When Marshall arrived home with an enormous bouquet in his arms I thought Roses! I love roses and Marshall knows that perfectly well. After seven blissful years of marriage, he has memorized nearly all of my favorite things. He knows that I like to stay up late on Friday nights, and love to luxuriate in lazy Saturday mornings. He knows that I take my coffee black, as strong and rich as I can possibly get it. He knows that my favorite pie is homemade apple and that my favorite flavor of ice cream is French Vanilla, and while those might be fairly predictable choices, he also knows that my sexual tastes are anything but run of the mill.
You see, the most important thing that Marshall knows about me is that my biggest erotic turn on is tickling. I love every single part of being tickled. I even adore the time period before being tickled, because anticipation is major foreplay for me. When Marshall says that he s going to tickle me, I get as turned on as when he says he wants to make love. I imagine every second of it beforehand, every wicked vibration flooding through me as his fingertips trip up and down my naked skin, making those dangerous, devious motions that send me into body shaking spasms of laughter. The mere thought of what it feels like is enough to make me wet. But the actual x rated act is even better: the feel of his knowing hands slipping under my arms to tickle that most sensitive region, or working along the bottoms of my feet in slow motion circles, or running up and down the backs of my thighs. Each action has the luscious potential to send me over the edge.
When Marshall starts tickling me, he is in total control, and I am completely at his will. I relish being at his mercy, giving myself and my pleasure over to him. It makes me feel more connected to my sweet husband than any other bedroom activity we engage in.
That night, I watched him walk into the living room with a big pink crinkly tissue bouquet in his arms. There were vibrant red blooms visible within the pastel tissue wrapping. But where was that familiar floral scent?
Happy anniversary, Marshall said as he came closer to me. His green eyes gleamed impishly at me, and his ginger hued eyebrows rose in a rakish manner. When he took another step forward, he was suddenly close enough for me to see that the bouquet in his arms was made not of flowers but of feathers lush and lovely crimson feathers, all wrapped up together to simulate an armful of roses. The vision made me instantly cross my legs and rock my body. I know I sighed in fact, I nearly swooned.
Happy anniversary, I whispered back to him, my large brown eyes still focused on the array of feathers in his arms. I couldn t have torn myself away if he d said the house was on fire. All I could do was gaze at the feathery bouquet and wonder about his lascivious intent. I didn t make a move or ask a question of him. I simply remained silent and poised, because I knew from years of experience that Marshall would undoubtedly have a passionate plan and I was sure that it would be one of the sexiest scenarios I d ever experienced.
Do you like them? he asked, turning to look from the feathers to my face. I nodded, then licked my lips. There was total silence for a moment the room was so quiet, I was aware of the very pounding of my heart as well as the pulsing of my pussy. When he moved, I actually thought I could almost hear the soft rustling of the feathers against each other. When I looked back at Marshall, he simply cocked his head. Clearly, he was waiting for me to respond. I shot him a sexy look back.
Should I get a vase? I asked coyly. I was teasing, and Marshall gave me a little half smile.
Not a vase, baby, he said, these little beauties don t need water for us to enjoy them.
What then? I asked, my body trembling as Marshall ran one of his hands over the pretty faux blooms. It was as if I could feel the kiss of the feathers against my palm while I watched him gently tickle his skin and he teased me.
You can t smell these, he said, and although they re lovely, they aren t meant for simply admiring. What you need to do for me, Jen, is take off all of your clothes right now.
I could already imagine what the first tantalizing touch of those velvety feathers would feel like how sweetly they would brush over my skin, how alluring their soft touch would be. I knew from past experience precisely how I would laugh and squirm as Marshall danced the stunning feather tips over my body and I couldn t wait another second. I gave a light moan and was in motion practically before he finished speaking.
Because it was a hot day, I d only been wearing my white cut off shorts and a little slinky silver tank top. I hurriedly discarded my outerwear and then, as Marshall watched me appreciatively, slid my sopping wet panties down my tanned thighs until they reached the floor.
In moments, I was entirely naked, my body warm from sitting in the sun filled room, and my pussy so wet that I felt the liquid of my arousal already working to coat my shaved nether lips. I wondered if Marshall could see how turned on I was from where he stood. Then I wondered if he could smell the scent of my impending pleasure. He was right. We didn t need roses at all. My own heady fragrance had begun to perfume the air.
Now, what? I asked once I d obeyed his first command. I was completely bare, and from the way Marshall stared at me, I knew that he liked what he saw. He took a moment to admire my naked form by licking his full lips, before continuing with his instructions.
Lie down on the rug, put your hands over your head and hold them together. I don t want you to move, Jen. Not at all.
Because I had an idea of what was in store for me, I knew this would be far more difficult than it sounded. In fact, it would be impossible. When Marshall tickles me, there s absolutely no hope of me staying still. The feeling of being tickled makes me kick and wriggle it makes me laugh so hard that I ache deliciously inside. My whole body gives itself over to that most decadent experience of being completely powerless to behave. But that didn t mean I wouldn t try to do what he requested. Trying to obey him is half the fun being tickled is the other half.
While Marshall watched, I lay down on our plush lilac rug and locked my hands together over my head. My awareness was piqued. I was intensely focused on every subtle sensation: the way the soft carpet felt under my naked ass and the way my sensuous wetness continued to spread from my pussy. I wanted to take one hand and dip my fingers between my nether lips. I wanted to lick away my own sweetness while Marshall watched but that would be disobedient of me, and I couldn t fail him so soon. Shifting my hips, I found the most comfortable position possible, and then stared up at him to let him know that I was ready. Although my heart was pounding fast, I was more excited than anything.
With a wink, Marshall unwrapped the feathers slowly. They were truly stunning, dyed a dark scarlet, with long wavering plumes that seemed to shimmer when Marshall moved them. I trembled all over at the sight and bit down on my lip. I already knew what those beautiful feathers would feel like as they traced naughty designs all over my body, but I still couldn t wait for their very first touch against my soft skin.
Ready? Marshall asked me softly.
No, I whispered jokingly, and Marshall laughed at me, the deep baritone laugh that I love. Although I craved his ticklish touch, I m never actually entirely ready but I always want it more than anything. Another shudder of pleasure worked through me as Marshall stared at my naked body. I felt as if I were being tickled by the look of those feathers alone! Tickled, somehow, by osmosis. If the mere sight of the feathers was making me twitch in excitement, what would I do when Marshall actually touched me with them?
Marshall must have been thinking the same thing, because he gave another low chuckle, and then brought one feather forward. I felt the muscles in my thighs and my pussy clench tight in anticipation, and the giggles were already starting to overpower me.
This is how it always is for me. Yes, I love being tickled I fantasize about the act all the time but the actual act of being tickled is so incredibly intense.
As Marshall brought the feathers closer, I shut my eyes tight and told myself to hold still. My husband began running that one solitary feather up the outer length of my thigh, to the split between my legs, then traced it down the other side. Oh, did that feel otherworldly! The feather s fronds were like thousands of tiny fingers massaging me. My body reacted automatically. My nipples hardened into ripe, round jewels, and my breath sped up as if I d just run up a steep flight of stairs. I arched my back, offering myself over to Marshall, and I groaned out loud.
Without a word, Marshall continued, trailing two stalks of feathers along my ribs and circling my heaving stomach.
Oh, God! I groaned. Oh, God. Oh, Marshall! My body felt electrified, and I shook from the center of my core. My hands unclasped, and I reached down, not to protect myself, but out of instinct.
No, baby. It doesn t work that way, Marshall told me. You keep your hands together, or I m going to have to tie them together.
This wasn t much of a threat. I like it when Marshall ties me up. Marshall likes it, too, which explained the mischievous smile I caught on his face when I opened my eyes again. He wanted me to fail so that he could bind me up the way he had pictured in his mind truss me and tie me so that I couldn t possibly move, and then tease me however he wanted to with those long, lovely feathers. The image was so erotic that I almost intentionally misbehaved for him.
Steeling myself, I tried again to obey, sighing as I clasped my hands once more over my head, giving Marshall a nod when I was ready. A tremulous shiver worked through my entire body, and I held my breath. Marshall stared at me, a feather poised in each hand.
Every single movement I made now felt like I was being tickled even the delicate carpet under my rear was tickling me. My body was alive and aroused like never before. I took a deep breath, and he brought the feathers to my body, brushing the tips along the bottoms of my feet. For about a second, I was able to keep my composure. Didn t I look stoic, spread out on the floor with my husband tickling the soles of my dainty feet? I was a statue. I was cut from stone.
That attitude lasted all of a millisecond before I had to shriek with laughter and pound my heels on the rug.
Oh, you like that, Marshall noted correctly, continuing to trail those sweet feathers up my legs, teasing the insides of my thighs as he moved them higher and higher.
He was right. I did like it. If he had brought his fingertips to my sex, he would have been able to see just how much I liked it. His fingertips would have been drenched from just one touch. In fact, he could have known without even a touch. The scent was intoxicating.
My pussy positively glistened with sexual wetness. But for all of my squirming and thrashing about, this time I managed to keep my hands together as instructed. Some part of me wanted to do what Marshall had asked, even as I felt the sexy juices continue to pool within my pussy lips and felt the carpet grow wetter beneath my bare ass. If he kept up with tickling my toes, I would leave a luscious little lake of my natural juices beneath me.
Using those two naughty feathers, Marshall moved back once again to tickle the soles of my feet. My hips pounded out a steady tempo on the floor, but I did not release my hands. I would do my best, I told myself. I would make him proud.
Marshall seemed to appreciate how hard I was working to please him. He continued to tickle me with the two feathers, one in each hand, moving the stalks slowly up my body once more, smiling at how hard I was laughing and how much my body was moving. I struggled to keep my arms overhead for him, giggling helplessly as the feathers traveled up to my ankles, then ran along the insides of my thighs. Although the ache was building within me, I found it in myself to stay totally still, even as I longed for him to touch my pussy but I had no such luck.
Without even the tiniest look at the urgency written on my face, he skirted over that most desperate part of me, refusing to give me what I had craved since I d gotten the very first glimpse of those decadent feathers.
But then he surprised me. Suddenly those feathers were running over my pussy, as soft and sweet as anything I d ever felt before. First one, and then the other. I couldn t think I couldn t speak. Marshall repeatedly stroked my wet pussy lips as I beat my hips on the rug, crying out as those feathers took me higher and higher. I realized I was going to come just a second before it happened. The ache in my body shifted, from feeling like I would faint from laughing so much, to feeling like I would die if I didn t climax immediately. Marshall pressed the feathers harder against me, and I knew these would be destroyed by my orgasm the stalks bent, the feathers wet and matted. But I didn t care. I shuddered ferociously and came, feeling as if I d been swept away on a sea of laughter, with the feathers continuing to tickle me even after my orgasm had subsided.
Happy seventh, Marshall grinned at me, smiling as he watched me try to pull myself back together.
Marshall gave me a moment to relax and catch my breath. My heart was pounding, and my whole body trembled from the power of my climax. Then he started up again, running one fresh feather along my erect nipples, while using another on my flat belly. I failed him once more, both of my hands coming free, unable to keep myself in check any longer.
He stopped tickling me immediately. He undid his tie and quickly brought it to my wrists. You need a little help, he said softly, in order to behave. I stayed still as he bound my wrists, waiting for the tickling to begin again, but this time Marshall lifted me in his arms, moving me over to the sofa. He bent me over the back and opened his slacks, then let me feel his warm, hard cock pressing against my naked ass.
I loved feeling how aroused he was. He d gotten that excited from tickling me alone or maybe he d been turned on all afternoon, fantasizing about what we would be doing later in the evening. Suddenly, I wondered what he said when he d bought those feathers. Did he tell the shop girl that he was going to take them home and tickle his wife until she came? The idea made me smile, but then I had to stop thinking like that, as Marshall brought the soft feathers back to my body and positioned his hard cock at my anticipated opening.
He ran the feathers along my ribs as my body twisted and turned, collapsing against the sofa, fully overpowered by the sensations. At that exact moment, Marshall thrust inside me. The tickling made me contract on his hard cock more powerfully than he must have expected, because that time he was the one to groan. But he didn t stop using those feathers. Marshall has always had more self control than I do. He ran them up and down my body as he slammed his cock inside of me, driving me crazy with desire. My quivering pussy milked him as he fucked me, and my body shook and trembled underneath his weight.
Arch your hips, he suddenly instructed.
I responded automatically, pushing back against him. Now Marshall had a little space beneath my body and the arm of the sofa. I sucked in my breath, guessing what he was going to do a second before he once again made my wish come true.
As Marshall fucked me, he brought the feather to my pussy. The fluff of it tickled my clit in the most delicious manner as his cock stroked in and out of me forcefully. The two different feelings warred within me: Gentle and strong sweet and throbbing.
I shuddered all over as my body tried to make sense of the sensations. And then when my mind could do no more processing, I simply came, and came hard, I might add. My entire body shivered with the intensity of this thrilling, raucous ride.
That s right, Marshall crooned. Come, darling. You come as hard as you can. And then the feather was gone, and his fingers took over, lightly scratching my inner thighs, tantalizingly tickling, then pressing hard against my clit.
Marshall understood that I needed a firmer touch to send me over the edge. My climax sparked his own, and soon I felt his body stiffen behind me. His cock pulsed, and then he groaned and shuddered as his dick exploded inside me. He lifted me in his embrace, pulling me up and off the ground as he filled me with his cream.
Happy anniversary, baby, he whispered as he cradled me in his arms.
Happy anniversary, I sighed back to him.
There is no traditional guideline that says that on your seventh marriage anniversary you give feathers. Or if there is, then Marshall must have created it himself. But thinking this, I couldn t help but wonder: What might he possibly have planned to celebrate our eighth?