tickling

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Halfway There, Part One

My Daddy suggested I wear pigtails.

“Trust me,” she – a reigning queen of rocking the pigtails – said, “they’ll love them.”

I was going to spend the evening hanging out and playing around with Flint, Lida and Macy. While I’m used to people running a little late, I’d started to learn that not only was Flint on time for essentially everything, he was actually usually early. So, pigtails totally made sense when I saw I was starting to cut it a little close.

I was already in Flint’s car when I got another text from Daddy asking for a picture. I blushed a little explaining to him that I had to take a picture for my Daddy, before pulling out my phone to take a picture to send along to her. 

Since I hadn’t eaten, I asked Flint if we could stop on the way to Macy’s place so I could get a burrito. (I’d had a rough day, cut me some slack.) To minimize the wait time for said burrito, I took out my phone to call the place ahead of time so I could just swing in and pick it up. 

Naturally, this turned into Flint reaching over while he was driving and tickling me as I attempted to keep myself composed enough to place an order.

“You know people who take orders over the phone have to deal with that a lot,” Flint said when I finished the call. “Except he probably thought you were getting fingered or something.”

I huffed, keeping my arms crossed protectively over my torso until we reached the restaurant to pick up my burrito. 

“I like your pigtails,” Flint said as we walked towards the door. “I’m looking forward to pulling on them.”

I gave him a thumbs up. “Mission accomplished.”

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Piss Shy, Part Seven

Disclaimer: The content of this story is a little bit harsher and a little more intense than most of the experiences I have written about on here. Please keep in mind that I had safe words – “yellow” for slow down or do less, “red” for stop. The things I did were done willingly and enthusiastically, even when I demonstrated reluctant or fearful behavior. I like to be scared and I like to feel psychologically exhausted, and this experience allowed me to tread some harsher waters. So, I hope you’ll stick along for the ride.

Flint had the girls try to hold me down, but I was inevitably and usually able to throw them off from a combined force of the absolute distress of being tickled and the fact that I was thankfully stronger. It turned into a repeated process of the girls trying to hold me down, Flint tickling me, and me throwing them off and curling up into a ball until they succeeded in pinning me back down or Flint ordered me to hold still.

Eventually, Flint had Lida crawl up on top of me and kiss me while he beat her with something. As I was blindfolded, I couldn’t tell what. Lida kissed cutely, shyly. Her mouth was small and her lips pursed like a guppy’s. I reached up, running my hands over her back and shoulders, pulling her to me each time I felt her jump from the beating.

“Now come on, Ivy, you’re here to entertain us. Touch yourself,” Flint said as Lida climbed off of me. “And be careful. Your owner said you couldn’t cum." 

I laid back and rubbed my pussy, thankful for the blindfold that allowed me to at least pretend I wasn’t being watched by a roomful of people. Lida and Macy were still touching me, idly discussing things like lingerie and shopping. But, after a little while, I realized I had to use the bathroom.

"Hey, ah…WRM? Flint?” I called out.

“Not here,” Lida replied, “in the other room.”

“Well, can you get them?” I asked, “I…um…I have a pee.”

“Kind of scared to move,” Macy admitted, “we’re not supposed to…” She thought for a moment, “you can go over there, they’re just in the next room. Just, ah, crawl over.”

After banging my head on a corner, I managed to make my way to the door. I knocked on the door before hearing it swing open. 

“Yes?” Flint asked.

I bit my lip. “I…ah…I have to pee.”

And this was where the trouble started. 

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Easing out the Kinks, Part Seven

Eventually, we got some alone time and I got the clamps off and blushingly handed them off to Penthouse.

Perhaps seeing that I was a little anxious, Craftsmate started to tickle my wrist. I attempted to swat his hand away, pouting. With a smirk, Craftsmate snatched my wrist and prodded his finger into my ribs. I felt Penthouse grab onto my other wrist, holding it firmly.

“Guys,” I whined when they started tickling me, stopping only to switch their grasp so my arms were crossed over my chest. Satisfied, they sat back and attempted to watch the television while I groaned and squirmed on the couch. I went back and forth between asking one to let me go, and when he refused, I’d just turn to the other and ask. However, I was completely unsuccessful.

Eventually, they let go of my arms, claiming that maybe I deserved a few minutes to prove that I could behave. I huffed and gave Penthouse a shove. “You guys are assholes,” I said right before Penthouse grabbed my arm and bent it behind my back.

My face was pressed against the couch and Craftsmate was holding firmly onto my other arm before I could realize what had happened. I groaned and tried to wrench my arms away. “You know what she hates?” Craftsmate said before reaching down and pinching my ass. Penthouse joined him, both laughing and enjoying themselves.

“Fuck you,” I replied, somewhere between irritated and aroused. What can I say? I like being ganged up on.

Penthouse reached up and looped his fingers into my hair. “You’re being rude,” he chastised, “now be sweet to Craftsmate and give him a kiss.”

“On the cheek,” Craftsmate added, “because you’ve been a brat.”

I huffed and complied. For people who weren’t always compatible in communication, Penthouse and Craftsmate were far too good at working together to torment me.

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Cats Don’t Do the Dishes, Part Six

Craftsmate tied me facedown on his bed and proceeded to get his flogger out. He beat me until I was crying out so much that he had to gag me and put music on to drown out all the noise.

Then, he sat down on me and started to tickle my ribs. I am absurdly ticklish and I absolutely hate being tickled. A few minutes in, I was panting for breath and drooling around the gag. He stopped, moved his duvet cover so I could see the small puddle of my salvia that had soaked into it, and proceeded to scold me for drooling all over his bed.

“Look at the mess you made,” he chided, pulling on my hair before pushing my face into it. I blushed six shades of red.

He rolled me over and tied me back down, picking the flogger back up and starting to beat my breasts.

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Last night, Craftsmate came over and we chilled a little bit.

Somehow, I wound up hogtied.

Yep.

I let him use a few of my winter scarves and he had put me into an all right hogtie, considering the materials. He blindfolded me with another and wound up gagging me by rolling up one of my face towels, threading it between my teeth, and knotting it behind my head. This was, surprisingly, terribly effective as it held my mouth open and pressed my tongue down, rendering me capable of essentially just a few whines and grunts.

He sat up next to me on my bed and told me that if I was uncomfortable with anything, I could just shake my head hard and grunt three times and he would let me out. I should clarify that Craftsmate and I are basically two kinky people goofing around and not sexually involved, for a few rando followers who asked and for whoever else is thinking I’m about to get laid or something. 

Instead, the asshole tickled me. If I moved too much, he spanked me fairly lightly. If I tried to struggle away, he would reach down and pinch my ass through my shorts. Hard.

So, while there were no handprints, as the picture would imply, there were a few little pock marks on my butt where Craftsmate pinched it.

What a jerk.