I'm hoping to get part 2 up soon. Hope everyone enjoys.
--
Everyone has a thing. Mine is tickling. Specifically, the tickling of beautiful women. I'll share some of my stories with you, if you'd like.
The thing I love most about tickling is the humbling. I don't just love tickling beautiful women. I love tickling powerful, confident, otherwise dominant women until they're nothing but a giggling, sweating, begging, mess. To reduce them from their normal status to my play toy. And, in the process, to rev their sexual engines in ways they've never imagined before. That, in a nutshell, is my thing.
I'm fortunate to be able to travel a great deal. It let's me find the women for my tickling adventures. I should pause to say that I truly don't have a "type". If you're a beautiful, confident, otherwise in charge woman, you're my type. I've tickled and dominated blonde lawyers in Texas; Jewish socialites in Manhattan; petite Asian bankers in San Francisco; and curvy Hispanic singers in Miami. Maybe I'll share some of those stories with you one day.
But today's story involves an experience on a train going from Washington DC to New York. I always keep my eye out for women who fit my criteria, and today was no exception. Getting into her seat just a few rows in front of me was a woman who hit all my buttons, although I didn't yet realize the full extent.
She looked to be in her late 20s or early 30s, African American with gorgeous mocha skin and luxurious, long, black, straight hair. She carried herself with a confidence bordering on arrogance that was simply intoxicating.
Dressed in a black leather jacket, white blouse, black skin-tight jeans and black leather ankle boots with four inch heels, you couldn't help be struck by her sexiness. She was maybe 5'10" without the heels, and her breasts, while not huge, were accentuated by her tight top. The legs seemed to last for miles, toned and fit in those skin tight jeans. Her whole body looked like she was a regular at the gym, hard in the right places.
As she sat in her seat, my eyes were struck by something glittering from her neck. It was a necklace of some kind, with letters suspended on a chain. I strained my eyes to make out the letters, not fully believing myself. No, I obviously am seeing this wrong, I tell myself after a bit.
A few stops later, the passenger in the seat across the aisle from our beauty exits and I bolt up to take his place. I now have an unobstructed view of my girl, who is talking on her iPhone through a pair of headphones.
The first thing I realize is that my eyes weren't deceiving me: her necklace does, in fact, say "TICKLER". I ponder this for a bit. Most likely, I decide, it simply means something other than an actual affinity for tickling. Perhaps it's an inside joke.
But then I begin to listen to her overly loud phone conversation. She had a confident, maybe even abrasive, tone.
"Listen, I got that girl so good she still won't look me in the eye," our woman was saying, her mouth curling into a devious smile. "I mean, I tickled her like nobody's business. She scared still." She then laughed, a beautiful, loud, hearty laugh that I dearly wanted to hear again.
As I listened to this conversation for several more minutes, I determined that this beautiful, arrogant, proud, confident woman was an undoubted tickle fetishest who loved to prey on smaller, slighter women and bend them to her will through tickling. I noticed she had exceedingly long, French manicured nails, and I could guess the torture she inflicted on her victims with them.
After she was off the phone, I allowed my water bottle to intentionally slide across the aisle to her seat.
"Oops, my bad," I said loudly, standing up to retrieve it from her row. She gave me a quick look as I was snatching my bottle back.
"I love your nails," I said casually as I picked up my bottle. "I've got the French tips, too, but you've really grown yours out. I love it." I smiled coyly and quickly flashed my nails at her.
She seemed to notice me now, with her mouth curling into an almost sinister smile, like a shark seeing a seal. I realized quickly that I'm probably exactly her type. I'm 28, blonde hair, pale skin, about 5'3", and very petite. Precisely the type of girl she could see herself using those talon-like nails on. That was my opening.
"Girl, those little nails are cute. You've got the tiniest hands, too!" She was now really taking me in, from head to toe. I could see her eyes dissecting me, anticipating a kill. Man, tonight was going to be a surprise for her.
I giggled coquettishly, and tried to act embarrassed. "I guess they are small. My name is Lauren, by the way," I said, extending my hand into her much larger, though very soft, one.
"I'm Monique. So pleased to meet you, Lauren," she said, the predatory smile back.
Before she could say another word, I pointed to her necklace and asked innocently, "Tickler? What, as in you like to tickle people?" I phrased it as a mix between curiosity, humor, and disbelief.
Monique's smile lit up her face. She really is stunning, I thought. "Yes, Lauren. I do like to tickle people. Pretty girls, actually, if we're being honest. Does that bother you?"
I smiled back. "Oh, I see. That doesn't bother me at all. I was just curious about the necklace. So those nails must do some damage?" I giggled.
She laughed loudly and flexed her nails near my face. "Lauren, if I had five minutes with you and my nails, you'd be begging and pleading and promising to do anything to make it stop." She gave me an exaggerated wink, and stared directly into my eyes.
I played it coy. "Hmmm, I guess this assumes I'm ticklish. I don't think I am. Actually, if we're talking tickling, I liked to do the tickling when I was a kid." I winked right back at her.
Monique laughed uproariously. "You?! The tickler?! Girl, what are you? 5'2"? You aren't tickling anybody!" She clearly associated tickling with dominance, and rather than annoyance at her arrogance I found myself getting turned on. This girl had no idea.
"I'm something like that," I said, trying to look shy about it. "But regardless, if I'm not ticklish, your nails won't have much effect on me. Don't get me wrong, I'm sure you're a great tickler on others!" I was needling her with condescension, and she knew it.
"Lauren, when was the last time you were tickled? Just looking at you, I'm going to say you're probably pretty sensitive," she said with a smile, drinking in my breasts hidden behind my pantsuit. Her eyes trailed all the way down to my crossed legs and my feet, in tan pumps with a five inch heel.
I squirmed involuntarily, knowing she was imagining me under her nails. "Oh probably not since childhood but I think you just know if you're ticklish from everyday life. And I'm just not." I tried to sound exceedingly confident, challenging her.
Monique looked at her nails for a moment. "We've got an hour left on this train. I'll make you a deal, Lauren. Come by my hotel tonight. If you give me ten minutes, I'll guarantee you'll acknowledge you're ticklish."
I tried to act like I was pondering the proposition and somewhat hesitant. "So you've got ten minutes to tickle me and at the end of it, if I acknowledge I'm ticklish, you win? What if you lose?"
She laughed loudly again. "Oh, honey, I really am not losing at this. But let's say, somehow, you make it ten minutes without admitting you're ticklish. I'll take you to dinner anywhere in the city, on me." She gave me another wink.
I loved her arrogance. Humbling this tall, stunning, dominant woman would be so sweet. My mind's eye was already starting to envision it.
"Deal, Monique. I'm looking forward to dinner!"
--
Before we left the train together, I slipped three items into my pockets without her noticing. We made our way from the train station to her hotel, teasing each other about her pending victory.
"Lauren, girl, I don't think you know what you've gotten into!" She said as we walked into her hotel room. "Your skinny ass is going to be begging me like you've never begged before!" I noticed her voice was getting husky, and she was clearly turned on at the thought of dominating me.
Our heels clicked on the marble floor of her hotel room. We walked into the bedroom and dropped our bags. "Girl, lay down on this bed. I'm going to grab something from my bag."
I sat on the edge of the bed and watched her fish a long white feather and a pink vibrating dildo out of her bag, turn to me with a wolffish smile, and laugh. "Oh little Lauren, I think you've made a big mistake. Mistress Monique is going to teach you a serious lesson about mouthing off."
My face remained impassive. She walked up to me and put a hand on my shoulder. But before she knew what happened, I flipped her 5'10", muscular frame onto the bed, landing her on her back and knocking the wind out of her.
I was on her without hesitation. I removed a pair of handcuffs from me pocket and cuffed her hand behind her back. She had no idea what was happening, and was too shocked to fight back or say anything. Just as she was opening her mouth, I inserted a red ball gag and locked it in place. Mistress Monique was cuffed on her own bed and gagged silent.
I smiled broadly and looked in her eyes, a mix of shock and anger. "Monique, honey, I'm afraid you don't know what you've gotten into. You see, I would like to try a different bet from the one you proposed. My idea is pretty simple: I'm going to tickle you and tease you until you admit that I'm your mistress and you're just my little tickle toy. Thoughts?"
Monique had regained her composure to some extent, and was violently squirming on the bed and yelling into her gag. This was a situation she'd never imagined. This tiny blonde bitch had duped her, tied her up and was threatening to tickle her silly. She kicked her powerful legs, hoping to propel herself off the bed.
I laughed, genuinely. "Let's make sure you're not in a position to do any damage," I said, walking up to her arm and uncuffing her hands just long enough to attach one cuff to the left bedpost. I quickly did the same with her right hand, leaving her with significantly less maneuvering room. The growls from behind the ball gag were only growing.
"I guess those nails aren't in a position to do much damage," I laughed, taunting her. I could tell from her eyes how angry that made her. She kicked her legs on the bed, testing the strength of her bonds. In the process her blouse had ridden up, exposing her hard abs and gorgeous mocha skin.
I took a nail and scribbled it on her rock hard abs. The sound behind the gag changed instantly, her eyes showing the first hint of fear rather than anger. I laughed again. "My, my. Our big, strong Mistress Monique isn't ticklish, is she?"
I walked to the top of the bed and put my face right up to hers. I could smell her perfume. "By the time I'm done with you, you'll be begging and pleading like you'd never thought possible. All that tough girl stuff is out the window. You're going to be my toy." I ran a nail along her neck, eliciting more squirms and squeaks from behind the gag.
I walked back to the foot of the bed and decided to act on a hunch. I opened up her suitcase and found a small box labeled "toys". The mere name, coupled with the irony of her current position, made me smile. Inside the box I found six feathers of different sizes; bottles of baby oil and lube; nipple clamps; a butt plug; some very large dildos; padded restraints; blindfolds; bits of string; and scissors.
I carried the toolbox up to Monique and saw her eyes widen in abject fear as I sorted through the box before her. "Looks like Miss Tough Girl is starting to realize she's in a bind," I smirked. "I bet you never thought you'd be on the other end, huh? How much do you want to bet I can use every one of these tools on you, Monique? Want to see?" She shook her head vigorously, kicking and squirming again.
I could feel myself getting wet, watching this strong, dominant girl tied to a bed and contemplating her pending humiliation. Now it was time to act.
Fast forward a few hours.
I stood back from the bed and smiled, the wetness in my pants overwhelming and my nipples achingly hard. It was hard not to laugh, thinking of the confident, even arrogant, dominant girl wearing a "Tickler" necklace who I had met on the train. That girl had worn her stylish, sensual clothes with swagger and used her imposing 5'10" height and toned physique to project strength and confidence. And to send the message that SHE would be using her talon-like nails to torture and tease anyone she wanted.
That girl bore no resemblance to the girl I was now watching restrained on her own bed. To start with, this girl wasn't wearing anything. She was completely naked, her gorgeous mocha skin glistening with sweat. Her toned muscles were bathed in perspiration, and her beautiful black hair was a sweaty, tousled mess.
For another, she was trapped in an impossibly tight hogtie, her toned thighs and calves accentuated by the pressures of the binds. I had placed a satin blindfold over her eyes and kept the red ball gag in. And, to top it off, I had tied her two big toes together with string, keeping her tender arches permanently taught. Both arches, by the way, were at this point dripping with baby oil.
In my hand was a feather, the very one she'd first revealed when it was assumed that I would be the one suffering its ministrations. I wonder what she's thinking? I thought to myself. Does she find this ironic? Does she realize how hilarious it is that the tables turned so dramatically? That the girl with the tickler necklace was stripped from her fashionable clothes, lathered in baby oil from breasts to toes, and cruelly teased for hours by tickling feathers? I decided to find out.
I leaned over Monique's absurdly sexy hog tied body and grazed my feather along her body. I started at the breasts, swirling the feather around her impossibly erect nipples, eliciting a gasp into the gag and frantic but useless wiggling. The feather trailed down her hard abs, the soft, shaven hollows of her underarms, and along her smooth, hairless panty line.
As my feather found its way along her soft but sculpted inner thighs, along the panty line, and then lightly touched her visibly wet, bald mound, she began to shout louder into the gag, shaking her head hysterically while grinding her hips. Monique had been touched there repeatedly over the last several hours, denied orgasm each time. It was clear that this dominant princess was about to explode from the feather touch of another woman using her own tickling feather.
"Oh my!" I said in a sing song voice. "Is Mistress Monique a little randy?" I made a tut-tutting sound of disapproval. "Sweetheart, I've only been playing with you for a few hours now. We've gotten you out of these clothes," I gestured at the pile on the floor containing her leather jacket, blouse, tight jeans, and 4-inch heeled ankle boots. "We've gotten you a little worked up," I said while tracing the feather further along her crotch. "But I think now it's time to really show you who the "Tickler" is, to quote that necklace of yours."
Monique squirmed, grunted, and shook her flawless, hogtied body as much as she could. I continued my feather's walk down her body, along her long, toned legs and down to two of the sexiest feet I've ever seen, glistening in oil and both big toes restrained with twine.
Monique's feet were big, a size 10 according to her ankle boots (I had checked when slowly and teasingly first removing them). They were long and slender, with the softest mocha skin. I've seen some beautiful feet on beautiful women, but these were truly something else. It was obvious this powerful, strong princess received regular pedicures, for there wasn't a callous or rough spot to be found. Her long, elegant toes featured perfect French tips, for which I'm always a sucker. Her middle right toe had a ring, glinting at me teasingly.
"It's so funny, Monique," I said while sliding the feather along her tender arch, then running it in between each of her gorgeous, pedicured toes. "Here you were on the train, towering over me in those boots, looking at me like a piece of meat. And here we are now: I'm fully clothed and you're butt naked, your big feet covered in oil, your toes tied back, and I'm sawing in between those French tipped toes of yours with your own feather...I bet you didn't imagine that last time you got a pedicure!"
Monique was yelling and wiggling again, and clearly laughing. I knew my taunting was killing her, but the sensation of tickling mixed with sexual frustration was obviously getting to her. Sweat kept pouring down her forehead and along her body, and the occasional moan and hip grind was getting impossible to hide. This tough bitch was fast becoming my tickle toy, and she knew it.
I ran my feather over her heels, followed by my nails. More laughter and writhing. "You have the softest heels, Monique. Not a callous. I bet you just love being pampered on this big pretty feet, don't you? I bet you sit in those boots, running your nails over other women's feet, and love thinking yours are hidden away," I teased, softly biting her sexy heel and eliciting what sounded like a shriek of surprise. "Shoes off both feet, I guess!" My dumb pun was followed by a long, teasing run of my nail over this goddesses' taut sole.
I looked at my toy, and noticed her juices were clearly flowing from that shiny, bald mound. After discovering her toy box, I had promised to utilize all on my dominant friend. I removed the vibrator she had threatened me with earlier, turning it on and placing the buzzing object next to her ear. She knew the sound and began shaking and yelling, although the subtle hip grinding seemed to indicate her own body was betraying her. I placed the vibrator inside her well-lubed vagina, causing a massive moan and more lewd grinding.
Returning to her feet amid the grind of my princess's hips, I looked at those delectable, French-tipped toes. Picking up her own boot, I moved the 4-inch heel along her sole and even between the toes. Monique's moans were now commingled with laughter, and I alternated the tickling's speed to keep her body confused. "Goodness, my big, tough tickle toy! Is your own boot tickling you? We can't have that...I think you need another reminder that you're no longer the bitch I met on the train, don't you?" She appeared to be shaking her head, although I wasn't really sure.
I cruelly switched the vibrator on its lowest setting, causing Monique to groan in frustration at the delay of her needed orgasm. After finishing the torment with her own boot, I decided to play with her senses some more. Removing the nipple clamp, I quietly latched them onto her large, erect nipples. The shriek that followed was accompanied by my turning the vibrator back to its highest setting.
"Oh no! Are your nips sensitive? I bet you just looovvve doing this to other girls, huh? Standing there in your boots, towering over your victims, running your nails over helpless soles while you torture their nipples and deny them release? Sound familiar? Well, Moniquey-poo, we are going to show you how mean it is to dominate others. I think you're learning your lesson, my big, tough, girl."
I wanted to see her eyes but knew it wasn't time yet, that denying her the sense of sight was only making this more delicious. I removed the nipple clamps, earning a grunt and groan, while almost immediately sawing her buds with the feather. The sensations seemed about to make tough Monique explode, judging by the screaming and tossing and the pool of moisture that had formed under her crotch.
With the vibrator down to its lowest setting again, and Monique in agony, I situated myself back at her amazing, mocha feet. I tweaked that toe ring off with a plop, removing just one more symbol of the girl's former dominance. "I think I'll take this, sweetie. An oily, naked tickle toy doesn't need boots, or toe rings for that matter."
Speaking of toes, her elegant, French tips looked positively edible as I gazed on those perfect sized tens. Opening my mouth, I began sucking each and every toe on those sexy feet. I'm sure no one had ever touched her feet like this before, and Monique responded with clear and undeniable moans. The girl's big feet were a giant erogenous zone and, as I flipped the vibrator to a higher setting, she seemed about to collapse. The sounds were becoming frantic, the pool of cum was growing, my saliva covered her perfectly cared for toes, and a tear even dropped down her face.
I walked up to Monique, trailing my fingers along her body as I went. The vibrator was humming along, and as I removed her gag I pinched her swollen nipples, resulting in a loud moan.
Monique's voice was hoarse and raspy, and drool had accumulated on her chin. It was as far removed as possible from the girl who threatened to tickle me to submission only hours before. "Please...no more...just...let...me..." she croaked.
I removed the vibrator, and lightly inserted my finger in its place. "What do we say, tough girl? What do we say to our mistress?" My finger was slowly, agonizingly teasing her engorged clit. "Oh please! I'll do...anything," Monique begged, her voice cracking as another tear fell down her cheek.
In that moment I wondered how many girls this dominant ebony princess had broken before, how many she had tortured with her long nails until they begged? I had taken that girl and humbled her into a begging, crying, naked, horned up mess who craved only one thing: release.
Removing my finger, I held the vibrator against her clit for just a few seconds, causing her to explode in the most massive orgasm she'd ever experienced. The bed was now soaked in her juice, and her tied toes strained futilely to curl. I smiled, as the force of the orgasm knocked Monique almost instantly to sleep.
I would have left it at that if I hadn't noticed the toolbox. I had promised her I would use each and every tool inside, as she surely would have on any of her many victims. Again, I smiled to myself as I picked up the phone and dialed a number from memory.
"Tiffany, it's me Lauren. I'm going to leave a key for you and Taylor at a hotel downtown. I'll read you the address. Room 1432. There's someone I think you need to meet....tell Taylor she's got the best feet you've ever seen, and she's the type of bitch you'll just love."
Monique stirred upon hearing my voice, and seemed to have caught the last part. "What? No! Please! What are you doing? Who was that? Please, please, I'm begging just let me go!" I reinserted the ball gag and did my most evil laugh. Removing her blindfold, revealing the smudged remains of her formerly perfect makeup, I showed Monique the toy box and the one remaining item. "Do you remember I promised to use every thing in here? Remember? It's your toy box, honey. What am I missing?" Monique's eyes nearly bugged out of her head, and she began violently shaking to break from her bonds.
Removing her one last sign of former dominance, the TICKLER necklace, I gave her French tipped big toe a last, light tickle, scooped up her sexy boots as a souvenir, and headed for the door. "Bye bye Mistress Monique. You'll have a blast with Tiffany and Taylor. You're just their type. And looks like you lost that bet, although you ended up being the main course!" Her eyes continued to bulge and she continued flailing as I blew her a kiss and exited the room.
---
Two hours later.
I had enjoyed a few drinks at the bar, remembering with fondness every second of my time with Monique. I decided, out of pure curiosity, to take one final look at my trophy before heading out.
When I entered the bedroom again, the sight before me literally took my breath away. Held up by ropes in an X shape, all 5'10" of Monique's stunning naked body was tied to the bathroom doorframe, her boobs bouncing and nipples secured by the clamps. She was perched on her French pedicured toes, with my friend Taylor laying on the ground holding a vibrator to one foot and the feather sawing the toes of the other. Monique's gag was in but the muffled sounds showed she was in unprecedented agony. Juices oozed from her mound, down her muscled thighs. My friend Tiffany stood behind her, lathering the butt plug with lube.
Monique's blindfold was off, and her beautiful face was contorted in agony. Her entire body glistened from oil, sweat and cum. She was violently shaking her head, clearly begging Tiffany, who seemed to be manipulating a feather inside the captive girl's butt cheeks.
"Poor princess," Tiffany laughed, "I promise I'll put your plug back in right away. Don't worry. We've got all night together- by the end of it I'm going to know every inch of this body like it's my own."
Right before she put the plug back in my ebony princess' firm, muscled cheeks, Monique caught sight of me. Her eyes pleaded, as if to say "I take back what I said about tickling you into submission!" I simply waved and turned around as Tiffany inserted the plug and my once powerful, dominant, ebony tickler moaned, groaned and sagged into her bonds.
It was a good night.
The End.
--
Everyone has a thing. Mine is tickling. Specifically, the tickling of beautiful women. I'll share some of my stories with you, if you'd like.
The thing I love most about tickling is the humbling. I don't just love tickling beautiful women. I love tickling powerful, confident, otherwise dominant women until they're nothing but a giggling, sweating, begging, mess. To reduce them from their normal status to my play toy. And, in the process, to rev their sexual engines in ways they've never imagined before. That, in a nutshell, is my thing.
I'm fortunate to be able to travel a great deal. It let's me find the women for my tickling adventures. I should pause to say that I truly don't have a "type". If you're a beautiful, confident, otherwise in charge woman, you're my type. I've tickled and dominated blonde lawyers in Texas; Jewish socialites in Manhattan; petite Asian bankers in San Francisco; and curvy Hispanic singers in Miami. Maybe I'll share some of those stories with you one day.
But today's story involves an experience on a train going from Washington DC to New York. I always keep my eye out for women who fit my criteria, and today was no exception. Getting into her seat just a few rows in front of me was a woman who hit all my buttons, although I didn't yet realize the full extent.
She looked to be in her late 20s or early 30s, African American with gorgeous mocha skin and luxurious, long, black, straight hair. She carried herself with a confidence bordering on arrogance that was simply intoxicating.
Dressed in a black leather jacket, white blouse, black skin-tight jeans and black leather ankle boots with four inch heels, you couldn't help be struck by her sexiness. She was maybe 5'10" without the heels, and her breasts, while not huge, were accentuated by her tight top. The legs seemed to last for miles, toned and fit in those skin tight jeans. Her whole body looked like she was a regular at the gym, hard in the right places.
As she sat in her seat, my eyes were struck by something glittering from her neck. It was a necklace of some kind, with letters suspended on a chain. I strained my eyes to make out the letters, not fully believing myself. No, I obviously am seeing this wrong, I tell myself after a bit.
A few stops later, the passenger in the seat across the aisle from our beauty exits and I bolt up to take his place. I now have an unobstructed view of my girl, who is talking on her iPhone through a pair of headphones.
The first thing I realize is that my eyes weren't deceiving me: her necklace does, in fact, say "TICKLER". I ponder this for a bit. Most likely, I decide, it simply means something other than an actual affinity for tickling. Perhaps it's an inside joke.
But then I begin to listen to her overly loud phone conversation. She had a confident, maybe even abrasive, tone.
"Listen, I got that girl so good she still won't look me in the eye," our woman was saying, her mouth curling into a devious smile. "I mean, I tickled her like nobody's business. She scared still." She then laughed, a beautiful, loud, hearty laugh that I dearly wanted to hear again.
As I listened to this conversation for several more minutes, I determined that this beautiful, arrogant, proud, confident woman was an undoubted tickle fetishest who loved to prey on smaller, slighter women and bend them to her will through tickling. I noticed she had exceedingly long, French manicured nails, and I could guess the torture she inflicted on her victims with them.
After she was off the phone, I allowed my water bottle to intentionally slide across the aisle to her seat.
"Oops, my bad," I said loudly, standing up to retrieve it from her row. She gave me a quick look as I was snatching my bottle back.
"I love your nails," I said casually as I picked up my bottle. "I've got the French tips, too, but you've really grown yours out. I love it." I smiled coyly and quickly flashed my nails at her.
She seemed to notice me now, with her mouth curling into an almost sinister smile, like a shark seeing a seal. I realized quickly that I'm probably exactly her type. I'm 28, blonde hair, pale skin, about 5'3", and very petite. Precisely the type of girl she could see herself using those talon-like nails on. That was my opening.
"Girl, those little nails are cute. You've got the tiniest hands, too!" She was now really taking me in, from head to toe. I could see her eyes dissecting me, anticipating a kill. Man, tonight was going to be a surprise for her.
I giggled coquettishly, and tried to act embarrassed. "I guess they are small. My name is Lauren, by the way," I said, extending my hand into her much larger, though very soft, one.
"I'm Monique. So pleased to meet you, Lauren," she said, the predatory smile back.
Before she could say another word, I pointed to her necklace and asked innocently, "Tickler? What, as in you like to tickle people?" I phrased it as a mix between curiosity, humor, and disbelief.
Monique's smile lit up her face. She really is stunning, I thought. "Yes, Lauren. I do like to tickle people. Pretty girls, actually, if we're being honest. Does that bother you?"
I smiled back. "Oh, I see. That doesn't bother me at all. I was just curious about the necklace. So those nails must do some damage?" I giggled.
She laughed loudly and flexed her nails near my face. "Lauren, if I had five minutes with you and my nails, you'd be begging and pleading and promising to do anything to make it stop." She gave me an exaggerated wink, and stared directly into my eyes.
I played it coy. "Hmmm, I guess this assumes I'm ticklish. I don't think I am. Actually, if we're talking tickling, I liked to do the tickling when I was a kid." I winked right back at her.
Monique laughed uproariously. "You?! The tickler?! Girl, what are you? 5'2"? You aren't tickling anybody!" She clearly associated tickling with dominance, and rather than annoyance at her arrogance I found myself getting turned on. This girl had no idea.
"I'm something like that," I said, trying to look shy about it. "But regardless, if I'm not ticklish, your nails won't have much effect on me. Don't get me wrong, I'm sure you're a great tickler on others!" I was needling her with condescension, and she knew it.
"Lauren, when was the last time you were tickled? Just looking at you, I'm going to say you're probably pretty sensitive," she said with a smile, drinking in my breasts hidden behind my pantsuit. Her eyes trailed all the way down to my crossed legs and my feet, in tan pumps with a five inch heel.
I squirmed involuntarily, knowing she was imagining me under her nails. "Oh probably not since childhood but I think you just know if you're ticklish from everyday life. And I'm just not." I tried to sound exceedingly confident, challenging her.
Monique looked at her nails for a moment. "We've got an hour left on this train. I'll make you a deal, Lauren. Come by my hotel tonight. If you give me ten minutes, I'll guarantee you'll acknowledge you're ticklish."
I tried to act like I was pondering the proposition and somewhat hesitant. "So you've got ten minutes to tickle me and at the end of it, if I acknowledge I'm ticklish, you win? What if you lose?"
She laughed loudly again. "Oh, honey, I really am not losing at this. But let's say, somehow, you make it ten minutes without admitting you're ticklish. I'll take you to dinner anywhere in the city, on me." She gave me another wink.
I loved her arrogance. Humbling this tall, stunning, dominant woman would be so sweet. My mind's eye was already starting to envision it.
"Deal, Monique. I'm looking forward to dinner!"
--
Before we left the train together, I slipped three items into my pockets without her noticing. We made our way from the train station to her hotel, teasing each other about her pending victory.
"Lauren, girl, I don't think you know what you've gotten into!" She said as we walked into her hotel room. "Your skinny ass is going to be begging me like you've never begged before!" I noticed her voice was getting husky, and she was clearly turned on at the thought of dominating me.
Our heels clicked on the marble floor of her hotel room. We walked into the bedroom and dropped our bags. "Girl, lay down on this bed. I'm going to grab something from my bag."
I sat on the edge of the bed and watched her fish a long white feather and a pink vibrating dildo out of her bag, turn to me with a wolffish smile, and laugh. "Oh little Lauren, I think you've made a big mistake. Mistress Monique is going to teach you a serious lesson about mouthing off."
My face remained impassive. She walked up to me and put a hand on my shoulder. But before she knew what happened, I flipped her 5'10", muscular frame onto the bed, landing her on her back and knocking the wind out of her.
I was on her without hesitation. I removed a pair of handcuffs from me pocket and cuffed her hand behind her back. She had no idea what was happening, and was too shocked to fight back or say anything. Just as she was opening her mouth, I inserted a red ball gag and locked it in place. Mistress Monique was cuffed on her own bed and gagged silent.
I smiled broadly and looked in her eyes, a mix of shock and anger. "Monique, honey, I'm afraid you don't know what you've gotten into. You see, I would like to try a different bet from the one you proposed. My idea is pretty simple: I'm going to tickle you and tease you until you admit that I'm your mistress and you're just my little tickle toy. Thoughts?"
Monique had regained her composure to some extent, and was violently squirming on the bed and yelling into her gag. This was a situation she'd never imagined. This tiny blonde bitch had duped her, tied her up and was threatening to tickle her silly. She kicked her powerful legs, hoping to propel herself off the bed.
I laughed, genuinely. "Let's make sure you're not in a position to do any damage," I said, walking up to her arm and uncuffing her hands just long enough to attach one cuff to the left bedpost. I quickly did the same with her right hand, leaving her with significantly less maneuvering room. The growls from behind the ball gag were only growing.
"I guess those nails aren't in a position to do much damage," I laughed, taunting her. I could tell from her eyes how angry that made her. She kicked her legs on the bed, testing the strength of her bonds. In the process her blouse had ridden up, exposing her hard abs and gorgeous mocha skin.
I took a nail and scribbled it on her rock hard abs. The sound behind the gag changed instantly, her eyes showing the first hint of fear rather than anger. I laughed again. "My, my. Our big, strong Mistress Monique isn't ticklish, is she?"
I walked to the top of the bed and put my face right up to hers. I could smell her perfume. "By the time I'm done with you, you'll be begging and pleading like you'd never thought possible. All that tough girl stuff is out the window. You're going to be my toy." I ran a nail along her neck, eliciting more squirms and squeaks from behind the gag.
I walked back to the foot of the bed and decided to act on a hunch. I opened up her suitcase and found a small box labeled "toys". The mere name, coupled with the irony of her current position, made me smile. Inside the box I found six feathers of different sizes; bottles of baby oil and lube; nipple clamps; a butt plug; some very large dildos; padded restraints; blindfolds; bits of string; and scissors.
I carried the toolbox up to Monique and saw her eyes widen in abject fear as I sorted through the box before her. "Looks like Miss Tough Girl is starting to realize she's in a bind," I smirked. "I bet you never thought you'd be on the other end, huh? How much do you want to bet I can use every one of these tools on you, Monique? Want to see?" She shook her head vigorously, kicking and squirming again.
I could feel myself getting wet, watching this strong, dominant girl tied to a bed and contemplating her pending humiliation. Now it was time to act.
Fast forward a few hours.
I stood back from the bed and smiled, the wetness in my pants overwhelming and my nipples achingly hard. It was hard not to laugh, thinking of the confident, even arrogant, dominant girl wearing a "Tickler" necklace who I had met on the train. That girl had worn her stylish, sensual clothes with swagger and used her imposing 5'10" height and toned physique to project strength and confidence. And to send the message that SHE would be using her talon-like nails to torture and tease anyone she wanted.
That girl bore no resemblance to the girl I was now watching restrained on her own bed. To start with, this girl wasn't wearing anything. She was completely naked, her gorgeous mocha skin glistening with sweat. Her toned muscles were bathed in perspiration, and her beautiful black hair was a sweaty, tousled mess.
For another, she was trapped in an impossibly tight hogtie, her toned thighs and calves accentuated by the pressures of the binds. I had placed a satin blindfold over her eyes and kept the red ball gag in. And, to top it off, I had tied her two big toes together with string, keeping her tender arches permanently taught. Both arches, by the way, were at this point dripping with baby oil.
In my hand was a feather, the very one she'd first revealed when it was assumed that I would be the one suffering its ministrations. I wonder what she's thinking? I thought to myself. Does she find this ironic? Does she realize how hilarious it is that the tables turned so dramatically? That the girl with the tickler necklace was stripped from her fashionable clothes, lathered in baby oil from breasts to toes, and cruelly teased for hours by tickling feathers? I decided to find out.
I leaned over Monique's absurdly sexy hog tied body and grazed my feather along her body. I started at the breasts, swirling the feather around her impossibly erect nipples, eliciting a gasp into the gag and frantic but useless wiggling. The feather trailed down her hard abs, the soft, shaven hollows of her underarms, and along her smooth, hairless panty line.
As my feather found its way along her soft but sculpted inner thighs, along the panty line, and then lightly touched her visibly wet, bald mound, she began to shout louder into the gag, shaking her head hysterically while grinding her hips. Monique had been touched there repeatedly over the last several hours, denied orgasm each time. It was clear that this dominant princess was about to explode from the feather touch of another woman using her own tickling feather.
"Oh my!" I said in a sing song voice. "Is Mistress Monique a little randy?" I made a tut-tutting sound of disapproval. "Sweetheart, I've only been playing with you for a few hours now. We've gotten you out of these clothes," I gestured at the pile on the floor containing her leather jacket, blouse, tight jeans, and 4-inch heeled ankle boots. "We've gotten you a little worked up," I said while tracing the feather further along her crotch. "But I think now it's time to really show you who the "Tickler" is, to quote that necklace of yours."
Monique squirmed, grunted, and shook her flawless, hogtied body as much as she could. I continued my feather's walk down her body, along her long, toned legs and down to two of the sexiest feet I've ever seen, glistening in oil and both big toes restrained with twine.
Monique's feet were big, a size 10 according to her ankle boots (I had checked when slowly and teasingly first removing them). They were long and slender, with the softest mocha skin. I've seen some beautiful feet on beautiful women, but these were truly something else. It was obvious this powerful, strong princess received regular pedicures, for there wasn't a callous or rough spot to be found. Her long, elegant toes featured perfect French tips, for which I'm always a sucker. Her middle right toe had a ring, glinting at me teasingly.
"It's so funny, Monique," I said while sliding the feather along her tender arch, then running it in between each of her gorgeous, pedicured toes. "Here you were on the train, towering over me in those boots, looking at me like a piece of meat. And here we are now: I'm fully clothed and you're butt naked, your big feet covered in oil, your toes tied back, and I'm sawing in between those French tipped toes of yours with your own feather...I bet you didn't imagine that last time you got a pedicure!"
Monique was yelling and wiggling again, and clearly laughing. I knew my taunting was killing her, but the sensation of tickling mixed with sexual frustration was obviously getting to her. Sweat kept pouring down her forehead and along her body, and the occasional moan and hip grind was getting impossible to hide. This tough bitch was fast becoming my tickle toy, and she knew it.
I ran my feather over her heels, followed by my nails. More laughter and writhing. "You have the softest heels, Monique. Not a callous. I bet you just love being pampered on this big pretty feet, don't you? I bet you sit in those boots, running your nails over other women's feet, and love thinking yours are hidden away," I teased, softly biting her sexy heel and eliciting what sounded like a shriek of surprise. "Shoes off both feet, I guess!" My dumb pun was followed by a long, teasing run of my nail over this goddesses' taut sole.
I looked at my toy, and noticed her juices were clearly flowing from that shiny, bald mound. After discovering her toy box, I had promised to utilize all on my dominant friend. I removed the vibrator she had threatened me with earlier, turning it on and placing the buzzing object next to her ear. She knew the sound and began shaking and yelling, although the subtle hip grinding seemed to indicate her own body was betraying her. I placed the vibrator inside her well-lubed vagina, causing a massive moan and more lewd grinding.
Returning to her feet amid the grind of my princess's hips, I looked at those delectable, French-tipped toes. Picking up her own boot, I moved the 4-inch heel along her sole and even between the toes. Monique's moans were now commingled with laughter, and I alternated the tickling's speed to keep her body confused. "Goodness, my big, tough tickle toy! Is your own boot tickling you? We can't have that...I think you need another reminder that you're no longer the bitch I met on the train, don't you?" She appeared to be shaking her head, although I wasn't really sure.
I cruelly switched the vibrator on its lowest setting, causing Monique to groan in frustration at the delay of her needed orgasm. After finishing the torment with her own boot, I decided to play with her senses some more. Removing the nipple clamp, I quietly latched them onto her large, erect nipples. The shriek that followed was accompanied by my turning the vibrator back to its highest setting.
"Oh no! Are your nips sensitive? I bet you just looovvve doing this to other girls, huh? Standing there in your boots, towering over your victims, running your nails over helpless soles while you torture their nipples and deny them release? Sound familiar? Well, Moniquey-poo, we are going to show you how mean it is to dominate others. I think you're learning your lesson, my big, tough, girl."
I wanted to see her eyes but knew it wasn't time yet, that denying her the sense of sight was only making this more delicious. I removed the nipple clamps, earning a grunt and groan, while almost immediately sawing her buds with the feather. The sensations seemed about to make tough Monique explode, judging by the screaming and tossing and the pool of moisture that had formed under her crotch.
With the vibrator down to its lowest setting again, and Monique in agony, I situated myself back at her amazing, mocha feet. I tweaked that toe ring off with a plop, removing just one more symbol of the girl's former dominance. "I think I'll take this, sweetie. An oily, naked tickle toy doesn't need boots, or toe rings for that matter."
Speaking of toes, her elegant, French tips looked positively edible as I gazed on those perfect sized tens. Opening my mouth, I began sucking each and every toe on those sexy feet. I'm sure no one had ever touched her feet like this before, and Monique responded with clear and undeniable moans. The girl's big feet were a giant erogenous zone and, as I flipped the vibrator to a higher setting, she seemed about to collapse. The sounds were becoming frantic, the pool of cum was growing, my saliva covered her perfectly cared for toes, and a tear even dropped down her face.
I walked up to Monique, trailing my fingers along her body as I went. The vibrator was humming along, and as I removed her gag I pinched her swollen nipples, resulting in a loud moan.
Monique's voice was hoarse and raspy, and drool had accumulated on her chin. It was as far removed as possible from the girl who threatened to tickle me to submission only hours before. "Please...no more...just...let...me..." she croaked.
I removed the vibrator, and lightly inserted my finger in its place. "What do we say, tough girl? What do we say to our mistress?" My finger was slowly, agonizingly teasing her engorged clit. "Oh please! I'll do...anything," Monique begged, her voice cracking as another tear fell down her cheek.
In that moment I wondered how many girls this dominant ebony princess had broken before, how many she had tortured with her long nails until they begged? I had taken that girl and humbled her into a begging, crying, naked, horned up mess who craved only one thing: release.
Removing my finger, I held the vibrator against her clit for just a few seconds, causing her to explode in the most massive orgasm she'd ever experienced. The bed was now soaked in her juice, and her tied toes strained futilely to curl. I smiled, as the force of the orgasm knocked Monique almost instantly to sleep.
I would have left it at that if I hadn't noticed the toolbox. I had promised her I would use each and every tool inside, as she surely would have on any of her many victims. Again, I smiled to myself as I picked up the phone and dialed a number from memory.
"Tiffany, it's me Lauren. I'm going to leave a key for you and Taylor at a hotel downtown. I'll read you the address. Room 1432. There's someone I think you need to meet....tell Taylor she's got the best feet you've ever seen, and she's the type of bitch you'll just love."
Monique stirred upon hearing my voice, and seemed to have caught the last part. "What? No! Please! What are you doing? Who was that? Please, please, I'm begging just let me go!" I reinserted the ball gag and did my most evil laugh. Removing her blindfold, revealing the smudged remains of her formerly perfect makeup, I showed Monique the toy box and the one remaining item. "Do you remember I promised to use every thing in here? Remember? It's your toy box, honey. What am I missing?" Monique's eyes nearly bugged out of her head, and she began violently shaking to break from her bonds.
Removing her one last sign of former dominance, the TICKLER necklace, I gave her French tipped big toe a last, light tickle, scooped up her sexy boots as a souvenir, and headed for the door. "Bye bye Mistress Monique. You'll have a blast with Tiffany and Taylor. You're just their type. And looks like you lost that bet, although you ended up being the main course!" Her eyes continued to bulge and she continued flailing as I blew her a kiss and exited the room.
---
Two hours later.
I had enjoyed a few drinks at the bar, remembering with fondness every second of my time with Monique. I decided, out of pure curiosity, to take one final look at my trophy before heading out.
When I entered the bedroom again, the sight before me literally took my breath away. Held up by ropes in an X shape, all 5'10" of Monique's stunning naked body was tied to the bathroom doorframe, her boobs bouncing and nipples secured by the clamps. She was perched on her French pedicured toes, with my friend Taylor laying on the ground holding a vibrator to one foot and the feather sawing the toes of the other. Monique's gag was in but the muffled sounds showed she was in unprecedented agony. Juices oozed from her mound, down her muscled thighs. My friend Tiffany stood behind her, lathering the butt plug with lube.
Monique's blindfold was off, and her beautiful face was contorted in agony. Her entire body glistened from oil, sweat and cum. She was violently shaking her head, clearly begging Tiffany, who seemed to be manipulating a feather inside the captive girl's butt cheeks.
"Poor princess," Tiffany laughed, "I promise I'll put your plug back in right away. Don't worry. We've got all night together- by the end of it I'm going to know every inch of this body like it's my own."
Right before she put the plug back in my ebony princess' firm, muscled cheeks, Monique caught sight of me. Her eyes pleaded, as if to say "I take back what I said about tickling you into submission!" I simply waved and turned around as Tiffany inserted the plug and my once powerful, dominant, ebony tickler moaned, groaned and sagged into her bonds.
It was a good night.
The End.
