Adventure - Part 3 - Sensation
Darkness. Stillness. Silence. Tension. All in equal measures. You can’t even make out my movements through sound as the blindfold rests comfortably over your eyes. There, so exposed, with your arms lightly secrued above you to the head of the bed, and with your feet similarly restrained, you can’t help but feel nervous in your vulnerability. You struggle to sharpen your senses, trying to get any hint as to what is to come next. As if it would help. Your wish is granted all too suddently as you feel me slowly lower myself to sit on your hips. You don’t dare say a word, luckily the quiet comes to an end with a hushed tone aimed down at you.
“Now then, my good little girl. I do hope you’re comfortable. We could be here quite a while, you know? Of course I’ll aim to keep you entertained! You know how much I love to make sure youy’re smiling! You always look your absolute cutest when you are. And considering how adorable you normally are, that’s saying something. But, all things considered, this next bit might not be considered… “cute”. No, I think “hot” is more the vibe I’m going for this time. I’m going to tickle. And tickle. And tickle. I’m going to tease you with the lightest touches and then overload you with sensation. Make you beg. Bring you to the bring of sanity, push your mind to the edge so there’s no more pain. No more worry. No more outside. Just here. Just us. Just tickling. I’m going to make you feel the most alive you’ve ever felt. But let’s start light, shall we? Can’t be getting ahead of ourselves!”
The soft bristles of the brushes move like a hundred unified fingers as they match the contours of your skin. Your fingers twitch as your palms are lightly dusted. Not enough to elicit a smile. Yet. But the brushes don’t stay there long. They travel down your arms, just as my fingers did, lightly swaying against you from side to side. Down your triceps, as you lightly pull they sway. Then into your underarms. The light teasing of their soft lines that waft as if in a breeze is enough to make you smile. Suddenly they move faster. Now in circles. Round and round, the heads turn and twist, the uniformity of the bristles distrupted as they all seem to crash against each other in random patterns, bouncing to unpredictabely against your skin. So tantilisingly light, but so great in number and so impossible to keep track of. You’re laughing now. It’s so tickly. But as much as you shift, which isn’t much, you can’t escape. The sensation of a hundred tickly little blades of grass blowing in the wind. Scratching gently. Tickling over and over in absurd patterns, round and around.
“There’s a good tickish girl. Laugh for me. This is just the start. These brushes are as hungry for your skin as I am. Well, maybe not. But they’re having so much fun seeing you giggle. Tickle tickle tickle! Who’s a ticklish little girl?”
The brushes move once more, but keep their motions as they do, dusting down your ribs, being sure to tickle inbetween each one. One rib. Then another. The muscles between twitch as each nerve is given little rest before another bristle wiggles against it. And another. And another. Down your ribs they descend ever so slowly. Before reaching your sides. Their movements change the second they arrive. Suddenly it’s broad strokes, and the brushes are held firm as they travel the full length of your sides, until the very tops of your hips, where the retreat back to the bottom of your ribs. Quickly and with light touches they stroke up. Then down. Then up. Then down. Writhe as you might, you can never get free from the inevitable. Like tides they crash in and out, drawing forth your mirthful reactions. I drink in your laughter, humming to myself quietly and I enjoy seeing your midriff dance to my tutilage. After an eternity, the brushes change again. Now spiralling in towards your stomach, like brooms aiming to sweep every inch of floor, they quickly dust and flutter all over the skin. Spirals move over you, the bristles tickling endlessly, reaching over your bellybutton and down to your navel. Sweeping back up to tease the very edge of your ribs. Ensuring not to leave a speck of skin untouched.
“Such a gorgeous little tummy. Perfect for tickling, don’t you think? Look at it move when I tickle here! Or here! Or here! Oh so much fun to watch it rumba! A-tickle tickle tickle!”
Just as soon as you fear you might get used to it, the brushes move again, dusting along your hips in the familiar round movements that tormented your underarms. Struggling gets you nowhere as they relentlessly match your movements and tease. I move down after that, sliding myself down the bed and bringing the tickling touch of the brushes with me as they gently move from side to side down the tops of your thighs. Slowly they descend until they reach your knees, where they deftly swish upwards to mimic the broad strokes that teased your sides, but on the insides of your thighs. All the way up they reach, until the brushes meet each other at the top, so close they are, before they drag back down, wiggling gently. Over and over they tickle as your legs buck and pull against the restraints. Unable to do anything but bite your lip and giggle, I smile so contently.
“Poor thing. This must be sensitive. So ticklish here. Well don’t worry, I’ll be sure you get special attention in all the most ticklish spots. Let’s have a few more minutes of tickling these thighs shall we? You look like you’re having fun with the brushes here… tickle… tickle… tickle…”
Making good on my promise, the brushes remaind to tease the most sensitives lengths of your thighs for a good deal longer. As they make their final path down, they dust extra fast, just to ensure the most sensation. A quick dusting of your knees then leads to their backs being similarly teased. Before your cavles receive the sane treatment as your thighs. Gentle fluttering as they try cover every inch of your legs before making light circles on your ankles. Then down the tops of your feet they drag. The bristles making sure to move with their arcs as they press ever so lightly against your sensitive skin. They, onto your toes. The brushes take special care to envelope each one, individually, as they move down. They brush and wiggle every so lighty on the top of each toe, before dusting all the way around and under. Lastly dragging along their undersides all at once with the same light wiggle that makes you shudder and giggle just that little bit more.
“Awww, is this torture? Or is it deligtful? Either way, I think the brushes have taken a liking to these ticklish little toesies! And by how much you’re blushing and giggling, I think you must like it too! Who has the most ticklish toesies ever? I think it’s you! Tickle tickle!”
After teasing your toes for what must feel like forever, the brushes make their way down your soles, where the gently teasing bristles must drive you insane. Sweeping and swooshing, they shake side to side, in spirals, in circles, every which way you can imagine as they run up your archers, down to your heels, along your soles. The order switches each time, giving you no defense to the sensation that tickles the bottoms of your feet madly. Over and over this continues, the sensation building each time, as you writhe more and struggle against your bonds. To no avail. The tickling does not subside. It does not lessen. The bristles never leave your skin, sure of their duty to endlessy tickle you. You can’t focus on anything but the mass of sensation that’s taken over your body as you laugh and struggle.
It stops. Just like that. Your feet still tingle and you still giggle lightly with the residual sensation. But your relief is undercut quickly, as over your own breathing, you hear me move to the side of the bed.
“The brushes had a lot of fun with you! And you were such a good girl for me, all giggly and cute. You’ve done well to behave. I hope you’ll be just as darling for the feathers.”
I swear I hear you audiably gulp. But that doesn’t deter me as I carefully pick up the white plumes and twirl them in my fingers, holding them by their quills. Quickly, just for run, I run one down your neck. Your reaction is immediate as you crane your head away as quickly as possible. I chuckle at your understandable reaction.
“Now, now, that’s very naughty! I hope your attitude improves when they really get to work. Be as still as you can, I need to make sure I tickle you just right…”
You feel the pressure on your hips against as I return to my seat above you. The extra inability to move due to me being sat on you doesn’t help your nerves at how much you fear this will tickle. Suddenly you feel the lightest sensation stroking along the outside of your ears. The feathers tips draw along their edges as you shake your head, smirking and sputtering adorably, as if trying to blow the feathers away. I keep this up for mere seconds before I slide down the bed once more to your feet, and place each feather between your big toes and their neighbour. You shake quickly, the plumes already lightly wiggling against such sensitive skin.
“Hey! Now, the more you move those toes, the more the feathers will tickle, right? And I can’t have you get tickled when it’s not by me! So… if you’re not going to stay still, like a good girl. Well… I’ll just have to get to tickling. Because good girls let tickle monster tickle them, don’t they? And naughty girls who try avoid it get tickled all the same. So try be good for me and the feathers… and let’s see that smile. Tickle… tickle tickle tickle!”
The feathers saw back and forth so quickly you scream and buck with all your might, begging and pleading already for it to stop. Knowing your requests fall on deaf ears. The soft edges of the feathers move and contort to your movements, tickling no matter where you try move your toes. As I saw their tickly sides between your toes, I chuckle. In an instant, I’ve moved them to the next toes down with such precision it barely even registers before the swift tickling begins anew. A few minutes between these toes. Switch down. A few minutes between those, switch down. Until there the end, where the process reverses. The sawing is constant, only briefly stopping to change location, but never for long enough to give reprieve. It is truly maddening. The overwhelming sensation from something so small. Unable to think outside of the now, the tickling just continue and continues. The adrenaline rushes as you struggle so hard. But the tickling just continues. No matter your cries, the tickling just continues. Until it stops.
“Take a quick breather. I don’t want you to get exhausted so early on in our plans! But wow… you’re so ticklish… so helpless… so…much…fun. We’re not done with the feathers though. Heck, we’re not even done with your toes! We have so much to do… and all the time in the world. Get ready, my ticklish little girl… I plan to make this next bit tickle.”