The Life of a Ticklee
By: Dman
I’m pure ticklee. Just to start with. I love the feeling of being at someone’s mercy, maybe yours. The excitement and sense of terror that comes with tickling is so enticing. To not know your next move, where you’ll tickle, how hard you’ll tickle- or for how long. To be at your complete mercy and only be able to plead and beg. Start with restraints. Take your strands of rope, or handcuffs- and tie me up. Spread-eagle, hogtie, to a chair, to a set of stocks. I like it all, but my favorite would probably be tied down to a table, spread eagle.
After I’m fully restrained- I can feel the warm oils and lotions being dribbled and massaged into my body to increase my sensitivity, to make me fully hypersensitive for your hungry fingers. A blindfold covers my eyes to leave me in a state of questioning. Then it starts. Gentle scribbles up and down my lotioned soles, maybe along the arches, digging in under the toes; my weakest spot that will make me beg like no other. Exploring my body you find out how ticklish my hairy pits are, digging your nails in circles as I laugh and scream for it to end, but want it nonetheless.
I love to be tortured. Make me laugh and beg my head off. A good finger exploration is a great warm up, especially down my oily sides and belly, making sure to massage the lubricants into my skin well for what comes next. The tools.
I love tickle tools too! Brushes are particularly sinister and when scrubbed along my feet- make me beg for anything. Gentle scrubbing, up and down my slippery soles, circular motions, sawing back and forth underneath my toes, “Ohogodhaha nohohot therehaha pleheasehase!” You can see the sweat beginning to cover my chest lightly, as I begin breathing in hard, long gasps. But you continue your brush work on my too-ticklish soles. Speaking of brushes- what better way to get into the nooks and crannies than using an electric toothbrush? They are purely evil, and I love them! I think you do too…
I love and hate the feeling of its vibrating bristles going on the underside of each of my ticklish toes, digging underneath them, in the crevice between them. And the pits- oh, they’re murder in my pits. You rake the toothbrush slowly up my leg, along my waist, dipping it in my navel to hear my scream raise an octave, and then plunge one…then two, into my sweating and oily pits. Alternating between them, circling one of my sweaty pits while your other hand rubs in more lotion to my other; then switching and doing the same to my other side. I’m begging and pleading for it to end, but secretly hope you tickle harder.
So many tools do wonders on a ticklish body I’ve found out- hairbrushes, electric brushes, vibrating massagers, combs and forks. They especially work on my ticklish feet, along my wide arches, and scrubbing brushes? Oh, those are evil. Each stiff bristle wrecks havoc on my ticklish feet. As you brush my feet now with a variety of brushes, I’m pulling firmly at my restraints, doing anything to dislodge your hands from my feet; but nothing works. I’m trapped, still blinded by cloth and unable to do anything but sweat and beg for you not to go under my toes.
That’s when my favorite tool comes out- and my most dreaded. The feather. I love feathers, and it works great because I’m so feather ticklish, especially on my feet and hips. I love them all, long stiff eagle feathers, the soft colored plumes of ostrich dusters, the gentle and teasing tips of the peacock feathers. Feeling a couple stiff eagle feathers swirling on my sensitive hip bones sends me into hysterics…almost as badly as a couple feather dusters going up and down my super-sensitive feet. Oh please, not the feathers! I find that eagle feathers do pretty good damage on my waistline too, and more so in my ticklish belly button, swirling them around and around. And just when I think you’re going to let me go- you pick up a handful of feathers, quill side- and dig them and scratch along my pits, my nipples, my feet…and under my toes. I’ll beg you to stop. Anything. PLEASE just let it end. And that’s when you drop all feathers, dig your hands into my pits, so the extreme torture can begin. And all I’ll do for you is beg. And plead. And sweat.
After I’m fully restrained- I can feel the warm oils and lotions being dribbled and massaged into my body to increase my sensitivity, to make me fully hypersensitive for your hungry fingers. A blindfold covers my eyes to leave me in a state of questioning. Then it starts. Gentle scribbles up and down my lotioned soles, maybe along the arches, digging in under the toes; my weakest spot that will make me beg like no other. Exploring my body you find out how ticklish my hairy pits are, digging your nails in circles as I laugh and scream for it to end, but want it nonetheless.
I love to be tortured. Make me laugh and beg my head off. A good finger exploration is a great warm up, especially down my oily sides and belly, making sure to massage the lubricants into my skin well for what comes next. The tools.
I love tickle tools too! Brushes are particularly sinister and when scrubbed along my feet- make me beg for anything. Gentle scrubbing, up and down my slippery soles, circular motions, sawing back and forth underneath my toes, “Ohogodhaha nohohot therehaha pleheasehase!” You can see the sweat beginning to cover my chest lightly, as I begin breathing in hard, long gasps. But you continue your brush work on my too-ticklish soles. Speaking of brushes- what better way to get into the nooks and crannies than using an electric toothbrush? They are purely evil, and I love them! I think you do too…
I love and hate the feeling of its vibrating bristles going on the underside of each of my ticklish toes, digging underneath them, in the crevice between them. And the pits- oh, they’re murder in my pits. You rake the toothbrush slowly up my leg, along my waist, dipping it in my navel to hear my scream raise an octave, and then plunge one…then two, into my sweating and oily pits. Alternating between them, circling one of my sweaty pits while your other hand rubs in more lotion to my other; then switching and doing the same to my other side. I’m begging and pleading for it to end, but secretly hope you tickle harder.
So many tools do wonders on a ticklish body I’ve found out- hairbrushes, electric brushes, vibrating massagers, combs and forks. They especially work on my ticklish feet, along my wide arches, and scrubbing brushes? Oh, those are evil. Each stiff bristle wrecks havoc on my ticklish feet. As you brush my feet now with a variety of brushes, I’m pulling firmly at my restraints, doing anything to dislodge your hands from my feet; but nothing works. I’m trapped, still blinded by cloth and unable to do anything but sweat and beg for you not to go under my toes.
That’s when my favorite tool comes out- and my most dreaded. The feather. I love feathers, and it works great because I’m so feather ticklish, especially on my feet and hips. I love them all, long stiff eagle feathers, the soft colored plumes of ostrich dusters, the gentle and teasing tips of the peacock feathers. Feeling a couple stiff eagle feathers swirling on my sensitive hip bones sends me into hysterics…almost as badly as a couple feather dusters going up and down my super-sensitive feet. Oh please, not the feathers! I find that eagle feathers do pretty good damage on my waistline too, and more so in my ticklish belly button, swirling them around and around. And just when I think you’re going to let me go- you pick up a handful of feathers, quill side- and dig them and scratch along my pits, my nipples, my feet…and under my toes. I’ll beg you to stop. Anything. PLEASE just let it end. And that’s when you drop all feathers, dig your hands into my pits, so the extreme torture can begin. And all I’ll do for you is beg. And plead. And sweat.