Frost

don't say you love me unless you plan on wrestling me to the ground and t*ckling the shit outta me

Or maybe I end up laid out across his lap, my stomach stretched and my shirt ever so slightly lifted, showing the tiniest bit of my stomach. He lightly grazes the sliver of skin that’s revealed and I don’t protest. My stomach twitches but I lay there and let him lightly tickle me, slowly being driven a little crazy by the constant sensation. He eventually lifts the shirt a little and plays around with my bellybutton, lazily. I’m squirming a tad but it isn’t enough for me to want to actually stop him, though I playfully reach my hands out to grab his.

There’s something really peaceful about letting someone have access to me and trusting that they won’t betray the quietness of the moment. That we can just lay there and be in a zen state with a smile plastered on my face and a giggle slipping out or an occasional flinch, but continuing to let a ler have whatever access they want.

“OKAHAY! OKAHY I LIKE BEING TICKLED!”

the thing that starts with a T

and ends with ickles

I need that

ok?

ttttticccccgoddamn it

t

tickhebdkfyck

ti

"Want some raspberries?"