This stunning tickling kink erotica is written and read by Molly Moore, and originally appeared on her website.
He points at the bed.
“Lay down.”
It’s a request, not a command, but I take up his offer. The messages he had sent me earlier today gave me the distinct impression he had plans for me tonight. Not a punishment as such – we don’t play like that – but maybe ‘a lesson to learn’ is a better phrase.
He secures the cuffs around my ankles and wrists and then attaches each one in turn to the ties attached to the frame of the bed. He steps back and admires me for a moment. His eyes travelling all over my body before finally finding my eyes. He smiles at me, but it is that smile. The one full of knowing. And it makes me shiver in anticipation of what he might have planned for me.
The blindfold is unexpected. He rarely uses one because he knows I like to see, but tonight he ignores my faint protests and fixes it firmly over my eyes – robbing me of my sight. The darkness behind the fur lining is very complete.
I can hear him moving around the room, there is the tell-tale noise of the zip on the bag he keeps under the bed which contains all his toys. I call them ‘toys’ but many people would call them ‘instruments of torture’. I wonder which one his hand will fall to tonight.
The bed shifts beneath his weight and I brace myself.
There is that silent pause. I can just make out the sound of his breathing but nothing else and I hate it: the tension, the wait.
“Just do it,” I growl at him.
And he does, but it is not anything that I have imagined. No clamps or floggers or hot wax. He is tickling me. Mercilessly. For a split second I am frozen, my body tight and tense beneath his roaming fingers but then the sensation takes over and I’m thrashing around pulling against the cuffs that hold me down. Twisting and turning. Crying out.
In a surprisingly quick amount of time I can feel my chest tightening with the exertion of fighting and laughing simultaneously. As quickly as he started, he stops. My body slumps weakly down into the bed and my lungs draw great billows of air into my chest trying to regain some balance to my breathing.
“I told you not to tickle me,” he says
The memory of me sitting across his back the other night and tickling him makes a smile appear on my face.
“I can see you still think it is funny,” he responds.
“No. No I don’t,” I protest but it is too late and the tickle torture starts again.
“I am not going to stop this time,” he tells me as his fingers dig and paw at my sides and stomach.
“But if you want it to stop you know how to make that happen.” His fingers seem to pause for just a second as if he is giving me a chance to blurt out my safeword if I want to but when I purse my lips together the tickling resumes. This awful torture that feels almost painful but makes me laugh. I hate it.
The sound of the Doxy is unmistakable. I don’t need my eyes to know that is what he is now holding in his one free hand. I can also easily imagine the sadistic smile that is adorning his beautiful lips. Now I totally understand his plans and why I am securely cuffed, both legs and ankles to the bed. He needed both hands free and for me to be utterly unable to move away to truly teach me a lesson.
There is nothing I can do to steel myself for what happens next. The tickling has made me hypersensitive and when the powerful vibes of the Doxy hit my clit my whole body convulses. He pushes it firmly into my folds, pinning my hips down with it, but with his other hand he continues to tickle my stomach and sides, running over my rib cage and under my breasts, jumping from place to place so there is no pattern, no chance for me to anticipate his touch. I am squealing and laughing and almost crying at the intensity of it all. I want it to stop but I also don’t and I realise I am actually trying to push my hips upwards to meet the head of the vibrator that is throbbing between my thighs.
I want to come.
He knows me well enough to know that and I don’t know what he does – something minor, a slight shift in the angle of the Doxy or just the amount of pressure he is applying – and it is enough. Too much, in fact. My orgasm rips through me. My cunt spasms and I can feel the wetness gush from me and coat my thighs. The Doxy falls silent and the tickling has stopped. I am gasping for breath now. My chest heaving as my lungs desperately try to drag air back into me. His mouth is close to my ear and his hand is resting on my chest.
“Breathe,” he coaches.
Slowly, with me. In and Out. Again. In and Out.
I focus on the sounds of his voice. My body continues to shake and twitch, my nerves so on edge that they can’t quite stop, but soon my breathing starts to settle and he eases the blindfold from me face.
“Are you alright?” he asks and I can see the concern but also something else in his face. Desire? Or maybe it is love.
I nod up at him.
“Was it how you imagined? Was it as good as you thought it would be?”
“It was better,” I confess.
“So do you plan on ever tickling me again?”
I pause, pondering his question.
His hand is running gently up and down my thigh, soft caressing tickle and even though I have already come I know my body wants more. I know I want him to fuck me now. To feel his cock hard and thick filling me up.
“Please,” I whimper
“What do you want?” But he is climbing between my thighs, stroking his cock to make it fully hard, so I know he knows the answer.
The head of his cock is brushing up against my cunt. I tilt my hips in an offering and as he slides into me I say:
“Yes, I plan to tickle you again.”
If you enjoyed this gorgeous story about tickling kink, you can find more of Molly’s amazing work on her blog, and hear more sexy stories read aloud at the audio porn hub. If you don’t yet own a Doxy but you’d like one (they’re amazing), buy through this link and use the code GOTN15 – you’ll get 15% off and your purchase helps support this site, and the audio porn project.