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WARNING! This is adult oriented fiction of a strong sexual nature. If you are under 18 years of age or easily offended by such material, then click your browser’s back button now. The copyright of this story remains with the author, Night Owl. This posting does not give you the rights to post this on any website. You must obtain the author’s permission prior to posting.
(Story Content: M/f, Bondage, Intense Tickling)
“Are you sure you can handle this?” I asked Julie as I tightened the last knot around her ankle.
“Whatever you can dish out, Mister, I can handle.”
(“Oh, you’re going to pay dearly for THAT remark!” I thought to myself.)
“Well…. as long as you’re sure, Hon.”
Julie was trying to impress me with her courage and spunk, but I could tell she was getting nervous. It wasn’t the force of the restraints that bothered her so much, nor was it the crude-looking rack made out of 2x4s that imprisoned her angelic form. I knew what scared her the most was the very thought of undergoing a long, grueling tickle session. She had never done this before, and being a ‘tickle virgin,’ she had no idea of what to expect.
“Just remember to use the safe word if gets to be too much,” I tried to sound reassuring, then gave the knot one final tug.
“Yes, yes I know, ‘Red’ means to stop,” she teased.
The truth was, I really wasn’t sure what I would do if she were to back out now. I had waited a long time for this moment, and I already knew full well, even at this early stage, that it would be all I had anticipated. For me there was no turning back.
As far back as I can remember, I cannot recall a time when it didn’t give me a special thrill to be able to wiggle my fingers against some woman’s ticklish spots, or even to just HEAR the word spoken. Even as a child, when sex wasn’t a part of the picture, I fantasized about tickling girls. Then as I reached puberty, bondage and tickling became a powerful source of fantasy, accompanied by frequent hard-ons and two or three masturbation sessions per day. Call it role awareness or even a sadistic quirk. I get a charge out of the experience of power I wield, to make a woman giggle and writhe uncontrollably; not to mention the ability to drive her mad with sensations that hover on the edge of torture, and at the same time, drive her mad again with the pleasure of her orgasms. Through the years, most of my relationships had ranged from one-night stands to casual month-long affairs, and since there were no emotional ties getting in the way, I had nothing to lose in trying to initiate tickling during sex. That is, until I met Julie.
When I first saw this woman at the office last spring, my initial attraction was purely physical. In fact, I could hardly keep my eyes off her. At 5′ 8”, she had the classic ‘barbie doll’ figure — slender body, long legs, tight round hips, and a mane of golden hair that fell loosely over her shoulders and down her back. She was wearing a black blazer that day, with the hem of her skirt cut no less than six inches above the knee, and a slit up one side that gave my wandering eye a nice glimpse of her upper thigh as she sat at her desk with her legs crossed. She wore no hosiery of any kind. She never did, as I recall, and certainly didn’t need them with that smooth light almond complexion. Finally, a pair of black high heels capped off a sexy, yet professional look that drew long, lusty stares from every male in the office as she walked by. I knew it was going to be a challenge to work under the same roof with such a distraction, but that was only the beginning. The following Friday was ‘casual dress day’, and this time Julie came in wearing jeans and a white, sleeveless sweater top, the kind with wide armholes that drove me absolutely insane! You see, like most tickle lovers, I’ve always had this special, private fetish for women’s underarms — those silky curves, that ticklish flesh, the depth of pocket, the whole bit. So the minute I saw Julie in that top, I became hopelessly obsessed. I HAD to find a way to get a closer look.
It was an unusually slow Friday with Memorial Day weekend coming up, so later that afternoon, a few of us decided go around the office and replace some of the fluorescent lights above the cubicles. I made sure I got to Julie’s desk first, then climbed the step stool and started fumbling with the light fixture, hoping that my act would get her attention.
“Need any help?” she looked up from her computer.
“Sure, if you don’t mind. This one’s giving me some trouble.”
She pulled out a folding chair and took her place just opposite me.
“See if you can twist your end in while I do the same,” I suggested.
Julie reached upward, stretching both arms as she did so, and began working her end of the bulb into its mount. This gave me a wonderful view of the most beautifully smooth, hollowed armpits that sakarya escort I had ever seen. I watched them intently as she fumbled with the fixture, turning the bulb this way and that. She was so close, that I literally could have reached over and touched them. Then Julie caught my gaze before I could look away. I was busted! But what surprised me was that she didn’t seem to mind my looking at her. She just smiled and gave me that ‘I Gotcha!’ look. I refused to let the moment get the best of me, so I smiled back, wondering if she really knew what I was staring at. For the next several days, we both flirted with each other, through eye contact and small talk until I finally asked her out. We eventually started dating seriously. In that time, I had tickled her briefly on many occasions, eliciting beautiful giggles from her before she pushed me away. But never had I revealed my deepest urge . . . my truest love for tickle torture.
As I got to know Julie, the more my feelings for her began to change, to grow, and hers for me also. We even talked about taking our relationship to the next level . . . like marriage, kids, the whole deal. Yet I knew that I could never make such a commitment, without her knowing how much I longed to tickle her lovely form. It was not as if I’d never shared my passion with other women before. As I mentioned earlier, some indulged me a little, some not at all, but Julie was different. I cared about her a great deal, and I didn’t want to take the chance on her thinking me strange. Nevertheless, one night I finally took the plunge and opened up to her. It took dinner at my place, and three glasses of wine before I could finally drum up enough courage to speak about it. I told her how tickling a woman was the most erotic thing to me, how laughter was an aphrodisiac, and of my fetish for each ticklish spot on the female body. I told her everything. How I’d dreamt of tickling her since that very first day I saw her. How often I’d wanted to tie her down and tickle her until she screamed, tickle her to orgasm, and then make love to her! After I was finished pouring out my heart and soul, I didn’t know what to expect. A part of me felt at ease that I was no longer keeping secrets from her, but another part of me wanted to get up and run away and not face the rejection that might follow. When I finally looked at Julie, her blue eyes were filled with a glow I’d not seen before.
“I had a feeling you were into that sort of thing,” she finally answered, and then her mouth curved into a smile, “I guess I’ve always known since that day we met, when I caught you staring at . . . well, you know . . . my underarms.”
“I wasn’t sure you’d noticed,” I answered, looking at her sheepishly.
“It was pretty obvious!” she laughed.
“So what do you think?”
“I have to admit, it does sound like fun . . . but I’m just not sure if I can handle it. You know how ‘touchy’ I am.”
It was true Julie was deathly ticklish, but at least she didn’t run away from me screaming! I continued to promote the idea and did my best to allay any fears that she might have about my intentions. I even came up with a few safe words that she could use if she should want to back out at any time, such as ‘YELLOW’ for ‘take it easy’ and ‘RED’ for ‘stop right now.’ As we talked, Julie became more curious, even intrigued with the subject. She gave me a guide to all of the most ticklish spots on the road map of her body, “feet . . . helplessly ticklish and defenseless when I’m attacked there . . . armpits . . . make me giggle like a little girl . . . and the closer to my tummy, especially under the ribs, my worst spot.” After some gentle persuasion, she finally broke down and decided to give it a try.
“So when do we do this?” she asked.
“How about next Saturday?”
“Sounds good, but I thought you’d want to start tonight? I’ve certainly had enough wine!”
I laughed, then winked at her, “Patience my dear. Since you’re a rookie, I want your first time to be a memorable one for both us, so I’ll need to plan everything out carefully.”
Julie gave me a curious look, but I preferred to keep her in the dark and offered no further explanation.
“All right then, it’s a date,” she said. “As for tonight, let’s not iet this wine go to waste.”
She then took my hand and guided me to the bedroom.
The next morning and after Julie left, I immediately began making preparations for our special encounter. The idea I had in mind for her required a different form of restraint, something much more erotic than simply tying her to the bed like I had done with other women. I went to the hardware store and purchased the materials I needed — several 2x4s, large bolts, and some brass hooks. I picked a spot on my living room floor and began drilling holes into the boards and fastening them together with the bolts. When I was finished, I had built a rather crude, but very effective restraining rack, though it looked nothing like those samsun escort table racks used in medieval dungeons. This one had the 2x4s forming a box frame, about 5 ft. square, with the hooks fastened in various places to hold ropes, chains, leather straps, whatever I decided to bind her with. The sturdy contraption looked somewhat odd and out of place in my living room. Spread out beneath it, was a thick, black bearskin rug that I had purchased at a southwestern gift shop, with a pillow carefully positioned underneath it. This was the spot were my pretty captive would lie.
The following week I began teasing Julie to get her into the proper mood for our ‘session.’ I often called her on the phone when I knew she wasn’t alone, and told her exactly what I would do to her if I was afforded the opportunity, using explicit mental images described in the most lurid, taunting detail. She giggled and played along, and I could sense her nervous excitement growing as I drew her deeper into my fantasy.
When Saturday finally arrived, we started off the evening with a candlelit dinner and a bottle of wine at her favorite restaurant. Julie looked incredibly gorgeous that night in her black spaghetti strap dress. (by then her leggy skirts had risen to an eye-popping 12 inches and were already a signature look for her around our office). I felt excited and restless when I first saw her. I was eager to take her home and indulge my fantasy, but I remained patient, allowing her time to relax. As we left the restaurant, I chose to walk behind her, watching the way her shoulders and hips moved, the way the heels she wore shaped her thighs and calves. It was already late when we got back to my place. I took her hand, and led her inside. The house was dark as I motioned her into the living room. A votive candle I left sitting on the end table cast flickering shadows on the walls. Then Julie’s eyes widened when she first saw the crude-looking, box-like structure sitting in the middle of the room.
She whispered, “What on earth is THAT?”
“Just a little something to restrain you with, my dear,” I looked at her with a wicked grin.
The expression on her face was mixed with shock and intrigue. On several occasions, we had tried light bondage during our lovemaking, but nothing like this.
“Are you OK, sweetheart?”
Julie gave me a nervous smile and nodded, “Looks like you’ve been busy.”
The fact that she was putting so much trust in me only intensified my love for her. I gave her a gentle kiss as a reassurance.
“Now take off your dress, please.”
Julie paused a moment with her eyes fixed on mine. She then took a few steps back, and slowly, pushed the straps down over her bare shoulders. My heart began to beat faster as she shimmied her body out of the thin garment, stepped out of it, and casually kicked her heels off. Then with a final maneuver that seemed intentionally seductive in its display, she held the dress off to the side and let it drop dejectedly to the floor.
“Very nice. Very nice, indeed,” I teased her, “you won’t be needing that bra tonight either, and remove those panties, too.”
Without saying a word, she unhooked her strapless bra from behind and let it drop to the floor, then very slowly, slid her black, lacy panties down her legs and stepped out of them. Her breasts were not very large, but they had the round youthful appearance of an eighteen year old. The sudden rush of air made her nipples stand out in dynamic display as she stood silently before me in the candlelight. I let my eyes wander freely down her body, and it was then, that I got the most pleasant shock of my life! Julie was always meticulous in keeping her legs and underarms smooth by shaving them everyday, but this time, she had gone quite a bit further and removed all of her pubic hair as well!
“Now it’s YOUR turn to be surprised,” she grinned as I stood there speechless.
Seeing such a vulnerable display of her most intimate flesh turned me on like you wouldn’t believe, and as a tickler, it brought new possibilities to mind that I had never even dreamed of before.
“So what do you think?” she asked.
“You KNOW what I think.”
I held her in my arms and we kissed for several minutes. I relished the feel of her warm body against me. Then I whispered to her,
“Shall we try this out for size?”
She looked nervously again at the strange-looking contraption I had built. Julie wouldn’t show it, but I could tell she was having second thoughts about allowing herself to be tied up, knowing what was going to happen next. It took a moment or two for her to gather up the courage before answering.
“OK, I’m ready.”
I led Julie to the rack and motioned her to lie back on the bearskin rug that was spread out neatly underneath. She began to relax a little and slip into the proper mood as the soft fur made contact with her bare skin. Next, I brought out some rope and proceeded to tie up her limbs in the way that I had planned. şanlıurfa escort After the last knot was tightened, I then sat back to admire my handiwork.
The view was exquisite in the dim candlelight, and I was instantly captivated by her beauty and helplessness. Julie was lying on her back with her arms drawn wide above her head and tied by the wrists to the base of the rack at each corner. The pillow underneath the rug, kept her back arched just enough to stretch her firm breasts tight across her ribcage. Those long, sexy legs that I admired so much when we first met, were now raised and spread wide apart like a V with her ankles fastened to the top corners. I made sure the ropes were pulled tight enough to lift her tush about five inches off the floor, keeping her lower body suspended while allowing her back to rest comfortably against the soft rug. She was now well-presented for whatever diabolical intentions I might have, and her recent shave left every smooth, naked detail out in plain sight, from her slick pussy all the way down to the tight, puckered hole in that gorgeous ass.
“See if you can get loose,” I teased
Julie twisted and pulled her wrists, then each ankle, but it was no use. She was utterly defenseless and completely at my mercy.
“There’s no turning back now, my pet.”
By now my erection was getting painful. Never before, did I want her as much as I did at that moment, but I resisted the urge, knowing that my patience would soon be rewarded. I brought out the tools I would use for our session — a black peacock feather, two sable brushes, and a long feather duster.
“Oh God!” I heard Julie whisper to herself, as though she were truly realizing for the first time what was in store for her.
“Try to relax,” I said, “it’s going to be a long, eventful evening and you’re going to need your strength.”
I decided to make myself comfortable and stripped down to my cotton briefs. Then I picked up the feather and began to contemplate where I should start first. Julie looked so delicious all bound up, ticklish and waiting to be driven out of her mind! That spot between her legs was especially inviting now that she was hairless down there, but I elected to avoid it for now. Instead I knelt beside her, bent forward and gave her a long, deep kiss. She parted her lips willingly as I explored the inside of her mouth with my tongue. I took a few moments to pamper her with more kisses, then playfully held the feather up in front of her face. Julie’s eyes widened at the sight of it. She turned her head away as I tickled her lips and nose and ears with gentle strokes. Man, the girl was ticklish!
I placed the feather against her left wrist and ran the tip along the inside of her arm. My touch was excruciatingly light. She tried to twist her elbow away, rubbing it against the soft bearskin, which only seemed to intensify the sensation. Then she held her breath as I dragged the feather slowly down to her open armpit and ended its journey with long, agonizing stroke across those silky, delicate curves.
Usually at this point, a woman would fill the room with fits of unbridled laughter, but Julie had a unique way of dealing with her tickling. Each stroke was like a live wire touching her body, and her tortured giggles almost sounded like she was in pain. Her discomfort didn’t discourage me, though. On the contrary, it only fueled my excitement. I began to tickle her underarms more vigorously with the feather, switching from one to the other without stopping.
“NO-HOOOOO! P-PLEE-EE-EESE . . . STO-OP . . . HE! HE! HE! HA! HA! HA! HA . . .!
Julie tried to work her wrists free, but the ropes held firm, depriving her helpless pits of any relief from my teasing strokes.
“You’d better get used to it, my pet. There’s more where that came from . . . a LOT more!”
I ran the feather up and down the sides of her ribs, across the flat plane of her tummy and into her navel. She began to twist and turn her body in an attempt to elude me, but I followed her movements effortlessly while keeping the feather tip in constant contact with her skin. The intensity and frustration must have been unbearable. I could see it in her face, in her eyes and from her body language. I relished the sounds of her helplessness — ropes rubbing together, the wooden rack creaking as she struggled futilely with her restraints, and of course, that sweet, tormented laughter. Julie was the perfect victim for anyone who liked to see a tied up woman truly “suffer” tickle torture.
“N-n-no more,” she gasped, “it’s t-too much!”
“I’m sorry Hon, but you’re going to have to see this through.”
She couldn’t help the moans of pleasure between giggles as I circled the feather tip around and around her breasts, again and again, before closing in on her hardened nipples and teasing them with light, tantalizing strokes. I must have traced every curve above her waist at least half a dozen times, using a combination of long strokes and flicking motions, pausing occasionally to let her regain her breath before continuing again. My relentless tickling was driving her into a frenzy. By the fifth break, her eyes were filled with tears from laughing so hard. She begged me to stop the torment; to relieve the itching that my tickling had caused. She said if felt like her lungs were about to explode.
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