Keep your arms above your head.
I’ve been a little brat.
You know damn well that I know I have been.
I’m doing it on purpose, silly.
I know it drives you insane.
I know it makes you want to pounce. Why wouldn’t I be a brat?
I see the look in your eye. I pretend I don’t, but I can see that sparkle, that “You’re screwed, little girl” look.
I finally stretch just a liiiiiittle too far, revealing my tummy and underarms, and the inner monster is released.
You know just as well as I do that this is what I hoped for all along. To release the big, bad Ler in you. Your mouth curls up into a sadistic smile.
“We’re going to play a game, little girl.”
My eyes are wide and my face is flushing red.
“You’re going to listen really close, understand? I’m going to destroy you, and the entire time, you have to keep your arms above your head. No bondage. No restraints. Just keep them up. If you don’t, you’ll get it a thousand times worse. Understood?”
The inner monster really has been released. This is a game that will destroy someone as sensitive as me.
I can’t keep my arms up. It’s involuntary. I’ll squeal at the first touch and throw them down. You know this is well as I do.
You’ll give me another chance, just because you love to tease me so horribly.
“Aww is someone ticklish??”
This will destroy me.
Because not only will I get the first little pokes and prods as I pretend to be tough, but the second I lose cognitive control from the butterflies in my tummy and the joyous, uncontrolled laughter falling from my lips, those arms will be down, feebly trying to protect myself.
And that’s when the punishment begins. The flurry of scribbles and squeezes and pokes and prods. This is when I’ll beg and plead, at first for you to stop, but then, when I am thoroughly broken from fingers and feathers and brushes attacking every square inch of my body, all I’ll be able to say is one simple word.
That’s the point of this game. You know it. I know it.
It’s not to see who can win or lose, because we both know I’m about to be wrecked.
No, it’s about that point, where I can’t get enough. Where I can’t control smiling and giggling, even when you aren’t touching me. Where I crave for more. Where my walls are completely broken down, and you can see me. The real me. No acting. Just pure, blissful laughter.
And that moment starts with a simple, blush-inducing sentence.
“Keep your arms above your head.”
(Okay this is my first writing ever so if it’s horrible I’m so sorry. Tell me what you think???)