Love buttons

tracing your armpits, the palm of your hands. twirling in your belly button, counting your ribs. your knees, your thighs, your feet, tracing up and down the soles and sawing between the toes.

"oh my god, they can't even take a little tickling."

at first, it's all fun and games. they're laughing at your hysterical pleading, calling you weak and pathetic.

then, of course, one pipes up, "oh my god, they're getting turned on by this!"

thus begins the second act of the torment. one inspects you, the chorus of girls cooing and laughing. then they trace the feathers over your nipples.

you arch, you plead. one starts to trace the feather over your genitals, making you buck into the feather.

they are going to edge you. they are going to tickle you, to take you apart. perhaps for hours. perhaps until you can't possibly edge any longer. hopefully they'll let you cum.

but they might tell you that you're not allowed to cum on anything but the feather. and if you can't ... they're going to have to train you. repeatedly. edging you over the weeks until you can finally cum only from a feather and their hands tormenting you.

Tickling Treatment Part 02 of 04