Guilt Tickling- New Original Story

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A lot of empty threats and promises are made in the last long minute before a man’s sexual surrender.  But not on Andrea’s watch.  She made her boyfriend keep his promises, and because of her dedication to inspiring his own, he had stopped smoking cigarettes, made his diet entirely vegan, and was now addicted to yoga.  He was in the best shape of his life, and the happiest.  But, it hadn’t been easy.

 

The first time she caught him smoking, wasn’t the worst time, but it was the first time she tied him up, and probably had the best results.  She found a half empty pack in his car, looked at it for a minute or two, and began calculating.  

 

The first decision she made was cooking his dinner with THC butter.  Then she kept his wine glass full until he was flat on his stomach on the bed, absolutely convinced she was just in a really good mood and felt like giving him a nice long massage.  He was a little confused when she stretched his arms forward, just over the edge of the bed, but everything she did made his body feel so good.  He didn’t question it.  Not even when he felt the smooth soft fabric tightening around his wrists.  Only when he realized she was no longer touching him did his eyes blink open stupidly.  He looked up and saw his wrists bound to the bed frame.  Confused, slowly working himself up on his elbows, he looked around for his Andrea.  Then he felt her.  Her fingers clamped around his ankles and yanked his legs straight out from under him.  He flopped down on his face, quickly twisting himself over to see the look in her eye, and finally realized something was very wrong.  She lept over his feet and landed right above his knees, and set the pack of cigarettes down over his racing heart.

 

“You told me you were quitting.”  Her eyes did not look forgiving.  

 

“I am!  I haven’t-”  

 

Her hands clamped over his mouth.  His breath cut off, he inhaled deeply through his nose and caught a whiff of her lavender massage oil still steaming off her warm hands. It was more than enough to calm his mind.  She couldn’t have held her hand there more than a few seconds, yet he somehow found time to take in every detail of the beautiful face and figure about to bare her wrath upon him.  Her fierce brown eyes, and tight, perfect ponytail falling over her shoulder. Her bright fuchsia tank top, tight over her golden shoulders and firm, round breasts.  Her black tights hugging the dramatic curves of her hips, thighs, and calves as she sat over him.  She lifted her hand and spoke softly.

 

“You’re going to make me a promise now.  I don’t care how long it takes, you’re going to make it over, and over until its perfect, and sounds so sincere that I’ll be able to untie you knowing it will never be broken.”

 

He unconsciously pressed his lips together in dread.

 

“Promise me that the next time you put that filth in your mouth, you will leave me that same day, and never speak to me again.”

 

His eyes wide in shock, he was mortified.  “Andrea! don’t-”

 

She didn’t cover his mouth this time.  She tickled his body so fast and hard that he had to fight to take in air-she pulled his hips toward her, arching his back, stretching his torso, and dug her claws under his arms and down into his ribs.  He curled and bucked back and forth like an earthworm.  She recoated his chest and stomach with her lavender oil, tickling her way down.  She yanked off his pants and wrangled his feet though the black loops awaiting them, covering and tickling furiously every inch of his skin.  Now at his feet, she made him howl.  She made sure he was listening.

 

“Promise me!” she commanded, driving her nails between his toes and scraping them up the soles of his thrashing feet.  He tried-told her he loved her, that he would quit, that he would do anything for her, change his ways, be better… bullshit.

 

“That’s not what I’m asking…that’s not what I want.”  She tickled him harder and faster, all over his feet, poking, scratching, flickering.  Sinking her nails in deep, then seizing the top of his foot with one hand and tickling so lightly up and down his sole and under his toes, bring him into a blur of desperation.  

 

He looked down at her between his gasps and cries, and again as if in a frozen moment of clarity, saw her golden skin, and needed it.  Needed to caress it, kiss it, treasure it tenderly, and protect it as the dearest, most precious part of his life.  He needed to hold her and love her more than he’d ever needed anything.  He needed that soft skin pressed against his face and lips, warm against his body every night.  He needed her arms locked around him, his chin resting in her shining brown hair.  

 

He couldn’t deny how crazy he was about her.  He really did love-need-her.  He was so comforted and strengthened by her.  He knew she was by far his best and couldn’t bare the idea of losing her.  Her constant drive for perfection and truth in everything she did- her unstoppable heart and conscience.  She drove him crazy insisting that he keep up with her.  He didn’t have her childhood, her restlessness-but he loved the energy and confidence she brought into his life and his way of thinking.  He could not-not for the world-lose her.

 

But he didn’t know how to promise what she was asking.  He knew perfectly well what she was doing.  She loved tickling him because she knew it tripped something in his brain.  It got under his skin-the fact that he was far more ticklish than she and their tickle fights had never gone well for him.  She knew his stubborn attitude, and knew when she tickled him- to the point where he had to admit his defeat- that she was getting more and more under his skin, to that condemned place in a man’s heart where he keeps his feelings for the girl who proves herself his equal- his counterpart.

 

And she knew behind his stubborn attitude he had a moral center and a guilting conscience, and that would be the only kind of pain she could give him that would make real and undeniable in his mind the pain she felt when he poisoned his body so carelessly.  She wouldn’t let him get away with dismissing any potential consequence of his careless actions.  She would tickle him, make him laugh and writhe in love and anguish until he reached the end of his rationalizing thought process-slowly-between desperate pleas-realizing that the guilt and stress he would endure hiding something from her would soon surpass whatever trivial enjoyment he might get from it.  

 

For Andrea, she knew she would live her whole life and never tire of taking hours out of any day to either massage and spoil him, or tickle and charm him.  And she loved him more and more believing that this was how they could overcome any challenge in their relationship.

 

She crept up over his legs and went back to his ribs, sinking and scratching her pretty nails between each rib bone.  Back and forth over his neck, chest, underarms, she watched the expression on his face align with her predictions- love and anguish-joy and guilt.  They looked deep in each other’s eyes, realizing again the love between them was far more evenly balanced their ticklishness, and that really it was that love that was going to win this battle.  He knew she wouldn’t just let him give up.  She would tickle, and tickle, and tickle him until nothing in his mind could hold back his love and devotion to her and the promise would speak itself with the same confidence she would continue to give him each day.

 

What he didn’t know was that after he promised her, and after she bent down and kissed him as hard and deep as all her tickling, she would smile her own guilty smile and tickle his feet another ten minutes before letting him go, and letting him hold her, and fuck her passionately, intimately, and fall deeper and deeper in love with her incredible, infallible heart.

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