A pair of fetishists introduces bondage to their tickle play and finds the new mix to be a delightfully explosive combination.

“You have a beautiful laugh,” Rob said. “Like music. Like a melody.” I ducked my head for a second, blushing because the situation was so surreal.

My boyfriend and I have a ticklish relationship. That is, we have a relationship filled with tickling. I am always the receiver, the receptor, the ticklee to his tickler. But while he never fails to indulge this extreme erotic desire in me, we’ve rarely taken the fetish outside of our home. Rarely discussed it in public.

However on this night, Rob was listing the reasons why he wanted to tie me down and tickle me. And he was doing so at the fancy restaurant we’d chosen to celebrate our two-year anniversary. Although we’d explored tickling in all sorts of ways — with feathers, with flower petals, with silken scarves, with vibrators — I’d always been loose for the main event, able to squirm, able to wiggle. The idea of introducing bondage to our play made me as nervous as it made me excited. I was nearly overcome by my swirling emotions as Rob continued to present his case.

“You’re very… ” he started, then he paused again, as if he had to find the right word. Very what? I wondered. “Very sensitive,” he settled on. His fingertips were now making a more gentle rhythm along the fine lines of my inner wrist. I crossed my legs. I felt the erotic desire beginning to swell within me. He raked his short nails against my skin, almost casually. That motion thrummed inside me.

“We have to go,” I said.

He gazed into my eyes innocently. Or faux innocently. I caught the gleam there. “Go?” he repeated.

“Leave. Hurry. You’re making me crazy.”

He grinned at me. Clearly, his intention had been to do exactly that.

“Rob,” I demanded. “I need to… we need to.” I was already standing, grabbing my sweater, but Rob stopped me.

“You’ll really let me tie you down?” he asked.

I nodded, practically salivating at the thought. “But not here,” I said, in case that’s what he was planning to do.

“Let me take the edge off first,” he said. “We’ll make a quick stop.” He motioned to the hall leading to the bathrooms. I stared at him, trying to read the plans in his mind. Then I headed in the direction he’d pointed. We left the table together, sneaking as if we were spies on some type of mission. We were on a mission, in fact: a mission to make it to the security of a private stall before things got truly out of hand.

“My nipples made hard peaks beneath my sheath.”

“Your laugh haunts me, Josie,” Rob said softly as we walked. “Sometimes it’s all I can think about. You distract me.”

My heart was racing. I could feel how aroused I was. Rob ushered me into the bathroom and locked the door behind us. He came close to me. I stayed totally still. He bent and breathed against the side of my neck. The puff of air — that simple exhale — tickled me. I trembled. He held me upright while his fingers explored my ribs, then the dip of my waist. Silently, I started to shake.

“I want to hear your laugh,” he said.

I was worried I would get out of control — that someone else would hear, as well. Rob didn’t seem to have the same concerns in the slightest. He tickled me with more fervor, his fingers working me a little harder. The thing about being tickled is that it doesn’t matter how many times I’ve experienced the sensation before. It always feels new. I never know how much I will be able to take, how turned on the activity will make me. I dream about being tickled. That’s the truth. When I’m awake, I fantasize about Rob tickling me. Every so often, I even tickle myself, although I’m not very good at it. Mostly, I wait in heightened desire for the times Rob gives me exactly what I need.

Like now. He knows me full well. He understands to start slowly, to let the sensuous warmth build. He tickled me so lightly that I almost couldn’t feel anything at all. Then I could. He danced and teased, tormenting me with the very tips of his fingers. He ran them everywhere, under my neck, along my ribs, then under my arms.

I started to laugh softly. I leaned back against the tiled wall for support. He wasn’t touching my pussy or my breasts, but I could feel that I was getting wetter by the second. My nipples made hard peaks beneath my sheath. My cunt made a small puddle of sex juices in my panties.

Rob breathed against me again. For a split second, I thought I would come right then. What was he doing to me? Driving me out of my head. Light then hard, he tickled. Fast then slow. I was breathless, shaking, trying not to make too much noise. What would the other people think? Would they guess what we were up to? Maybe they’d think we were in the stall telling each other dirty jokes. My mind ran away with me. Rob pulled my dress up to my waist. His fingers stroked the naked skin at the tops of my thighs above my stockings.

This is one of my spots. One of my top tickling spots. My thighs — specifically my inner thighs — are deeply sensitive. From many past experiences, Rob knows this perfectly well. He focused on the tippy-tops of my thighs, right at the base of my pussy. I braced myself with my hands on his shoulders, and I shook all over.

“Oh, fuck,” I sighed. “Oh, Rob.”

“Let go,” he murmured.

That’s the trick for him. Taking me to the point not only when I climax, but when I really lose control. When my body is wracked by giggles, shaking and trembling. He loves that side of me. The place where I have given everything over to him, put my whole self in his powerful hands. My pleasure. My soul.

Then he stopped all motions and looked at me. I wondered if he guessed what I could tell. I was a breath away from coming. I was seconds from a monster climax. If he started to work his magic at my core, I would cream for him. Our eyes were locked. What did he want from me? Did he need me to beg? I tried that.

“Tickle me,” I whispered.

“Where?”

“You know where.”

He shook his head. “Here?” he queried. His fingers dove down, and he worked the backs of my knees. That tickled, of course, but it wasn’t what I wanted. Rob can be such a sadist sometimes.

“Not there,” I told him. “You know where.”

I could have simply said it. I could have told him, “Tickle my pussy. Spread open my lips. Tickle my clit,” and he would have done what I asked. At least, I was pretty certain he would. But we were teasing each other. I was doing my best to hold out, to stave off the climax. He was doing the same, I sensed.

“Please,” I tried. Sometimes being polite works. “Please, Rob.”

“Please, what, baby?”

Nope, it wasn’t going to work this time.

“Please tickle me there.” I nodded downward.

Rob gripped my chin in one hand and made me meet his eyes once more. “Say it.”

I cleared my throat.

“Say it,” he hissed.

“Please tickle my pussy,” I finally managed.

He gave me a little half-smile, a look of someone who has won a prize, and then he said, “Put your hands over your head.”

I stammered over the single word, “Why?”

“Do it,” he said, “and I’ll give you what you want.”

He expected me to expose my underarms. I was wearing a thin cocktail dress made of stretchy fabric. The dress was cut high on the shoulders. I sucked in my breath and did what he asked. Then I shut my eyes.

“Clasp your hands together and don’t move,” he said. “I’ll give you a taste of what you’re in for tonight.”

He was serious! He was really going to tie me down. That thought brought me one rung closer to orgasm. We’d played with bondage before, and we were black belts in tickling. But this unexplored combination was sure to create fireworks. Rob gently tickled my underarms, and I shook all over. He tickled me with more force, and I tightened the lock of my fingers together. He ran his hands up and down my ribs; I bucked and swayed. He retuned to my underarms, and he tickled me with such unbridled intensity that I felt as if I might howl with laughter. I bit my lip hard to keep myself in check.

“You like that,” he said, and I sensed he was admiring my expression. “Your cheeks are all pink. You look beautiful, baby. So beautiful.”

“Tickle my pussy. Spread open my lips. Tickle my clit.”

I sighed and squirmed, pressing forward with my hips and wanting him to tickle me right there so desperately, at the very center of my being. I was on the verge of begging for real, of offering anything to him in payment, in trade. As if he could read my thoughts, Rob ultimately acquiesced. He used his left hand to take turns from one of my sides to the other, while his right hand probed my pussy. This was it. This was what I’d been waiting for. Unable to stop myself, I laughed uncontrollably. I’d been worried that I’d be loud, but my laughter was so forceful that it was almost silent. I shook all over as I came in a rush of liquid, and I let my hands go to my sides to protect myself.

“At home,” he said matter-of-factly, “you won’t be able to do that. You’ll have to take it. Even after you come. I’ll keep tickling you. I’ll get you off over and over. And Josie? I can’t fucking wait.”

I looked into the mirror over the sink. My cheeks were bright pink, as he’d said. My eyes were filled with a mix of desire and satisfaction. I splashed a little water on my face, and then we were ready to leave the restaurant. Ready to head to our house for a whole night of tickling — torturous, lovely tickling — that awaited the two of us.

During the drive, he continued to torment me. I was still in a state, my breathing erratic, my heart beating hard and fast. He tickled the nape of my neck, and I groaned. Then things grew sexier still.

“Raise your hands,” he instructed at a red light.

Tentatively, I laced my fingers behind my head, exposing my underarms. As soon as I was in that revealing position, Rob let his fingers wander. Once more, he expertly tickled me, one-handed this time. No mere brush of the skin. Actual tickling. I brought my hands down immediately in an effort to protect that tender area. Rob’s response was surprisingly dominant.

“Keep your hands in place,” he demanded.

I looked at him, startled by the tone of his voice. That said, I obeyed immediately, and then waited. The light had changed. Rob had to focus on driving, but he started to talk. “Let’s play a game,” he said.

I waited. My hands were trembling. My whole body was trembling.

“When I tell you to do something, you do it.”

Since we’d first met, I’d fantasized about something like this, a scenario like this in which he took charge of my pleasure during a tickling scenario. Why hadn’t I ever confessed before? I gazed down at his lap and saw that his cock was hard.

If he hadn’t given me the instruction to keep my hands locked together, I would have reached out to touch his erection through his slacks. But I guessed that would be against the rules — his rules — so I waited to hear what was going to happen next.

“When we get home, I’m going to bind your wrists together. To help you. To help you stay in place for me while I tickle you. Would you like that?”

I nodded helplessly, then managed to utter, “Yes. Yes, please.”

“Right now, imagine that you’re bound.”

That was easy enough. In my mind, I already had cuffs on my wrists. The ride home was excruciating. Every red light, Rob tickled me. Through the greens, I remained in a state of uncontrolled desire. I wanted more. I wanted him to do everything he’d described over dinner. And because I’m a greedy thing when it comes to pleasure, I wanted it now.

Finally home, we nearly ran to the house. Rob opened the front door and gave me his first command simultaneously — followed by a second. “Meet me in the bedroom. Be naked.”

I was taking off my clothes in motion, hurrying to our boudoir and leaving a trail of items in my wake: high heels, dress, bra, panties. When I got to the bedroom, I sat on the edge of the mattress and waited for Rob. I could hear him coming after me, more slowly. I wondered what would happen next.

“Close your eyes,” Rob said.

I obeyed.

From that point on, I felt as if all of my senses were heightened. I heard Rob approach the bed. I felt the blindfold go over my eyes. I tested, automatically, to see if I could peek beneath the velvety barrier. No. Rob’s too good for that. So I shut my eyes once more and relaxed. At least, I relaxed as much as I could. I was still feeling the aftershocks of the tickling in the car and the orgasm in the restaurant. My body was alive with the ripples of humming endorphins. Rob was simply going to make them shout once more.

Rob positioned me exactly how he wanted me: in the middle of the bed with my arms up. The handcuffs came next. I welcomed the cool metal on my wrists like the embrace of an old friend. He’d wound their attached chain through the headboard slats, so I wasn’t able to lower my arms and protect myself from his tickle torment. I shivered with excitement; I was naked, cuffed, blindfolded, and ready for his onslaught. Then there was a moment when I could feel him watching me. I raised my hips and lowered them back on the mattress. My pussy was calling. Would he start there? Would he begin at my core, at the sweet center of my arousal?

Of course not.

Rob started with a device. I felt the feathers meet my skin, and I guessed that he was tickling me with a feather duster, one of many we own for this purpose alone. At this second, they were dusting the curve of my neck, then along my torso. Rob skipped my pussy entirely and brought the feathers between my thighs, alternating between tickling the left, then the right. I sighed and shook. I was amped up; every part of me felt hardwired to my pussy. When Rob worked his way to the soles of my feet, I sensed a jolt right at my clit.

Suddenly, there were two dusters, one for each foot. I laughed, which I guessed was Rob’s goal. I wasn’t loud. At first, I contained myself. But why was I doing that? Nobody could hear us. There was no reason for me to muffle the noises of my pleasure.

“Rob positioned me exactly how he wanted me: in the middle of the bed.”

“Let loose,” Rob said, sensing my inner dilemma. “Be loud for me, girl.”
I laughed more freely. As I did — as if I were turning a knob to a higher level — Rob tickled me with greater force.

The two dusters together made me shake and twitch. Then Rob said, “Spread your legs.” I was grateful that even though he’d cuffed my wrists, he’d left my ankles free. I parted my legs as he’d instructed, feeling the stretch in my muscles. Rob danced those dusters up my shins, knees and thighs. Then he passed over my pussy, despite the fact that my hips were banging out a not-so-subtle tattoo on the sheets. He skipped the place I most needed to be tickled and returned to my exposed underarms.

I almost said, “No.” I almost said, “What are you doing? Why are you torturing me like this?”

Those questions had easy answers. Because Rob is a dom, and he never gives me what I desire right away. Where would the fun be in that for him? He likes to take things slow. He likes to make me wait. If I wait, then he waits, and the pleasure is drawn out between the two of us. While I was having all these deep thoughts, Rob dropped the dusters and reached for a new device. From the first tickle, I knew he’d selected a boa. He trailed the long length of frippery along my ribs and belly. Then he brought the boa between my legs to tease my spread-open cunt.

“Oh, yes!” I cried out. “Yes, Rob! Yes!”

He let me experience that sensation by working the feathers forcefully against my nether region. The boa grew matted and damp. I pushed up, hoping to come, wanting to come. Rob wanted something else, as was apparent when he removed this toy and let me languish, unfulfilled. I heard the noises as he moved off the bed and stripped out of his own clothes. He rejoined me on the mattress and situated himself between my legs.

I felt his hard cock against my dripping hole. Had I wanted the feathers only seconds before? Now, I wanted his dick. I wanted him to fuck me. I wanted to cream on his rod, to come like a wild thing.

That’s when Rob turned on his last toy. He wore tiny finger massagers — fingertip vibrators — and right as he thrust his rock-like cock into my pussy, he started to tickle me with these dreamy little devices. I drew in a deep breath and then exhaled in a rush. I knew Rob would be able to feel my pussy contract against him. I am such a slut for tickling. He’d had me on the verge since we’d walked into our house. Now, between the combination of his pounding cock and those magical massagers, I was gone. Done. My orgasm was spectacular. I cried out my bliss as Rob fucked me. Then I settled against the mattress, feeling spent and satisfied.

That’s when I remembered what Rob had said earlier. He’d assured me that even after I reached climax, he was going to keep tickling me. Exactly as I had this thought, he made it come true. While his cock thrust in and out, while he fucked me for all he was worth, he continued to tickle me with those mysterious massagers, running them under my arms, along my ribs, stroking the tops of my thighs, everywhere he could reach.

Because my wrists were bound, I couldn’t bring my arms down. But would I have if I could? I didn’t think so. I let myself experience everything that was happening. Being bound, in that way, set me free. I rocked and rolled on the pleasure. I coasted. I creamed. I lost track of how many orgasms I had. In fact, they started to run together, blur together, until what I was living was like one long fucking climax. Extended. Exploding. I realized that the sound I was hearing in the room, the background melody playing in my mind, was me. I was laughing. Laughing so hard and so continuously that I didn’t even realize I was doing it.

This is what Rob had wanted. This is what he had desired. And he’d made the night come to full-on fruition. Only when he was at the brink of his own powerful climax did he take off the fingertip massagers. With precision, he let one thumb press on my swollen clit, and the two of us experienced a simultaneous pleasure that surpassed all prior events.

“Oh, Josie,” he whispered, as he came. “My Josie. You are mine.”

Even as he unfastened the handcuffs and pulled the fabric from my eyes, I knew that he was absolutely right. I was his. His tickling slave. His to bind and blindfold, to torment, and tickle. Always, and forever, his.

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