Chapter 2
She slept well on the plane. She had to purchase the wifi to send an email to school letting them know she’d be out Monday and a substitute would be needed but that she’d definitely be back Tuesday. She knew she’d get no questions – she almost never called in sick – and the thought of having nowhere to be helped her sleep. She woke up as the plane was touching down. She had left in such a rush she barely remembered what she’d packed. What was the weather like in London in October? Her small carryon on her back, she stepped off the plane, not knowing anything about who she was meeting but feeling somehow that everything would be alright.
She looked for Carey from the escalator down to the baggage claim. His height would make him easy to spot, but she didn’t see him. Instead, as she reached the ground floor, a sharply-dressed man approached her.
“Good morning, Alex. I’m Charles. Let me take your bag.”
“Um, thank you,” Alex said, as he took her carryon. “Where’s Carey?”
“He’s at the house. He regrets he can’t retrieve you himself, but he’ll be waiting for you when we arrive. This way.”
With a kind smile, Charles ushered her toward the door and into a black car waiting just outside.
“How far is it from here?” She asked as she climbed into the back seat.
“Not far. About an hour. There’s water in the door and if you’re hungry we can stop in the way, although there is supper waiting at the house.”
“Thank you,” said Alex, realizing she hadn’t eaten since dinner the night before. The time difference was strange. She’d just woken up but it was already evening and it gave the day a tinge of unreality.
The airport disappeared behind them and she saw London in the distance. Her stomach fluttered as the weight of what she was doing once again landed on her. They passed the city and suddenly Alex was gazing over lush, rolling hills – almost cartoonishly beautiful. Sheep dotted the countryside and the houses, tucked into the hills, were the stuff of fairytales.
It was dusk when they arrived. A long driveway led from the country road through a field where several horses raised their heads to watch their approach. A lake surrounded by willows glistened on the right and she saw a small dock with a boat clunking gently against the boards. When they turned the next corner, she saw the house.
The first thing she noticed were the candles. In every window, a candle glowed in the falling dark, making the stone façade look like an advent calendar. It was enormous, impossibly beautiful, and manicured to perfection. Two dogs nipped at the car tires as it came to a stop in the rotunda and a slender hand pulled open Alex’s door.
“I am so happy you came,” Carey said, and helped her from the car. “How was your trip?”
“You live here?” Alex said.
“I do. It’s far enough from the city, but not too far. I like it.”
“It’s incredible,” she said. Are those your horses?
“They are. Would you like to ride tomorrow?”
She laughed in disbelief. “I mean, yes. Yes I would like that.” She turned to look at the property and breathed deeply. “I can’t believe I’m here,” she said.
“Neither can I.”
Charles took the car and Carey escorted Alex through the front door. The tour he gave her of the centuries old estate left her breathless – each room was more magnificent then the next.
“It was in bad shape when I bought it,” he told her. “It had been a farmhouse, and long ago, there’d been an orchard here. There’s an elaborate cellar for storing wine and cider.”
“I don’t know what to say, it’s so beautiful.”
“Are you hungry?”
“Yes, very.”
“Lovely. Your room is there. You can change clothes if you like, and then we’ll meet in the dining room? You remember, just down there.”
“Great,” she said, shaking her head. “Thank you.”
“It is entirely my pleasure. See you in a bit.”
With that he turned and walked down the hall, his shoes echoing softly against the oak floor. She opened the door to her room and gasped. A large bedroom overlooking the lake gave way to its own patio. There was a door to a large bathroom off to the side and a bookcase that filled the opposite wall. She browsed the titles and fell backward onto the bed.
“What the fuck is happening to me,” she said to herself. She sat up and opened her carryon, which Charles had apparently deposited on the floor beside the bed. She had woefully under packed. There was nothing dressier than leggings and the sweater she’d thrown in in case she got cold. She took off her travel sweats and changed into the leggings. The sweater she chose to wear with nothing underneath besides her bra. In the floor-length mirror, it hung flatteringly just to the top of her thighs. She took down her hair and let it fall messily to her shoulders.
“I’m fucking cute. I’m fucking cute and I know it,” she said to the mirror, and having freshened up in the bathroom with the most expensive looking toiletries she’d ever seen, she bounced as confidently as she could out the door and down the hall.
The dining room glowed in candlelight. Charles was waiting at the door and swept her in to meet Carey who was standing near the head of the table.
“Welcome,” he said. “You look lovely if you don’t mind my saying.”
“Shut up,” Alex said. “I didn’t realize you lived in Buckingham Palace I would have brought a dress.”
He laughed. “Thank goodness we aren’t in Buckingham Palace.”
“Clients of yours?” Alex quipped.
Carey smiled. “Charles? Some wine?”
“Jesus they are, aren’t they?” she said.
“Here you are, Miss,” Charles swooped in and poured wine into their glasses.
Carey raised his, “To Alex, and the leap of faith that brought her here.”
Alex blushed. “Thank you. This is all so much.” They drank and sat.
It was hours later when they finally finished dessert. Without comparison, it was the best meal Alex had ever eaten. The chef, who came to introduce herself, had been working for Carey for years after Carey had introduced her to her now wife.
“I owe this man my life,” she said. “That’s not hyperbole.”
“What did she mean by that?” Alex said.
“You’ll have to ask her. I’ll just say when she came to me, she was in a dark place,” Carey said. “It can be powerful, finding someone to share everything with.” He sipped his wine. Both of them were flushed with the two bottles they’d put away. Alex looked at his face and thought she saw him cover a twinge of sadness.
“What do you want?” she asked.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean,” she didn’t know how to put it. “What do you want from me?”
“Oh my dear, I hope none of this seems transactional. I asked you here because I think we might want the same thing. But if that’s not true, then that’s alright.”
“That’s what I’m asking. What is it you want?”
She slipped off her flat sneaker and as lightly as she could, and with her heart beating out of its chamber, touched the front of his leg under the table. His jaw clenched. Her foot traced a line up his shin to his knee where it came to rest. She could barely look at him but she felt his eyes staring into her. She felt his fingers slide over the top of her socked foot and she inhaled through her teeth. He said nothing but traced a small line from the her big toe over the top of her foot to the crook of her ankle. She gripped the seat of her chair. He hadn’t even approached her sole but it was coming, she knew. But then it didn’t, he just gently played with the top of her foot for what felt to Alex like an eternity. It was turning her into a pressure cooker. She clutched her seat and tried not to moan. Little frustrated sounds escaped her until the anticipation had risen to a raging boil. She let go of the chair and leapt toward him, straddling him in chair, nearly knocking him backwards. She wrapped her arms around his neck and instantly, his long fingers slipped under her sweater and landed on her rib cage.
She screamed, partially in release and partly because she felt like she was being electrocuted. He hadn’t known what do expect - it’s difficult to anticipate how someone will react the first time, but it was better with Alex than he could ever have hoped. Her scream melted into a deep belly-laugh. Her head hung down to rest on his and her torso, convulsing with laughter, pressed against his chest. He felt each rib react to his touch, felt the bottom of her bra and prodded along its border, amazed by her capacity to keep her arms from clamping to her sides.
He slowly stopped his onslaught and came to rest his hands on her hips. Alex was not particularly thin but his hands nearly touched behind her.
“This is what I want,” he said softly, looking up into her flushed face. Her hair fell in a tangle around her.
“You want more than that,” she said. “And so do I.”
“Come with me,” he said, and without any effort at all, stood up from the chair, Alex still wrapped around him, and set her down next to him. He took her hand in his and led her down the hall. She reached out and leaned on the wall for support as he opened a door and beckoned her in.
A roaring fire in the fireplace was the only light. He led her to a large sofa and she sat. “Can I get you a drink?” he said. She shook her head. The intensity of her arousal was overwhelming. She sat forward on the couch, rubbing her kneecaps together subconsciously, her socked feet pigeon-toed toward each other. An entire lifetime of un-examined desire was simmering to the surface and could no longer be contained. He approached her slowly. She responded by lifting her legs into the sofa and laying back, raising her arms over her head. He smiled at her and sat on the edge of the couch resting his hip against hers. With his right hand he made little flicks across her torso as he spoke.
“Hello, my dear.”
“Hello,” she said, flinching.
“Do you like the sofa?”
She wrinkled her forehead. “Yes? It’s just a sofa.” She was squirming now.
“Just a sofa. How sweet,” he said as he pulled a lever between the cushions. There were cuffs and straps, buckles and belts, wraps and chains. The sofa opened like a flower and sprouted every manner of restraint system you could imagine. Alex half-gasped half laughed.
“Oh my god!”
“A bit much isn’t it?” he said.
She shook her head. Then, laying back down, she situated herself in the middle of the sofa and stretched herself out again. Without saying anything, Carey crossed to the bottom of the sofa and began gently, but firmly, securing Alex’s feet and legs. After each strap, he looked up at her, trying to gauge whether she’d feel claustrophobic. Her feet were bound by leather cuffs and secured to the sofa-frame by thick black rope. Two straps locked down her knees, and two more secured her thighs. Her wrists were cuffed to the frame as well with straps above and below her elbows ensuring she’d have very little movement. When he was done, he returned to his seat next to her now helpless body.
“A safeword?”
“Middletown,” she grinned.
“Perfect. Any last words?”
Her mind flashed back to her first night exploring this in her bed alone.
“Actually, can I ask you not touch somewhere?”
“Of course, anything.”
“My hips.”
“You mean the area here?”
He lifted his hand and gestured, without touching, to her hip bones near the top of her leggings. She instinctively gasped.
“Mm-hmm, yep, there.” She closed her eyes. “Just, don’t go there.”
“You have my word,” he said. Surprised. “Just so I know, and you don’t have to tell me, but is this an area of past trauma? Or an aversion? Or…”
“I’m afraid if I tell you it will make you want to,” she said.
“I would never without your consent, my darling. Never.”
She nodded. “The thought of it is so intense it scares me.”
He nodded. “You’re saying it’s because they’re too ticklish.”
She nodded. “I think so. Maybe someday. But not tonight.”
“Your hips are off-limits. You have my word.”
“Thank you,” she said. “Everything else is…is good though.”
“Everything?”
“Everything.”
“So,” he said, lifting her sweater with his right hand, “if I were to remove this cumbersome sweater…” She moaned. “And pull it over your head like this…” she looked down at her body, now in her bra and leggings and a tidal wave of goosebumps washed over her. “…and then I was to slowly and methodically explore every millimeter of this exquisitely ticklish woman…”
“Carey,” she said. I want what you want.”
“I know you do, my dear.”
And with that, ten wriggling fingers dug deftly into the hollows of her helpless armpits.
The depth of her laughter surprised both of them. Everything was new, and the intensity of the sensations was shocking – the way jumping into cold water hits your nervous system harder than you think it should. She had been so diligent about keeping her arms up to keep her targets exposed, but now she realized she could struggle and pull and it wouldn’t matter, and the feeling of tugging helplessly at her restraints filled her with both terror and joy.
His hands slid lower to the sides of her breasts, nearly the same spot she’d imagined him torturing the night before, except now there was nothing to imagine. Her back arched and her eyes widened and when her laughter came out as nothing but air, Carey arched his eyebrow and grinned, relishing in her torment.
It was only now she even considered that she could try and get him to stop. She didn’t want him to stop, but she wanted him to know how totally she was at his mercy. She wanted to beg. So the next time her elusive breath came back long enough to speak, she recalled her video victim and said, “not there. Please not there,” before dissolving again into convulsive laughter.
“Not there, you say?” Carey smiled. “That’s how I know to keep going.” He leaned in and doubled his efforts, applying expert pressure to each rib and ligament, each inch of ticklish skin. She erupted anew, howling and sputtering, but inside, she was delighted by the sound her begging had made. The words felt lovely in her mouth – she wanted more.
“Oh god, please. Somewhere else!” she screamed through ticklish agony. “I’ll do anything.”
Whatever torture she was enduring from Carey, it didn’t mitigate what was happening in her leggings. Each word she uttered made her wetter – the act of begging this man for mercy and the certainty she wouldn’t receive any was the most erotic experience of her life.
“Tell you what,” Carey said, letting her breathe for a moment. “I’ll give you a break, but you’re going to pay for it.”
“Oh god, what. What do you mean?” she said.
“You see that cabinet?” He pinched her side casually causing her to yelp. “That innocent looking one over in the corner?” He squeezed her thigh which elicited a scream and a long, satisfying laugh after. “Well it’s not so innocent. It’s not innocent at all.” He suddenly raised his hand and brought it and inch from her rib cage. She screamed again and squirmed as he held it there. “Do you know what’s in it?” he said.
She was beside herself in anticipation as he held his hand an inch above her exposed rib cage. All she could muster was a whimper as she shook her head no.
"I’m going to walk over there and come back with some things. And while you are already extremely ticklish - I have say exceptionally ticklish – what I have in that cabinet is…shall I show you?"
She shook her head again.
“No?” He said. “You wouldn’t like to be even more ticklish?”
“Oh god oh god,” she squeaked.
“You wouldn’t like to be made to laugh harder than you thought was possible?”
As he spoke her insides unraveled with desire.
“Oh fuck if you keep talking like that I’m going to cum in your sofa.”
“Really?” He seemed genuinely surprised. He leaned until his mouth was right next to her ear. “You mean if I keep discussing the virtues of tickling your helpless body until you are nothing but a happy little puddle in my floor?”
“Oh GOD,” she said and she arched her back.
“You mean if I tell you about my collection of oils and implements intended specifically to make you scream for mercy?”
“Oh fuck. Oh fuuuuuck.”
“Here!” he said, abruptly getting up and crossing to the cabinet in the corner. “You don’t leave until tomorrow, right? How do you feel about your feet being scrubbed with these for the next few hours?” He held up two curved brushes, unlike anything she’d ever seen. Her eyes widened and she felt everything in her groin tighten. “What about this?” He said holding up a bottle of something. “It was given to me by a dominatrix in Japan. The most diabolically ticklish body oil I’ve ever encountered. Makes baby oil feel like sandpaper.”
“Oh my god no no no,” Alex moaned.
“Or these – tell me, my sensitive little darling. Have you ever had your toes tied together?”
She was orgasming now.
“Or been blindfolded?” He was walking back toward her now. She convulsed against the restraints. “Or been gagged?”
“Oh god don’t stop - don’t stop.”
“Actually,” he said thoughtfully, “I’ve been waiting my whole life to hear your tortured laughter. Why would I deprive myself now?” And with that, the dam broke and Alex released.
“Oh god. Oh GOOOODDD!” She came so hard she didn’t notice at first that by the time it had subsided, Carey had removed her socks and secured her big toes to the sofa frame and had his huge hand about an inch from her left sole.
“Hope you had fun,” he said. “Because play time is definitely over.” And five fingers suddenly danced across Alex’s naked, quivering sole. Her knees locked as her legs kicked instinctively against the sensations but there was no where to go, so instead, both legs shook like imprisoned Jack hammers while a deep, rolling belly-laugh erupted from inside her guts. The infinity of it shocked her – that it was this ticklish another second, and another, and another and that there was no telling how many consecutive seconds she might be forced to endure this torrential fire-storm of stimulation.
She closed her eyes and leaned into it. He felt this happen – felt her commit to the suffering. It made him crazy. He stopped long enough to grab the bottle of oil and unscrew the cap. The oil was so fine she barely felt it drip down the lengths of her feet. He used his warm palms to smooth it over their surfaces and at his touch, her knees gave an reactive tug against the restraints.
“Hnngg,” she gasped.
“Yes,” he said. “This stuff is… diabolical.”
The hairbrush slid across her sole like a thousand-legged ice-skater. It tickled so much it bordered on pain. Alex opened her mouth to scream but all she could muster was a weak breathy exhalation of air before desperate, silent laughter took over her body. It was, until that point in her life, the most intense thing she’d ever experienced. She thrashed as hard as she could and when her lungs finally refilled with air, she screamed “Oh god, stop stop stop sto…” but her pleas disappeared in the next onslaught of tortured, delirious laughter.
She lost track of how long he tickled her feet. She was nearly hoarse when he finally let her breathe. She was so exhausted she could barely thank him for stopping.
“Oh thank you,” she managed to say.
“I have to say,” he said, putting the brush down and coming to stroke her sweat-dappled cheek. “Your endurance is extraordinary. You remember you have a safeword?”
She blushed. “Never,” she said, and smiled weakly at him.
“You’ve had practice at this, clearly,” he said pinching her exposed side. She let out an “eep” and shook her head.
“Nope. First time.”
He laughed and pinched her again. She giggled. Then he paused.
“Wait. Surely you’re joking.” She shook her head again.
“I swear! I’ve never been tickled like this. I’ve never been tied up. I didn’t even know I wanted this until two days ago.”
He stared at her a moment. Then in a swift movement he uncuffed her hands and the straps keeping her arms down. She sat up confused.
“Tell me,” he said and sat next to her on the sofa.
So she did. She told him about Martin, about the jungle book, about the video. She told him about the sleepless night she’d had, about how insane it felt to be exploring this with someone so newly after discovering it herself.
“My dear,” he said shaking his head. “I’m so sorry.”
“Why?”
“I never would have moved this quickly had I known it was so new. You seemed so…experienced.”
“Oh,” she said. “I’m glad I’m here. I don’t want to be treated differently than you’ve treated me.” She looked concerned. I thought you knew.
“No. I rarely miss that badly. I’m truly sorry,” he said.
“Are we done?” she asked.
“Would you like not to be?” He was bewildered by her, this inexhaustible woman half-restrained to his sofa. She bit her lip and shook her head.
“I know when you stop then tomorrow will happen and I have to go home.”
He smiled. “What should I do?”
She shrugged playfully. ”Whatever you want.”
“Well since they’re still securely fastened to the furniture, shall I torture your feet some more?”
“No no not that,” she shook her head vigorously.
“What about this,” he said standing. “I’m going to tickle your feet until you cum again. You have your hands free to help you.”
“Oh fuck,” she said and threw her head back. “I’m gonna last like ten seconds.”
“Well that would make you a very bad girl,” he said as he made his way down to her feet. She clutched at her chest and closed her eyes.
“Oh fuck, oh fuck okay,” she groaned.
He started slowly. Like her, he didn’t want it to end. He’d been aware since her arrival how fleeting their time would be. Still, he knew she’d be sensitive. Her hand slid down and under her soaked leggings. For the next several minutes, she oscillated between the edge of orgasm and hysterical, ticklish agony as Carey brought her back again and again by teasing with his hands one moment, and torturing her with the brush the next. When he laid into her, she’d grab the sofa with both hands, drop her chin to her chest and give in, her whole body shaking with the force of her laughter. And when her body couldn’t laugh any harder, the tears would come. Still she didn’t use her safeword, only begged, knowing it would only stop when she chose to let herself go over the edge. When she finally did, he lightly stroked her soles with his fingers and watched her fill the room with her pleasure. It lasted for what seemed like an impossible amount of time. She leaned back on her hand when it subsided, her other still in her leggings, her face drenched in sweat and tears, and breathed.
He unbuckled her feet and legs and gently lifted her from the sofa. He carried her out through the deserted hall and into her room, where he placed her onto the bed, and there in the dark, he held her, eyes wide with adoration, worried that if he didn’t hold her tight enough, she might disappear.
She slept well on the plane. She had to purchase the wifi to send an email to school letting them know she’d be out Monday and a substitute would be needed but that she’d definitely be back Tuesday. She knew she’d get no questions – she almost never called in sick – and the thought of having nowhere to be helped her sleep. She woke up as the plane was touching down. She had left in such a rush she barely remembered what she’d packed. What was the weather like in London in October? Her small carryon on her back, she stepped off the plane, not knowing anything about who she was meeting but feeling somehow that everything would be alright.
She looked for Carey from the escalator down to the baggage claim. His height would make him easy to spot, but she didn’t see him. Instead, as she reached the ground floor, a sharply-dressed man approached her.
“Good morning, Alex. I’m Charles. Let me take your bag.”
“Um, thank you,” Alex said, as he took her carryon. “Where’s Carey?”
“He’s at the house. He regrets he can’t retrieve you himself, but he’ll be waiting for you when we arrive. This way.”
With a kind smile, Charles ushered her toward the door and into a black car waiting just outside.
“How far is it from here?” She asked as she climbed into the back seat.
“Not far. About an hour. There’s water in the door and if you’re hungry we can stop in the way, although there is supper waiting at the house.”
“Thank you,” said Alex, realizing she hadn’t eaten since dinner the night before. The time difference was strange. She’d just woken up but it was already evening and it gave the day a tinge of unreality.
The airport disappeared behind them and she saw London in the distance. Her stomach fluttered as the weight of what she was doing once again landed on her. They passed the city and suddenly Alex was gazing over lush, rolling hills – almost cartoonishly beautiful. Sheep dotted the countryside and the houses, tucked into the hills, were the stuff of fairytales.
It was dusk when they arrived. A long driveway led from the country road through a field where several horses raised their heads to watch their approach. A lake surrounded by willows glistened on the right and she saw a small dock with a boat clunking gently against the boards. When they turned the next corner, she saw the house.
The first thing she noticed were the candles. In every window, a candle glowed in the falling dark, making the stone façade look like an advent calendar. It was enormous, impossibly beautiful, and manicured to perfection. Two dogs nipped at the car tires as it came to a stop in the rotunda and a slender hand pulled open Alex’s door.
“I am so happy you came,” Carey said, and helped her from the car. “How was your trip?”
“You live here?” Alex said.
“I do. It’s far enough from the city, but not too far. I like it.”
“It’s incredible,” she said. Are those your horses?
“They are. Would you like to ride tomorrow?”
She laughed in disbelief. “I mean, yes. Yes I would like that.” She turned to look at the property and breathed deeply. “I can’t believe I’m here,” she said.
“Neither can I.”
Charles took the car and Carey escorted Alex through the front door. The tour he gave her of the centuries old estate left her breathless – each room was more magnificent then the next.
“It was in bad shape when I bought it,” he told her. “It had been a farmhouse, and long ago, there’d been an orchard here. There’s an elaborate cellar for storing wine and cider.”
“I don’t know what to say, it’s so beautiful.”
“Are you hungry?”
“Yes, very.”
“Lovely. Your room is there. You can change clothes if you like, and then we’ll meet in the dining room? You remember, just down there.”
“Great,” she said, shaking her head. “Thank you.”
“It is entirely my pleasure. See you in a bit.”
With that he turned and walked down the hall, his shoes echoing softly against the oak floor. She opened the door to her room and gasped. A large bedroom overlooking the lake gave way to its own patio. There was a door to a large bathroom off to the side and a bookcase that filled the opposite wall. She browsed the titles and fell backward onto the bed.
“What the fuck is happening to me,” she said to herself. She sat up and opened her carryon, which Charles had apparently deposited on the floor beside the bed. She had woefully under packed. There was nothing dressier than leggings and the sweater she’d thrown in in case she got cold. She took off her travel sweats and changed into the leggings. The sweater she chose to wear with nothing underneath besides her bra. In the floor-length mirror, it hung flatteringly just to the top of her thighs. She took down her hair and let it fall messily to her shoulders.
“I’m fucking cute. I’m fucking cute and I know it,” she said to the mirror, and having freshened up in the bathroom with the most expensive looking toiletries she’d ever seen, she bounced as confidently as she could out the door and down the hall.
The dining room glowed in candlelight. Charles was waiting at the door and swept her in to meet Carey who was standing near the head of the table.
“Welcome,” he said. “You look lovely if you don’t mind my saying.”
“Shut up,” Alex said. “I didn’t realize you lived in Buckingham Palace I would have brought a dress.”
He laughed. “Thank goodness we aren’t in Buckingham Palace.”
“Clients of yours?” Alex quipped.
Carey smiled. “Charles? Some wine?”
“Jesus they are, aren’t they?” she said.
“Here you are, Miss,” Charles swooped in and poured wine into their glasses.
Carey raised his, “To Alex, and the leap of faith that brought her here.”
Alex blushed. “Thank you. This is all so much.” They drank and sat.
It was hours later when they finally finished dessert. Without comparison, it was the best meal Alex had ever eaten. The chef, who came to introduce herself, had been working for Carey for years after Carey had introduced her to her now wife.
“I owe this man my life,” she said. “That’s not hyperbole.”
“What did she mean by that?” Alex said.
“You’ll have to ask her. I’ll just say when she came to me, she was in a dark place,” Carey said. “It can be powerful, finding someone to share everything with.” He sipped his wine. Both of them were flushed with the two bottles they’d put away. Alex looked at his face and thought she saw him cover a twinge of sadness.
“What do you want?” she asked.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean,” she didn’t know how to put it. “What do you want from me?”
“Oh my dear, I hope none of this seems transactional. I asked you here because I think we might want the same thing. But if that’s not true, then that’s alright.”
“That’s what I’m asking. What is it you want?”
She slipped off her flat sneaker and as lightly as she could, and with her heart beating out of its chamber, touched the front of his leg under the table. His jaw clenched. Her foot traced a line up his shin to his knee where it came to rest. She could barely look at him but she felt his eyes staring into her. She felt his fingers slide over the top of her socked foot and she inhaled through her teeth. He said nothing but traced a small line from the her big toe over the top of her foot to the crook of her ankle. She gripped the seat of her chair. He hadn’t even approached her sole but it was coming, she knew. But then it didn’t, he just gently played with the top of her foot for what felt to Alex like an eternity. It was turning her into a pressure cooker. She clutched her seat and tried not to moan. Little frustrated sounds escaped her until the anticipation had risen to a raging boil. She let go of the chair and leapt toward him, straddling him in chair, nearly knocking him backwards. She wrapped her arms around his neck and instantly, his long fingers slipped under her sweater and landed on her rib cage.
She screamed, partially in release and partly because she felt like she was being electrocuted. He hadn’t known what do expect - it’s difficult to anticipate how someone will react the first time, but it was better with Alex than he could ever have hoped. Her scream melted into a deep belly-laugh. Her head hung down to rest on his and her torso, convulsing with laughter, pressed against his chest. He felt each rib react to his touch, felt the bottom of her bra and prodded along its border, amazed by her capacity to keep her arms from clamping to her sides.
He slowly stopped his onslaught and came to rest his hands on her hips. Alex was not particularly thin but his hands nearly touched behind her.
“This is what I want,” he said softly, looking up into her flushed face. Her hair fell in a tangle around her.
“You want more than that,” she said. “And so do I.”
“Come with me,” he said, and without any effort at all, stood up from the chair, Alex still wrapped around him, and set her down next to him. He took her hand in his and led her down the hall. She reached out and leaned on the wall for support as he opened a door and beckoned her in.
A roaring fire in the fireplace was the only light. He led her to a large sofa and she sat. “Can I get you a drink?” he said. She shook her head. The intensity of her arousal was overwhelming. She sat forward on the couch, rubbing her kneecaps together subconsciously, her socked feet pigeon-toed toward each other. An entire lifetime of un-examined desire was simmering to the surface and could no longer be contained. He approached her slowly. She responded by lifting her legs into the sofa and laying back, raising her arms over her head. He smiled at her and sat on the edge of the couch resting his hip against hers. With his right hand he made little flicks across her torso as he spoke.
“Hello, my dear.”
“Hello,” she said, flinching.
“Do you like the sofa?”
She wrinkled her forehead. “Yes? It’s just a sofa.” She was squirming now.
“Just a sofa. How sweet,” he said as he pulled a lever between the cushions. There were cuffs and straps, buckles and belts, wraps and chains. The sofa opened like a flower and sprouted every manner of restraint system you could imagine. Alex half-gasped half laughed.
“Oh my god!”
“A bit much isn’t it?” he said.
She shook her head. Then, laying back down, she situated herself in the middle of the sofa and stretched herself out again. Without saying anything, Carey crossed to the bottom of the sofa and began gently, but firmly, securing Alex’s feet and legs. After each strap, he looked up at her, trying to gauge whether she’d feel claustrophobic. Her feet were bound by leather cuffs and secured to the sofa-frame by thick black rope. Two straps locked down her knees, and two more secured her thighs. Her wrists were cuffed to the frame as well with straps above and below her elbows ensuring she’d have very little movement. When he was done, he returned to his seat next to her now helpless body.
“A safeword?”
“Middletown,” she grinned.
“Perfect. Any last words?”
Her mind flashed back to her first night exploring this in her bed alone.
“Actually, can I ask you not touch somewhere?”
“Of course, anything.”
“My hips.”
“You mean the area here?”
He lifted his hand and gestured, without touching, to her hip bones near the top of her leggings. She instinctively gasped.
“Mm-hmm, yep, there.” She closed her eyes. “Just, don’t go there.”
“You have my word,” he said. Surprised. “Just so I know, and you don’t have to tell me, but is this an area of past trauma? Or an aversion? Or…”
“I’m afraid if I tell you it will make you want to,” she said.
“I would never without your consent, my darling. Never.”
She nodded. “The thought of it is so intense it scares me.”
He nodded. “You’re saying it’s because they’re too ticklish.”
She nodded. “I think so. Maybe someday. But not tonight.”
“Your hips are off-limits. You have my word.”
“Thank you,” she said. “Everything else is…is good though.”
“Everything?”
“Everything.”
“So,” he said, lifting her sweater with his right hand, “if I were to remove this cumbersome sweater…” She moaned. “And pull it over your head like this…” she looked down at her body, now in her bra and leggings and a tidal wave of goosebumps washed over her. “…and then I was to slowly and methodically explore every millimeter of this exquisitely ticklish woman…”
“Carey,” she said. I want what you want.”
“I know you do, my dear.”
And with that, ten wriggling fingers dug deftly into the hollows of her helpless armpits.
The depth of her laughter surprised both of them. Everything was new, and the intensity of the sensations was shocking – the way jumping into cold water hits your nervous system harder than you think it should. She had been so diligent about keeping her arms up to keep her targets exposed, but now she realized she could struggle and pull and it wouldn’t matter, and the feeling of tugging helplessly at her restraints filled her with both terror and joy.
His hands slid lower to the sides of her breasts, nearly the same spot she’d imagined him torturing the night before, except now there was nothing to imagine. Her back arched and her eyes widened and when her laughter came out as nothing but air, Carey arched his eyebrow and grinned, relishing in her torment.
It was only now she even considered that she could try and get him to stop. She didn’t want him to stop, but she wanted him to know how totally she was at his mercy. She wanted to beg. So the next time her elusive breath came back long enough to speak, she recalled her video victim and said, “not there. Please not there,” before dissolving again into convulsive laughter.
“Not there, you say?” Carey smiled. “That’s how I know to keep going.” He leaned in and doubled his efforts, applying expert pressure to each rib and ligament, each inch of ticklish skin. She erupted anew, howling and sputtering, but inside, she was delighted by the sound her begging had made. The words felt lovely in her mouth – she wanted more.
“Oh god, please. Somewhere else!” she screamed through ticklish agony. “I’ll do anything.”
Whatever torture she was enduring from Carey, it didn’t mitigate what was happening in her leggings. Each word she uttered made her wetter – the act of begging this man for mercy and the certainty she wouldn’t receive any was the most erotic experience of her life.
“Tell you what,” Carey said, letting her breathe for a moment. “I’ll give you a break, but you’re going to pay for it.”
“Oh god, what. What do you mean?” she said.
“You see that cabinet?” He pinched her side casually causing her to yelp. “That innocent looking one over in the corner?” He squeezed her thigh which elicited a scream and a long, satisfying laugh after. “Well it’s not so innocent. It’s not innocent at all.” He suddenly raised his hand and brought it and inch from her rib cage. She screamed again and squirmed as he held it there. “Do you know what’s in it?” he said.
She was beside herself in anticipation as he held his hand an inch above her exposed rib cage. All she could muster was a whimper as she shook her head no.
"I’m going to walk over there and come back with some things. And while you are already extremely ticklish - I have say exceptionally ticklish – what I have in that cabinet is…shall I show you?"
She shook her head again.
“No?” He said. “You wouldn’t like to be even more ticklish?”
“Oh god oh god,” she squeaked.
“You wouldn’t like to be made to laugh harder than you thought was possible?”
As he spoke her insides unraveled with desire.
“Oh fuck if you keep talking like that I’m going to cum in your sofa.”
“Really?” He seemed genuinely surprised. He leaned until his mouth was right next to her ear. “You mean if I keep discussing the virtues of tickling your helpless body until you are nothing but a happy little puddle in my floor?”
“Oh GOD,” she said and she arched her back.
“You mean if I tell you about my collection of oils and implements intended specifically to make you scream for mercy?”
“Oh fuck. Oh fuuuuuck.”
“Here!” he said, abruptly getting up and crossing to the cabinet in the corner. “You don’t leave until tomorrow, right? How do you feel about your feet being scrubbed with these for the next few hours?” He held up two curved brushes, unlike anything she’d ever seen. Her eyes widened and she felt everything in her groin tighten. “What about this?” He said holding up a bottle of something. “It was given to me by a dominatrix in Japan. The most diabolically ticklish body oil I’ve ever encountered. Makes baby oil feel like sandpaper.”
“Oh my god no no no,” Alex moaned.
“Or these – tell me, my sensitive little darling. Have you ever had your toes tied together?”
She was orgasming now.
“Or been blindfolded?” He was walking back toward her now. She convulsed against the restraints. “Or been gagged?”
“Oh god don’t stop - don’t stop.”
“Actually,” he said thoughtfully, “I’ve been waiting my whole life to hear your tortured laughter. Why would I deprive myself now?” And with that, the dam broke and Alex released.
“Oh god. Oh GOOOODDD!” She came so hard she didn’t notice at first that by the time it had subsided, Carey had removed her socks and secured her big toes to the sofa frame and had his huge hand about an inch from her left sole.
“Hope you had fun,” he said. “Because play time is definitely over.” And five fingers suddenly danced across Alex’s naked, quivering sole. Her knees locked as her legs kicked instinctively against the sensations but there was no where to go, so instead, both legs shook like imprisoned Jack hammers while a deep, rolling belly-laugh erupted from inside her guts. The infinity of it shocked her – that it was this ticklish another second, and another, and another and that there was no telling how many consecutive seconds she might be forced to endure this torrential fire-storm of stimulation.
She closed her eyes and leaned into it. He felt this happen – felt her commit to the suffering. It made him crazy. He stopped long enough to grab the bottle of oil and unscrew the cap. The oil was so fine she barely felt it drip down the lengths of her feet. He used his warm palms to smooth it over their surfaces and at his touch, her knees gave an reactive tug against the restraints.
“Hnngg,” she gasped.
“Yes,” he said. “This stuff is… diabolical.”
The hairbrush slid across her sole like a thousand-legged ice-skater. It tickled so much it bordered on pain. Alex opened her mouth to scream but all she could muster was a weak breathy exhalation of air before desperate, silent laughter took over her body. It was, until that point in her life, the most intense thing she’d ever experienced. She thrashed as hard as she could and when her lungs finally refilled with air, she screamed “Oh god, stop stop stop sto…” but her pleas disappeared in the next onslaught of tortured, delirious laughter.
She lost track of how long he tickled her feet. She was nearly hoarse when he finally let her breathe. She was so exhausted she could barely thank him for stopping.
“Oh thank you,” she managed to say.
“I have to say,” he said, putting the brush down and coming to stroke her sweat-dappled cheek. “Your endurance is extraordinary. You remember you have a safeword?”
She blushed. “Never,” she said, and smiled weakly at him.
“You’ve had practice at this, clearly,” he said pinching her exposed side. She let out an “eep” and shook her head.
“Nope. First time.”
He laughed and pinched her again. She giggled. Then he paused.
“Wait. Surely you’re joking.” She shook her head again.
“I swear! I’ve never been tickled like this. I’ve never been tied up. I didn’t even know I wanted this until two days ago.”
He stared at her a moment. Then in a swift movement he uncuffed her hands and the straps keeping her arms down. She sat up confused.
“Tell me,” he said and sat next to her on the sofa.
So she did. She told him about Martin, about the jungle book, about the video. She told him about the sleepless night she’d had, about how insane it felt to be exploring this with someone so newly after discovering it herself.
“My dear,” he said shaking his head. “I’m so sorry.”
“Why?”
“I never would have moved this quickly had I known it was so new. You seemed so…experienced.”
“Oh,” she said. “I’m glad I’m here. I don’t want to be treated differently than you’ve treated me.” She looked concerned. I thought you knew.
“No. I rarely miss that badly. I’m truly sorry,” he said.
“Are we done?” she asked.
“Would you like not to be?” He was bewildered by her, this inexhaustible woman half-restrained to his sofa. She bit her lip and shook her head.
“I know when you stop then tomorrow will happen and I have to go home.”
He smiled. “What should I do?”
She shrugged playfully. ”Whatever you want.”
“Well since they’re still securely fastened to the furniture, shall I torture your feet some more?”
“No no not that,” she shook her head vigorously.
“What about this,” he said standing. “I’m going to tickle your feet until you cum again. You have your hands free to help you.”
“Oh fuck,” she said and threw her head back. “I’m gonna last like ten seconds.”
“Well that would make you a very bad girl,” he said as he made his way down to her feet. She clutched at her chest and closed her eyes.
“Oh fuck, oh fuck okay,” she groaned.
He started slowly. Like her, he didn’t want it to end. He’d been aware since her arrival how fleeting their time would be. Still, he knew she’d be sensitive. Her hand slid down and under her soaked leggings. For the next several minutes, she oscillated between the edge of orgasm and hysterical, ticklish agony as Carey brought her back again and again by teasing with his hands one moment, and torturing her with the brush the next. When he laid into her, she’d grab the sofa with both hands, drop her chin to her chest and give in, her whole body shaking with the force of her laughter. And when her body couldn’t laugh any harder, the tears would come. Still she didn’t use her safeword, only begged, knowing it would only stop when she chose to let herself go over the edge. When she finally did, he lightly stroked her soles with his fingers and watched her fill the room with her pleasure. It lasted for what seemed like an impossible amount of time. She leaned back on her hand when it subsided, her other still in her leggings, her face drenched in sweat and tears, and breathed.
He unbuckled her feet and legs and gently lifted her from the sofa. He carried her out through the deserted hall and into her room, where he placed her onto the bed, and there in the dark, he held her, eyes wide with adoration, worried that if he didn’t hold her tight enough, she might disappear.
