This is a true story, so I posted it in that TMF section too.
Spoiler alert: There's some erotic tickling, but no orgasm... not this time, anyway. 🙂
So that this doesn't turn into a commercial, I've left out most identifying details. If you are interested in the who's and where's and how's of this, please feel free to send me a private message and I'll be happy to share with you. But mainly, I'm just writing it all down so that I can relive it, and hope you can enjoy it nearly as much as I did.
---
The panel on the front door had four buttons to indicate the building's tenants. As instructed, I buzzed the one which read "The Studio."
"Yes?" came the familiar female voice through the speaker. Familiar, since per her requirements I had placed a confirmation call the previous afternoon and also this morning upon arriving in the city.
The door unlocked to a tall flight of stairs. The door at the top read "The Studio," and as I approached it slowly opened as if on its own.
Then she peeked around the door and her face lit up. She welcomed me inside, and as I stepped in I met eyes with her partner. They both wore revealing outfits and high heels.
And so it began, this three-hour erotic tickling session at the hands of two professional dommes.
They offered me some water, then beckoned me to remove my clothes.
The studio layout was familiar, as her web site had contained a video. The bondage table had caught my eye, if for no other reason than that their tickling videos had featured their ticklees roped and buckled to it. Now I was stretched out on it, as they tied each wrist and ankle methodically, then secured a pair of belts across my chest and thighs.
They started dragging their nails teasingly along my sides as I squirmed helplessly in place.
One had brightly colored nails an inch and a half long. The other had nails that were short, but surprisingly ticklish nonetheless. Both had been tickle torturing people for years together. And oh how it showed.
They laughed with enjoyment, as they traced circles under my underarms and I futilely yanked my elbows down in an attempt to stop them. Made playful observations, as they dug into my ribs.
They usually assailed two separate parts of my body to distracting effect, as well as using different pressures and strokes. One slowly sliding her nails up from my ankle to my inner thigh, the other squeezing both hip bones. One tickling under my neck while the other explored my navel.
Within ten minutes, they'd figured out how hard I got whenever my feet were tickled. From that point on, they were constantly given attention.
And, of course, so too was my cock.
The Studio's loaded with tools of all fetishes.
A blindfold was put over my eyes.
One donned metallic nails and tickled all around my legs.
A Sonicare ran lazily over every inch of my heels.
The tip of a piece of ice (which felt good, in a workout like this) was slid all around my stomach.
Brushes of different textures glided up and down my arches.
A string was weaved between my toes, then pulleyed back and forth through them.
Then my toes were tied back, soles fully exposed to those rapidly scribbling fingernails.
The string found its way looped a couple of times around my balls, not painfully, but with the experience that just enough would stimulate more sensitivity. Ticklishness aroused as easily as feather strokes or a gentle swipe of dental floss. Both of which were eagerly applied.
"Hold still for one minute without laughing!" they demanded. They knew I couldn't. They went directly for my feet. I looked down and beheld the sight of two women grinning deviously at my weakening resistance, giggling and cooing as they raked their fingers smoothly across the bottoms, and scratched under the toes. The mind spins, even recalling it now.
I lost. And my punishment was to be briefly smothered by a pinch of the nose and a hand over the mouth while they merrily tickled my nipples and underarms, gracefully caressing out to the elbows and back.
Right about then I learned something about myself. The tight bondage on my limbs, an hour of howling from the bottom of my lungs, and possibly a shortage of water and food (I'd taken precaution so as not to risk a bodily mess) suddenly had me as dizzy as a blood drive.
My hands and feet were tingling numbly. I've never passed out before, and I have been tickled for longer. Just not in this combination. I was close, and borderline nauseous. I'm pretty sure looser bonds would have left everything fine.
Here I give props to the mistresses. They gave me a break, got me hydrated and an energy bar. In 15 minutes we were back in action.
They tied me to a pair of posts, a vertical spread-eagle if you will. Wrists cuffed at the top, ankles at the bottom.
Now my butt cheeks, hamstrings, and back were as susceptible as my front.
Now they could put their body right against mine from behind, purring phrases playfully into my ears.
They could still sit comfortably at my feet. You might think that the soles weren't as accessible. But that was easily overcome. I had no leverage to stop them from swinging one off the ground and resting my heel in her lap. Well maybe I had some leverage. But they spanked me whenever I resisted until I complied.
I have high arches, and their nails swept back and forth along them maddeningly. So maddeningly! I'd never been tickled in an upright position before. It likely had something to do with the blood rushing downward.
It likely had something also to do with the baby oil. They squeezed their fingers in between each toe. Spidered their nails up and down my calves.
With about a half hour left, one said "You know what I want to tickle now."
The other giggled sinisterly and expectantly, and they both came around to kneel comfortably eye-level to my waist.
Don't get me wrong, they had been teasing my privates in and out of attention all afternoon long.
With nails.
With brushes, long, feathery brushes.
With the Sonicare.
With baby oil.
But now they were double-teaming with a single-minded purpose, determined to make sure that I went right up to the edge and out of my mind.
One cupped my balls and tilted my shaft directly upward, completely exposed and immobile.
The other wriggled all ten of her fiendishly ticklish nails in the air menacingly, then slowly lowered them toward their target. I watched powerlessly as a cocoon of fingernails enveloped my shaft lightly, stroking up and down.
My vocal chords hit a new octave. They just smiled knowingly, unaffected, joyful, focused, relentless.
"Tickle, tickle, tickle!" she sang teasingly.
"We're seeing signs of growth here," the other observed gleefully as she ran the pads of her fingers skillfully up to the base of the head, then back.
Lord help me, my body decided not to cum this day. Maybe they knew something that I didn't. The sensory overload of thirty minutes of eye-rolling, pulse-pounding tickling erection was nearly as satisfying as any quicker ending could have been. When I'd start to flag, they'd reach down scraping into my toes and arches to coax another uncontrollable burst of hysterics and throbbing. Always with the steady, sensual, inescapable rhythm of those experienced hands, nails, wicked and sultry taunts.
They could have gone on all day long. They never tire of tickling someone to the limit. They planned to do much more to me, and simply ran out of time.
They'll get their chance.
Spoiler alert: There's some erotic tickling, but no orgasm... not this time, anyway. 🙂
So that this doesn't turn into a commercial, I've left out most identifying details. If you are interested in the who's and where's and how's of this, please feel free to send me a private message and I'll be happy to share with you. But mainly, I'm just writing it all down so that I can relive it, and hope you can enjoy it nearly as much as I did.
---
The panel on the front door had four buttons to indicate the building's tenants. As instructed, I buzzed the one which read "The Studio."
"Yes?" came the familiar female voice through the speaker. Familiar, since per her requirements I had placed a confirmation call the previous afternoon and also this morning upon arriving in the city.
The door unlocked to a tall flight of stairs. The door at the top read "The Studio," and as I approached it slowly opened as if on its own.
Then she peeked around the door and her face lit up. She welcomed me inside, and as I stepped in I met eyes with her partner. They both wore revealing outfits and high heels.
And so it began, this three-hour erotic tickling session at the hands of two professional dommes.
They offered me some water, then beckoned me to remove my clothes.
The studio layout was familiar, as her web site had contained a video. The bondage table had caught my eye, if for no other reason than that their tickling videos had featured their ticklees roped and buckled to it. Now I was stretched out on it, as they tied each wrist and ankle methodically, then secured a pair of belts across my chest and thighs.
They started dragging their nails teasingly along my sides as I squirmed helplessly in place.
One had brightly colored nails an inch and a half long. The other had nails that were short, but surprisingly ticklish nonetheless. Both had been tickle torturing people for years together. And oh how it showed.
They laughed with enjoyment, as they traced circles under my underarms and I futilely yanked my elbows down in an attempt to stop them. Made playful observations, as they dug into my ribs.
They usually assailed two separate parts of my body to distracting effect, as well as using different pressures and strokes. One slowly sliding her nails up from my ankle to my inner thigh, the other squeezing both hip bones. One tickling under my neck while the other explored my navel.
Within ten minutes, they'd figured out how hard I got whenever my feet were tickled. From that point on, they were constantly given attention.
And, of course, so too was my cock.
The Studio's loaded with tools of all fetishes.
A blindfold was put over my eyes.
One donned metallic nails and tickled all around my legs.
A Sonicare ran lazily over every inch of my heels.
The tip of a piece of ice (which felt good, in a workout like this) was slid all around my stomach.
Brushes of different textures glided up and down my arches.
A string was weaved between my toes, then pulleyed back and forth through them.
Then my toes were tied back, soles fully exposed to those rapidly scribbling fingernails.
The string found its way looped a couple of times around my balls, not painfully, but with the experience that just enough would stimulate more sensitivity. Ticklishness aroused as easily as feather strokes or a gentle swipe of dental floss. Both of which were eagerly applied.
"Hold still for one minute without laughing!" they demanded. They knew I couldn't. They went directly for my feet. I looked down and beheld the sight of two women grinning deviously at my weakening resistance, giggling and cooing as they raked their fingers smoothly across the bottoms, and scratched under the toes. The mind spins, even recalling it now.
I lost. And my punishment was to be briefly smothered by a pinch of the nose and a hand over the mouth while they merrily tickled my nipples and underarms, gracefully caressing out to the elbows and back.
Right about then I learned something about myself. The tight bondage on my limbs, an hour of howling from the bottom of my lungs, and possibly a shortage of water and food (I'd taken precaution so as not to risk a bodily mess) suddenly had me as dizzy as a blood drive.
My hands and feet were tingling numbly. I've never passed out before, and I have been tickled for longer. Just not in this combination. I was close, and borderline nauseous. I'm pretty sure looser bonds would have left everything fine.
Here I give props to the mistresses. They gave me a break, got me hydrated and an energy bar. In 15 minutes we were back in action.
They tied me to a pair of posts, a vertical spread-eagle if you will. Wrists cuffed at the top, ankles at the bottom.
Now my butt cheeks, hamstrings, and back were as susceptible as my front.
Now they could put their body right against mine from behind, purring phrases playfully into my ears.
They could still sit comfortably at my feet. You might think that the soles weren't as accessible. But that was easily overcome. I had no leverage to stop them from swinging one off the ground and resting my heel in her lap. Well maybe I had some leverage. But they spanked me whenever I resisted until I complied.
I have high arches, and their nails swept back and forth along them maddeningly. So maddeningly! I'd never been tickled in an upright position before. It likely had something to do with the blood rushing downward.
It likely had something also to do with the baby oil. They squeezed their fingers in between each toe. Spidered their nails up and down my calves.
With about a half hour left, one said "You know what I want to tickle now."
The other giggled sinisterly and expectantly, and they both came around to kneel comfortably eye-level to my waist.
Don't get me wrong, they had been teasing my privates in and out of attention all afternoon long.
With nails.
With brushes, long, feathery brushes.
With the Sonicare.
With baby oil.
But now they were double-teaming with a single-minded purpose, determined to make sure that I went right up to the edge and out of my mind.
One cupped my balls and tilted my shaft directly upward, completely exposed and immobile.
The other wriggled all ten of her fiendishly ticklish nails in the air menacingly, then slowly lowered them toward their target. I watched powerlessly as a cocoon of fingernails enveloped my shaft lightly, stroking up and down.
My vocal chords hit a new octave. They just smiled knowingly, unaffected, joyful, focused, relentless.
"Tickle, tickle, tickle!" she sang teasingly.
"We're seeing signs of growth here," the other observed gleefully as she ran the pads of her fingers skillfully up to the base of the head, then back.
Lord help me, my body decided not to cum this day. Maybe they knew something that I didn't. The sensory overload of thirty minutes of eye-rolling, pulse-pounding tickling erection was nearly as satisfying as any quicker ending could have been. When I'd start to flag, they'd reach down scraping into my toes and arches to coax another uncontrollable burst of hysterics and throbbing. Always with the steady, sensual, inescapable rhythm of those experienced hands, nails, wicked and sultry taunts.
They could have gone on all day long. They never tire of tickling someone to the limit. They planned to do much more to me, and simply ran out of time.
They'll get their chance.
