Tickled & Teased

“I can’t find anything in here!” I was practically going out of my head. Papers were strewn all over my office, but I couldn’t locate the ones that I actually needed.

“What are you looking for?” Brad asked me patiently from the doorway. He appeared cool and collected. I felt like a hot mess.


“Yeah,” Brad said, with only a slightly sarcastic edge, “I could see how that would make it more difficult. If you were looking for everything all at once.”

“I’m not kidding,” I snapped. “I’m missing at least seven different papers.” I brushed my auburn curls out of my face. They spiraled right back where they had been. Nothing in my world was behaving.

“It’s because you’re so disorganized, Becky.”

“Right, kick me when I’m down.”

“That’s not exactly what I was thinking.”

The tone in his voice made me look at him. “What were you thinking?”

“I’ll tell you after we sort out your mess. I mean, desk.”

Without trepidation, he came toward the junkyard of paperwork. I winced. Slowly, he started stacking papers, moving files, adjusting teetering towers. My polished oak desk began to emerge, bit by bit. “What you really need is a tickler file,” Brad said as he slid a few stray papers into my cabinet.

“What’s a tickler file?”

“You keep a collection of labeled files containing what you need to do for each day. Everything will be organized and right in front of your face. Then you never get to the point where you can’t think because you’re so far behind.”

“Why do they call it a tickler file?”

“Tickles your memory, I guess,” he said. There was a light in his gray eyes as he spoke. I wondered if he could tell that my mind had shifted from work deadlines to something else entirely.

“Let me help you. We’ll start with a list,” he continued, grabbing a yellow legal pad from the top of my filing cabinet and snagging a ballpoint from under my chair. He didn’t make a snarky comment about that like “Is this the best place to keep your pens?” He knows that when I’m on deadline, I tend to be harried. In the calmest manner possible, he asked, “What do you need to do first?” I perched on the clean edge of my desk and started listing the items I had to do: forms that needed to be postmarked by the thirtieth, papers I was supposed to bring to the design team. Brad listened and wrote, and I noticed how neat his handwriting was. My notes tend to look as if I’ve written them in secret spy code. Nobody can decipher the words but me.

“See what you think,” he said, handing over the pad.

The top, in bold letters, read: Rebecca’s Tickler File. Below, in a clearly bulleted row, were all the items I’d ticked off. He’d managed to make sense out of the jumble of thoughts that had nearly devoured my brain. But then, at the bottom, were words I hadn’t said:

Get tied down.
Submit to a tickling session.
Come like a powerhouse.

I looked at Brad my throat was tight. I am one of the few the lucky few who lives for being tickled. Brad discovered this sexy fact about me on our first date when he casually rested a hand on my thigh while we were driving, and I squealed and jumped. “What’s wrong?” he’d asked. “Nothing, I’m just ticklish,” I’d responded, embarrassed. I’d worried he would find me odd. Instead, he’d been charmed by how responsive my body was to his touch, and over the next few months, he’d taken to experimenting in order to see exactly how ticklish I was and precisely how wet I could get when he tickled me. Learning new erogenous zones and fresh ways to stimulate them became one of his favorite pastimes.

“Am I supposed to do these things in order?” I asked curiously.

He winked. “Well, usually. But you don’t have to go in chronological order if you don’t want to. I know you’re a rebel. I can tell that by looking at your office.”

“You mean we could start at the bottom?”

“If you say so.”

“With the bullet points that you added?”

He nodded.

That was all I needed. In seconds, I stripped, tearing down my jeans and kicking them to the corner, taking off my t shirt. I wasn’t wearing a bra or panties. I work at home. I only get dolled up when I have a meeting and to me, “dolled up” means underwear. Brad, on the other hand, still had on his suit and he only took off his jacket. He was not ready to get naked. Yet.

“Go into the bedroom,” he said, “and wait for me.”

I did exactly as he said. The words weren’t a suggestion. When Brad has bondage on his mind, I know to behave. Once I was on the bed, though, my thoughts started playing games with me. What would he do? Would he tie me down with silken sashes? Would he use our cuffs? Did he want me faceup or facedown? I would have touched myself if I didn’t think that would get me in trouble. As it was, my pussy began to respond to my questions. Thank God for Brad. I’d been in a right tizzy when he’d come home. Now, I was well, if not relaxed, then at least in a completely altered state.

When he walked into the room, I couldn’t help but laugh. He had a bouquet of feather dusters in his hand. I could tell that he’d been planning this event for some time. The dusters were all different colors. Vibrant pink. Electric orange. Mediterranean blue. Intense indigo.

God, they were pretty. But even more than that, they were sexy. I wondered how many other women out there were receiving bouquets of dusters this evening. Were any as excited as I was? Fuck flowers these were the loveliest creations I’d seen in a long time.

“I knew you were having a difficult time with your deadlines,” Brad said. “And I thought you might need a pick me up.” He paused. “Or a tie me down.”

He came toward the bed and set the bouquet down by my side. Then he started to get to work. Brad and I engage in bondage games on a regular basis. So we have a hook on the headboard to attach the chain from a set of handcuffs. Leather thongs reside on the posts of our bed, and Brad used them to tie me down quickly. The activity tonight wasn’t so much the bondage, but what would happen once I was bound. I stared at those feather dusters. They were so pretty, but they were also far from innocent.

“Are you ready?”

I shook my head. I love being tickled, but I’m never ready.

“Get ready.”

He’d been so patient in the office. Now he was in charge and calling the shots. He picked up the first duster and ran the feathers along the bottoms of my feet. I was grateful that I was tied down. I would have kicked right off the bed. The sensation was almost overwhelming right from the start. I sucked in my breath, and then let it out in a rush. He ran the feathers along the bottom of my right foot, then my left, and then he began to slowly dust along the insides of my legs. I squealed and shook. He laughed at my useless flailing. Where was I trying to go?

“You like that?”

I nodded, but Brad didn’t seem to believe me.

“Let’s see for ourselves.” He sat between my thighs on the mattress and pressed his lips to my shaved pussy. “Oh, yes,” he said. “I can see exactly how much you like that. You’re dripping already.”

Truth be told, I’d been dripping since he first showed me the word tickle.

The thought of being tickled can make me giggle. The fantasy of having Brad tickle me all over my body is enough to bring me to fierce solo climaxes. Actually being tickled surpasses all of my daydreams. Over the years, Brad has learned exactly how to push my buttons. He knows to tickle me up to a point where I think I am going to scream, and then he settles me back down with gentle touches or in this case, with his lips on my clit. He continued to lick and suck, but then he reached for one of the dusters.

I saw the blur of feathers as he brought the duster up to my pussy. I tried to clench my thighs together, to no avail. I’d forgotten for a second that I was bound. There was no closing my legs, no tightening of anything except my internal muscles. Brad licked my clit, and then he dusted the feathers over my mound. I bucked and giggled, lost in the warring sensations. Part of me wanted to laugh. Part of me wanted to come. Which part would win? Maybe both!

Brad played a game. He sucked on my clit until I was begging and mewling with the need to come. And then he backed off and tickled me, using that sweet little duster over my naked pussy, then reaching higher to tickle the basin of my stomach, the sides of my ribs.

I was glad we lived in a house rather than an apartment. Otherwise, our neighbors might have been startled. When he tickled my ribs, I started laughing in that way that ripples through my whole body. I was shaking so hard the bed was moving. I gasped for breath between bouts of laughter. Finally, Brad took pity on me. He set down the duster and resumed his tricky behavior between my thighs. His tongue licked me, his lips sucked me, and then he used one finger to slide up inside me. As soon as he sensed I was on the absolute precipice, he brought the duster back into play, teasing only the insides of my thighs, that delicate region where the legs join the body. I was done for. I stopped laughing, focused so totally on the pleasure that circulated through me. I shut my eyes tight, but I didn’t see stars. I saw feathers.

When I opened them up again, Brad had those feather dusters right in front of my face. “Choose your favorite,” he said. “You’re going to be getting to know each other intimately.”

What could he mean? More intimately than what I’d just felt? He’d feather dusted me right into a bed shaking climax. At first, I couldn’t speak. But finally, I said, “I like the . . . the purple one.”

“Pretty,” Brad agreed, setting the duster gently down on my belly. When I exhaled, the feathers fluttered. I watched as he stood by the bed and undressed. His cock was so hard. I loved that turning me on turned him on. Aren’t we a good match? I thought. We are outside of the bedroom, too. I bring excitement and a bit of chaos to our relationship, while Brad brings order and refinement. Together, we . . . we . . . my thoughts stopped. Brad was unfastening the bindings that were wrapped around my wrists.

“You take your favorite,” he said.

I grabbed the violet duster.

“Use it on my cock.”

This was new. In all our time together, I’d never tickled him. I didn’t think he’d like the experience. I don’t know whether fetishists are formed or born, but I’d craved the sensation of being tickled as long as I could remember. Would Brad?

“Do it.”

I ran the feather duster along the length of his cock. I could see his dick get even harder. His thigh muscles tightened, and when I looked at his face, I saw a curious expression there. He didn’t look as if he were trying not to laugh. He looked as if he were trying not to come. I could tell from the set of his jaw, from the way his eyelids fluttered, that he liked it.

“Undo my ankles,” I said, “please.”

Brad moved quickly. He seemed to understand what my plan was almost before I knew myself. In fact, he was on the bed, in my place, waiting for me to bind him down. Damn, he looked hot. Brad is handsome in clothes. Out of clothes, he’s like a Greek statue come to life. “Come” being the operative word. His dick stood up at attention. It was difficult to ignore, but I did my best as I attached the cuffs to his wrists and then the bindings to his ankles. Then I gave in, for a second, bobbing my mouth up and down on his cockhead while he groaned and tested my bondage skills. I’d bound him firmly enough. He could hardly move.

I could tell from his hard on that the thought of tickle play had aroused him, but I needed to be sure. “You really ready for this?” I asked.

He nodded, but his eyes were huge.

I started slowly. I ran the purple duster over his nipples. He groaned and looked skyward. His nipples were erect in a second. I brushed back and forth between them, then down his broad chest. He didn’t seem to mind that. I skipped over his groin and ran the duster along the insides of his thighs. For me, this was a magic spot. For him, nothing. I worked down to the bottom of his feet. He twitched and wriggled, but it didn’t spark a laugh.

Hmmm. I’d have to try harder. I moved back up his body and ran the duster under one of his outstretched arms. He struggled mightily, making the cuffs’ chain rattle as he reacted. Aha! I’d found his weakness. I felt elated and even more turned on. Brad’s eyes locked on mine when I reached for the second duster. “Let’s try two at once,” I said.

“Oh, my God,” was barely out of his lips when I used both dusters together, one under each arm. Even though I was tickling him, I was looking over my shoulder at his dick. It looking startlingly erect as if he was ready to spurt at any moment. I kept tickling him without pause. Brad wasn’t exactly laughing at that point. It sounded more like he was yelping, a sound that seemed steeped in a mix of pleasure and pain. I wondered what it would feel like to climb astride him while tickling him. Then I wondered why it had taken me so long to come up with that idea.

Without a word of warning, I slid a leg over his body and settled myself on his cock. Brad shuddered. I felt the sensation all the way through my entire being. He was deep in me, with my pussy tight around his cock. I was all the way down in resting position when I began to tickle him once more.

Slam! He bucked his hips so hard that I felt as if I were astride one of those mechanical bulls. I almost went flying. Before giving him another swipe, I tucked my heels slightly under his thighs, anchoring myself for the ride.

“Do you want me to stop?” I teased, taunting his nipples with the feathers to give him a slight respite from the tickling torment.

“No,” he whispered, but there were tears in his eyes. Did he really want me to continue?

“Are you sure?”

He nodded, and then, as if I’d unleashed a torrent inside him, he said, “Please, Becky. I love the way that feels. Don’t stop. Keep fucking me, and keep tickling.”

His words put a lump in my throat. I don’t know why, but I found his desires so raw, so sexy. I immediately fulfilled his fantasy. Using the two dusters, I worked mercilessly, tickling his armpits in tandem. He nearly tossed me into the air with his thrusts, but I held my own, setting a pace. I tickled he bucked. I ran the feathers over his nipples he sighed and settled down. I reached around and tickled his balls he said, “Oh, holy fuck. You slut. You . . . ” Aha! I thought again. A new place. For me, the insides of my thighs were the secret garden. For him, the balls. I should have known, but now that I did, I would never forget.

I continued to tickle him in these areas until I saw from the look on his face that he was close to climaxing. It was a heady moment to realize that my tickling and teasing had brought him to this point of ecstasy.

“What do you want?” I asked.

“What do you mean?” he panted.

“Do I stop? Do I work you harder? Do I . . .”

“Keep going,” he said, and I saw how red his cheeks were, saw how much of an effort he was making not to come too soon. “Please, Becky.” His words were choked with laughter, not my type of giggles, light and bubbly like Champagne. But dark, like whiskey.

I did what he said. I held on to him as tightly as I could, and I tricked those feathers under his arms, then across his nipples, then over his balls. A thought occurred to me, and I reached for one of the discarded dusters and positioned that one in the V of his legs. Now he had constant tickling against his balls with every movement he made, and I controlled the rest.

But things kicked up a notch when I let go of the dusters and used my fingertips in their place. I guess he needed that feeling of skin on skin. I spiraled my fingers under his arms and then tweaked his nipples hard, and then I tickled down his ribs and felt him shoot off inside me.

Hands down, this was the biggest orgasm I’d ever been part of. He seemed to nearly rip the leather thongs off the posts with the tensing of his legs. I ground my hips against his body as he shivered and jerked, and then I slid a hand down and touched my own clit, making myself come while watching Brad slowly start to recover.

“Oh, fuck,” he sighed as I sprawled out on top of him. I saw bits of feathers on our pillows, on the blanket, even in Brad’s hair. “God, that was amazing.” I reached for the key and unlocked the cuffs, then helped him to undo the leather restraints. I was right. There were definite stress marks on the leather.

“So that’s why you like being tickled so much,” he said, and I saw understanding in his eyes. “There’s this place you go where you think you can’t take another second, except you want to. You want to take one more second, you want the sensation that awful, wonderful sensation to last forever.”

He’d summed up the feeling better than I could.

“I never even thought I was ticklish,” he continued, looking amazed. He glanced at his reflection in our mirror and started to pull bits of colorful feathers from his hair. He still seemed halfway in a daze. I knew I was, but I also knew I wanted to do it again. As soon as we recovered.

“I’ll get my office in order,” I promised him. “If you’ll add a bullet or two to my tickler list every day.”

“You’ve got a deal,” Brad said, brandishing a duster.


The top drawer in my bedside table looks like it would be more at home in a craft room than a bedroom. The small square drawer is filled with feathers, strands of beads and leftover curls of ribbon, with countless other crafty items scattered throughout. It’s not my desire for do it yourself projects that’s led to this stock of random materials, but rather my taste for tickling.

The quickest way to turn me on is to tickle me. I don’t care if a partner uses their bare fingers or opts to accessorize with something from my drawer, as long as I get tickled. Some tickle fetishists I’ve met like to be tied up while their partners tease them, but I prefer to be unfettered. I’d much rather squirm freely as I’m attacked with feathers and fingertips than feel forced to take the “torture” or pleasure, as I think of it.

My girlfriend Marie isn’t as fond of being tickled as I am in fact, she hates it but she’ll tickle me as often as I like. For someone who hates being tickled, she knows how to do it best, too. Take our encounter last weekend, for example.

When we woke up Sunday morning, neither of us wanted to get out of bed. It was cold outside, and we were perfectly content to stay cuddled under the blankets as long as possible. But that didn’t mean we were only going to cuddle. When Marie realized I was awake, she started drumming the fingers that were resting on my stomach. She began with the pads of her fingers, which didn’t do much except let me know she was awake, but then she moved on to drumming with her fingernails. The constant patter of the long, square tipped nails tickled ever so slightly, and I felt my pussy clench when I realized what Marie was doing.

My girlfriend is rarely in the mood for morning sex, nocturnal creature that she seems to be, but when she is, she always finds new ways to tell me what she wants. On Sunday, she used my tickle fetish to get my attention. She teased me with her fingertips, letting those delightful nails travel across my tummy before they moved to my side and danced up my ribs. My sides are more sensitive than most other places, and when I felt the light tapping of her fingertips against my ribs, my pussy instantly grew damp.

The tickling sensation still wasn’t strong enough for me, though, and Marie stopped what she was doing and reached into the drawer of toys to find something that would help her turn me on. She told me to close my eyes so I wouldn’t know what she chose, and I did as she said, even though we both knew I’d be able to guess the chosen tickler without any trouble. I heard her rustle around in the drawer for a minute, and then I felt the edge of a soft feather trailing down my arm. My girlfriend started by pulling the feather quickly and firmly over my flesh, creating only the slightest tickle. She dragged it over my arm and down my leg, then rolled me onto my back and pushed my arms up over my head before running the feather over more of my sensitive skin. When she’d caressed every bit of me with that feather, she started at the top again, using lighter, slower strokes. The less pressure she used, the more ticklish the feather felt, and soon I was completely aroused. There was no turning back.

I gave in to the sensations, and my sighs of pleasure were interspersed with giggles as Marie made the feather dance across my naked body. When my pussy started to ache, I reached down between my legs to play with myself. But Marie wouldn’t allow it, and she swatted my hand away before placing the torturous feather where my fingers wanted to be. She circled my clit with the soft tip of the feather, and my body shuddered. It felt so good!

When the feather started to get too wet to do a proper job, Marie tossed it aside and grabbed another. This time, however, she didn’t use it on my pussy, but against the delicate undersides of my breasts. She lightly traced the curves of my tits with the feather while she used the fingertips of her free hand to tickle my inner thighs. The combination made my cunt throb, and I started to feel overwhelmed with pleasure. Then she kissed my pussy.

Between the feather on my chest and her fingernails on my thighs and her mouth on my cunt, I experienced an overdose of erotic sensations. Her tongue traced figure eights around my clit, and she sucked my little bud into her mouth after every few passes, turning me on even more. When she started licking my mound and tugging on my lips with her teeth, I knew I wouldn’t last much longer. Then she stopped tickling my thighs with her nails and thrust two of her fingers into my pussy. Oh, my God! I was surprised when I didn’t pass out from the pleasure she was giving me because it was so intense. She’d stretched her arm farther up and was teasing my nipples, making me cry out in ecstasy, and the addition of her fingers into my cunt drove me mad.

Marie was tickling my G spot, and I could hardly control myself. I bucked and writhed beneath her, but I wasn’t fighting to get her to stop what she was doing I wanted more. She knew it, too, and started to tease me even more, pulling away the feather for a minute, then resuming, and then pulling it away again. I knew I was getting closer, and my whole body started to tingle. A minute later I climaxed. The feeling was incredible, and I thrashed about wildly, with Marie never letting up on the tickling or licking. I thought I’d be coming for days my orgasm was that strong!

When I finally came down from my orgasmic high, I knew I had to reward Marie’s fantastic efforts. I rolled us into a sixty nine and prepared to pleasure my girlfriend, but I’d no sooner put my mouth to her pussy than she was running her feather up and down my thighs. The tickling made me lose focus, and I succumbed to her teasing once more. We spent the rest of the morning and most of the afternoon in bed, with Marie bringing me to no fewer than five explosive climaxes before she dropped the feather and let me have my way with her. What a way to start the day!

Ms. Evelyn O., Phoenix, Arizona


For my birthday, a friend at work gave me the use of her lakefront cabin for a weekend. My boyfriend s gift was his help in acting out my favorite fantasy. I don t think he knew what he was getting into. You see, I have two fetishes: a foot fetish and a tickling fetish.

Claude, my man, is very tall and slender, with long, sexy feet. I never considered feet sexy till he came along. I m always touching them or running a finger across their bottoms until he jerks away. When he sleeps I gently kiss and lick his feet without his knowing. While I ve developed quite a thing for his feet, what I really enjoy is tickling him all over. I love to hear him laugh and beg me to stop. So during my fantasy weekend, I intended to play with him to my heart s content.

We arrived at the cabin, and after our shower, I told Claude to go lie down on the bed. He was probably thinking I wanted some sex. I did, but not exactly in the way he expected.

I don t know what he thought of my stopping to buy four red silk scarves and a long jump rope on the way to the cabin. I m sure that if he had seen what else I bought, he would have realized he was in for it.

When I said, Give me your right wrist and tied one end of one scarf around it, he paid almost no mind till he saw I was tying that wrist to one of the bedposts. As I started to tie his left wrist, he said, Now wait a minute, Suzie. I reminded him that this was my weekend and I could do whatever I wanted. There were no more protests, though Claude began to look a little worried as I tied his ankles to the other bedposts. The long jump rope went from one bed rail, across his hips, and to the other rail tight. Now my man was all mine!

I could tell that Claude wasn t thrilled about being tied down and defenseless, but when I told him what I had in store for him, he really got concerned. As I stood at the bottom of the twin bed, I said, One thing that has always bothered me is that when I touch the bottom of your foot, you jerk it away. Why is that? He made no reply, so I said, Let me see if I can t find out for myself. Honey, I m going to tickle the fuck out of both your feet at the same time!

Claude s eyes got big, and before he could finish his Please, baby, not my I was starting at his heels and working up. As I tickled his insteps, he squealed like a stuck pig such laughing I had never heard from him before! At the balls of his feet, I got what I call nervous laughter. One of the items I brought along that he hadn t seen yet was a large blue feather. I held his feet and used this feather on the bottoms of his toes. He tried very hard to kick free, but to no avail. Again I got the squeals I love. I stood up, and he said, Okay, Suzie, you had your way now let me go.

Sorry, baby. This is just a five minute breather for you.

After a few minutes, I got on my knees between his legs. I reminded him of how much I like to play between those legs. Again his No, please plea failed him. For five minutes I worked both hands up and down the insides of those long thighs. He tried hard to close his legs, but with me positioned between them, forget it!

Now I got out my other purchase: a yellow feather duster. Before Claude could say anything, I went to work on his balls and that long, lovely cock of his. This brought forth lovely giggles and sexy little jerking motions. It was also turning him on. As for me, this tickle torture was making me horny as hell! Moving quickly into position, I took hold of Claude s big, beautiful cock and guided it up inside my steamy pussy. I sank down on that wonderful spike of flesh with a long groan, then proceeded to ride my guy like a rodeo girl. Up and down I bounced until we both had dynamite orgasms.

Now, since I was already straddling Claude s hips, I started tickling his tummy and sides. This produced a deep, throaty laugh. I loved sitting there, feeling him try to jerk free. With the rope holding his hips in place and my weight pinning him down, all he could do was lie there and take it. Naturally, the more he begged me to stop, the more intense the tickling got.

I then told him that I was going to tickle every rib and proceeded to do just that. The higher the rib, the higher pitched giggle I got. And I knew why. Claude has lots of sexy hair under his arms, and I mean lots. Just blowing on the hair there is enough to start him squealing. And as his arms were tied over his head and his underarms on display, he knew he was in big trouble!

I climbed off Claude and sat up by his right side so I could get a good look at his face. I said, Well, I guess you know what s next, huh.

He pleaded, Oh, no, please don t do this please, I ll do anything!

I said, Oh, you will, you will.

I started to play under one arm, then the other, back and forth, watching him try to twist away. Then I said, Fuck this, and attacked both armpits with gusto. The end result was the same delicious squeal I get when I tickle his feet. I got so turned on watching his face close up, his mouth open in a huge grin, laughing loud, his eyes closed, jerking his head from side to side, his hair falling in his eyes. God, it was incredible! I leaned down and nibbled on the sensitive side of his neck and behind his ear.

By the time I let him rest, I was ready to fuck again. Between his knees again, I teased and sucked his lovely piece, using the blue feather on his balls. Again I climbed on top of Claude s big cock and rode it lustily, loving the way it slipped deep up inside me again and again. While fucking him, I reached around behind me with the feather duster and tickled his balls. This really got to him, and it wasn t long after that that he groaned and filled my pussy with a second load of creamy semen. As I felt it shooting into me, I came also.

I told Claude that I was almost done with him for the moment but that one final tickle was in order. With the feather duster, I went back up under his arms and worked my way down his ribs, his sides and his belly. I used the feather duster on the sides of his hips, his cock and his balls, working slowly down the insides of his long thighs and knees.

Now, having saved the best for last, I scooted down to the bottom of the bed. Again brandishing my blue feather, I worked over the toes of his left foot, then the right. His squeals just about drove me crazy! I let him rest a few minutes before I finished up. Then my fingers went directly to the insteps of both feet, and I savored his delicious squeals of tortured laughter. Tears came out of his eyes and ran down his cheeks.

Finally I gave in and untied him, letting him know that for Christmas, I wanted a repeat of that night s pleasure. He wasn t so sure, saying that once was enough, but I know that deep down he can t wait for another bondage/tickle session with me.

Ms. Sela O., Mobile, Alabama


My initiation into the world of tickling as a powerful stimulant began when I was in high school. My favorite girl, Sally, was real pretty, with long, straight blonde hair and beautiful blue eyes. She wouldn t let me date her, but she always tickled me, practically till I wet my pants from laughing.

Since then my tickling drives have not lessened, but increased! I have long since moved away from my old neighborhood and left those giggles behind. The crazy point of this story is that last month, while on vacation, I bumped into Sally! As I stood in line to buy a theater ticket, I realized that she was ahead of me. My hands shook when I heard her voice, still sweet, but lower in pitch. I told her who I was, and she seemed to liven up. How are you? she asked, adding that she often thought about me. I bet, I thought. I asked her to have a drink with me. After a pause, she said, Okay.

She had grown into such a beauty. Her hair was shorter and curlier, but those fabulous eyes were still so bright and crystal clear. She wore a black sports jacket, and I saw that underneath was a white ribbed T shirt. I was flabbergasted, almost speechless. Here was the girl who had started it all for me.

We talked about what we had been doing over the years. Sally told me that she had married and divorced. After a few drinks, I suggested that maybe we should go, and she suggested her hotel. My heart started pounding with intense sexual anticipation.

Once in her room, Sally asked me if I wanted a drink, and I said yes. She poured us each a drink and sat down on the couch next to me. She removed her jacket. Underneath was a sleeveless tank top, like a man s undershirt. By now my cock was so hard, it hurt. And I was sweating.

Sally put her arm up on the back of the couch and showed me her smooth underarm. I stared, practically drooling. She noticed, stopping in the middle of a sentence. The energy was nuclear!

We resumed talking, only this time I started to stroke Sally s soft, bare arm. Her skin was so soft and warm. Finally I could take it no longer, and I slowly slipped my fingers into her armpit and lightly stroked. Her reaction was incredible. She giggled, moaned and threw down her arm all at the same time. Then she pounced on me and started kissing me passionately. I returned the passion. She was now straddling me as I sank into the couch. She kissed me furiously as she raised her arms over her head. I returned the kiss as my fingers tickled her armpits.

The bedroom, please, Sally gasped. Now!

Once there, we stripped and I used her pantyhose to tie her arms over her head to the bedposts. She was gorgeous! My cock entered her wet, hot vagina, and we both screamed. I pumped madly as I tickled and kissed her armpits. Sally laughed and moaned, and it wasn t long before she had a powerful orgasm, screaming and giggling all the while. The sight of this brought back such sweet memories, and I came intensely. I thought my cock would never stop spewing semen.

Well, we had a weekend to end all weekends, but then I had to return home to my job and she to hers. We talk on the phone all the time and have wonderful phone sex. She writes me long, horny letters that keep me beating off for hours. Sally plans to fly out here in the winter and promises to bring plenty of sleeveless clothes. She also said she looks forward to seeing this letter in Variations, her favorite magazine.

Well, here it is, Sally. I hope it encourages other tickle fans to write and tell their stories. It s about time that tickling became accepted in the sex world as a legitimate turn on. It s not merely a playful game. It s a powerful sexual device deserving more attention. I m a lucky guy.

Mr. Vernon T., Vancouver, Washington


I have been reading Variations a lot lately. I was always hesitant to buy the magazine myself, but I started reading it when different boyfriends of mine left copies lying around. One day I picked up a copy and saw a letter about an obsession I ve had for years. I m talking about tickling. I m thirty five years old with red hair and blue eyes, and I fantasize constantly about tickling.

I make a point of telling all my boyfriends that I am very ticklish. Naturally, they take full advantage of the information. Also, I lie in bed at night and masturbate over and over while I tickle my underarms with my free hand. I like to look at my reflection in the mirror while I masturbate and tickle myself. I stare at my underarms and enjoy the sensations.

One day I invited my girlfriend Lulu over for dinner. I knew that she was very ticklish, because occasionally I would grab her ribs and she would squeal. After dinner she started laughing at something I said, and when she put her arm up on the back of the couch, I saw her smooth underarm. I reached over and tickled her there. Giggling, she threw her arm down fast. My panties were sopping wet, and I had to exercise restraint to not put my hand under my skirt.

You re a regular little tickle demon, aren t you? she said.

I pounced on her and grabbed her wrists, pinning her arms over her head and holding them there. I teased Lulu and she laughed and squirmed, but I easily kept her wrists pinned with my right hand. My left hand ran up and down her soft, bare arms and her ticklish underarms. As I went from one underarm to the other, watching her pretty face contort with laughter, I started to feel an orgasm swirling through me. And what a glorious feeling it was!

I tickled Lulu until I started to get weak from pleasure and she broke loose. In a fog, I heard her say, Now you re gonna get it. I found myself getting pinned down with my wrists over my head. I was wearing a tank top with a short sleeved blouse over it, and soon I felt Lulu s hand creeping under my blouse and her fingers walking up my covered ribs. I jumped and laughed.

It occurred to me that I hadn t been tickled by anyone other than myself for a long time. It really, really tickled, and as soon as her fingers reached the bare skin of my underarm, I squealed with excitement. My orgasm came fast and furiously as I continued to giggle uncontrollably.

Suddenly I found myself being released. Had enough? Lulu asked, as she stood up.

Yes, I said, my panties soaking and my vagina throbbing. For now, anyway.

I recently joined an aerobics class, and I find myself being turned on by the women in my class. At night I think about their gorgeous bodies and soft, bare underarms, which I just know are ticklish. I masturbate in my sleeveless bodysuit and tickle myself under the arms as I stare into the mirror.

Well, that s my story. This is not a joke. It actually feels good to talk about it, and who knows? My letter might trigger some responses from other women who love to tickle and be tickled. It could happen.

Ms. Annie C., Fargo, North Dakota


It has been some time since I saw a really good tickle letter in your publication, so maybe this contribution from a horny, ticklish wife will be well received. Right from the start, my sexual fantasies have been laughable, mainly because tickling was nearly always the main theme of my desire. In my first apartment, I used to masturbate feverishly while listening to the girl who lived in the place next to mine laughing hysterically while her boyfriend tickled her ribs mercilessly. With my fertile imagination, I fantasized that he was fingering me instead. But now, at thirty four, I have come to understand that I simply share many of the same cravings expressed by other contributors to Variations.

For the further edification of your readers, I have long, curly blonde hair and what I think is a pretty face. My skin is soft and nicely tanned in the summer. I have a good figure and am married to a wonderful man who is also into erotic tickling.

One day, for example, I returned from work early to hear the sound of wild, helpless laughter coming from the living room. The noise was so loud that the participants did not hear my entry. I peeked around the corner and saw my husband, who was then my boyfriend, straddling my attractive girlfriend from next door, to whom I had revealed Allen s predilection for tickling. I wasn t sure just how long this escapade had been going on. But I could see that Allen had a boner clearly outlined against the crotch of his jeans, where Sonia kept bucking into him to avoid his relentless rib tickling. Instead of becoming angry, I watched, utterly entranced, and as I did, my panties became wet.

Before long I knew we would all need some relief. So I walked in, much to their astonishment. While Sonia gasped for breath and Allen fumbled for an explanation, I crouched down near Sonia s ankles and proceeded to remove her running shoes and socks. Then I joined in the fun! I tickled Sonia with my long red fingernails. The sensation of my thin, blade like nail tips rippling over her warm, hypersensitive soles and toes must have been truly maddening. Soon her girlish laughter reverberated through the room once more. We let Sonia go about five minutes later and laughed about the whole thing over coffee. That night in bed, our lovemaking was so intense that Allen and I realized just how much the situation had turned us both on.

We both work, and because we re often away from home on business, neither of us is a stranger to tickle affairs. Some of them we tell each other during intercourse to enhance our lovemaking. I will share with you a little tale I told my husband while I had tied him to our bedposts. As I told him this, you must realize, I was teasing him with my feet. First I caressed his penis with my toes through my red, high heeled strappy sandals until he had a firm erection. When he was ready to burst, I began my confession. Allen is very jealous at the thought of other men tickling me, especially on the feet however, it gives him great sexual satisfaction. Now for the story:

After a marketing conference, one of our company s sales crew, whom Allen has met and jealously regarded and who is also very handsome, invited me up to his hotel room for a few drinks. I wouldn t ordinarily do such a thing, and would have declined were it not for the manner in which his eyes had been lingering at my ankles all day. Every time I dangled my pump from my toes, his eyes would feast on the sight. This made me very horny, and later in the day, I began smiling at him whenever I caught him staring.

Once I let my shoe slide off entirely, then lightly scratched my instep with the heel of the shoe, mainly for Chet s benefit. When I glanced in his direction, he was staring again. I smiled, looked down at my stockinged foot, and then smiled directly at him. His embarrassment was quite evident, as our game had proceeded to a more open level. It was clear to me that like Allen, Chet was a leg man, with special emphasis on the feet. I became aroused wondering how his wife would feel if she knew that her attractive husband was nursing a hard on caused by savoring my pretty little feet.

Up in Chet s room, after a drink, I mentioned that my shoulders ached from sitting in those hard chairs all day. He started rubbing my shoulders, and I began coaxing him into going lower down my back. By the time he reached my sides, probably because of the sexual tension we were feeling, I started laughing. He tickled more vigorously, and now he had my horribly ticklish ribcage within his clutches. He probed, counting ribs. I tried to pry his strong hands away, but I was too weak from laughing. After a minute or so, he gripped both of my wrists with his left hand and held them, viselike, over my head. Then he devilishly drew his index finger down toward my right armpit from the elbow. I screamed like a banshee!

This went on for about ten minutes. Chet tickled lightly up and down the insides of my upper arms and down into the armpits, occasionally allowing me a chance to rest when I had caught my breath, he would begin the torture again.

Chet proved to be an expert foot tickler, too. His technique wavered between a raucous tickling session for shorter moments and erotic foreplay. He traced adoringly the crinkly lines of my soles, which were visible through my sheer stockings. He played artfully under my toes. And he drew a series of figure eights with his index finger along my arches. Just when I thought I could take no more, he would allow me to rest by gently kissing my stockinged feet. Then the intensity would build again, and I would soon be laughing uproariously while at the same time striving to keep my foot steady for him.

All this was driving me crazy! I was so wet that I wanted to fuck him, but I realized that it would be better to masturbate later, on my own. It seemed to me that Chet was stroking himself through his pants, although except for my shoes, we remained fully clothed. In fact, he came quickly after that, although he tried to hide the fact.

My husband had heard this story before, but by now he was ready to burst. So I stopped massaging his cock and balls with my sexy feet and moved to the foot of the bed. I removed his socks and proceeded to tickle him until I forced a confession out of him: that he would like to see me tickled in such a fashion. He was laughing uncontrollably, for he was ready to come, and at times like these, he seems even more ticklish than me.

I wasn t through with him yet. I told him that the following weekend, I was going to pay a visit to the shoe salon, where I know a very handsome salesman who likes to flirt with me. While fitting me for shoes, he will caress my ankle, and when no one else is around, tell me that my feet are pretty. I try to maintain my composure as he gently tickles the bottoms of my feet. He asks me out for dates, even though he knows I m married. While stroking Allen s throbbing erection, I teasingly wonder out loud what would happen if the shoe salesman and I went out together. Allen quickly gushed all over himself.

So, reader, surely you too must have tickle stories to share. Allen and I would like to read about other tickling fanatics techniques.

Ms. Tamara W., Toledo, Ohio

My Ticklish Tammy

So when did tickling games become part of our sex life? I think it can be traced directly to that rainy afternoon when my girlfriend Tammy and I were playing video games. She was soundly beating me, and wanted to make it into a competition.

What shall we play for? I asked innocently.

Tammy got that devilish look in her eye that means only one thing: some wild times are ahead. How about the loser has to do whatever the winner says? she suggested. It was clear she didn t mean that the loser had to take out the garbage or clean the bathtub. The girl had sex on her mind.

We agreed that anything would go. Now, Tammy and I had been living together for a few months, after going together for about a year. Our sex life was heated and very often animalistic we had tried a variety of things, including oral sex, anal sex, some role playing and making love in some odd places, like on top of the kitchen table and in the neighbors kids tree fort. As spicy as that may sound, this rainy afternoon would end up taking us to a different plateau.

Given the proper incentive, I sharpened my skills and beat Tammy three out of five. She set down her joystick, held out her arms and said, You win! I m at your mercy!

Tammy had no idea that I longed to tie her spread eagled to the bed and tickle her mercilessly until she shrieked, first in laughter, then in orgasm.

Tammy s Asian American, five six, 110 pounds with long, shapely legs, hypnotic olive green eyes, and the most adorable grapefruit size breasts, which I lavish with attention any chance I can get. The thought of this foxy little nymph trussed up and available to my tantalizing torture was a fantasy that stoked the fires of my imagination. But, since Tammy was only twenty two and I was the first big romance in her life, I had been hesitant to bring up such a kinky idea. She had now presented me with the opportunity on a silver platter.

Anything? Did you say anything? I asked her, my cock hardening like quicklime.

Anything! she repeated, pulling her sweatshirt off over her head and causing her braless tits to jiggle.

Then come with me, I said. She hopped into the bedroom ahead of me, bounced onto the bed, pulled off her jeans and then shimmied out of her panties while I tried to figure out what I would use to tie her up. My eyes alighted on two pairs of pantyhose Tammy had thrown into the wastebasket. I took out a pair of scissors and snipped them each in half, giving me four sleeves of nylon that were perfect for my needs.

What are you doing? Tammy inquired, peeling off her socks and wiggling her delicious tootsies.

I d like to tie you to the bed and tickle you, then fuck you until your eyes are crossed, I stated quite plainly.

Tammy s eyes widened noticeably. I half expected an end to the game right then and there. Tammy is quite ticklish, and whenever I tried to tickle her in the past she was quite adamant about my stopping. She claimed it made her wet her panties.

You can tie me up, Tammy said absent mindedly, running her fingers through her silky black pubic hair. But you know I can t stand to be tickled.

I was ready to agree with her and settle for some bondage fun when she added, As long as you stop if I ask you to.

I agreed to that, and we decided on a code word she would say if she truly wanted me to stop. Then she could be free to scream Stop or Please, no in the heat of passion even if she didn t really want the fun to cease. I told Tammy to spread out, and she giggled as she complied, her limbs pointing in four different compass directions. I methodically tied knots around both wrists and both ankles, then secured said joints to the bedposts.

I stood back to admire my handiwork. Tammy was tittering away, unaware perhaps of the real laughter she was about to experience. Her fingers and toes were wiggling in anticipation. I decided that those toes, those perfect toes, ten little morsels of caramel candy that I loved to munch, would be the first portions of her body to endure my tickling.

I sat on the edge of the bed and studied her toes. Of all the women I ve been with over the years, Tammy s are truly the most exquisite. There is not a callus to be found on the soft, cool skin of her soles, and her toes nestle together like a harmonious family, none of them protruding beyond their allotted space, so the shape of her foot is a graceful curve.

I took the right one in my hand and began a gentle stroking of the sole, hoping that it was so light as to be practically imperceptible. Tammy flexed her foot and then scrunched it, the toes curling inward. She chortled and then bit her lower lip, looking into my eyes, daring me to go on. I continued this line of action, delighting in her smooth skin, glorying as I felt tremors shoot up her leg and her increasingly fidgety hips rock the mattress.

Eventually she couldn t hold back and laughed out loud, an explosion of sound that would have been perfect for a laugh track. All my fingers were now dancing on the soles of her feet, pinching and kneading, like spiders doing the Watsui. As she began to laugh steadfastly, she lifted her hips from the mattress. Her puckered cunt was now six inches off the bed and aimed straight at me. For a split second I was tempted to dive right in and park my tongue among its folds, but I had more work to do. It was now time to suck those toes.

Tammy was winded from my finger assault and was still laughing and panting when I slipped my lips over her left big toe. Her foot jerked in my mouth, but I took a firm grip on it and held it still. Her head rose and flopped back into the pillow. Oh, Gordon, that tickles so much! She twitched as if my touch was electrified, and I smiled inwardly. This was going to be fun.

I sucked each toe in turn, spending equal time and devotion on them. Tammy wasn t laughing now, she was tossing and turning as much as her restraints allowed her, breathing erratically and telling me how strange it felt. This is so weird! she shrieked, but then she added, but it feels so good!

When I had taken my fill of her pearly digits, I stood and removed my clothing. Tammy had been reduced to a quivering captive, her chest rising and falling with each desperate breath she took. Fuck me, Gordon, she implored me. I m as hot as a firecracker. Fuck me with that big cock. Fill me up.

Hearing a lithe young woman like Tammy beg for a fucking was indeed stimulating, but I wasn t going to fuck her yet. At least, not her pussy.

Naked, I tapped my hard cock against her feet. Ah, the exquisite sensation of cock flesh against the soles of a woman s feet! The texture of the skin on the feet and the cock is very compatible, producing pleasure in both participants. Tammy instinctively clutched at my cock with her toes.

Yeah, jerk me off with your toes, I told her, yielding to her ministrations. Somehow she gripped me with the first and second toes of her feet, the stubby pincers grabbing hold and stroking me to kingdom come. God, yes! I m going to come all over your toes, it s going to drip all over your dainty little feet. My prophecy was correct, for seconds later I exploded. My first squirt landed up on her thigh, but later volleys ran down her toes to her ankles. It couldn t possibly get any better than that.

Tammy was now as ferocious as a caged tiger, for she had yet to reach orgasm. I untied her and she threw me on my back, straddling my face with her drenched cunt. I took one big lick, starting at her ass and ending at her clitoris. That nearly threw her off the bed, but she stayed on to feel my tongue writhing up into her creaming pussy. Grabbing hold of the headboard, she humped my face as I held her asscheeks tightly. Moments later it was all over with Tammy convulsing in ecstasy, her juices coating my lips and chin.

We collapsed in a heap, savoring the pungent smells of two people who have just had hot, sweaty sex. Tammy told me that being tied up had been quite pleasurable, and that she hadn t realized her feet had such a direct connection with her genitalia. When she asked if we could do it again sometime, I said, What do you think?

Tammy took to going barefoot a lot, so that at the drop of a hat I could give her a good tickling. One day I was sitting on the sofa, watching TV, when she strolled by wearing cutoff jeans, a halter top and nothing else. I asked her to sit in my lap. When she did, I quickly flipped her over so her face was in the cushions and her feet were at my disposal. I wrapped one arm around her ankles to keep them pushed together, and with my free hand I commenced to dial long phone numbers on her writhing peds. She was jerking like a tuna in a fishing boat, and it took all my might to keep her feet in my hands. Before I was done, we had rolled onto the floor, and several times she nearly kicked me in the face. When she couldn t take anymore, she broke free, unzipped her shorts, kicked them into the far corner of the room and started fingering her clitoris.

Take out your cock, she said, her eyes glinting fierce with lust.

A reasonable request. Seconds later she was sitting in my lap, and as we sucked on each other s tongue she squatted on my erection, slamming her hips down repeatedly. I pushed her halter up to her armpits and ran my fingertips over her nipples, which were ringed with goose bumps. We both came with a bang.

Perhaps our most exotic tickling experiment took place on a picnic. We were in a secluded copse of dogwood trees in the far reaches of my country estate. We sat lazily on a blanket, snacking on gourmet goodies while basking in the sunshine. Spying a jar of honey in the picnic basket, I got an idea.

Get naked, I told Tammy. She was already barefoot, of course, and eagerly stood and stripped. I told her that she was my prisoner, and that she was going to give me the secret information, or I would tickle her.

You ll have to catch me first, she taunted and then began to run around me in circles. We were in a spot far from inquiring eyes, but had anybody chanced upon the sight of me lumbering after this naked, nubile creature, slowed down by the bulge in my pants, he or she would have busted out laughing.

I finally caught Tammy and threw her over my shoulder. She half heartedly pounded on my back, demanding that I let her go, that this was a breach of the Geneva convention. I silently laid her facedown on the blanket and tied her wrists behind her back with my belt. Then I straddled her cute little butt, facing her feet, which I lifted toward me. I took Tammy s panties and wrapped them around her ankles. Then I grabbed the jar of honey and began dripping the gooey goodness all over her toes. Now I was ready for dessert.

Tammy bucked beneath me, squealing with laughter as I licked and sucked each toe clean. Simultaneously, I was lightly scratching the backs of her thighs with my fingernails. I m going insane! she howled.

By the time her toes were sparkling clean, Tammy was exhausted. I retied her wrists above her head, rolled her over, and poured some more honey on her pussy. By the time I had finished that dish, she had climaxed twice, resoundingly. We were out of honey by that point, so I provided her with some of my own sugary liquid, which she gulped down zealously.

Finally Tammy got her revenge. I had come in late one night from a bachelor party, and Tammy was a little annoyed with me, as I was groggy from spirits and fell into bed with a crash. I slept straight through the night and didn t wake until I felt the sun on my face and cramps in my arms and legs. My eyes popped open, and I realized that I was now her captive, as my extremities were tied to the bedposts with neckties. Tammy was nowhere to be seen, so I called to her. I pulled at my restraints, but she had tied them securely. I was her prisoner.

Into the room she came, wearing the pink baby doll nightie I love so much. In her hand was a feather duster. I knew what was to come. My cock stiffened.

Ready, you bad boy? Tammy said imperiously, scolding me. Are you ready to be tickled? You re not ticklish, are you, Gordon? She seemed to be enjoying herself immensely as she lowered her face to mine, bit my earlobe and slipped her tongue in my ear. I squirmed.

You never thought that maybe I d tickle you, did you? she asked gaily. I kept mum, wishing not to incriminate myself. Tammy cracked her knuckles her fingernails were painted blood red. Let s see where your weak spot is.

It turned out to be my underarms and ribcage. Tammy s nails or talons, as I came to think of them scratched my trembling flesh unmercifully. I laughed until tears rolled down my face, until my cock was diamond hard.

I begged her to stop, but she wasn t going to give an inch, nor did I really want her to. I wanted to see how far she would go and how long I could endure this wicked torture. She hadn t even used the duster yet. This cock is dusty! she proclaimed and proceeded to treat it like a tchotchke on a mantel, dusting it lightly, making my brain fry. My cock was doing a little dance, straining for some warm pocket in which it could churn and explode. Instead it was brushing against feathers.

Does Gordon s cock want to be held? Tammy teased, taking it in her small hand and stroking lightly. I thought she was ready to suck me off, but no. What I got instead was a display of how it feels to have silky black Asian hair swish over one s bloated cock. This was a new one and a trick I knew we would try again. Tammy s head bobbed and weaved as she buffed my erection with her hair. Finally she wrapped coils of it around the girth of my shaft and pumped me. I was a madman, pulling at my bonds and crying out savagely as I erupted, my semen spilling into her tresses and dripping down her clutching fingers.

Now I have to wash my hair, Tammy said with a chuckle. She hopped off the bed and into the bathroom, leaving me a tied up wreck. As I lay there, my slick cock lolling against my leg, my muscles aching from their akimbo state, I said a silent prayer of thanks, grateful that I found a girl who was so eager to share my penchant for kinky games. Tammy is truly a lady who can give as well as she takes, and more fun than a barrel full of monkeys.


I picked up your December 91 issue titled Tickled Pink and read two letters that seemed to be extracted right out of my fantasies. One was from a woman who loves to be tickled under her arms and the other was from a guy whose girlfriend enjoys being tickled there, too.

I have seen many letters on the subject of tickling printed by your great magazine as early as 1978. They were largely from fans of foot tickling. I am an underarm tickling fanatic and I absolutely hit the ceiling when I saw those two letters.

Ever since I can remember, I have loved the sight of a woman s smooth, hairless underarm and felt the intense desire to tickle her there. As I got older, I realized that I would get a huge erection at the sight of a pretty woman being tickled on her underarm. Happily, I eventually discovered the orgasms I could achieve from tickling a woman there while we made love.

I am incredibly aroused at the sight of a woman in a sleeveless dress, and although I absolutely love the sight of a woman s naked body, I always fantasize about tickling a woman who s fully dressed in an evening gown or a sleeveless shirt. I was blown away by the phrase, She showed me her smooth armpit in one of your letters. I never thought anyone had the same feelings that I do about the sensuality of a woman s armpit and the enormous tickling possibilities therein.

I have had girlfriends who were amused by my tickling fetish and who would wear sleeveless clothes to tease me, but they eventually got tired of being tickled because it was my fetish and not theirs. It became agony to these really ticklish girls, and they simply had to end the relationship after a while because I couldn t keep my fingers out of their underarms.

Other girls have responded with great enthusiasm. I have delighted in tying a girlfriend s arms way over her head and fucking her like crazy, tickling and kissing her smooth underarms and coming to her girlish giggles. My intense tickling urges have caused me to do some pretty spur of the moment things. Like the experience I had recently, for example.

It was a warm spring evening and I was riding the subway home. I had a seat, although many people were standing. Suddenly, this gorgeous brunette wearing a sleeveless midriff top and ruffled miniskirt was standing right in front of me. It was Hillary, a friend of mine from work. Hillary and I sometimes had lunch together. She was something of a flirt, and I would flirt right back. On several occasions she caught me staring at her bare underarms, and while I never came right out and told her of my raging desire to tickle her silly, I sensed she knew what I was thinking.

Anyway, she smiled down at me and said, Hi, Iggy. I smiled back as she reached high over her head to grasp the pole. My cock grew in a matter of seconds and I felt like masturbating right there! I stared at her smooth armpit and imagined myself tickling it over and over. Her breasts were beautiful, round and firm, and her legs were long and smooth.

Finally, we arrived at my stop. My heart was pounding as I rose from my seat to get to the door. I was inches away from Hillary s underarm and sweet face. I could smell her perfume. My cock was bursting as I reached up and tickled her underarm with all the fingers of my right hand. She screeched and giggled, then swung around to confront her tickler. By then I was gone. The doors to the subway closed and I saw Hillary sitting in my seat. She was rubbing her hand over her tickled underarm and smiling out the window at me. She shook a finger at me as if to say, You naughty boy, but it was obvious she had gotten a kick out of the tickle. I masturbated like crazy that night.

I swear, I don t know why, but this underarm tickling thing is incredibly exciting, especially in the summer when I sit in the park and watch the girls go by. I love to see all the other great parts of a woman s body, but it s their underarms that drive me wild.

Mr. Iggy L., Queens, New York

Slap and Tickle

We re in a bit of a pickle, I told Josh early Sunday morning. In a bit of a what? he asked, grinning impishly, his fingers starting to move slowly toward me over the top of our comforter. I looked from his roaming hands to his handsome face, and caught a truly wicked look in his dark blue eyes. His full lips had twisted in a half smile that made my pulse race. God, he s good looking, and when he smiles at me like that, I always start to melt. Still, I swatted his hands away.

A pickle, I repeated forcefully, pulling the blankets up higher to ward him off. I forgot to check the calendar before agreeing to go to brunch with Steve and Suzanne.

So? Josh asked, his fingers continuing to inch closer and closer while I moved backward toward our brass headboard. I could easily guess what he was planning, and I found it difficult to continue my train of thought. My honey blonde hair fell into my eyes, and I shook my head back. My spine was pressed against the metal of the headboard. I had no place left to go.

So, I managed to continue after a moment, we re double booked. We re suppose to be meeting Jack and Randi across town for coffee two different couples at two different restaurants.

But what does that have to do with tickling? Josh asked, his fingers finally making contact with my body. He pulled the lightweight comforter away with a quick tug, and then began to run his fingertips up and down my ribs.

I was wearing only a thin silk chemise, the same beautiful blue as Josh s mesmerizing eyes. When I d slid on the slip like gown the previous evening, tickling had been the last thing on my mind. Now, Josh took full advantage of the skimpy nightie, his fingers seeming to be everywhere at once.

Although I made a half hearted attempt to squirm away, my athletic beau was too fast for me, pinning my slim form easily with his own body, and letting his fingertips spiral over the bare skin of my arms and chest, which was revealed by the thin spaghetti straps of the tiny nightgown. The sensation was both immediate and overwhelming. Josh knows precisely how to touch me to win the best results, and I was laughing in seconds.

Come on, Vanessa, he teased. What s our meal schedule got to do with tickling?

Nothing, I replied, in between giggles. It has nothing to do with tickling at all.

Then why are you laughing?

This wasn t fair. It was like being asked a question at the dentist, when you have no chance of responding. Josh s fingers were relentless, tracing designs along my rib cage through the silky material of my lingerie, before inching slowly toward the tender skin of my underarms. I kicked and squirmed, but that only served to put me further at his mercy as the sheets fell away from my body. No matter how hard I tried to get away, I was caught. Josh was far too well built for me to take him on in any actual physical match of strength, and I knew from experience that he wouldn t let up before he was done. I also knew that he wouldn t be done for a while, because my man adores tickling me. It s his favorite form of foreplay. And I must admit, it s my favorite, as well.

Why, Vanessa? he continued, taunting me. Why are you laughing?

Even if I d had an answer, there was no way to voice it. I was breathless from giggling and couldn t even speak. This is because Josh s fingertips had reached my number one weakness, and my whole body was shaking. Not just my body, in fact, but the very bed itself.

Well, if it has nothing to do with tickling . . .

Oh, God, I finally managed to squeak out. Oh, Josh

He started laughing, too, but not for the same reason I was. His chuckles came at my obvious pleasure. I could feel the heat in my face my cheeks were flushed, my whole body was shuddering, and my pussy . . . my pussy was so wet already, and we d only just started. I wondered when Josh would find that out for himself, when he would let those knowing fingertips of his work their way down, instead of up, and work their way between my thighs to discover how achingly aroused he d made me in mere moments.

Had he woken up with tickling on his mind? Or had I simply managed to give him the perfect opening with my statement of being in a pickle?

You know, you re so beautiful when you laugh, he crooned, still touching me, still teasing me, but doing so in such a pleasing manner that in spite of my playful protests, I had no desire for him to actually stop. If I d wanted actual relief, I d have used my safeword by now pink, the perfect word for any tickling aficionado and that word was far from spilling from my lips.

If I fantasize about being tickled while touching myself solo, it is enough to have me shuddering with a combination of nervousness and glee. When Josh actually tickles me, I am nearly overwhelmed by the sensation. I love every second, but find myself a little apprehensive as well because it makes me feel like I might lose all control.

Of course, that s Josh s ultimate goal. To strip me down to my most base level. To take me to that faraway place, that point of no return. And nobody knows better how to fulfill my fantasies than my kinky minded boyfriend. With the type of casual grace that only comes from being in top athletic shape, Josh moved his body on the bed, taking up position between my thighs. He never stopped his tickling, but now he added a new component to the action. His mouth searched out my panties, and he pressed his lips to my pussy through that satiny barrier, still tickling me all over with his hands.

The two sensations together had me flailing the opposite of the graceful way my partner moved. Yes, I reveled in the way his warm, wet mouth felt against me, even through my undies, but I was helpless from the way he tickled me. My whole body was on fire as shudder after shudder crashed through me.

You love it, Josh crooned, talking more to my pussy than to me. Look how wet you are.

I was still laughing, but I could feel the spark of arousal building steadily within me. Being tickled is the closest thing I can think of to actually becoming a glass of Champagne. Golden bubbles bursting within me, one after another. That sparkly, tingly sensation that rushes from tongue to nose to head. That is the feeling I crave when Josh works me over like this, and soon my laughter subsided into panting breaths, so harsh they were almost desperate sounding. I gripped Josh s thick black hair, holding him where I needed him, and he didn t seem to mind. He only stopped with the tickling long enough to roughly push my panties aside with his fingertips, and then his mouth was right back on me, flesh to flesh, as his fingers began to work that most tender skin at my inner thighs.

Oh, fuck, I groaned, arching and twisting. He could have offered me a million dollars to hold still, and I would have been unable to claim it. Money was nothing. Pleasure was everything.

Those sexy little circles of his tongue were echoed by his fingertips. A spiral here, a spiral there. I couldn t hold back. I pulled even harder on his hair, but Josh didn t admonish me. In fact, he didn t seem to feel me. He was obviously consumed by the business at hand, every so often letting his fingers slide up to my ribs once more, or down to the backs of my knees so that I yelped and kicked even harder.

I could feel my orgasm gathering strength, brewing stronger second by second, until suddenly it was as if all of that pleasure began to overflow. I came powerfully, still laughing, still squirming, amazed as always that the simple act of being tickled had brought me all the way to this point. Well, that combined with the luxury of Josh s mouth on my swollen, sopping pussy. Those two together get me every single time.

Although I was breathless from my orgasm, Josh didn t stop tickling me right away. He simply slowed down the rhythm, using his nails to trace along my body, scratching me the way one would treat a housecat rather than tickling me to tumultuous bliss. This was a breather, I understood, a temporary intermission, and I appreciated every second of it. I groaned and stretched, getting my breath back with effort, and then I just lay there, staring at him, waiting for whatever he had next in his bag of tricks.

But Josh wouldn t reveal his plans with words. He chose actions instead, reaching underneath the bed for the floral printed hat box that houses our sex toys. As soon as I saw what he was up to, I shifted on the sheets, even more turned on than I d been before. I had an idea of what Josh was looking for, and I shivered with a fresh wave of anticipation, wondering whether I had guessed correctly. Hoping against hope that I had.

In seconds, Josh sat upright in bed with a pair of handcuffs dangling from one hand and a pink feather in the other.

Are you game? I swallowed hard. Are you, Vanessa?

Yes, I answered, the word drawn out as an elongated sigh, a sexy whisper.

Then you know what to do.

He was right, I did. First, I took off my nightgown, pulling the luxurious, now damp material up and over my head. Then I hooked my thumbs into the waistband of my matching bikinis and slid the dripping wet undies down my legs. Josh grabbed the panties from me and inhaled deeply, smiling at the scent of me. Watching him drinking in my aroma sent a shiver through me. He closed his eyes, as if he was breathing in the scent of an exotic flower. Then he smiled and tossed away the panties, focusing his attention on me once more.

Ignoring the tremble in my limbs, I brought my hands over my head and Josh cuffed them to the brass railing of our headboard. Although I willingly allowed myself to be captured, my heart began to pound as soon as I heard the second click of steel on steel. There was nowhere to go now. No way to get free.

If I wanted my man to take pity on me, I d have to call out my safeword. I knew he would honor our deal, but then all the fun would end in a heartbeat.

Josh regarded me for a moment, taking his time and observing me with the eye of an erotic appraiser. He loves the way I look when I m bound to the bed, and adding in the tickling factor was like icing on the cake. And if I were the cake, then that confectionary pink feather was about to be the icing.

Where should I start? Josh asked, and my eyes widened. I was once more feeling that heady combo of nervousness mingled with arousal.

I don t know.

But where do you think?

I was breathing fast again, as fast as if I d returned from one of my early morning jogs. And all I d actually done so far that day was come.

My toes? I asked, cautiously.

Good idea, Josh said, shooting his winning smile at me. Your toes deserve the best, don t they, baby? He began with the lightest of touches, running that beautiful feather along the tops of my toes first, then down the soles of my feet. First the right one, then the left. He hadn t bound my ankles down. I could kick away, could even push him from me with my feet. But I did my best to behave, to stay still and be a good girl.

You knew I was going to do this, didn t you?

What? I asked, panting. What do you mean?

Look at your pretty little tootsies. We both stared at my feet.

Your toenails are the exact same pink as the feather.

I flushed instantly. I d had that thought when choosing the color at the nail salon, roaming over the wide variety of different choices: candy apple red, lake blue, deep violet, and then this gorgeous, fluffy pink. And Josh knew exactly the way my mind worked. There was no way to hide it. My blush gave me away.

You did, he insisted. You saw the pink in the bottle, and you imagined me spending the weekend tickling your tantalizing little toes.

Oh, God, I groaned, feeling the pleasure begin to build within me once more. What are you doing to me?

You know what I m doing.

Yes, but . . . I stammered, unable to finish the statement because Josh had bent back over the bed once more, reaching into our toy box for a second feather, and he was using both to travel up the insides of my legs, taking his time, as if we had all the time in the world.

And where now? Josh teased me, and I sucked in my breath, trying to stay steady, trying to tell him what I wanted. He hesitated, waiting for me to direct him. I knew I should keep quiet, that if I voiced my heart s desire, there would be no chance of him giving in to me. Not now. Not yet. Still, I couldn t keep the words from spilling free.

Tickle my pussy, I begged, but just as I d guessed, he didn t. He skirted over that throbbing triangle between my thighs, bringing the dainty feathers up my ribs instead, so that I thrashed on the bed, the handcuffs clanking rhythmically against the brass railing.

We re not even close to getting to your pussy, Josh admonished me. Look at all the other areas I d have to ignore. He used one feather to trace along the line of my jaw, and I tilted my head back, giving him access and loving the sensation of being stroked there. I wasn t laughing now. I was beyond that, in that place where all of my nerves felt concentrated at my core. Every part of my being was focused on the pleasure that Josh would or would not give to me.

As if he were a master artist painting a picture, as if the feathers were his brushes, Josh continued to work me. He drew those delicate pink feathers along my flat stomach so that my muscles crunched and contracted as I laughed. He ran the feathery fronds up and down the tender skin revealed by my current captive position. Tickling my wrists and the insides of my elbows, and then, once more, finding that weakness of all weaknesses, the area under my arms.

The laughter bubbled up again uncontrollably. The thrill of being tickled like that, both feathers working simultaneously, and the torment of knowing that I couldn t possibly get away, was incredible. With the chains on my wrists, I was captured until Josh took pity on me. But, truthfully, I had no desire to be free no desire for his pity, either. But in a certain way, Josh did give in to me.

You re ready, aren t you? he crooned softly.

I didn t dare respond. If I said I was, would he deny me even longer? I just stared at him, begging him with my large, brown eyes, pleading silently with my expression alone.

Yeah, baby, you re ready, he decided, answering his own question.

When he finally brought the feathers to my pussy, I felt transported. He used one and then the other, over and over, touching me so lightly at first I could hardly feel the pressure, then gradually working a bit firmer, so that the feathers played their magic over my swollen pussy lips and then into the wetness between. And that was it. That s all it took.

I was coming. Shaking, shuddering and pulling on that damn handcuff chain. As soon as Josh realized that he d taken me over the edge, he dropped the feathers. Because now was his turn. Now was his moment to revel in the exotic elation he d given me.

I could feel how hard he was as he slid inside me. He d gotten to this state from tickling alone. I hadn t touched him at all, except to yank on his hair. I hadn t stroked his cock, or kissed it with my lips, or licked it from tip to shaft. No, the rock hard pole I felt pounding within me was created entirely by the thrill of tickling me, and I loved that. He took me for a wild ride, my wrists still captured by the steel cuffs, but my legs free to wrap around him, holding him to me and gripping him tight.

I thought he would simply fuck me, snag his reward for the treats he d bestowed upon me, but I was wrong.

As Josh felt the waves of my climax subside, he began to let his fingers wander over me once more, sending brand new shivers throughout me, as if he d plugged me into an electric socket. My skin was so sensitive from the tickling I d already undergone. My muscles ached from laughing. And yet, there was nothing I could do except give in, weeping with the tears of laughter. Shaking uncontrollably, until I just couldn t stand any more stimulation, I was coming again. Coming so fucking hard.

Pink, I whispered. Oh, God, Josh. Pink, pink, pink . . .

But there was no longer a need to say it. Josh grabbed hold of my hips and groaned, shooting inside me, coming with the power of his pent up desire. He slammed his body against me.

Then he was done, and I was done. The bed was a wreck. The feathers were entirely destroyed, matted pink stubs instead of fanciful fluffs.

Gently, Josh unfastened the cuffs on my wrists and used his large hands to soothe the gently chafed skin.

Let s blow off both, he suggested, bending to kiss me.

Both of what?

When Josh starts to tickle me, my thoughts disappear like smoke. I couldn t begin to remember what I d been talking about.

Josh laughed. I thought you said you d double booked us, he reminded me. You said we were in a pickle . . .

Oh, no, I sighed, languid on the bed, all energy evaporated. I think we were in a tickle . . . And Josh kissed me, laughing into my parted lips as if he was the one who d been tickled. Ah, but that was an idea for next time.

Tickling Her Ivories

When you work in a music store, the main topic of conversation is, understandably, music. But usually the questions I hear as I maneuver through the crowded shelves of instruments and racks of sheet music are along the lines of: “What’s your favorite song?” or “Who’s your favorite singer?”

The staff tends to make fun of these clich d queries. We hear them on a daily basis. So I was surprised and elated when a deep, male voice whispered in my ear, “Which rock star would you most like to fuck?” I sucked in my breath upon hearing the question. “Come on, Camille. Are you a Lenny Kravitz girl? Or more of a John Mayer type? Or maybe you’d like to see Pink’s pink.” Giggling, I spun around to face Jesse, my adorable, panther like coworker. He had his head tilted, waiting for my answer, but I didn’t want to answer.

What I wanted was to kiss Jesse gorgeous, green eyed Jesse. We were standing so close together, I could have easily wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him down to me. I’d fantasized countless times about what his lips would feel like on mine, of how his skin would taste and what his cock would look like.

I don’t know if Jesse is the answer to every woman’s fantasy, but he’s definitely the answer to mine. He has that long, thick, glossy hair that suits a true rock and roller and colorful tattoos dancing along the cut muscles of his arms, tattoos I’d like to trace with the tips of my fingers or maybe my tongue. He wore a silver guitar pick on a chain around his neck and leather cuffs that made my heart thump a throbbing bass line.

“Tell me,” he urged. “Which rock star would you invite into your bed?

I wondered if he could see the nervousness in my eyes. The answer to his question was simple, because the answer was Jesse. Since his first day on the job, he had done far more than reorganize the wall of consignment CDs, build a new case to house the antique accordions, and create an interactive bulletin board where music students and teachers could make the perfect match. More important than his many tasks as a music store clerk combined was the fact that he’d starred in all of my nighttime fantasies, and a few of my daydreams, as well.

When he began working the same shift as mine at the store, I couldn’t believe my luck. In days, I learned he was far more than a pretty face. I loved watching him help customers and how carefully he strummed the strings or beat the skins or tickled the ivories. When he ran his hands over our electronic keyboards, he’d create a burst of music that would turn heads in the store. Yes, he had talent. I could see why he was often asked to fill in at gigs around town, but all I could focus on was how those fingertips would feel playing me.

Quietly, I switched from wearing my standard concert t shirt and skinny jeans to work. I began conjuring the style of my favorite rocker girl icons: Blondie, Joan Jett, Liz Phair. My makeup became more dramatic. There was a lot more leather and a lot less faded cotton to my outfits. Within a week, Jesse started to flirt with me. After two weeks, he asked me that startling question, which he followed up by inviting me out with him. I didn’t even wait to see when or where. I simply nodded, and said, “Yes, please.”

He grinned. I guess he wasn’t expecting such an immediate response. “Be ready to tell me which rock star you’d fuck,” he teased. And then in a softer voice, he added, “And which one you’d let tickle you.”

I think my jaw dropped, like in a cartoon when a character is surprised beyond belief.

“I think you already know that,” I countered, drawing confidence from the way his gaze kept roving from the tips of my patent leather knee high Docs to the plunge of my corset style halter dress.

Jesse smiled, and I gathered myself back together as quickly as possible, but his words lingered in my mind. I’d never considered tickling to be an erotic act, but after that moment, I continuously dreamt about him tickling me, of him making me squirm and giggle. I thought of him catching me in a corner of the store and running his fingertips under my arms, behind my neck, along my ribs. Somehow, I knew what his hands would feel like, and I was certain the sensation would make me wetter than anything else.

Although we’d set our date for the following Friday night, we didn’t actually go out. Ours was one of those dates that occur when you’ve been flirting so intensely that you can’t even stand the thought of another minute without fucking. Except, Jesse could. He could stand it. In fact, he could do far more than that. I’d waited all day for him to tear off my clothes and tickle me. Instead, he sat me on his lap on his sofa and wrapped his arms tightly around my body. “Tell me more about what you like, about what you fantasize about at night, when you’re all by yourself.”

I didn’t know how to respond. I could feel that his cock was hard, and I had so many ways of responding: I think about blowing you. I imagine sucking you. I dream about fucking you. But Jesse was looking at me in such an intense way, I couldn’t make my mouth work.

What do you like when boys kiss you?” he asked. “Do you like it hard and fast? Or soft and slow?” He kissed me without waiting for my response. His lips on mine made all thoughts evaporate. Jesse kissed me dangerously slow and left me in that state of hazy sweetness. When he moved back, I leaned into him, craving more, but he said, “Tell me what you want, Camille. I want to hear you say it.”

I took a deep breath. I wanted to tell him about all of my tickling fantasies, but I didn’t know how. I had never done this before. “I want . . . ” I started, but then I lost my nerve.

He gripped my wrists in his hands. “Would you let me tie you down?”

“Oh, yeah.”

He kissed my neck. He kissed my chest. He brought his mouth right up to my ear. “I want you to be totally still on my bed, unable to get away, when I start to tickle you. Would you let me do that?”

“God, yes.” I practically tripped over myself getting to my feet. Jesse laughed as he led me to his room, to a giant brass bed that was covered with black sheets.

I was so glad that I’d dressed with forethought. What exactly was my forethought? That I’d like to be in an outfit as easy to get off as it was to get on. I was wearing a black tank dress, striped thigh highs and boots that zipped up the inside of each calf. While Jesse watched, I undid the zippers, kicked off the boots, and then pulled my dress over my head.

“Leave the stockings,” he said softly. “Lose the rest.” I obeyed with a smile on my face, undoing my bra and stepping out of my bikinis. I had known, somehow, that he’d like the goth girl look, and I’d been on the money.

He positioned me in the center of his mattress, with my legs spread wide apart, ankles chained to the footboard and my wrists cuffed to the curled iron swirls of his headboard. And then he began to kiss me again. As he did, his hair swept over me. I started to tremble. I had never felt anything that decadent before. His hair was silky soft, and when he moved his head, I bucked against him. My heart raced each time he tickled my skin with his long, flowing tresses. I’d imagined him tickling me the way he tickled his fingers over the piano keys at the store, but I hadn’t imagined a sensation anywhere near as sexy as this.

“I can tell from the way you move how much you like this,” he said knowingly. Then he did more than tickle me with his hair. He began to use the balls of his fingertips. I had watched him demonstrate guitars for customers before. I had seen the way he could pluck the strings. Was I his instrument now?

Jesse seemed to be thinking the same thing. “Whenever I strum one of the guitars on display,” he said, “I think of touching you. I always try to look professional, but in my mind, I imagine that I’m running my fingers over your sweet body.”

As he spoke, he showed me what he meant.

“I pretend that I’m tickling under your arms. Behind your neck. Between your legs. Mostly between your legs. You have no idea how many hours I’ve spent thinking about running my fingers over your clit and nether lips.”

I did have an idea, because I’d lost hours playing with myself while imagining nearly the same thing. But I couldn’t tell him that, because I could not find my voice to speak. As he was talking, he moved to my ribs, and his fingertips danced over me there. It was a deliciously ticklish torture, but it was not a torture that I ever hoped would end. I wanted more. Greedy girl that I am, I wanted two things both to crest on the explosive pleasure he was currently giving me, and for him to touch my pussy. But that wasn’t where we were yet.

If we were playing a song, that was the bridge. We were at the hook.

“You know, I saw you through the window,” Jesse confessed as he unfastened the bonds surrounding my ankles and slipped off my stockings, one after the other. Then, once he had my ankles securely bound again, his fingers slid underneath my knees and stroked the tender flesh there, and I started to giggle in earnest. “Oh, you like that,” he observed, and replaced his fingertips with his tongue, tracing an invisible roadmap along the insides of my thighs as I squirmed and gasped.

“What do you mean you saw me?” I asked when I managed to draw in a breath.

“There was a ‘Now Hiring’ sign above the door. And when I peeked in the store, I saw you. You’re the sole reason I went for the job.”

When he said “sole reason,” he moved to the edge of the bed. I knew where he was going. The bottoms of my feet were bare and ready for him. I looked down and saw my cherry colored toenail polish, saw the glittering toe ring I’d chosen, and saw Jessie grinning impishly. For a moment, he focused there, using his fingertips to trace daring patterns along the bottoms of my feet. He alternated pressure, so that right when I grew accustomed to one sensation, he played me something new and made me breathless.

This was how he worked my whole body. He kept me completely off balance, first tickling so that I was laughing until tears welled in my eyes. Then he gave in to licking and kissing, so that my pussy grew wetter by the second. My breathing went ragged, and I clenched my eyelids shut. I didn’t know which sensation I liked better, and Jesse didn’t give me time to even think. As soon as I began coasting on the pleasure of his tongue, he resumed his tickling games, finding a new spot on my body upon which to focus his intense affection.

“You made working really difficult for me,” Jesse said in between licks of his tongue and strokes of his wiggling fingers.

Even though I wanted to listen to what Jesse was saying, and to answer him, I couldn’t help laughing. He’d tied me too tightly to let me wriggle much, but I still tensed against the bindings as he tickled his way down to my inner thighs.

But apparently he wanted to do more than use his fingers. I heard him rustling in a drawer by the bed, and I turned my head and opened my eyes which widened as he brought out a tool that looked like a miniature feather duster.

“Oh, no,” I said.

“Oh, yes,” Jesse responded.

He slid down to the end of the bed once more and began to run the pink feathers over the soles of my feet. “Oh, God!” I squeaked.

“You like that?”

“No!” I said. Then, “Yes,” then, “no.”

“You can’t seem to make up your mind,” Jesse observed wryly. “Let’s try the feathers somewhere else, shall we?”

I stared, shivering, as Jesse silently debated where to drag the toy next. I could see him thinking about the perfect location. Should he dust the tips of the feathers over my knees? Should he trace those pretty pale plumes along my thighs? He took his time before lowering those delicate little feathers closer and closer to my chest.

While I groaned and twisted on the mattress, he brushed the dainty feathers over my left nipple, then my right. I wanted his mouth on my breasts. I wanted his cock inside me. The feeling of being tickled like that made me crave something firmer, something harder. I looked into Jesse’s eyes, and he seemed to understand what I was telling him.

But he ignored me and continued to talk.

“There was that one day when you were wearing that Sex Pistols t shirt, a red one, with tight jeans and knee high black boots. And you had your hair up in pigtails.”

I wanted to pay attention to what he was saying, but I couldn’t stop laughing.

“I’d never seen anyone look so cute and dangerous at the same time. I swear. I used my break to jack off in the bathroom.”

I blushed and turned my face away.

“But then I couldn’t tell if you wanted me to ask you out or not. You seemed sort of aloof almost distant.”

“Shy,” I managed to stammer.

“That’s what I guessed. Because I did catch you looking at me.”

He paused in his tickling and resumed licking. I couldn’t believe how good that felt, his mouth on my nipples, first one and then the other. The wetness on my erect nipples had me groaning and begging. What I wanted more than anything in the world right then was his mouth on my pussy more specifically, his tongue on my clit. But just when I sucked in my breath to ask him, to tell him, to beg him, he started talking again. I got the game in a rush. When he was tickling me, he talked. When he was kissing and licking, I simply basked in the glow.

Then he began to do both at the same time. I knew he was talented! He held the duster with one hand and brushed the feathers over my skin. And he locked his lips to my clit and began to suck and lick me in earnest.

The feathers were the most indulgent sensation I’d ever experienced. The feeling was light and airy, yet devious and indecent. As soon as I’d catch my breath from one bout of giggles, I’d be lost in a fresh set. What was almost unreal was how turned on it made me. I don’t know if it was simply because I was tied down or the combination of all of those feelings, but suddenly I realized I was going to come.

“Do it,” Jesse urged, realizing the same thing at the same moment.

“Stop tickling me,” I begged.

“No fucking way.”

He tickled and licked me all the way through my climax. I cried out and bucked as hard as I could against the bindings. But I went nowhere except nirvana.

Afterward, Jesse dropped the feathers and reached for the handcuff key dangling on a blood red ribbon next to his bed. He unfastened the cuffs and released my hands and feet. Then he resumed touching me. He still ran his fingertips over my body, but lightly now, more to stroke than to tickle.

“I always thought of you as an instrument,” he said with a grin.

“Which one?” I managed to stutter.


I visualized the layout of the music store. Where did Jesse hang out the most? I could see him smacking his palms on the skins of the bongo drums. But I wasn’t a drum. I imagined him lifting the highly polished, very expensive cobalt blue electric guitar that hung over the cash register, but no too modern. Finally, I thought about the piano at the back of the store. Not one of the electric keyboards, but an old relic. No fancy baby grand, but a simple upright. I’d seen Jesse sitting at the piano after work, playing old blues songs, his eyes closed and his fingers dancing.

As I was imagining Jesse playing one of those old songs, he stood and began taking off his clothes. I gazed at him as he stripped off his black t shirt, lost his boots and jeans and tore off his boxers. He climbed back on the bed entirely naked and then waited, poised over me. I knew what he wanted.

“The piano,” we said at the same time, and then he was in me.

The feel of his cock penetrating my pussy after all I’d been through so far was an immediate relief. He didn’t play around. There were no light, tickling strokes, no gentle rotations. He drove his cock so fiercely inside me that I felt as if he was trying to cleave me in two. Then he slid back out, but not all the way out, just to the tip before slamming back in.

I was so wet and juicy that my pussy made a slippery sound each time he thrust inside me. But when I least expected it, he slipped his cock all the way out of me. “Wait! Don’t!”

“Shhh,” Jesse murmured, and then he started to fuck my clit, sliding the length of his cock between my swollen pussy lips. It felt unreal. The thickness of his cock pressing right against my clit had me humming with pleasure. Right when I was on the very cusp, Jesse drove his dick back inside me. I came on his cock, came in a rush, feeling as if I’d become an entire symphony with music coursing through my whole body.

Jesse seemed to be thinking of music as well. He was definitely working me to a rhythm in his head. He came on the tail end of my climax, grinding into me and still using his fingertips to tickle me slowly and gently under my arms and along my ribs, before finally coming to rest on top of me, so that we were one.

After a few beats to catch our breaths, Jesse moved aside and looked down at me. “So,” he said, “you never told me. Which rock star would you invite into your bed?”

I smiled at him. “Nobody but you.”