#tickling story
You’ve been so cheeky all morning that I decide to leave you stretched out on your back and tied to our bed when I go for work. ‘Don’t go anywhere’ I tease.
Testing the restraints you resolve yourself to your fate. You notice that I’ve left the feathers between your toes. Waiting torments you as much as the tickling that you know is enevitable tonight. You should close your eyes baby, you’re going to need all of your energy when I get home.
In your sleep, you stir, the recent memory of me tickling your feet this morning is so vivid that you think you can feel the feathers gliding between your toes. Hearing an unfamiliar giggle, you open your eyes and to your dismay the maid has found your helpless body. Fuck! You had completely forgotten that she cleans the house each Tuesday. She’s so beautiful in her perfectly fitting work dress, her supple breasts framed by the frilly neckline. Your eyes wander to the fluffy feather duster in her hand, each individual plume looks so light and torturous. The maid follows your gaze and smiles wickedly.
She can help but to test your sensitivity. You burst into fits of laughter as her feather duster flutters under your arms. Down you sides. All over your belly. As she drags her duster down your inner thighs towards your feet you start begging and shaking your head from side to side. She’s moving the feather duster with such vigour. Her smile widens at your predicament. Your eyes clench. Your toes are far too ticklish for the light feathery touch.
She spends hours kneeling at the end of the bed, twirling the feather duster over one foot as she scratches beneath the other sole. It’s a new and maddening sensation as your so familiar to my touch. Her hands a very working class, rough and callused and her long and slender fingers are so very different to mine, yet they tickle you just as ferociously.
The tickling stops abruptly. You’re still giggling. ‘Don’t stop on my behalf’ you hear me say to the maid. Your eyes open and there I stand, smiling at your predicament. The maid recommences her now nervous assault on your soles.
Taking her feather duster, I move to the middle of the bed. It flutters over your balls. You howl. You’ve been tied and tickled all day but the maid avoided your throbbing cock. I know how badly you crave release. ‘Not yet’ I whisper, as the feather duster finds that sweet spot under your freshly shaven, sensitive balls. ‘Plehahahaseehahahaha’ you beg. The maid is tantalised by your desperate laugh and the way you thrust your hips into the feather duster in blind hope. My hands preempt your tricks.
I hand the feather duster back to the maid and tell her to lay between your legs on her tummy. Her hands are within reach of your ticklish balls and without delay, she recommences twirling the plumes all over your sweet spot. You go wild.
At the foot of the bed I give your soles a quick scratch then remove the maids heals, one by one. Bending her knees so the maids soles are in your view, I start lightly tracing my long nails up and down her soles as you watch on. She flinches and giggles. This is your biggest fantasy and worst nightmare all at once.
Her feet are so ticklish that my nails are making it near impossible for her to concentrate on you. ‘If I notice that feather duster pause its assault on my baby’s ticklish balls, even for a second, I will need to tie you up too,’ you hear me tease the maid. She’s adamant not to stop, too ticklish to be bound helpless. You don’t know what is driving your more insane, not being able to touch her ticklish feet or stroke your aching cock.
‘Not my toes’ she squeals as you notice me nibbling her little piggies. Her begging sends electric wakes through your cock. Your on the edge, a few strokes is all it will take. 'Please not my toes’ she begs and squirms. I loose my balance. Your balls get a rest.
The maid looks at me in horror. I smile at her warmly, 'I won’t tie you up tonight, but now you know what will happen next time I catch you tickling my baby without my permission.’ I give her sides a quick squeeze. She squirms.
I remove one of the wrist restraints so you can relieve your aching cock while I pay the maid for the day and see her out. Before we have even left the room you shoot the biggest load all over your tummy. You’re exhausted.
You hear my heals come up the stairs, and there I stand in the maids dress with the feather duster in one hand, devilish smile across my face. Your eyes light up. 'Arm back above your head’ I direct, securing it back in the restraint as you start to beg. I hold the feather duster above your tired cock. 'You’re cock is so ticklish after you cum’ I tease. You thrash and laugh long before I lower the duster. When you feel that first feather kiss the wet tip of your cock, you throw your head back in pure ecstasy. Now the torture really begins.
We had no intentions of staying in your grandparents’ spare bedroom after a delicious weeknight dinner, but the unanticipated storm leaves us with little alternative. I know you’re reluctant. As we say our good nights, and graciously accept a pile of clean linen, a devilish idea consumes me. I had teased you all evening with the tap on my nails on the dining room table and brush of my nylon clad foot against your leg while we ate, working us both into quite a state.
I quietly push you against the bedroom door as it closes shut behind us and then stand on my tiptoes to reach your precious lips. Between sweet kisses, you repeat my name under your breath in protest. You’re far from disillusioned by my bag of tricks. I smirk.
‘Arms up’ I demand in a cheeky whisper, purposefully ignoring your struggle. Those grey eyes widen and fixate on mine as you shake your head. ‘Up’ I repeat, in the most confident of tongues. You gulp. There’s no point arguing, your pressing excitement tells me you need this as much as I do.
When you eventually comply, I burrow my fingertips under the bottom of your loose fitting t-shirt and graze my nails over your hips and up your tender sides as your shirt lifts. You tense. My nails leave an instant trail of goosebumps to mark their path and I feel you using every skerrick of willpower to keep your arms raised high above your head for our mutual enjoyment.
Pausing my fingertips at the base of your underarms, you begin to tremble. ‘What’s the matter, baby?’ I ask with a grin. You bite your bottom lip. I can’t help but stare at you, admiring the wrinkles formed by your scrunched nose and not so hidden smile. I love how you’re useless at holding back the biggest of smiles. Fuck, you’re already making me melt.
I scurry my fingers under both of your arms at once and your composure instantly gives way. Your arms retract to your sides, trapping my fingers which I continue to scrunch, making you whither and squirm against the solid bedroom door. Not being able to laugh from fear of your grandparents hearing our playtime only proves to amplify the maddening sensation and seems to weaken your usually above average stamina. You desperately want to burst into a fit of laughter but you know that will only cause an end to your torment, and secretly, you never want my teasing to stop.
Finally, you utilise your greater strength and size to kiss me deeply in your longing for momentary release. I can’t help but kiss you back, then I scrunch my fingers once more for good measure. You throwback your head against the woodwork and drop your body weight into my embrace. I race my hand down your sides then release.
‘If you can’t keep your hands above your head there is no option but to tie you up’ I manage to coo with a gentle jab in your sides after I finally regain some composure myself. You pretend to protest all the while undressing at lightning pace. Your predicament never fails to turn me on. I selvage the belt from your trousers and luckily for you, I keep a stash of silk scarves in my handbag for exactly these occasions.
What a delightful sight. Now naked, you lay on your back expectingly, hopeful that I will reward you for your obedience. Your glistening cock is loudly seeking my attention. I smirk once more, quietly encouraged by your enthusiasm and desire. I proceed to undress in front of you, revealing my new matching lacy bra and panties. Your eyes widen. Oh how I adore teasing you. You lift a pillow and burry your face in any attempt to alleviate your growing frustration. Until now you’ve only been restrained by your own longing to be dominated.
I take my time securing your wrists together with three loops of your belt and affix the belt to the headboard with a silk scarf. The anticipation just as torturous as my devilish touch. You whine. Your legs are spread wide and ankles duly tied to the corners of the bed frame. I test your bonds with a flutter of my nails. Your head shakes side to side. Your cock bounces. You are perfect.
Positioning myself next to your bound body, I begin to kiss along your jaw line. You turn your head away from my lips, exposing your neck to my next assault.
‘I know how badly you crave this’ I whisper, referring to your unfulfillable desire to be vulnerable.
'To be teased.’ 'To be tickled.’
I’m accentuating my words so each syllable vibrates in your ears. You moan and your cock grows.
My fingers trace over your upper tummy and you fail to prevent a small giggle from escaping your lips. I swiftly muffle your laughter with one hand and use the other to trace large circles around your belly, savouring each flinch as I hit a particularly sweet spot. A pinky finger in your navel never fails to set you off. I can sense you’re on the verge of inadvertently waking your grandparents in the next room. I pause, though my finger not yet retracted.
Once you’re somewhat composed, I climb on top of you, facing your feet. You yelp at the first scrape of my nails up your left arch. Thinking quickly, I bury my toes into your mouth to stifle any forthcoming laughter. Your cock stiffens the moment my small, soft feet caress your face. Your cock is teasing me above my panties. I can’t help but grind and you moan into my soles. I giggle gently as you lick and nibble, but you’re careful not to make me pull away.
You buck as far as the silk scarves will allow when I scurry my nails up your arch and pause on the ball of your foot. I tickle with cascading fingers then stop and repeat over and over again. I enjoy the feeling of the vibrations of your muffled laughter all over my feet, perhaps I’m enjoying this too much. More than once I need to remind you to be quiet, by scratching just below your toes and force my nible fingers between each one. Your toes curl and I turn to see your face turning an interesting shade of red.
As you start to take control of your predicament, I switch feet and commence my assault on your sensitive right sole. Again you buck and whither. There’s a small crease at the top of your right arch that drives you to hysteria. I swear your laughter falls silent as I lick and nibble this crease before devouring your toes.
'Not the toes’ you want to scream, yet you can’t. There is no alternative but to accept the tickling. I know you’d never alert your grandparents to your torment and I plan on taking full advantage of your priorities. Your body’s tense. Your cock is pulsating. Fuck, I’m wet.
Feeling myself getting closer and not wanting to be too distracted, I dismount your waist and reposition my body between your bound legs, my lips millimetres from the head of your cock and nails resting on each hip. My legs are bent so those soles you love are visible and so close, yet completely out of your reach.
'Pleasssse’ you beg. I smile, knowing you’re pleading for some kind of gag, a scarf, a hand, a foot, anything to allow you to fully emerge your self in the moment. But your begging goes unanswered. The need to be silent is your ultimate restraint. The ultimate tease.
I wink. My lips lower around the head of your cock. Your eyes and fists clench simultaneously.
As I take all of you in my mouth, my nails rake over your hips with the perfect amount of pressure, over and over again. You writhe, quickly approaching the edge. I stop. Your desperate to scream.
While I give you time to regain your composure, my fingertips make their way up your sides like I’m playing piano keys and back down all the way to your inner thighs. I glance at you and wait until I’ve caught your eye.
'Oh no!’ you beg. I smile.
Once my nails burrow under your balls your mouth widens and I can see the beautiful mix of dread and delight overtake your form. All ten nails tickle you most sensitive of spots. Your kryptonite. They work softly and slowly at first and gradually the pattern is lost and the motion is haphazard. The sensation must be maddening. I flutter my nails and pause at random. You try your hardest to retract your hips or buck, both are useless. The silence is the most beautiful kind of torture imaginable but you can’t tolerate much more at all.
I kiss the top of your balls and up your shaft before my lips resume their favourite position, around your aching cock. With my nails still at work it barely takes one wet, deep, long suck until I begin to taste you. Your body convulsing until every last drop had been drank.
With the final thrust of you hips, you collapse firmly into the mattress and can only manage to shudder when I lick the top of your cock as I pry my wanting lips away. Once you’re untied I have to reposition your body myself so I can wrap my arms around you. I adore how you melt into me and I kiss the back of your head.
'Maybe we should sleepover more often’ you manage to muster, before falling soundly to sleep in my embrace.
So awesome. I did this to my man.
