Tickling was a complete surprise kink for me. I was introduced to it by a fetlife friend and was very quickly hooked. Don’t get me wrong… it is utter and absolute fucking agony, which is why it’s a hard limit for many folks. So why do I want to be relentlessly tortured?!
I love to feel so horribly vulnerable, exposed and helpless. I love to be teased and taunted. I love to be out of control. Tickling has enormous potential for all of these things.
In the week running up to the tickling, the teasing begins:
Five days to go…
“I hate to think of your helpless body, especially those soft underarms all vulnerable and open… your arms tied above your head, making it impossible for you to defend yourself.”
Three days to go…
“I can’t wait to see how much you can handle before it starts to get unbearable! Oh dear, do you think that means I’ll stop then? Poor Ruby.”
One day to go…
“I don’t intend to stop until I have to: until you’re absolutely exhausted and flustered and barely able to squirm. I don’t intend for you to be able to have a coherent thought at all.”
I’m wincing just typing that out, and my arms are clamped down by my side in order to protect my poor underarms!
The day arrives…
The adrenaline begins pumping the moment my eyes open, knowing what is to come later. I shower, shave and moisturise, giving my body lots of love and kindness before it’s big ordeal. Occasionally stopping and recalling the taunts, a shiver runs through me.
Arriving at the venue, it’s time to change. Stockings and a skimpy negligee which is almost see through but not quite. I can tease too.
I find him and want to be held. He obliges, until I’m ready.
I’m led up the stairs and I stand waiting to be tied, the first sensations of submission washing over me and my world grows small. I’m no longer aware of the onlookers. The chat, the spanks and gasps fade into a background blur.
The tying begins. It’s hypnotic. He’s so careful. Before I realize it, I am completely immobilised. I can’t escape. I can’t protect myself. My breathing changes, short and shallow, and now the adrenaline surges forth and I realise my predicament.
He is cruel. And he’s relentless. And he only pauses to taunt me about what’s coming next, or to lull me into thinking I’m getting a break. It’s so unfair it makes me want to fight. I can’t speak. I can’t even think. And I want more.
It’s so perfect. It touches something so deep down: something wordless and immensely powerful.
I could almost cum from the exquisite relief of it. The unstoppable laughter, the squirming and wiggling that I simply can’t control. And the power of it all being witnessed. I have no choice but to be seen in this state: this mess… so authentic because pretending is impossible.
When it’s finally over, I’m led to a quiet space and held and stroked for as long as I need: until I return to a place of words and others.
For days afterwards, my sore bruised sides remind me that it wasn’t a dream. It really happened. My fantasy really happened.