Takahane
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- Apr 16, 2006
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(Author: "Takahane." Written and first posted on AMTk May 1997; second revision, May 1998; final revision, May 2024)
When I heard the car door slam shut, I could tell that Mayumi was not having a good day. It was bad enough that she had been stuck on the phone with her mother for an hour at the crack of dawn -- one dare not refuse a call from Japan, especially from her ocasan. Then our pair of calico cats began loudly announcing that they had eaten all of their favorite gourmet pate, necessitating a trip to the grocery store on Saturday morning. That's the absolute worst time to go, of course, and Mayumi knows that I hate going to the grocer at any time. Rather than ask me to take on the unpleasant task, she dropped the top of my convertible -- the better to enjoy a bit of the abundant Florida sunshine -- plopped herself into the driver's seat and set off by herself.
I had warned Mayumi not to slam the door of my roadster, so upon hearing the noise I went outside to help carry some bags and see what the problem was. When I came up behind her, she was staring at the car with a perplexed look on her face. I asked, "What's up, babe?" Startled, she quickly spun around to face me, her long black hair swirling about her face as she turned.
She began to blush and stammered out, "I -- I had some -- t-trouble ..." -- her voice trailing off as my gaze settled on a fist-sized dent in the left fender of my beloved roadster. Her mouth remained open but no words came out as, frozen as a deer caught in the headlights of oncoming traffic, she waited for my reaction.
Shaking my head, I took the bags from her hands and silently walked to the house, Mayumi following. I put the groceries on the counter and turned to my lovely Asian bride. We've been inseparable for the past eight years, married for seven, and she knows in her heart of hearts that I love her more than anything in this world, and that I would never bring her harm -- although I might kiddingly threaten to "punish" her on rare occasion, this being one of those occasions.
"It looks like you need to be taught a lesson about responsibility, young lady," I chided while quickly slipping my arms about Mayumi's waist. She instinctively tried to flee but, as usual, she was a fraction of a second late and paid the price for her hesitation. After a few short minutes she found herself rendered helpless on our bed in the master suite, her ankles and wrists bound with old silk neckties, her cropped top hiking up and exposing her lower breasts from her futile struggling which had also caused her to shed both sandals.
Mayumi desperately tried to delay the inevitable by protesting her innocence. "Look, honey -- I'm really sorry about your car. But it wasn't my fault! It was like that when I came back --"
"You know the rules, my love," I interrupted. "When it's in your care, it's your responsibility. Now you'll have to pay the deductible." I sat down on the bed beside my sweet captive, took hold of her bound ankles and pulled her bare feet into my lap. As she realized what she was in for, she closed her eyes tightly and quietly implored, "Oohhhh, nooooo ...."
I ran my fingertips along the outside edge of the heel of my Japanese beauty's right foot, causing her to burst into a fit of giggles and violently try to wrench herself free, nearly bouncing herself off the bed. I tightened my grip on her ankles and resumed the attack, lightly gliding my fingertips across her tender arch. The slightest whisper of a caress along her helpless sole sent her into fits of hysterics.
Although she wasn't all that thrilled about being tickled, Mayumi secretly enjoyed being bound up and rendered helpless. While growing up, she enjoyed glancing through her younger brother's stash of glossy lingerie magazines; she was especially aroused when the beautiful models were depicted in strict Shibari-style rope bondage. She fantasized how it would feel to be bound so tightly that she couldn't move, just like those girls in the pictures. Becoming involved in our relationship finally allowed Mayumi the opportunity to explore those sensations as well as several new, unfamiliar and exciting ones. A few times when I had her helplessly bound, I surprised her by tickling her, although much to her immediate and insistent protest. Though the torment never very lasted long, Mayumi swore that she hated it; just the same, she never refused a bondage session even while suspecting, and perhaps later expecting, that she would be tickled at some point in the session.
This time, however, perhaps I was just a bit peeved. I had just waxed the roadster before she banged it up, and I admit that I may have used that as an excuse for taking advantage. A slightly sinister plan forming in my mind, I reasoned that my adorable-yet-careless sweetheart should undergo a little something "different" this time.
I had tied Mayumi's wrists together in front of her, so as I tickled her foot she could only roll her upper body back and forth while giggling uncontrollably and grasping at the bedclothes. When I played my fingertips across both of her bare arches at once, her hands flew up to cover her mouth as she laughed out loud -- a gesture customary among Japanese schoolgirls from a young age. I loved it when I saw that, as it's a sure sign that she's starting to lose all semblance of control.
After several agonizing minutes of teasing her soles, I stopped to let her catch her breath. While she gasped for air, I pulled her arms up over her head and secured her bound wrists to the headboard. As I made my way slowly down the length of her sexy little body, I slipped my hands underneath her skimpy top and gently stroked and rolled her nipples between my thumbs and forefingers while a small sigh escaped Mayumi's throat. After all, this is what she usually experienced when she was helplessly bound -- intense, unrelenting teasing; forced to dance along the edge of release for longer periods of time than she even thought possible, culminating in crashing waves of body-shaking orgasm that rack her quivering form.
I toyed with her nipples for a few minutes, causing my little one to shiver and squirm as the sexual tension began to build. Then I surprised her by suddenly moving down to her ankles, pulling them through the bars of the footboard and looping another silk tie around to insure her immobility, stretching her out between the opposite ends of the bed. As she watched curiously, I shifted my position and kneeled at the end of the bed before her defenseless soles.
Mayumi's attitude changed from aroused anticipation to apprehensive panic when I knotted a leather lace around the base of her large toes, tying them together and anchoring them to the top of the footboard. "Uhh, Alex ... ah ... honey," she desperately cooed, "can we talk about this?"
I answered her by touching the tip of my index finger to her left foot and slowly tracing a line up and down the outside edge of her sole. I was rewarded with a convulsion of laughter that rocked her body as she strained unsuccessfully to pull her foot away from the tickling. I increased her torment, bringing the rest of my fingers into play, teasingly stroking all over both of Mayumi's sensitive soles as she screeched, sometimes managing a "No!" or "Stop!" or even "Please QUIT!!" if she could gather enough breath between laughing fits.
After a while, though, even those few protests ceased, and again I stopped to allow her to rest for a moment. While she blinked the tears from her eyes, I secured each of her eight small toes and drew the lacings tight, pulling her feet back slightly and drawing her soles taut. I reached into my "toolkit" and brought out one of Mayumi's own Japanese ink brushes which I had swiped from her writing table. Her almond eyes widened when I held it up over her tethered toes.
"Mayumi," I began, lazily waving the brush in the air right above her barely-wriggling digits, "why didn't you just tell me that you dinged the fender? I can tell from the dent exactly how it happened. I've been writing estimates on wrecked cars for ten years, you know."
Her vision affixed on the ink brush, anxious eyes following its path to and fro, Mayumi nervously replied, "Alex, I also know how much you love that little car. I'm sorry -- I figured it would be easier to live with your anger at some careless jerk rather than having you mad at me."
"A logical choice," I conceded, and Mayumi visibly relaxed -- for a second. "Nevertheless," I continued, "bad little girls who lie should be punished." At that I brought the ink brush up against the balls of her feet and drew it down both tender arches. The tickling sensations that crashed into her brain overwhelmed her conscious thought and she began crying out in her native tongue, "Yame nasai ! Yame nasai !! MO KEKKU DESU !!!" (Stop ! Stop !! That's enough !!!) until a few more strokes of the brush robbed her entirely of the ability to speak, and she could only laugh as the torment went on.
I kept my cute Asian victim howling with laughter and squirming as much as her tight bondage would allow as I worked the soft bristles of the brush along the creases at the base of her toes. It was easier to control the intensity of the tickling using the brush -- varying the pressure and the stroking technique produced a wide spectrum of responses, from pleading for mercy (in both languages !) during light giggling spells, all the way up to body-trembling, bed-shaking silence. For more than a hour I pushed my petite partner from one extreme to the other and back again, as the ink brush explored every square centimeter of hyper-ticklish skin on her poor tormented feet. I slowly traced the outline of each bare foot; I drove the tip of the brush over her sensitive insteps; I drew long lines of ticklish sensation along her stretched soles; I painted circular patterns on her flawless soft heels; I swept the brush repeatedly over each and all of her tender toepads, interspersed with repeated gentle probing of the undersides of her helpless toes and the super-sensitive spaces in between.
Just as she had the fleeting thought that she might finally go insane, the tickling stopped. It took her quite a while to catch her breath and compose herself as I untied her, all the while gently massaging the reddish-tinged skin where the bindings had restricted her wrists and ankles. When she was released, I caressed her face and kissed her deeply on her mouth, then I whispered in her ear, "That should cover the deductible."
Mayumi grabbed me, pulling me on top of her, smiling wickedly as she replied, "I'll mark the survey that I am Completely Satisfied with your exceptional customer service." A few minutes later, I was the one fighting to catch my breath.
-------------------------------
That evening, I took Mayumi to dinner at her favorite place, Kura. Her mood brightened considerably when she plucked the plate of unagi sushi from the conveyor as it was making its circuit. Sipping my Sapporo Draft, I smiled to myself as I watched her happily munching out.
"Babe, I've an idea ..."
A sweet giggle escaped her lips. "Ah, so desu ka? (You don't say?) What's on that twisted mind of yours now?"
I quipped, "I talked to our agent when I put in the claim on the roadster. He says we can save a few bucks if we raise our deductible to double what it is now."
I grinned -- but only for a second.
After a man has been married awhile,
And his wife has grown used to his manner and style,
When she knows from the twinkle that lights up his eye
The thoughts he is thinking, the wherefore and why,
And just what he'll say, and just what he'll do,
And is sure that he'll make a bad break ere he's through,
She has one little trick that she'll work when she's able --
she takes a sly kick at him under the table.
[from "The Kick Under the Table" by Edgar Albert Guest]
When I heard the car door slam shut, I could tell that Mayumi was not having a good day. It was bad enough that she had been stuck on the phone with her mother for an hour at the crack of dawn -- one dare not refuse a call from Japan, especially from her ocasan. Then our pair of calico cats began loudly announcing that they had eaten all of their favorite gourmet pate, necessitating a trip to the grocery store on Saturday morning. That's the absolute worst time to go, of course, and Mayumi knows that I hate going to the grocer at any time. Rather than ask me to take on the unpleasant task, she dropped the top of my convertible -- the better to enjoy a bit of the abundant Florida sunshine -- plopped herself into the driver's seat and set off by herself.
I had warned Mayumi not to slam the door of my roadster, so upon hearing the noise I went outside to help carry some bags and see what the problem was. When I came up behind her, she was staring at the car with a perplexed look on her face. I asked, "What's up, babe?" Startled, she quickly spun around to face me, her long black hair swirling about her face as she turned.
She began to blush and stammered out, "I -- I had some -- t-trouble ..." -- her voice trailing off as my gaze settled on a fist-sized dent in the left fender of my beloved roadster. Her mouth remained open but no words came out as, frozen as a deer caught in the headlights of oncoming traffic, she waited for my reaction.
Shaking my head, I took the bags from her hands and silently walked to the house, Mayumi following. I put the groceries on the counter and turned to my lovely Asian bride. We've been inseparable for the past eight years, married for seven, and she knows in her heart of hearts that I love her more than anything in this world, and that I would never bring her harm -- although I might kiddingly threaten to "punish" her on rare occasion, this being one of those occasions.
"It looks like you need to be taught a lesson about responsibility, young lady," I chided while quickly slipping my arms about Mayumi's waist. She instinctively tried to flee but, as usual, she was a fraction of a second late and paid the price for her hesitation. After a few short minutes she found herself rendered helpless on our bed in the master suite, her ankles and wrists bound with old silk neckties, her cropped top hiking up and exposing her lower breasts from her futile struggling which had also caused her to shed both sandals.
Mayumi desperately tried to delay the inevitable by protesting her innocence. "Look, honey -- I'm really sorry about your car. But it wasn't my fault! It was like that when I came back --"
"You know the rules, my love," I interrupted. "When it's in your care, it's your responsibility. Now you'll have to pay the deductible." I sat down on the bed beside my sweet captive, took hold of her bound ankles and pulled her bare feet into my lap. As she realized what she was in for, she closed her eyes tightly and quietly implored, "Oohhhh, nooooo ...."
I ran my fingertips along the outside edge of the heel of my Japanese beauty's right foot, causing her to burst into a fit of giggles and violently try to wrench herself free, nearly bouncing herself off the bed. I tightened my grip on her ankles and resumed the attack, lightly gliding my fingertips across her tender arch. The slightest whisper of a caress along her helpless sole sent her into fits of hysterics.
Although she wasn't all that thrilled about being tickled, Mayumi secretly enjoyed being bound up and rendered helpless. While growing up, she enjoyed glancing through her younger brother's stash of glossy lingerie magazines; she was especially aroused when the beautiful models were depicted in strict Shibari-style rope bondage. She fantasized how it would feel to be bound so tightly that she couldn't move, just like those girls in the pictures. Becoming involved in our relationship finally allowed Mayumi the opportunity to explore those sensations as well as several new, unfamiliar and exciting ones. A few times when I had her helplessly bound, I surprised her by tickling her, although much to her immediate and insistent protest. Though the torment never very lasted long, Mayumi swore that she hated it; just the same, she never refused a bondage session even while suspecting, and perhaps later expecting, that she would be tickled at some point in the session.
This time, however, perhaps I was just a bit peeved. I had just waxed the roadster before she banged it up, and I admit that I may have used that as an excuse for taking advantage. A slightly sinister plan forming in my mind, I reasoned that my adorable-yet-careless sweetheart should undergo a little something "different" this time.
I had tied Mayumi's wrists together in front of her, so as I tickled her foot she could only roll her upper body back and forth while giggling uncontrollably and grasping at the bedclothes. When I played my fingertips across both of her bare arches at once, her hands flew up to cover her mouth as she laughed out loud -- a gesture customary among Japanese schoolgirls from a young age. I loved it when I saw that, as it's a sure sign that she's starting to lose all semblance of control.
After several agonizing minutes of teasing her soles, I stopped to let her catch her breath. While she gasped for air, I pulled her arms up over her head and secured her bound wrists to the headboard. As I made my way slowly down the length of her sexy little body, I slipped my hands underneath her skimpy top and gently stroked and rolled her nipples between my thumbs and forefingers while a small sigh escaped Mayumi's throat. After all, this is what she usually experienced when she was helplessly bound -- intense, unrelenting teasing; forced to dance along the edge of release for longer periods of time than she even thought possible, culminating in crashing waves of body-shaking orgasm that rack her quivering form.
I toyed with her nipples for a few minutes, causing my little one to shiver and squirm as the sexual tension began to build. Then I surprised her by suddenly moving down to her ankles, pulling them through the bars of the footboard and looping another silk tie around to insure her immobility, stretching her out between the opposite ends of the bed. As she watched curiously, I shifted my position and kneeled at the end of the bed before her defenseless soles.
Mayumi's attitude changed from aroused anticipation to apprehensive panic when I knotted a leather lace around the base of her large toes, tying them together and anchoring them to the top of the footboard. "Uhh, Alex ... ah ... honey," she desperately cooed, "can we talk about this?"
I answered her by touching the tip of my index finger to her left foot and slowly tracing a line up and down the outside edge of her sole. I was rewarded with a convulsion of laughter that rocked her body as she strained unsuccessfully to pull her foot away from the tickling. I increased her torment, bringing the rest of my fingers into play, teasingly stroking all over both of Mayumi's sensitive soles as she screeched, sometimes managing a "No!" or "Stop!" or even "Please QUIT!!" if she could gather enough breath between laughing fits.
After a while, though, even those few protests ceased, and again I stopped to allow her to rest for a moment. While she blinked the tears from her eyes, I secured each of her eight small toes and drew the lacings tight, pulling her feet back slightly and drawing her soles taut. I reached into my "toolkit" and brought out one of Mayumi's own Japanese ink brushes which I had swiped from her writing table. Her almond eyes widened when I held it up over her tethered toes.
"Mayumi," I began, lazily waving the brush in the air right above her barely-wriggling digits, "why didn't you just tell me that you dinged the fender? I can tell from the dent exactly how it happened. I've been writing estimates on wrecked cars for ten years, you know."
Her vision affixed on the ink brush, anxious eyes following its path to and fro, Mayumi nervously replied, "Alex, I also know how much you love that little car. I'm sorry -- I figured it would be easier to live with your anger at some careless jerk rather than having you mad at me."
"A logical choice," I conceded, and Mayumi visibly relaxed -- for a second. "Nevertheless," I continued, "bad little girls who lie should be punished." At that I brought the ink brush up against the balls of her feet and drew it down both tender arches. The tickling sensations that crashed into her brain overwhelmed her conscious thought and she began crying out in her native tongue, "Yame nasai ! Yame nasai !! MO KEKKU DESU !!!" (Stop ! Stop !! That's enough !!!) until a few more strokes of the brush robbed her entirely of the ability to speak, and she could only laugh as the torment went on.
I kept my cute Asian victim howling with laughter and squirming as much as her tight bondage would allow as I worked the soft bristles of the brush along the creases at the base of her toes. It was easier to control the intensity of the tickling using the brush -- varying the pressure and the stroking technique produced a wide spectrum of responses, from pleading for mercy (in both languages !) during light giggling spells, all the way up to body-trembling, bed-shaking silence. For more than a hour I pushed my petite partner from one extreme to the other and back again, as the ink brush explored every square centimeter of hyper-ticklish skin on her poor tormented feet. I slowly traced the outline of each bare foot; I drove the tip of the brush over her sensitive insteps; I drew long lines of ticklish sensation along her stretched soles; I painted circular patterns on her flawless soft heels; I swept the brush repeatedly over each and all of her tender toepads, interspersed with repeated gentle probing of the undersides of her helpless toes and the super-sensitive spaces in between.
Just as she had the fleeting thought that she might finally go insane, the tickling stopped. It took her quite a while to catch her breath and compose herself as I untied her, all the while gently massaging the reddish-tinged skin where the bindings had restricted her wrists and ankles. When she was released, I caressed her face and kissed her deeply on her mouth, then I whispered in her ear, "That should cover the deductible."
Mayumi grabbed me, pulling me on top of her, smiling wickedly as she replied, "I'll mark the survey that I am Completely Satisfied with your exceptional customer service." A few minutes later, I was the one fighting to catch my breath.
-------------------------------
That evening, I took Mayumi to dinner at her favorite place, Kura. Her mood brightened considerably when she plucked the plate of unagi sushi from the conveyor as it was making its circuit. Sipping my Sapporo Draft, I smiled to myself as I watched her happily munching out.
"Babe, I've an idea ..."
A sweet giggle escaped her lips. "Ah, so desu ka? (You don't say?) What's on that twisted mind of yours now?"
I quipped, "I talked to our agent when I put in the claim on the roadster. He says we can save a few bucks if we raise our deductible to double what it is now."
I grinned -- but only for a second.
After a man has been married awhile,
And his wife has grown used to his manner and style,
When she knows from the twinkle that lights up his eye
The thoughts he is thinking, the wherefore and why,
And just what he'll say, and just what he'll do,
And is sure that he'll make a bad break ere he's through,
She has one little trick that she'll work when she's able --
she takes a sly kick at him under the table.
[from "The Kick Under the Table" by Edgar Albert Guest]
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