickled a torturous path around and around the elastic armholes of her sleeveless shirt, occasionally stretching the material back to get to more skin. The finger then began a gentle but maddeningly ticklish stroking of the smooth, silky skin of her underarms.
He was tickling without restraint now and all the time, rubbing his excited organ against her. The rocking of the bus added to the sexual excitement as his erection grew harder and harder.
Mercy was giggling uncontrollably and the old woman in the seat was now muttering to herself as to how rude teenagers could be, laughing at the elderly like she was.
A few times, when Mercy let go she started to move quickly off balance so she grabbed the pole once again. But again, she felt the man’s fingers tickling and tickling her silky underarms making her laugh and giggle and squirm. All the time she was squirming, she heard the moaning in her ear and felt the warm breath of a man in sexual excitement, getting off on her like he was.
Mercy was hysterical at this point and the other passengers must have thought she was insane. The tickling man had a clever way of hiding his fingers when people looked at her. She began to feel the man rubbing up and down on her as he tickled and she knew that he was in a heightened state of sexual excitement at this point. She realized that he was getting off on her laughing and feeling her smooth armpits but there was nothing she could do.
Suddenly, she burst out with, "Stop! That tickles me so much! Stop tickling my underarms!" As soon as she said that she heard a faint moan and the rubbing stopped only to be replaced by slight little jerks behind her and pressing hard against her.
Mercy realized that the man must have climaxed against her for he let out one long breath and stopped tickling.
The young girl was out of breath from laughing and she was embarrassed by her outburst that seemed to attract everyone’s attention. The bus had come to a stop and she stared back at the passengers who looked at her.
"He was tickling me," she said pointing behind her, hands now off the poles. "That man."
They stared at her. Mercy spun around, there was a large group of passengers exiting the bus at the back. The man must have disappeared into that crowd.
"Really," she said. "There was a man tickling me a moment ago."
"I don’t understand a word you’re saying," the old woman screeched from her seat.
As the bus began again, Mercy found a seat and looked out of the window. She saw a man staring up at her, a little spot on the front of his pants. He stared at her as the bus began to move and wriggled his fingers, imitating someone tickling. The young girl gasped as she heard the faint sound of his voice shouting, "I’ll get you good next time!"
Mercy shuddered.
End of Part 1.
Sweet Mercy Tickles
By Max Speer (2002)
Part One – The Bus Ride
Mercy looked at herself in the mirror and smiled. Her new clothes made her look extraordinarily sexy. She lifted her bare arms up and pulled her long, black hair back and struck a few poses and giggled with embarrassment. Having just turned 19 and in the United States from Scotland, she wanted to impress. She had only visited one time before and fell in love with the States. It was different than the place she lived; a little scary at times. It was harder to read people from this culture than the simple place that she knew so well.
The clothing stores were now stocked with spring and summer clothes, and Mercy loved the cute, girly styles that they were showing. She picked out a peasant-type top that gathered under her full breasts and had elastic armholes that made her bare arms look very cute and sexy. She also chose a long skirt and sandals. With her jet, black hair and dark eye make-up she was more of a Goth gypsy than any girl you would suspect would come from a country like Scotland.
Mercy left the house and waited on the corner for a bus. It was still rush hour and the bus arrived, packed with people. She paid the driver and squeezed through the crowd until she found a spot to stand and hold onto the high bar that hung from the ceiling of the bus. She felt a little self-conscious of this position and snuck a peak under her arm to make sure that she was smooth as silk. She smiled inwardly when she saw that her underarm was indeed very smooth and hairless.
The bus rocked back and forth and Mercy was deep in thought. She needed to push her consciousness inward so that she didn’t feel a touch of claustrophobia.
Then a strange thing occurred. She was jolted from her thoughts with a tickling sensation under her arm. Her first impulse was to throw her arm down quickly and protect herself. She had always been extremely ticklish, especially under her arms when her old boyfriends would hold her arms over her head and tickle the living daylights out of her. Mercy had a cute laugh and it seemed to get her boyfriends very hot and bothered when they saw her squirming underneath of them and giggling like a little girl.
Mercy tried to think away the sensations but they still lingered. But before she could engineer her other hand to rub away the tickling feelings, she felt another tickle under her arm. This time, she giggled involuntarily and threw her arm down quickly, almost taking someone’s head off in the process. She looked around but everyone seemed to be in his or her own thoughts and she couldn’t tell who it was.
The bus began to rock again and, reluctantly, she lifted her bare arm again and gripped the high pole. Perhaps it was just someone’s shirt rubbing under my arm, she thought. But a minute later, she felt the unmistakable feeling of several fingers scribbling a tickle under her smooth arm. Again she burst into a rash of giggles and threw her arm down. An elderly woman looked up from her seat and stared at her.
"Someone just tickled me," Mercy said, embarrassed.
The woman gave her a dirty look. She couldn’t understand a word Mercy said between her accent and bad hearing aid.
The bus was rocking again and Mercy debated as to whether she should move. But at the next stop, more people loaded onto the bus and she was stuck, helplessly in that spot. She decided to use her other arm this time and stretched that one up and gripped the pole. She was a little nervous and feeling very ticklish at this moment.
Sure enough, a minute later, she was tickled under that arm. This time she burst out into laughter so loud it embarrassed her. She turned bright red as she put her other hand under her arm to wipe away the sensations. Now Mercy was frightened. She couldn’t figure out who it was. The man behind her seemed to be lost in his own thoughts and she was too new to the culture to know whether she should confront the man. She opted for silence.
Mercy tried to stay up as the bus rocked but it seemed impossible. She didn’t want to fall into anyone for that would be truly embarrassing, so she lifted her arm up and gripped the pole. The bus turned into a very narrow and winding road and one arm proved insufficient to keep her balance. Reluctantly, Mercy lifted both arms and gripped as the bus rocked savagely down the winding road.
Before long, amid the rocking, she began to feel a teasing touch around the armholes of her shirt. It was a deliberate tickling of her shoulders and the backs of her arms. She was excruciatingly ticklish all over her arms so it didn’t matter where they were touched. It tickled!
Mercy began to giggle and squirm and soon she felt something that made her gasp and hold her breath. It must have been a man and he must have been standing directly behind her because she felt the presence of a large erection pushed against her butt. He was tickling her and pushing against her at the same time!
Mercy didn’t know what to do, however, she knew she had to hold on tight to the pole or the rocking would send her flying against the other passengers. She gripped with all of her might as the fingers tickled a torturous path around and around the elastic armholes of her sleeveless shirt, occasionally stretching the material back to get to more skin. The finger then began a gentle but maddeningly ticklish stroking of the smooth, silky skin of her underarms.
He was tickling without restraint now and all the time, rubbing his excited organ against her. The rocking of the bus added to the sexual excitement as his erection grew harder and harder.
Mercy was giggling uncontrollably and the old woman in the seat was now muttering to herself as to how rude teenagers could be, laughing at the elderly like she was.
A few times, when Mercy let go she started to move quickly off balance so she grabbed the pole once again. But again, she felt the man’s fingers tickling and tickling her silky underarms making her laugh and giggle and squirm. All the time she was squirming, she heard the moaning in her ear and felt the warm breath of a man in sexual excitement, getting off on her like he was.
Mercy was hysterical at this point and the other passengers must have thought she was insane. The tickling man had a clever way of hiding his fingers when people looked at her. She began to feel the man rubbing up and down on her as he tickled and she knew that he was in a heightened state of sexual excitement at this point. She realized that he was getting off on her laughing and feeling her smooth armpits but there was nothing she could do.
Suddenly, she burst out with, "Stop! That tickles me so much! Stop tickling my underarms!" As soon as she said that she heard a faint moan and the rubbing stopped only to be replaced by slight little jerks behind her and pressing hard against her.
Mercy realized that the man must have climaxed against her for he let out one long breath and stopped tickling.
The young girl was out of breath from laughing and she was embarrassed by her outburst that seemed to attract everyone’s attention. The bus had come to a stop and she stared back at the passengers who looked at her.
"He was tickling me," she said pointing behind her, hands now off the poles. "That man."
They stared at her. Mercy spun around, there was a large group of passengers exiting the bus at the back. The man must have disappeared into that crowd.
"Really," she said. "There was a man tickling me a moment ago."
"I don’t understand a word you’re saying," the old woman screeched from her seat.
As the bus began again, Mercy found a seat and looked out of the window. She saw a man staring up at her, a little spot on the front of his pants. He stared at her as the bus began to move and wriggled his fingers, imitating someone tickling. The young girl gasped as she heard the faint sound of his voice shouting, "I’ll get you good next time!"
Mercy shuddered.
End of Part 1.
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