maidenman1
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Afternoon, all. Here is the second part. I will eventually write a third part or start another series. I'm in law school right now, so I'm saving ideas for when I have a little more time.
Late Night Chat
...and then I kissed him.
**Anne smiled and closed her eyes, remembering the kiss that she had treasured for the last two months. The attentive girls sitting throughout her dorm room were horrified, yet entranced. They had been listening for over an hour. Anne had spared them no details of her punishment. Maybe it was the terrible description of the path that the feathers had taken on her bare feet, or the squeals of the girl who offered to experience what it felt like to have a fork drawn across her sole, or the demonstration of the torturous biting techniques he had used on her heels. The story had taken its toll on the innocent freshman girls. They wanted to empathize with Anne, but how could they? None of them, not even in their worst nightmares, had ever experienced such a situation. Most of them were ticklish, but the thought of being totally helpless at the hands of a merciless boy whose only intention was to punish her to his hearts content made them cringe. Some sat their with open mouths, others buried their feet under whatever was near. They looked at her as if to say "Why would you kiss this boy!"**
I don't know why I kissed him. Maybe it was the look he gave me when he sat next to me. Maybe it was because of the compassion in his eyes as he offered me water. I'm not really sure, but I knew that what I had endured was not because he hated me, but because he loved me. He meant to be cruel, but his eyes gave away his true intention. So I kissed him, and kept kissing him, until he finally drove me home. As soon as the door was closed, I began to think about how I could get him back. I wanted him to feel what I felt. Not just the unbearable torment, but the mixed emotions, the lust I felt for him afterwards and still feel for him. I wanted to punish him, but in doing so affirm my love for him, just as he had done for me.
The next month went by faster than any other before it. We spent time together almost every day. I felt like I knew everything about him in a matter of weeks, but seemed to learn something even more facinating every time I saw him. He never brought up the tickling session, never threatened to do it again or tease me about the situtation he put me in. This, or course, made me want to get revenge even more. He knew that I had learned my lesson, and now I wanted him to learn his.
**The girls understood, at least somewhat, the feelings that Anne shared. Their horrified expressions not turned to attentive stares as she prepared to tell of her revenge**
I didn't really plan anything, not wanting to limit myself in any capacity. Plans, after all, have a tendency to rely on one crucial commitment point. I knew that an opportunity would eventually present itself. Even though he never brought up my ordeal, I knew that he thought about what I would do to him in return. He would be watching for something unusual, so I strayed away from anything that would have gotten his attention.
So, one Friday afternoon, I cancelled our date, claiming that I needed to cram all weekend for a huge midterm that I had on Monday. I knew exactly what he would do. The next day, while I was "studying," he came over, like the knight-in-shining-armor that he is, bearing lunch and a back massage. He convinced me to take a break, so we decided to put a basketball game on while he attended to my shoulders. He sat on the couch and I sat at his feet, eating my lunch and enjoying his tough. After I was done eating, I got up to grab a couple of drinks from the fridge. He was totally involved in the game, so I grabbed a pair of handcufffs that I had hidden in my dresser. I stuffed them in my pocket and sat down next to him, offering him a drink. I gave him a playful shove and he slid off the couch and between my legs. I rubbed his shoulders as he watched the game. He was still hopelessly enthralled by the game, so it wasn't difficult to take the cuffs out of my pocket without him noticing. I asked him to lean forward so I could rub his lower back. He did, and I did as I said I would, moving on to his arms, and then his wrists, pulling them back toward me. In an instant, before he could even move a muscle, I had the cuffs on him.
**Anne smiled as the girls seemed to get excited***
He didn't know how to react. In his heart, he knew what was coming, but before he could say anything at all, I had a shirt tied around his head, just as he had done mine. I pushed him onto his side, then onto his back, and straddled his waist. I looked into his eyes and smiled. I grabbed his ribs and he easily bucked me off. I knew the fun was about to begin. I spent the next fifteen minutes chasing him around the room as he rolled around, attempting to evade my attacks. The first few times I approached him, he got away easily, after just a quick tickle. Unfortunately for me, his legs to tired quickly, and each tickle I gave him lasted longer and longer, until he accidentally backed himself into a corner and couldn't get away. I can't explain why, but I really enjoyed following him around the room, watching his futile attempts to get away. I wondered if he experienced the same feeling while watching my toes struggle hopelessly against their bonds. I felt like a hunter, stalking its prey, calculating every move in order to get him to a place of complete submission.
Like I was saying, once he backed himself into a corner, it was over. I tickled him in that corner for over an hour, first with his shirt on and then on his sweaty, naked skin. I don't remember how long it took, but once he started sweating, I cut off his undershirt. That, I have to admit, turned me on more than I thought it would. Knowing that I owned him, watching his rock-hard abs tighten as he laughted. I gave him as much mercy as he had given me, tickling him non-stop wherever my fingers seemed to linger. His struggling lastest only a few minutes. Once he stopped moving, I knew that he had given in, and that he was totally mine for however long I wanted him. I contiuned on, working on his naked ribs and stomach until my fingers got tired. At that point, he was already exhausted. I retuned his gesture by offering him a drink of water and replacing the soaking wet shirt. I had enjoyed my revenge so far, but I knew that I would only have complete satisfaction after tickling his feet.
I tied his legs together with some old stockings, around his thighs, above and bellow his knees, and his ankles. I finished it off by putting a rubber band around his big toes. I stepped back to admire my work. I shuddered at the thought of being in the same position, wondering if he was thinking the same thing that I was thinking when I was at his mercy. I turned him on his stomach and put one of the couch coushions under his ankles. I grabbed all of the tools that I had prepared from my chest and sat them next to his head. He saw some of the tools in the basket that I had prepared and his eyes opened wide.
***The girls were smiling now, knowing revenge was coming. The didn't want her to spare them the smallest detail. Some of them were back to empathizing, this time for her captive. "What would it be like?" The thought was invigorating***
I sat on his ankles. I spent a minute or so staring at his feet. I knew that he liked my feet, and remembered how he had kissed them right before he started tickling me. What a wonderful sight! A pair of totally helpless feet ready to be tickled! I can hardle describe all the thoughts running through my head at that time. What did I want to do first? Did I want to show him mercy? Would he still like me after this? Every thought brought on a different emotion. The emotions eventually all converged into one thought: this is turning me on!
The hour he spent bucking and struggling while I was tickling his ribs had robbed him of most of his strength. He squirmed for a few minutes, but then totally submitted to the tickling. I started out slowly, raking my nails up and down his soles. He is very active, but his feet were so soft. The sound that he was making under his gag was priceless. I knew that the tickling was just as bad for him as it was for me. I felt somehow vindicated, and I had hardly even started.
I experiemented with all kinds of things. I stroked a feather up and down each sole, making sure to pull apart his toes and explore the delicate flesh found therein. I tickled the sides of his feet and his ankles with my long, manicured nails. I drew all over his feet with a pen and then washed it off with soapy water and an electric tooth brush. I licked his arches and bit the the flesh at the base of his toes. I used a small paint brush to torture his arches. I used a comb to tease the tips of his toes. I drew forks up and down his feet. This experiementation lasted for hours. Everything I tried made him laugh and squirm and whimper. There were, however, two techniques that I used on his poor feet that almost drove him to unconsciousness.
The first was pretty simple. I work with the kindergardeners at church and we do arts and crafts sometimes on Wednesday nights. Well, the preceeding Wednesday, we happened to be using pipe cleaners to make bouquets of flowers for an upcoming musical. I took a few of them back and decided that they would make great tickling weapons. It turns out that I greatly underestimated their power. I spread his toes apart with one hand and slowly drew the pipe cleaner between them. Slowly, over and over, hundreds of time, each time he would jerk and make sounded like a screaming noise under his gag.
***One of the girls made a face, as if disaproving of the tactic. Anne smirked and grabbed one of the cleaners from her desk. With hesitation, the girl gave her bare foot to Anne, who proceeded to draw the pipe cleaner between her second and third toe. The girls screams and Anne let go, continuing her story as the girls laughed***
I kept this up for some time, until he was about to pass out. I gave him a quick break, and then started my final assalt.
I poured baby oil all over his feet. My fingers glided quickly over his slick feet. This, however, was not what drove him to the breaking point. I took one of my old hair brushes, the kind with the little beads on the end of each bristle. I started slowly, brushing his feet from side to side. He went nuts! All of the sudden, after a few hours of being relatively submissive, he started to thrash again. I kept this torture up as long as I could. I have to reach back and tickle his ribs every once in a while to keep him down. Imagine the scene, him bouncing up and down, getting his ribs tickled on the way up and his feet tickled on the way down. I kept this up for almost an hour, until he was perfectly still once again, graciously accepting his punishment.
I looked up at the clock and realized that I had been tickling him for over four hours. He was soaked in sweat and totally exhausted. I rolled him over so that I could untie him, but I stopped and smiled. He was as hard as a rock! I took the gag off and asked him if he needed relief. He said nothing, but his eyes told me that he was on the brink. Before I untied him, I unzipped his pants, poured some baby oil on my hand, and slowly, very slowly, brought him to orgasm. I stroked him slowly but strongly, kissing his neck and looking into his eyes. It was the first orgasm that I had given him, so I wanted to enjoy it. Obviously, he enjoyed it a little more that I did, but it made me feel good to reward him after such a trying day. I kissed him deeply.
I untied him and he fell asleep. I woke him up right before visitation hours ended and he went home. I went over to his room the next day, but what happened then is a story for another day. It's time for me to go to bed...
***The girls got up, amazed at the story, and went their seperate ways. Anne picked the pipe cleaner up and smiled. She was in love***
Late Night Chat
...and then I kissed him.
**Anne smiled and closed her eyes, remembering the kiss that she had treasured for the last two months. The attentive girls sitting throughout her dorm room were horrified, yet entranced. They had been listening for over an hour. Anne had spared them no details of her punishment. Maybe it was the terrible description of the path that the feathers had taken on her bare feet, or the squeals of the girl who offered to experience what it felt like to have a fork drawn across her sole, or the demonstration of the torturous biting techniques he had used on her heels. The story had taken its toll on the innocent freshman girls. They wanted to empathize with Anne, but how could they? None of them, not even in their worst nightmares, had ever experienced such a situation. Most of them were ticklish, but the thought of being totally helpless at the hands of a merciless boy whose only intention was to punish her to his hearts content made them cringe. Some sat their with open mouths, others buried their feet under whatever was near. They looked at her as if to say "Why would you kiss this boy!"**
I don't know why I kissed him. Maybe it was the look he gave me when he sat next to me. Maybe it was because of the compassion in his eyes as he offered me water. I'm not really sure, but I knew that what I had endured was not because he hated me, but because he loved me. He meant to be cruel, but his eyes gave away his true intention. So I kissed him, and kept kissing him, until he finally drove me home. As soon as the door was closed, I began to think about how I could get him back. I wanted him to feel what I felt. Not just the unbearable torment, but the mixed emotions, the lust I felt for him afterwards and still feel for him. I wanted to punish him, but in doing so affirm my love for him, just as he had done for me.
The next month went by faster than any other before it. We spent time together almost every day. I felt like I knew everything about him in a matter of weeks, but seemed to learn something even more facinating every time I saw him. He never brought up the tickling session, never threatened to do it again or tease me about the situtation he put me in. This, or course, made me want to get revenge even more. He knew that I had learned my lesson, and now I wanted him to learn his.
**The girls understood, at least somewhat, the feelings that Anne shared. Their horrified expressions not turned to attentive stares as she prepared to tell of her revenge**
I didn't really plan anything, not wanting to limit myself in any capacity. Plans, after all, have a tendency to rely on one crucial commitment point. I knew that an opportunity would eventually present itself. Even though he never brought up my ordeal, I knew that he thought about what I would do to him in return. He would be watching for something unusual, so I strayed away from anything that would have gotten his attention.
So, one Friday afternoon, I cancelled our date, claiming that I needed to cram all weekend for a huge midterm that I had on Monday. I knew exactly what he would do. The next day, while I was "studying," he came over, like the knight-in-shining-armor that he is, bearing lunch and a back massage. He convinced me to take a break, so we decided to put a basketball game on while he attended to my shoulders. He sat on the couch and I sat at his feet, eating my lunch and enjoying his tough. After I was done eating, I got up to grab a couple of drinks from the fridge. He was totally involved in the game, so I grabbed a pair of handcufffs that I had hidden in my dresser. I stuffed them in my pocket and sat down next to him, offering him a drink. I gave him a playful shove and he slid off the couch and between my legs. I rubbed his shoulders as he watched the game. He was still hopelessly enthralled by the game, so it wasn't difficult to take the cuffs out of my pocket without him noticing. I asked him to lean forward so I could rub his lower back. He did, and I did as I said I would, moving on to his arms, and then his wrists, pulling them back toward me. In an instant, before he could even move a muscle, I had the cuffs on him.
**Anne smiled as the girls seemed to get excited***
He didn't know how to react. In his heart, he knew what was coming, but before he could say anything at all, I had a shirt tied around his head, just as he had done mine. I pushed him onto his side, then onto his back, and straddled his waist. I looked into his eyes and smiled. I grabbed his ribs and he easily bucked me off. I knew the fun was about to begin. I spent the next fifteen minutes chasing him around the room as he rolled around, attempting to evade my attacks. The first few times I approached him, he got away easily, after just a quick tickle. Unfortunately for me, his legs to tired quickly, and each tickle I gave him lasted longer and longer, until he accidentally backed himself into a corner and couldn't get away. I can't explain why, but I really enjoyed following him around the room, watching his futile attempts to get away. I wondered if he experienced the same feeling while watching my toes struggle hopelessly against their bonds. I felt like a hunter, stalking its prey, calculating every move in order to get him to a place of complete submission.
Like I was saying, once he backed himself into a corner, it was over. I tickled him in that corner for over an hour, first with his shirt on and then on his sweaty, naked skin. I don't remember how long it took, but once he started sweating, I cut off his undershirt. That, I have to admit, turned me on more than I thought it would. Knowing that I owned him, watching his rock-hard abs tighten as he laughted. I gave him as much mercy as he had given me, tickling him non-stop wherever my fingers seemed to linger. His struggling lastest only a few minutes. Once he stopped moving, I knew that he had given in, and that he was totally mine for however long I wanted him. I contiuned on, working on his naked ribs and stomach until my fingers got tired. At that point, he was already exhausted. I retuned his gesture by offering him a drink of water and replacing the soaking wet shirt. I had enjoyed my revenge so far, but I knew that I would only have complete satisfaction after tickling his feet.
I tied his legs together with some old stockings, around his thighs, above and bellow his knees, and his ankles. I finished it off by putting a rubber band around his big toes. I stepped back to admire my work. I shuddered at the thought of being in the same position, wondering if he was thinking the same thing that I was thinking when I was at his mercy. I turned him on his stomach and put one of the couch coushions under his ankles. I grabbed all of the tools that I had prepared from my chest and sat them next to his head. He saw some of the tools in the basket that I had prepared and his eyes opened wide.
***The girls were smiling now, knowing revenge was coming. The didn't want her to spare them the smallest detail. Some of them were back to empathizing, this time for her captive. "What would it be like?" The thought was invigorating***
I sat on his ankles. I spent a minute or so staring at his feet. I knew that he liked my feet, and remembered how he had kissed them right before he started tickling me. What a wonderful sight! A pair of totally helpless feet ready to be tickled! I can hardle describe all the thoughts running through my head at that time. What did I want to do first? Did I want to show him mercy? Would he still like me after this? Every thought brought on a different emotion. The emotions eventually all converged into one thought: this is turning me on!
The hour he spent bucking and struggling while I was tickling his ribs had robbed him of most of his strength. He squirmed for a few minutes, but then totally submitted to the tickling. I started out slowly, raking my nails up and down his soles. He is very active, but his feet were so soft. The sound that he was making under his gag was priceless. I knew that the tickling was just as bad for him as it was for me. I felt somehow vindicated, and I had hardly even started.
I experiemented with all kinds of things. I stroked a feather up and down each sole, making sure to pull apart his toes and explore the delicate flesh found therein. I tickled the sides of his feet and his ankles with my long, manicured nails. I drew all over his feet with a pen and then washed it off with soapy water and an electric tooth brush. I licked his arches and bit the the flesh at the base of his toes. I used a small paint brush to torture his arches. I used a comb to tease the tips of his toes. I drew forks up and down his feet. This experiementation lasted for hours. Everything I tried made him laugh and squirm and whimper. There were, however, two techniques that I used on his poor feet that almost drove him to unconsciousness.
The first was pretty simple. I work with the kindergardeners at church and we do arts and crafts sometimes on Wednesday nights. Well, the preceeding Wednesday, we happened to be using pipe cleaners to make bouquets of flowers for an upcoming musical. I took a few of them back and decided that they would make great tickling weapons. It turns out that I greatly underestimated their power. I spread his toes apart with one hand and slowly drew the pipe cleaner between them. Slowly, over and over, hundreds of time, each time he would jerk and make sounded like a screaming noise under his gag.
***One of the girls made a face, as if disaproving of the tactic. Anne smirked and grabbed one of the cleaners from her desk. With hesitation, the girl gave her bare foot to Anne, who proceeded to draw the pipe cleaner between her second and third toe. The girls screams and Anne let go, continuing her story as the girls laughed***
I kept this up for some time, until he was about to pass out. I gave him a quick break, and then started my final assalt.
I poured baby oil all over his feet. My fingers glided quickly over his slick feet. This, however, was not what drove him to the breaking point. I took one of my old hair brushes, the kind with the little beads on the end of each bristle. I started slowly, brushing his feet from side to side. He went nuts! All of the sudden, after a few hours of being relatively submissive, he started to thrash again. I kept this torture up as long as I could. I have to reach back and tickle his ribs every once in a while to keep him down. Imagine the scene, him bouncing up and down, getting his ribs tickled on the way up and his feet tickled on the way down. I kept this up for almost an hour, until he was perfectly still once again, graciously accepting his punishment.
I looked up at the clock and realized that I had been tickling him for over four hours. He was soaked in sweat and totally exhausted. I rolled him over so that I could untie him, but I stopped and smiled. He was as hard as a rock! I took the gag off and asked him if he needed relief. He said nothing, but his eyes told me that he was on the brink. Before I untied him, I unzipped his pants, poured some baby oil on my hand, and slowly, very slowly, brought him to orgasm. I stroked him slowly but strongly, kissing his neck and looking into his eyes. It was the first orgasm that I had given him, so I wanted to enjoy it. Obviously, he enjoyed it a little more that I did, but it made me feel good to reward him after such a trying day. I kissed him deeply.
I untied him and he fell asleep. I woke him up right before visitation hours ended and he went home. I went over to his room the next day, but what happened then is a story for another day. It's time for me to go to bed...
***The girls got up, amazed at the story, and went their seperate ways. Anne picked the pipe cleaner up and smiled. She was in love***
