Flowers may brighten Amy’s day, but feathers really light up her night!

At the high-end, exclusive restaurant filled with snooty patrons, Amy slid her foot out of her high-heeled, feather-tipped shoe and began to tickle me with her toes. I’d like the men in the audience to know I didn’t flinch. I’m accustomed to my girlfriend’s sensual antics.

She maneuvered her delicate toes up under the cuff of my gabardine slacks, clearly trying to get a rise out of me. I cut my steak without any indication that an electric shiver was working through my bones. This was a five-star restaurant, after all, one that we normally wouldn’t have visited. The patrons around us were decades our seniors. We already stood out. 

Only when she landed her foot directly into my lap did I suck in my breath.

“Bad girl,” I said, shooting her a warning glance.

She gave me a coy look followed by an innocent shrug. Her dangling shoulder-duster earrings twinkled magically in the candlelight. My little heartthrob can play the role of the ingénue when she so desires. There she sat, as if she’d written the manual on decorum, with that “who me?” expression on her faux-innocent face. All the while, she was pressing her foot firmly against my rigid dick as if she wanted me to come right there in that fancy restaurant.

The nerve! The gall! But it’s also the reason the two of us we get on so famously.

I leaned over the small, round table and said in a low voice, “I’m going to get you for this.”

“Get me?” She batted her long lashes and created an exaggerated “O” with her glossy pink lips. She was in rare form!

“I, my sweet little plum dumpling, am going to tickle the” — I hesitated because we were out in public, after all — “bejesus out of you.”

“Right here? In front of God and our waitress?” She paused to take a sip of her chilled chardonnay. Then she cracked a smile in my direction and asked, “Exactly what is a bejesus?”

“Use your imagination,” I told her. I set down my knife and fork and wiggled my fingers at her.

“I’ll believe it when I see it — a bejesus, that is,” she said, and her eyes shot molten sparks at me.

I caught a look from a gentleman at a nearby table. Amy and I usually stuck to casual places. But being that it was our anniversary, and I’d thought she’d appreciate the gesture of a fancy restaurant — even if we usually prefer french fries to fancy French cuisine.

“You’ll see. I promise,” I said, forgetting to lower my voice. “I promise to trace my fingers all over your ribs and under your neck and between your — ”

“Wine?” the waitress asked, suddenly reappearing as if drawn by the heat flickering between the two of us.

“Check,” I said, not giving a fig about the fact that my dinner was only partially eaten or that Amy apparently hadn’t felt the need to touch hers. We shouldn’t have bothered to go out. We ought to have ordered in. But that’s what happens when tickling is on the menu.

We took our meals to go, and I hardly had time to sign my name on the tab. Amy practically pulled me out the door. I noted some diners daggering us with their eyes. That was okay. They could have their high-end entrees and their fancy flatware. I was going to tickle my high-end girlfriend’s fancy, and I was pretty sure we were going to have a five-star fucking night.

And that night was going to be ripe with tickling.

Back at our apartment, with the two of us stripped down to our birthday suits, we eyed each other like beasts in a cage. When we met on the mattress, my fingers ran along Amy’s ribs. That won me a mild response. I hadn’t really pushed her buttons yet. I was biding my time.

I began to tickle her with more finesse, thinking of how she’d attempted to tempt me under the table. I used my wriggling fingers under her arms and then on her hips. I moved all over her body quickly, never lingering in any one place for too much time. She giggled and pulled herself into a ball under the sheets. I tore off the leopard-print satin so she was stark naked in the center of our bed. Then I had to stop and simply watch her for a moment. Amy is such a blushing beauty. She often wears nightgowns to bed, cherry-printed numbers or lacy getups that are as sexy as hell. But I liked her most how she was at that moment: entirely nude.

She stared back at me with a look of sweet, unadulterated lust, even as the giggles continued to bubble up from her body.

For a few beats of time, I pretended that I was going to tickle her without actually letting my fingers meet her flesh. I wiggled my digits in front of her. She squealed and kicked, squirming away from me until she was pressed all the way back against the headboard.

There’s tickling and then there’s tickling. The first category, in my opinion, is for people who don’t understand what tickling does or how being tickled feels. These people may have engaged in tickling for short-lived, jokey fun at some point in their lives, but they aren’t drawn to the activity with the drive and determination of a true fetishist. They can take it or leave it.

“Do you want me to stop?” I asked. We were both panting. My cock was rigid, and my balls were tight.

“Don’t… you… dare,” she insisted.

I grabbed Amy around the waist and pulled her back to the center of the bed.

“If you squirm away, I can’t tickle you,” I told her. She knew this, but she couldn’t help herself.

Suffice it to say that Amy and I fall into the second category. And we fall hard. My lover adores being tickled with anything and everything from feathers to silk scarves, to my naked fingertips. Wherever we go, I keep an eye out for unusual items to incorporate in our bedroom play.

Because tickling is a main part of our sex life, I knew the routine well. I would advance and Amy would retreat. She was so cute, acting as if she wanted me to stop when I could smell her arousal and see with my own eyes the evidence all over her shiny, glossy shaved pussy lips. There was a wet spot on the sheet from where she’d been laying while I’d tickled the bottoms of her feet.

Amy was panting like a panther. Her eyes were gorgeously bright, so big and full of hunger. I tickled her again, as before, all over her body. I worked my way up and down, not stopping to let her breathe, no pausing for a break. Amy was wracked with giggles and bursts of deep guffaws. I watched as she twisted and torqued herself on the bed. I was definitely well on my way to thoroughly tickling her fancy.

“I tickled her again. Amy was wracked with giggles and bursts of guffaws.”

When I had her begging and gasping for breath, I finally pressed pause.

“Do you want me to stop or ease up a bit?” I asked again, even though it felt as if we’d hardly started.

“Don’t you dare!” she barked, but she didn’t make life easy for me. Every time I got close to her, she slid away. Satin sheets make lovemaking slippery on the best days. Adding tickling to the equation upped the squirm factor. I moved forward, and Amy retreated. Soon I had her pinned against the headboard again.

Truth be told, I always ask if I should stop, partly as a tease but also to give her a chance to catch her breath. Amy and I use a safeword to ensure the tickling never becomes too intense for her, while still allowing me to push through her less than serious begging for mercy.

Her eyes were wide, and a sheen of sweat moistened her brow as she quivered at the head of the bed.

I hadn’t heard the magic safeword — which is “pink” as in “tickled pink” — so,  I gripped her ankles and pulled her back toward me. She hid her face under a pillow.

“That’s not going to save you,” I said.

“It’ll muffle me,” she said, somewhat muffled already. I didn’t argue with that. I let my fingers find her ribs once more. Amy bucked. I ran my fingers underneath her armpits and gently stroked her. She groaned and muttered something I couldn’t understand through the down. Then I sucked on her nipples while tickling the undercurves of her breasts. The pillow went flying across the room as Amy arched herself into a bow.

This was getting a little ridiculous. The more I tickled her, the more she wriggled. I needed to take charge. Amy’s expressive eyes met mine. Her cheeks were as pink as candy and her lips were parted as she panted and struggled to bring her breath back to a somewhat more even pace.

“What if you cuffed me in place?”

“Cuffed you?”

“Yeah,” she nodded forcefully. “Then you could tickle me, but I wouldn’t be able to get away.”

“Is that what you want?”

She nodded with vigor, and then motioned to her nightstand. In the top drawer was a pair of leopard-print fuzzy handcuffs, with the price tags still attached!

Amy had clearly planned ahead for that evening’s anniversary festivities. She was the one teasing me by slowly revealing her desires bit by bit.

I played along. I cuffed her wrists together over her head, attaching them to the headboard. She tested the bindings, and I watched the muscles in her body shift and tense as she seemed to prepare herself for the next stage of the night.

I had spied a feather in that drawer with the cuffs, so I knew what Amy really wanted. I told her to hold herself as still as possible. Then I used the feather to trace a line along her collarbone. She bit her lip, but didn’t make a sound. Next, I used it on the sides of her ribs, the left, then the right. I traced the tip of the feather around her pale pink nipples. They were erect, and I wanted to suck on each one, but it wasn’t the right time for that. This night the main focus was on tickling. Licking could come later on. I could see her cunt was growing wetter with every flick of the feather. I wanted to scoop up all of her luscious juicy goodness with the tip of my tongue or plunge my cock into her sopping pussy.

Thoughts were racing through my head about all the ways I wanted to make her come. I couldn’t decide exactly how to proceed. Amy was intensely responsive. Whenever I landed the feather, she flinched but then relaxed, as if she were forcing herself to take it. But taking it was clearly what she wanted to do badly.

Her cheeks took on the same pink as the roses in the vase by the bedside table. They had been an anniversary gift from me to her earlier in the day. When I’d chosen the flowers, it hadn’t occurred to me that they might make their way into the bedroom. But now seeing them gave me a new idea. I discarded the feather and grabbed a blossom. Languidly, I let the flower petals tantalize her slit.

I watched her suck in her breath and hold it. I waited, the rose hovering over her, until she exhaled.

“Breathe,” I insisted.

Her shocking blue eyes were wide and desperate. They locked on mine.

“Breathe,” I repeated. “Inhale. Exhale. As if this is a normal night. As if all we’re doing is talking about our day.” I hesitated. “Like, you’re telling me about how it felt when the delivery person brought two dozen roses to your desk at work.”

She let her breath come out in a rush. I brought the rose a little closer. She stiffened. I coached her through the behavior I desired.

“So, how did it feel when you got the flowers?”

Her short breaths grew slightly longer. “I loved it, Eric,” she said. “All the girls at the office were so jealous.”

She was sounding more relaxed. That was good. I wanted her to be relaxed. Still, I could tell it wasn’t an easy task for her to talk because she was so excited by what we were doing and how we were playing. Nevertheless, I refused to let her feel the teasing kiss of the petals until she was breathing deeply and evenly once more. As soon as she was able to talk without issue, explaining how all the women in her workplace rushed over to her desk to admire her bouquet, I resumed tickling her — and Amy lost it.

She flailed on the bed as much as the handcuffs allowed. I let the flower find the delicate skin of her underarms, then the sides of her ribs. She shook the bed frame. She was out of control, but still didn’t feel the need to use her safeword.

Eventually, the flower gave up its petals all over her body and all over the bed. It was as if I’d scattered rose petal confetti on her in a tender gesture. I suppose tickling could be looked on romantically. After all, I was giving her the type of kinky romance she craved. But now the flower had died a second death for our love, exploding its petals in the last of its usefulness. My eyes scanned the room for other tools I could employ.

As I searched, I spoke to her. “I’m going to tickle you until you come,” I told her, and I knew that even though she was still giggling she could hear me because the way she writhed. The aroma of sexual energy and the flower’s perfume, so heady and erotic, tickled my nose. “I’m going to tickle you until you come like you never have. Then I’m going to fuck you… ”

I decided to tickle her in a new way and a new place. I used the very tips of my fingers to tickle the sensitive spot between her asshole and her pussy. Sometimes I like to lick her there. But this time, I rotated my fingertips in teasing circles, dancing in no man’s land by not entering either orifice.

Amy made a keening sound under her breath. Her body was jolting like she was being zapped with electricity. She was on the verge of climaxing. I could tell. I gave in, unable to withhold any longer. I let my thumb flick over her anus and my pointer finger poked her clit.

It was as if I’d put a lit match to the wick of her erotic desires. She blossomed with pleasure, aglow and alight like I’d never seen before. Right before her climax hit, I saw a brand-new feather duster on the shelf next to my side of the bed. I couldn’t believe I’d missed that! I reached over and grabbed it, and I kept rubbing her clit as her orgasm overtook her, using the feather duster on her nipples and ribs the whole time she was coming.

Finally, it was time to fuck. I put aside the feather duster and climbed on top of her. I rubbed my cockhead up and down her juicy slit, and she bucked just as much as she had when I’d tickled her earlier.

“I cuffed her wrists over her head, attaching them to the headboard.”

Then I decided to tease her by tickling her naked body with the tip of my dick.

Amy stiffened at first, apparently totally unprepared for the way it felt to have my cock teasing the insides of her thighs and her clit. She was begging nonstop for me to stop playing around and finally fuck her. I held out as long as I humanly could. But when I was on the verge of shooting my load all over her mound, I moved into place between her spread legs.

I was prepared to enter her, but first I released her wrists because I wanted to feel her hands on me as I thrust inside her to the hilt. Our bodies connected in a perfect union. We are a team, my lady and I. She locked her cunt muscles around my hard rod, and I groaned like a grizzly and began to saw in and out of her soppy split.

Her eyelashes fluttered as I bottomed out inside her. Then she began to drag her nails down my back. The sensation drove me crazy. I’m not as into tickling as my girl is, but I do love that shivery feeling of her fingernails scraping my skin. Amy’s long nails had my motor revving. I kept pounding her, and she kept egging me on.

Instead of coming inside her, I pulled out and flipped her over. We were on the same wavelength because she pointed to the lube on her bedside table. I nearly emptied half the bottle along her crack before I slammed my cock into her back hole and she brought her hand beneath herself to pluck her clit.

We were both close to coming. My cock was like the mast of a sailing ship. Her sighs were my seven seas. I bowed and plundered. She squeezed me like a sea monster. Soon, I was drowning in the waves of her orgasm, and she started crying out my name so loud I thought our neighbor, whose name is also Eric, might come over to see what was going on.

Maybe someday. If that would tickle her fancy.

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