SoftnSlow
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I've always dreamt of how I might tickle torture someone who tried to hurt me. Especially a guy. In this entry, I try to bring that fantasy to life. I wasn't too fond of my first entry in this series, so I abandoned it. I had a lot more fun writing this one, though, so I'll definitely finish. 4000 words in one sitting is quite enough. Good new is the really creative stuff will follow. Hope you like this 🙂
**********
I swear I’m not a mean person. You know this, diary. But sometimes the evil comes out. It’s usually in the form of sarcasm, maybe calling someone dumb because they did something, well, really freaking dumb. I know it’s not right to call someone that regardless, but I’ve done it before. This night, though, was the perfect storm for Kelly’s demonic, twisted, evil bitch doppelganger to rear her ugly head.
I must say ahead of time I’m not proud of this story. In fact, diary, as you can tell I’m weeping on the page. But if I can’t tell you my most twisted thoughts and purge tales of my worst impulses come true, who can I tell? I think writing is the best way to make sure they generally don’t happen (or happen again). A diary is like a best friend of your own creation. An implicit confession. I’m definitely not a good Catholic (last time I was in church was Christmas mass my sophomore year in high school), but I know confessions feel good. So, bear with me here, it’s gonna get ugly. I must admit, though, this night was pretty damn fun too 😊
You already know most of this. But I feel like a proper backdrop will refresh your memory best. You remember how I was in a really bad place right after I graduated college. You know my parents had just separated, and my dad didn’t show up at my graduation. He didn’t even call me or send a damn card. We’d been fighting quite a bit because I usually took mom’s side, but damn. What a… I can’t even say it. I’d lost my job in less than a year. I was late twice, only by a few minutes, but I guess my dinky little accounting firm wanted me there that badly. That’s what I tell myself at least. I’d put on a few pounds because I was too lazy to go to the gym. Most of my friends were in relationships and my older sister was engaged. My life was working part-time at the local YMCA, playing third (or fifth) wheel to friends, streaming TV with a bottle of wine and trying to sell poems to lit mags. I want to believe I am a good poet, but… ugh.
Worst of all was that my early 20s was becoming the worst period of my love life. I had no confidence, and it must have shone through. I hadn’t dated anyone in months, man, woman or Martian for crying out loud. No flirting across the table, kisses, tickle fights on the couch during a movie, sex, or even heavy petting. Sex… what was it, January? Summer was about to start. So, when Penny invited me to go to a club with her boyfriend to get my ass out of my apartment, I couldn’t say no. I was there for only reason only: to find something to tickle my pussy that wasn’t battery powered. I don’t feel wrong for saying that. It was so damn true and I deserved it!
His name was Steve. Remember him? Holy crap, what a loin. To be fair, he was only there to get laid, too. I caught him texting his ex several times in the club; he tried to play it off as necessary conversation, but I saw the words “lick, fuck, and love” on the screen more than once. He was pretty damn hot: six-foot, 190 and built, an obviously salon-styled wavy brown haircut, brown eyes. Badass tattoo of a Viking on his sinewy bicep. He drove a Lexus and graduated from some ritzy private college I can’t even remember. It started with a B, that’s all I know.
Well, we pounded Long Island Iced Teas for a while until a bit more than tipsy and took an Uber to my apartment to fuck, fall asleep, and go our separate ways. The dude was texting his ex while with me in the Uber. Remember that? What a freaking ass. Nope. No second dates with this one.
As we lay in bed, petting, getting down to business, the evil started to creep in. My depression, loathing of this hot but douche canoe of a guy, everything. For me, you know what that meant: tickle time.
I was covert and sneaky about it. No telegraphing or invitation for retaliation. I’d wiggle my index fingers under his arms when they were wrapped around me and his eyes closed. I distracted him by nibbling on his nipples, then getting in some good hip gropes. He wanted me to suck him, which I wanted no part of. This dude wasn’t blowing a load until I was properly pleased. But I used it as a great opportunity to stroke his taint, play with his balls, skitter my nails on his thighs, play with his toes… all of which earned a wild jolt and/or an adorable giggle. This dude was TICK-A-LISH , and he HATED it! Of course, this was incredibly amusing, so I snuck in tickles whenever I could. The trick was to do it as often as possible without pissing him off so much he just got out of bed and went home. Which was easy to do. Tease a dude’s cock long enough and he’ll let you set his hair on fire until he cums.
Of course, the obvious answer was to bust out the old silk sashes and tie him to the bed. It handn’t been awhile, but I’d gotten pretty damn good at tickling and teasing the hell out of people. Remember what we did to that forty year-old attorney Leanna? Dommed her so bad she lay in my lap asking to be called baby-poo-poo while I tickled her tummy and sang her a lullaby. So freaking fun. I wanted Steve in chains BAD. And I was going to get what I wanted.
I lay on top of him and massaged his chest while occasionally reaching down to wrap my hand around his throbbing shaft and massage his balls. Damn, dude was full. While I gazed into his eyes and flashed my most flirtatious smile, I reached into my drawer and dropped one of the long silk sashes on to his chest.
“What’s that?” he said.
“Ever been tied up in bed, Steve?” I batted my eyes and gave his cock a nice, gentle squeeze.
“Actually, no. And I’ve always wanted to.”
“Really?” I said and stroked his wrist.
I knew I had him in the palm of my hand, so I went at him without asking. Not speaking a word, in fact. Just wound the first sash around his wrist, eased it toward my mahogany bedpost and tied a nice no-doubter knot. Slowly and seductively, I climbed all over him, stroking and kissing him to make the transition from strong, confident young man to helpless toy a pleasant one. Wrists and ankles weren’t enough tonight. I plastered him to the bed with thigh and elbow straps, then wound a belt across his waist.
“You kinky bitch!” he said. “You must do this all the time.”
A nice compliment, I thought, especially since calling me a bitch reinforced my desire to mess with this dude.
“Not all the time,” I said. “Just for special times.”
Now, diary, like I said, I’m not mean. Don’t make fun of me because you know it’s true. But you wouldn’t know that when you hear what happened next.
First, thing I did was straddle his waist and tease his chest. He had, like, the perfect amount of hair. You know, so you can ease your fingertips all around and toy with the pliant curlicues on the way to fondling the nipples and teasing the waist.
“Comfortable, Steve?” I said and bent down to give him a kiss.
“Holy shit, this is hot,” he said, massive tree-trunk legs flexing. His upright cock was planted against my ass like a drunk leaning on a wall. My frisky fingers stepped out of bounds and found their way into his armpits, which he’d shaved for some reason.
“No, fucking don’t!” he said with panicked eyes. I just giggled.
“Awwww, come on. Just a little tickle. I’ll make it worth it.”
I didn’t do it for long, maybe five seconds. But I got a nice, wild laugh from him.
“Look, don’t tickle me okay,” he said in a low but panicked voice. I could tell he was trying to display confidence… and failing.
“But I think you know by now how much fun I like tickling you. I’m gonna give you the night of your life. Let me have little fun at least.”
I gave him a sortie of light, wiggly strokes just above the hips. You know, just above the arteries where the skin is so soft. He burst into giggles again.
“Let me the fuck out of here!” he bellowed and thrashed around like a bull with a cowboy on its back. A pang of compassion hit me. I would have stopped tickling him if he hadn’t opened his damn mouth again.
“You crazy bitch, let me the fuck out of here or I’m going to ruin your life.”
Well, diary, something snapped. For a moment, it just stung. But that didn’t last long. I grew enraged, wild, as if every crappy thing in my life was charged into that one tasteless threat. Without an expression, I gazed at his seething face for a long moment. The veins on his neck were popping out and you’d think he’d just run wind sprints his face was so red.
“I swear to God, you’d better let me the fuck out.”
Both of my hands slid across his chest, under his arms, and my fingers went into an unconscious, frenzied dance across his bare armpits. He burst into immediate, spasmodic laughter.
“What did you call me, asshole?” I said in a sinister, serial killer voice.
FUCCCKK HAHAHAH HAHAHAA YOUUUUU BITCCCHHHHHHA AHAHAHAHA
I was shocked, truly. How could this moron be so stupid and arrogant? I had his ass bound to my bed and he was cursing me out. I literally shook my head in disbelief while my fingernails scraped at his soft, delicious flesh. Even the muscles under his arms were strong. Too bad for him even powerlifters have soft spots in their hollows, and teeny squeezes of tight muscles can be verrrrrryyy ticklish.
“Say it again, I dare you, I really do,” I said and leaned in closer, allowing my hair to dangle in his nostrils on his lips, making it even more difficult to speak through the screaming laughter. “Come on, Steve-O. Call me a bitch.”
I think he realized his mistake because he just thrashed around now, hyperventilating and squealing to fight off laughs that would inevitably defeat him, head flailing all around trying to avoid tendrils of hair from creeping inside his nostrils.
“Buddy, I’m going to fuck you up tonight. You’re going to forget what universe you’re in. You think I’m afraid of you now or at any point in time while you walk the Earth? Nope. And you know what, I don’t need to hit, slap, or do anything more than tickle the living shit out of you because I’m that good and you are a ticklish little bitch, Steve-O.” And this was the challenge, if you could call it that. I wanted to thoroughly break this guy with only tickles. It would be like a pro football team vs. pee wee football. Dude was toast.
I shimmied a bit closer until I straddled his navel now. I didn’t want that dick leaning against me, and I wanted to get closer as I dug my nails into his ribs. It’s funny, some people can get ticklish reactions by really groping ribs hard. That technique may not work for others, even on the same body. I’d found my technique, though. It involved a mix of grabs with all ten fingers coupled with soft pokes of each individual finger, accentuated by light strokes, continuing slowly up and down his sides. In certain situations, starting and stopping is a good way to build anticipation and increase panic, but you couldn’t have pried my dead hands off this dude’s sides. My fingers weren’t going to break contact with his skin until they cramped up. I was actually glad his ribs weren’t quite as ticklish as his armpits because it gave him a chance to at least get a semblance of speech in between his laughter. What did this prick have to say?
HAHAAAAAA STIOPPPP DAMMMITTTT! HAHEHAHAHA HEEE HEEHEHEHE
This made me smile.
“Stop?” I leaned in real close until our noses touched. “I’m not stopping for a loooong time, sweetie. So, you just take your tickles like a good little boy until mommy stops, okay?”
You know what he did then? Tried to bite me. I swear to God. Leaned forward and tried to munch on my nose. My pretty little nose 😊 He managed to seize a few hairs in his potty mouth, and I felt a little twinge as I retreated.
Again, I just stared at this dude in disbelief. This pathetic, asshat weakling who couldn’t just take his tickling like a man. He had to get petty. Biting? Uh-uh, no way. I stuffed the first thing I could find, which hilariously happened to be his drawers (the stars do align sometimes), into his mouth and held it fast with a sash tied tightly around his head. I then turned my t-shirt into a blindfold and pinned his head to one of my legs by winding a belt around it. So, there I sat, legs extended on Steve’s chest, his head glued to one of them so I could manipulate it like a lever. I grabbed two mascara brushes on the nearby nightstand, lowered them into his nostrils, and went to work.
“Biting my nose? Bad idea, dude. I’ve never applied mascara to nose hairs. You think it will stick?”
He grunted and screamed into the gag and yanked his head, which I easily kept immobile (go HS soccer and tennis, yay!). I was careful to maintain enough distance from his nostrils so that the combs on the brush grazed the little hairs with the force of a housefly. After about 30 seconds of this, I mixed it up by pressing the brushes inside a little deeper and rolling them around on his skin directly.
“You think I could take a pneumonia test with these things? Probably not.”
I must admit, I’d fallen in love with my own wickedness. I felt no remorse, and it was liberating. I switched up the nose treatment by teasing his inner ears in the same fashion, then back to his nose, then his ears in no special cadence or technique. Whatever seemed the best way to keep him guessing.
“Here comes the ears! Oh oops, I meant the nostrils. No, no, no I meant… the nostrils, I really did mean, nope ears!”
And this kind of thing for a while. It was fun imagining how this different kind of tease was wearing on him, but I wanted to get my hands on that hot body again and turn it to ticklish goop. That was the real fun!
Now, let me tell you another reason I was so proud of myself, diary. You’re going to love this:
Of course, I eventually would have to let him out. Someone, whether it be his ex-, or a buddy, mommy and daddy, would find him missing before I was ready to set his sorry ass free. After I released him back into genpop, he could get me in a lot of trouble. I was also afraid he’d hurt me. It seemed like he could be the type. What I needed was an insurance policy.
I removed the gag and turned on my cell phone recorder.
“Holy shit!” in a spiteful voice was the first thing out of his mouth. Typical and… perfect.
“Are you okay?”
“What the fuck do you think?”
“I’m sorry,” I said in a sweet, hushed voice. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“Bullshit you didn’t. Take this blindfold off and untie me.”
“I’m afraid you’ll hurt me.”
“Just do it.”
“Please, don’t hurt me!” I said, feigning tears. “I’m going to untie you now, okay? Please don’t hurt me. I thought you’d like what I did to you.”
I unbuckled one of the elbow straps and dug a fingernail into his forearm just enough to piss him off.
“Would you be mad at me if we did this again?”
“If you tried to do that again, chick, I don’t know what the fuck I’d do to you.”
Off came the second elbow strap.
“Don’t say that. We could have fun next time,” my voice trailing off like a little girl whimpering.
“If I ever got you alone in a room again, it wouldn’t be pretty.”
I took my time unfastening the belt.
“I can still make you cum like you told me I had to.”
“I never said that.”
“Well, I thought you wanted me to.”
Got him now. Time to get the really juicy stuff on tape.
“If I let you tie me now, how bad would you tickle me?”
“I’d make you cry,” he said, and even laughed. I knew it wasn’t a sinister laugh, more just an off-handed chortle that is more friendly than anything. But it this context… hehe
“That’s so mean!” I said as I fumbled with one of the knee straps.
“I don’t care. You’d deserve every second of it and you know it.”
“Don’t say that.”
“I’m saying it. Now let me the fuck out already and we can put this behind us, ok?”
Click. Recorder off. It wouldn’t take an Academy Award winning sound editor to turn that into evidence of a sicko rapist in my bedroom. I’d chopped up much longer conversations with this cool computer program to make short films with my film school friend. No problem.
I immediately refastened the knee strap, so snugly this time it dug into his skin.
“Wait, what?” he exclaimed and immediately thrashed again. I got a kick out of watching his back arch up and down violently, as if he’d just discovered his spine.
“Changed my mind. I still have too much fun in store for you. You’re gonna scream for joy, over and over. But, look, you’re gonna throw those hips out, Stevie boy. Let’s get you nice and comfy.” And back the belt went.
Now immobile again, it was time to work on the other side of his body. As you know, I’m more of an upper body girl, but foot tickling can be verry relaxing. It takes so little effort! You don’t even need to move your arms or body. You can tickle the living hell out of someone’s bound foot while reading a book with the other hand. Unfortunately for my slowly weakening tickle toy, it was going to be a full-service treatment.
I loooove oils and lotions and use them whenever I can. My skin is like cotton candy, and I love the touch of soft skin on others. Some women like grimy, sweaty construction workers with rough hands like some ravenous creature who gobbles up his prey. Not me. Give me some soft skin that I can kiss and stroke with tender touches any day of the week. With this in mind, I drenched Steve’s feet with warm massage oil. It literally poured from his heels in a steady stream. After lathering them up nice and slippery, my fingernails went to work scurrying about hunting for tickle spots.
SON OF AA AHAHAHA AHAHHA
“Gotcha!” I said and giggled as I found a sensitive spot where the top of his arch extended to his sole.
NOTT HEHEHEEHHHEEE MY- KELLY, PLEASE!
“I can’t believe it! You remembered my name.” I knew I was getting to him. I was no longer crazy bitch, or slut. I had a name, and he was trying to address me as a person. Too bad he didn’t realize I’d become a crazy bitch.
“Let’s give those cutesy toesies a nice tickle in celebration. Yay, toesies! Daddy is being nice again.”
DAAA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAA MMITTTTT!!! KELLLYYYY HAHA, HAHAHAHAA PPPLLLL
“Whoa, daddy’s toesies are screaming ticklish. I need to fasten their seat belts before they fall all over the floor!”
I casually sauntered across the room, making sure he got a nice view of my ass and demure, smiling face, and returned with a handful of toe ties. He realized what was coming and clamped his toes down in tight fists.
“Awwww, don’t be shy, toesies. Seat belts are for protection.”
All it took was a healthy dose of scribbles on his soles and heels to loosen the fists and slide the toe ties across his stems.
“Ok, toesies, mommy is gonna give you some tricky little tickles with her tickly nails to see if you are fastened in. Ready!”
KELLY YOU HAHAHAHAHAH HEHEHEHEEHEH HAHAHAHAHA
“Kelly, you what? Can tickle your toes until you cry? Awww, so sweet, but I was going to do it anyway.”
Making him roar in ticklish agony was getting me so hot. It took everything I had to not stop and finger myself, but I just couldn’t keep both hands away from his slippery, long toes. He must have had a size 12 or 13 shoe because his middle toes were almost as long as my pinkie fingers. I love tickling big feet. It empowers me to know that my little hands can devastate people so much with the simplest of little touches.
Though this was so much fun, my utter contempt for this person resurfaced and I wanted to do something I’d always deemed too cruel. Hairbrushes. In the X-rated tickle videos I’d seen, hairbrushes scrubbing oily feet seemed to raise the pitch of the victim’s laughter an octave. Time to experience the joy of sadism for myself…
**********
I swear I’m not a mean person. You know this, diary. But sometimes the evil comes out. It’s usually in the form of sarcasm, maybe calling someone dumb because they did something, well, really freaking dumb. I know it’s not right to call someone that regardless, but I’ve done it before. This night, though, was the perfect storm for Kelly’s demonic, twisted, evil bitch doppelganger to rear her ugly head.
I must say ahead of time I’m not proud of this story. In fact, diary, as you can tell I’m weeping on the page. But if I can’t tell you my most twisted thoughts and purge tales of my worst impulses come true, who can I tell? I think writing is the best way to make sure they generally don’t happen (or happen again). A diary is like a best friend of your own creation. An implicit confession. I’m definitely not a good Catholic (last time I was in church was Christmas mass my sophomore year in high school), but I know confessions feel good. So, bear with me here, it’s gonna get ugly. I must admit, though, this night was pretty damn fun too 😊
You already know most of this. But I feel like a proper backdrop will refresh your memory best. You remember how I was in a really bad place right after I graduated college. You know my parents had just separated, and my dad didn’t show up at my graduation. He didn’t even call me or send a damn card. We’d been fighting quite a bit because I usually took mom’s side, but damn. What a… I can’t even say it. I’d lost my job in less than a year. I was late twice, only by a few minutes, but I guess my dinky little accounting firm wanted me there that badly. That’s what I tell myself at least. I’d put on a few pounds because I was too lazy to go to the gym. Most of my friends were in relationships and my older sister was engaged. My life was working part-time at the local YMCA, playing third (or fifth) wheel to friends, streaming TV with a bottle of wine and trying to sell poems to lit mags. I want to believe I am a good poet, but… ugh.
Worst of all was that my early 20s was becoming the worst period of my love life. I had no confidence, and it must have shone through. I hadn’t dated anyone in months, man, woman or Martian for crying out loud. No flirting across the table, kisses, tickle fights on the couch during a movie, sex, or even heavy petting. Sex… what was it, January? Summer was about to start. So, when Penny invited me to go to a club with her boyfriend to get my ass out of my apartment, I couldn’t say no. I was there for only reason only: to find something to tickle my pussy that wasn’t battery powered. I don’t feel wrong for saying that. It was so damn true and I deserved it!
His name was Steve. Remember him? Holy crap, what a loin. To be fair, he was only there to get laid, too. I caught him texting his ex several times in the club; he tried to play it off as necessary conversation, but I saw the words “lick, fuck, and love” on the screen more than once. He was pretty damn hot: six-foot, 190 and built, an obviously salon-styled wavy brown haircut, brown eyes. Badass tattoo of a Viking on his sinewy bicep. He drove a Lexus and graduated from some ritzy private college I can’t even remember. It started with a B, that’s all I know.
Well, we pounded Long Island Iced Teas for a while until a bit more than tipsy and took an Uber to my apartment to fuck, fall asleep, and go our separate ways. The dude was texting his ex while with me in the Uber. Remember that? What a freaking ass. Nope. No second dates with this one.
As we lay in bed, petting, getting down to business, the evil started to creep in. My depression, loathing of this hot but douche canoe of a guy, everything. For me, you know what that meant: tickle time.
I was covert and sneaky about it. No telegraphing or invitation for retaliation. I’d wiggle my index fingers under his arms when they were wrapped around me and his eyes closed. I distracted him by nibbling on his nipples, then getting in some good hip gropes. He wanted me to suck him, which I wanted no part of. This dude wasn’t blowing a load until I was properly pleased. But I used it as a great opportunity to stroke his taint, play with his balls, skitter my nails on his thighs, play with his toes… all of which earned a wild jolt and/or an adorable giggle. This dude was TICK-A-LISH , and he HATED it! Of course, this was incredibly amusing, so I snuck in tickles whenever I could. The trick was to do it as often as possible without pissing him off so much he just got out of bed and went home. Which was easy to do. Tease a dude’s cock long enough and he’ll let you set his hair on fire until he cums.
Of course, the obvious answer was to bust out the old silk sashes and tie him to the bed. It handn’t been awhile, but I’d gotten pretty damn good at tickling and teasing the hell out of people. Remember what we did to that forty year-old attorney Leanna? Dommed her so bad she lay in my lap asking to be called baby-poo-poo while I tickled her tummy and sang her a lullaby. So freaking fun. I wanted Steve in chains BAD. And I was going to get what I wanted.
I lay on top of him and massaged his chest while occasionally reaching down to wrap my hand around his throbbing shaft and massage his balls. Damn, dude was full. While I gazed into his eyes and flashed my most flirtatious smile, I reached into my drawer and dropped one of the long silk sashes on to his chest.
“What’s that?” he said.
“Ever been tied up in bed, Steve?” I batted my eyes and gave his cock a nice, gentle squeeze.
“Actually, no. And I’ve always wanted to.”
“Really?” I said and stroked his wrist.
I knew I had him in the palm of my hand, so I went at him without asking. Not speaking a word, in fact. Just wound the first sash around his wrist, eased it toward my mahogany bedpost and tied a nice no-doubter knot. Slowly and seductively, I climbed all over him, stroking and kissing him to make the transition from strong, confident young man to helpless toy a pleasant one. Wrists and ankles weren’t enough tonight. I plastered him to the bed with thigh and elbow straps, then wound a belt across his waist.
“You kinky bitch!” he said. “You must do this all the time.”
A nice compliment, I thought, especially since calling me a bitch reinforced my desire to mess with this dude.
“Not all the time,” I said. “Just for special times.”
Now, diary, like I said, I’m not mean. Don’t make fun of me because you know it’s true. But you wouldn’t know that when you hear what happened next.
First, thing I did was straddle his waist and tease his chest. He had, like, the perfect amount of hair. You know, so you can ease your fingertips all around and toy with the pliant curlicues on the way to fondling the nipples and teasing the waist.
“Comfortable, Steve?” I said and bent down to give him a kiss.
“Holy shit, this is hot,” he said, massive tree-trunk legs flexing. His upright cock was planted against my ass like a drunk leaning on a wall. My frisky fingers stepped out of bounds and found their way into his armpits, which he’d shaved for some reason.
“No, fucking don’t!” he said with panicked eyes. I just giggled.
“Awwww, come on. Just a little tickle. I’ll make it worth it.”
I didn’t do it for long, maybe five seconds. But I got a nice, wild laugh from him.
“Look, don’t tickle me okay,” he said in a low but panicked voice. I could tell he was trying to display confidence… and failing.
“But I think you know by now how much fun I like tickling you. I’m gonna give you the night of your life. Let me have little fun at least.”
I gave him a sortie of light, wiggly strokes just above the hips. You know, just above the arteries where the skin is so soft. He burst into giggles again.
“Let me the fuck out of here!” he bellowed and thrashed around like a bull with a cowboy on its back. A pang of compassion hit me. I would have stopped tickling him if he hadn’t opened his damn mouth again.
“You crazy bitch, let me the fuck out of here or I’m going to ruin your life.”
Well, diary, something snapped. For a moment, it just stung. But that didn’t last long. I grew enraged, wild, as if every crappy thing in my life was charged into that one tasteless threat. Without an expression, I gazed at his seething face for a long moment. The veins on his neck were popping out and you’d think he’d just run wind sprints his face was so red.
“I swear to God, you’d better let me the fuck out.”
Both of my hands slid across his chest, under his arms, and my fingers went into an unconscious, frenzied dance across his bare armpits. He burst into immediate, spasmodic laughter.
“What did you call me, asshole?” I said in a sinister, serial killer voice.
FUCCCKK HAHAHAH HAHAHAA YOUUUUU BITCCCHHHHHHA AHAHAHAHA
I was shocked, truly. How could this moron be so stupid and arrogant? I had his ass bound to my bed and he was cursing me out. I literally shook my head in disbelief while my fingernails scraped at his soft, delicious flesh. Even the muscles under his arms were strong. Too bad for him even powerlifters have soft spots in their hollows, and teeny squeezes of tight muscles can be verrrrrryyy ticklish.
“Say it again, I dare you, I really do,” I said and leaned in closer, allowing my hair to dangle in his nostrils on his lips, making it even more difficult to speak through the screaming laughter. “Come on, Steve-O. Call me a bitch.”
I think he realized his mistake because he just thrashed around now, hyperventilating and squealing to fight off laughs that would inevitably defeat him, head flailing all around trying to avoid tendrils of hair from creeping inside his nostrils.
“Buddy, I’m going to fuck you up tonight. You’re going to forget what universe you’re in. You think I’m afraid of you now or at any point in time while you walk the Earth? Nope. And you know what, I don’t need to hit, slap, or do anything more than tickle the living shit out of you because I’m that good and you are a ticklish little bitch, Steve-O.” And this was the challenge, if you could call it that. I wanted to thoroughly break this guy with only tickles. It would be like a pro football team vs. pee wee football. Dude was toast.
I shimmied a bit closer until I straddled his navel now. I didn’t want that dick leaning against me, and I wanted to get closer as I dug my nails into his ribs. It’s funny, some people can get ticklish reactions by really groping ribs hard. That technique may not work for others, even on the same body. I’d found my technique, though. It involved a mix of grabs with all ten fingers coupled with soft pokes of each individual finger, accentuated by light strokes, continuing slowly up and down his sides. In certain situations, starting and stopping is a good way to build anticipation and increase panic, but you couldn’t have pried my dead hands off this dude’s sides. My fingers weren’t going to break contact with his skin until they cramped up. I was actually glad his ribs weren’t quite as ticklish as his armpits because it gave him a chance to at least get a semblance of speech in between his laughter. What did this prick have to say?
HAHAAAAAA STIOPPPP DAMMMITTTT! HAHEHAHAHA HEEE HEEHEHEHE
This made me smile.
“Stop?” I leaned in real close until our noses touched. “I’m not stopping for a loooong time, sweetie. So, you just take your tickles like a good little boy until mommy stops, okay?”
You know what he did then? Tried to bite me. I swear to God. Leaned forward and tried to munch on my nose. My pretty little nose 😊 He managed to seize a few hairs in his potty mouth, and I felt a little twinge as I retreated.
Again, I just stared at this dude in disbelief. This pathetic, asshat weakling who couldn’t just take his tickling like a man. He had to get petty. Biting? Uh-uh, no way. I stuffed the first thing I could find, which hilariously happened to be his drawers (the stars do align sometimes), into his mouth and held it fast with a sash tied tightly around his head. I then turned my t-shirt into a blindfold and pinned his head to one of my legs by winding a belt around it. So, there I sat, legs extended on Steve’s chest, his head glued to one of them so I could manipulate it like a lever. I grabbed two mascara brushes on the nearby nightstand, lowered them into his nostrils, and went to work.
“Biting my nose? Bad idea, dude. I’ve never applied mascara to nose hairs. You think it will stick?”
He grunted and screamed into the gag and yanked his head, which I easily kept immobile (go HS soccer and tennis, yay!). I was careful to maintain enough distance from his nostrils so that the combs on the brush grazed the little hairs with the force of a housefly. After about 30 seconds of this, I mixed it up by pressing the brushes inside a little deeper and rolling them around on his skin directly.
“You think I could take a pneumonia test with these things? Probably not.”
I must admit, I’d fallen in love with my own wickedness. I felt no remorse, and it was liberating. I switched up the nose treatment by teasing his inner ears in the same fashion, then back to his nose, then his ears in no special cadence or technique. Whatever seemed the best way to keep him guessing.
“Here comes the ears! Oh oops, I meant the nostrils. No, no, no I meant… the nostrils, I really did mean, nope ears!”
And this kind of thing for a while. It was fun imagining how this different kind of tease was wearing on him, but I wanted to get my hands on that hot body again and turn it to ticklish goop. That was the real fun!
Now, let me tell you another reason I was so proud of myself, diary. You’re going to love this:
Of course, I eventually would have to let him out. Someone, whether it be his ex-, or a buddy, mommy and daddy, would find him missing before I was ready to set his sorry ass free. After I released him back into genpop, he could get me in a lot of trouble. I was also afraid he’d hurt me. It seemed like he could be the type. What I needed was an insurance policy.
I removed the gag and turned on my cell phone recorder.
“Holy shit!” in a spiteful voice was the first thing out of his mouth. Typical and… perfect.
“Are you okay?”
“What the fuck do you think?”
“I’m sorry,” I said in a sweet, hushed voice. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“Bullshit you didn’t. Take this blindfold off and untie me.”
“I’m afraid you’ll hurt me.”
“Just do it.”
“Please, don’t hurt me!” I said, feigning tears. “I’m going to untie you now, okay? Please don’t hurt me. I thought you’d like what I did to you.”
I unbuckled one of the elbow straps and dug a fingernail into his forearm just enough to piss him off.
“Would you be mad at me if we did this again?”
“If you tried to do that again, chick, I don’t know what the fuck I’d do to you.”
Off came the second elbow strap.
“Don’t say that. We could have fun next time,” my voice trailing off like a little girl whimpering.
“If I ever got you alone in a room again, it wouldn’t be pretty.”
I took my time unfastening the belt.
“I can still make you cum like you told me I had to.”
“I never said that.”
“Well, I thought you wanted me to.”
Got him now. Time to get the really juicy stuff on tape.
“If I let you tie me now, how bad would you tickle me?”
“I’d make you cry,” he said, and even laughed. I knew it wasn’t a sinister laugh, more just an off-handed chortle that is more friendly than anything. But it this context… hehe
“That’s so mean!” I said as I fumbled with one of the knee straps.
“I don’t care. You’d deserve every second of it and you know it.”
“Don’t say that.”
“I’m saying it. Now let me the fuck out already and we can put this behind us, ok?”
Click. Recorder off. It wouldn’t take an Academy Award winning sound editor to turn that into evidence of a sicko rapist in my bedroom. I’d chopped up much longer conversations with this cool computer program to make short films with my film school friend. No problem.
I immediately refastened the knee strap, so snugly this time it dug into his skin.
“Wait, what?” he exclaimed and immediately thrashed again. I got a kick out of watching his back arch up and down violently, as if he’d just discovered his spine.
“Changed my mind. I still have too much fun in store for you. You’re gonna scream for joy, over and over. But, look, you’re gonna throw those hips out, Stevie boy. Let’s get you nice and comfy.” And back the belt went.
Now immobile again, it was time to work on the other side of his body. As you know, I’m more of an upper body girl, but foot tickling can be verry relaxing. It takes so little effort! You don’t even need to move your arms or body. You can tickle the living hell out of someone’s bound foot while reading a book with the other hand. Unfortunately for my slowly weakening tickle toy, it was going to be a full-service treatment.
I loooove oils and lotions and use them whenever I can. My skin is like cotton candy, and I love the touch of soft skin on others. Some women like grimy, sweaty construction workers with rough hands like some ravenous creature who gobbles up his prey. Not me. Give me some soft skin that I can kiss and stroke with tender touches any day of the week. With this in mind, I drenched Steve’s feet with warm massage oil. It literally poured from his heels in a steady stream. After lathering them up nice and slippery, my fingernails went to work scurrying about hunting for tickle spots.
SON OF AA AHAHAHA AHAHHA
“Gotcha!” I said and giggled as I found a sensitive spot where the top of his arch extended to his sole.
NOTT HEHEHEEHHHEEE MY- KELLY, PLEASE!
“I can’t believe it! You remembered my name.” I knew I was getting to him. I was no longer crazy bitch, or slut. I had a name, and he was trying to address me as a person. Too bad he didn’t realize I’d become a crazy bitch.
“Let’s give those cutesy toesies a nice tickle in celebration. Yay, toesies! Daddy is being nice again.”
DAAA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAA MMITTTTT!!! KELLLYYYY HAHA, HAHAHAHAA PPPLLLL
“Whoa, daddy’s toesies are screaming ticklish. I need to fasten their seat belts before they fall all over the floor!”
I casually sauntered across the room, making sure he got a nice view of my ass and demure, smiling face, and returned with a handful of toe ties. He realized what was coming and clamped his toes down in tight fists.
“Awwww, don’t be shy, toesies. Seat belts are for protection.”
All it took was a healthy dose of scribbles on his soles and heels to loosen the fists and slide the toe ties across his stems.
“Ok, toesies, mommy is gonna give you some tricky little tickles with her tickly nails to see if you are fastened in. Ready!”
KELLY YOU HAHAHAHAHAH HEHEHEHEEHEH HAHAHAHAHA
“Kelly, you what? Can tickle your toes until you cry? Awww, so sweet, but I was going to do it anyway.”
Making him roar in ticklish agony was getting me so hot. It took everything I had to not stop and finger myself, but I just couldn’t keep both hands away from his slippery, long toes. He must have had a size 12 or 13 shoe because his middle toes were almost as long as my pinkie fingers. I love tickling big feet. It empowers me to know that my little hands can devastate people so much with the simplest of little touches.
Though this was so much fun, my utter contempt for this person resurfaced and I wanted to do something I’d always deemed too cruel. Hairbrushes. In the X-rated tickle videos I’d seen, hairbrushes scrubbing oily feet seemed to raise the pitch of the victim’s laughter an octave. Time to experience the joy of sadism for myself…
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