ArtyLee21

this is so sexy I’m so flustered

A TV is mounted above you, and a camera is looking at your bare feet. You know what's coming; you're about to watch as your soles get tickled.

When you're all helpless , the TV turns on. You don't see your feet, instead you see a screenshot of one of your tumblr RTs, about how you viciously want your ribs tickled.

And then your ribs get the hell tickled out of them.

After a while the screenshot changes, and it's a post about how you just want someone to hold their hand over your mouth and tickle your body while you're unable to say or do anything.

And then a hand clamps over your lips hard and your armpit is attacked.

The screen changes, and it's a gif of someone's soles being raked; up and down--something you RT'd with the tags #i-need-it, and #when-will-it-be-me.

And you feel the fingertips start to stroke along your stocked feet. Up and down in the same motion, the same pace, in perfect sync with the gif hanging above your head.

The screen shifts again, to another RT of yours, talking about how you want someone to use your tumblr feed against you in a session.

And your tickler leans in to your ear, whispering while their hand tickles all over your stomach, sides, and armpits.

I made another thing. In retrospect, I'm not sure how "smart" these goals really are. 😹

The bare skin from your feet to your fingertips tingles in the cool air as you lie exposed, stretched naked across the table. Darkness envelops you, the hood over your face warm and damp with your quick, nervous breath. His voice slips through the black, low and taunting: “You don’t even really need full bondage, do you?” The words hit you like a confession you didn’t know you’d made. Heat floods your chest, your cheeks—because he’s right. Even without the restraints, you wouldn’t run. You want to be his plaything, his toy.

At least, that’s what you thought.

His fingers dig suddenly into your defenseless sides, and the ticklish shock rips through you like lightning. Your back arches, your limbs lock tight, trembling on the edge of pain and pleasure. Your eyes fly open beneath the hood, met only by the suffocating black. Then it begins: laughter bursts from you, wild and uncontrollable, as your body twists and writhes against the inevitable. You’re helpless, alive in every nerve, begging to escape the tickling even as you know you won’t.

You can’t see his face, but the merciless dance of his hands tells you enough—he’s smiling.