New Original Story Continued

After a while, Samantha had tickled so many guys that she’d discovered a rather endearing correlation between certain sensitive spots and the unique emotional responses they produced.  Underneath the surface layers of hysteria and defiance, she found a subtle spectrum of reflexive feelings she could induce by concentrating her tickling in specific areas.  Every male body became a new vehicle for her to drive back and forth through madness.

The most ticklish spots, armpits and feet, produced a more fearful, desperate laugh and/or scream, where tickling the stomach and ribs seemed to fill out her victim’s smile underneath his anguish.  She could see and hear it clearly when she would tease him, belittling his pompous attitude, calling his chiseled abs nothing more than a little boy’s ticklish tummy, and tickling him there, and only there.  The anger in his voice suddenly softened behind a laughter of pure joy- innocent, liberated joy- until his defiance could manage to recover and choke back the smile she had found.  

 

The more she found this dynamic to hold true for every guy’s body, the more she was amazed by its implications- especially if he was one the obnoxiously arrogant pricks.  She would spend plenty of time on his feet, making him thrash and curse her.  But for a man filled with so much pride that he had completely forgotten or repressed the boy inside, Samantha knew he would need more than just humiliation.  She knew that in the secret joyful smile of his belly laugh was the last spark of his youth- and therein his greatest capacity to experience joy and love.  And the longer she tickled it out of him, the longer, harder, and faster she curled her pretty fingers over his abs and ribs, the more of his arrogance and pride she could chip away.  

 

After the twenty minutes had run out–it never mattered how quickly he broke down, she never let anyone off easy–she would begin to tease and stroke his cock and make the real begging come out.  

 

“Ok Sam! You got me now just finish me off, enough already. Put me in your mouth, please!”  

 

“Don’t kid yourself, if you think that’s the favor I’m doing you here you’re more dense than I thought.”  She’d proceed to coat his cock and stomach with more lotion and pump and tickle him furiously until he exploded in the most relieving defeat he’d ever known.  The guys that really pissed her off always got their dicks pointed right at their eyes for this most memorable of moments, and usually left without having much to say in their defense.

 

But once in a while she would reach that spark long enough to light a flame, and the awe twinkling through his glazed eyes, and that pure smile curling up between his heavy post coital breathing, told her that he had no desire to be untied just yet.  If she felt confident they would have that chemistry after his climax, she would aim his cum off to the side, wipe her hand off, and when she saw that newfound smile coming through, she smiled it back and continued gently rubbing and tickling the last of the lotion into his stomach and watched him writhe and love it.

 

Much to his disappointment and confusion, she would then untie him and rush him out the door, reminding him to not forget what he’d learned from her.  She’d go to her shower and rinse off, watch the recording of her conquest, and finish herself off.  No one ever stayed the night.  No matter how much positive, radiant energy could come from the deep vulnerability she created for her victims, she could never allow herself the same openness.  She wouldn’t risk giving up her control and self respect for something so contrived as a man’s feelings.  Not again.  

 

And so she remained proud and chaste, and lonely.

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