*finding myself tickled onto my back somehow, apparently a product of flinching this way and that like a metronome, hasn't exactly made things better. …quite the opposite, as the situation doesn't present a ready solution. As I feel fingers skate across my stomach, I suck it in as much as I can in reflex, although I know how successful that strategy is. I try to glare at you, although as giddy and laughing as I am I doubt it comes across as threatening, but I still try and convey some kind of negative reaction to those tickles and taunts*
*Seeing your
cu-uute (and terribly predictable, I might add) responses, I make a cutsey baby face, responding accordingly* Awww, dat's sooo
cuuute! *Quickly eyeing a pillow, my wiggling fingers trail the edges of your sides to along your back, trying to make it curl, so it's easier to shove said pillow under your back in a moment.* Is da big baby twying to pout? Hmm? *I ask, tilting my head to the side, my face now even closer to your middle as my fingers keep wiggling along, further and further onto your back. Then, seeing an opening, a cushy pillow soon takes my fingers' place, leaving your back permanently arched, in a dangerously tantalizing position.* You know, this brings up such
baad (fond) old memories. *I say, speaking now to your midriff, two nails lazily skating up and down your sides: from your hip bones,skating across each stretched, bared side, bumping along your ribs, (what they can, with your cuffed hands predicament) to repeat, over and over again.
*A cool breeze on your stomach as I lightly blow it, my eyes transfixed on your bared tummy.* Now... Should I? *I ask, a brow raised as I look up at you for a reply.*
