Last night I was feeling a little blue after the Canucks loss and snuggled under my covers. TickleMantis came in and laid beside me and tried to cheer me up. I started pinching his sides and made him slide onto the floor.
I pulled up his shirt and rolled him onto his tummy and stroked my hair all over his back, but then had an idea. I told him to wait there as I ran into the kitchen and picked out one of my many paintbrushes. I brought back a broad, square one and started stroking it over his back. He had no idea what it was, but knew immediately he didn't like it as I cheekily stroked his sides. He sat up and grabbed it from me and tried to tickle my feet with it. I struggled a little bit until I giggled and said, "fine" and laid down on my stomach with my soles pointing upward.
He sat on my ankles and started stroking the paintbrush all over my feet. It was soft, but a bit prickly at times. I started giggling and wriggling my toes, trying to get away from the brush. He found a sensitive spot in a crease on my left foot and took advantage of my growing laughter. I tried to hide the spot with my right foot, but the base of my toes got punished for that. He then reached around and started stroking the brush behind my knees.
I squealed and laughed loudly, trying to bend my knees to stop him. TickleMantis held my ankles down and tickled me with the brush behind the knees until I almost couldn't take it anymore (we have a safeword if something gets to be too much.) Then he sat on my legs again, facing my back this time.
He traced the brush up my legs (to pleading protests) to the bottom of my short-shorts. The shorts were comfy and loose, so he had no trouble pulling them up a bit. That devilish brush found it's way into the crease at the top of my thighs, right where it meets the bottom of my butt.
I lost it! I was laughing and pleading like crazy, but TickleMantis had me firmly stuck. I was giggling and wriggling on the carpet, and even reached my hands around to stop him (which I only do if it's really unbearable) but he grabbed one of my wrists and tickled my palm with the brush. I giggled madly and wrenched it away from him, after which he happily went back to lazily tracing my paintbrush along the backs of my thighs and bottom of my butt cheeks. After a few more laughing fits, I couldn't take it anymore and used the last of my strength to roll over and knock him off. TickleMantis gave me a kiss and helped me up. "Let's go get something to eat," he said with a smile.
*sigh* What a way to be cheered up after a loss! If we lose the Stanley Cup, TickleMantis might have to pull out all the stops to make me happy again!
I pulled up his shirt and rolled him onto his tummy and stroked my hair all over his back, but then had an idea. I told him to wait there as I ran into the kitchen and picked out one of my many paintbrushes. I brought back a broad, square one and started stroking it over his back. He had no idea what it was, but knew immediately he didn't like it as I cheekily stroked his sides. He sat up and grabbed it from me and tried to tickle my feet with it. I struggled a little bit until I giggled and said, "fine" and laid down on my stomach with my soles pointing upward.
He sat on my ankles and started stroking the paintbrush all over my feet. It was soft, but a bit prickly at times. I started giggling and wriggling my toes, trying to get away from the brush. He found a sensitive spot in a crease on my left foot and took advantage of my growing laughter. I tried to hide the spot with my right foot, but the base of my toes got punished for that. He then reached around and started stroking the brush behind my knees.
I squealed and laughed loudly, trying to bend my knees to stop him. TickleMantis held my ankles down and tickled me with the brush behind the knees until I almost couldn't take it anymore (we have a safeword if something gets to be too much.) Then he sat on my legs again, facing my back this time.
He traced the brush up my legs (to pleading protests) to the bottom of my short-shorts. The shorts were comfy and loose, so he had no trouble pulling them up a bit. That devilish brush found it's way into the crease at the top of my thighs, right where it meets the bottom of my butt.
I lost it! I was laughing and pleading like crazy, but TickleMantis had me firmly stuck. I was giggling and wriggling on the carpet, and even reached my hands around to stop him (which I only do if it's really unbearable) but he grabbed one of my wrists and tickled my palm with the brush. I giggled madly and wrenched it away from him, after which he happily went back to lazily tracing my paintbrush along the backs of my thighs and bottom of my butt cheeks. After a few more laughing fits, I couldn't take it anymore and used the last of my strength to roll over and knock him off. TickleMantis gave me a kiss and helped me up. "Let's go get something to eat," he said with a smile.
*sigh* What a way to be cheered up after a loss! If we lose the Stanley Cup, TickleMantis might have to pull out all the stops to make me happy again!
