I've been getting lots of requests for Tickle Torture, and I recently hosted my first real tickle torture session. Before the event itself, I found myself thinking a lot about Tickle Torture and its origins in my own life. I remember Tickle Torture as the nightmare fuel for my younger siblings, who were disturbingly ticklish. Whenever one of them lost a bet or a game, they were punished with Tickle Torture. This lasted well into high school, most likely because while I knew I was a sadist, I didn't realize that tickle fetish was a thing. If I had, I probably wouldn't have been 16 years old, tying my 10 year old brother and 13 year old sister to chairs with bungee cords, tickling their ribs and armpits until they fell backwards, laughing heartily as they screamed and howled in vain. Mom wouldn't be home for hours.
I was lucky in that I had the magical ability to shut my nerves down. No matter how hard my brother and sister would tickle me, it would never work. I would be there at the end of the hallway, bound and gagged, sometimes blindfolded, and I would wait for torture that never seemed to come. And then I would hear them, whispering in the kitchen:
"But it doesn't work! She's not ticklish!"
"It's bullshit, it's like she's immune!"
"But she broke the jinx!"
"What about Mom's closet? We've got to punish her somehow..."
The following sounds would be drawers opening and closing, the kids trying to find instruments to break into our mother's room to steal stuff from her closet. Obviously, as a former Dominatrix with kids like us, she kept chains and padlocks on her bedroom door. It only resulted in all of us becoming master locksmiths and escape artists. By the time they were able to return with one of Mom's canes or crops, I had already gotten loose and rigged some booby trap or another in the house, while I would go hide somewhere. Once secure, I would wait for them to either trip a wire and hurt themselves horribly or give up on finding me. Whichever happened first. (More and more I realize what an awesome childhood I had. I feel sorry for only children.)
It was a great treat the first time I was asked if I had any experience in Tickle Torture. I considered tangling with my siblings as excellent experience. Hell, my childhood nickname was Snidely Whiplash. If you weren't tied up and tickled by me as a kid, you seriously missed out on some top notch child sadism. (This is also why I don't mind when babies and kids cry. For some reason it just makes me laugh. Even in the grocery store, when folks are telling some frazzled mother to control her kid, I'm like "Meh, let him scream, he'll have the hiccups soon. Now THAT'S annoying.")
Sub S and I had been talking online for quite some time. He seemed very nice, and it was really refreshing to get a sub client who was younger than me for once. I'm usually pretty against it, because young men should be saving their money. For some reason, I blame chemistry, I allowed this to proceed. I suppose it was also a challenge, as he mentioned that he'd never been tickled to the point where he thought it was "enough." Also, he was willing to drive all the way to Orlando to see a professional Dominatrix to get what he wanted. Obviously he meant business.
What a relief it was to see him on my porch, preppy and adorable. Very good looking, about the same height as me, with a solid build. We were even wearing the same outfit, tight black t-shirts and black jeans. He would have been great for a takedown scene, but that would have been a different story.
I led him into the Fungeon, which I had cleared out for this scene purposely, leaving only the desk and the St. Andrews cross. I first tied him to the cross, but the angles weren't right. In order to tickle him properly, I had to give him nowhere to go. Something told me he would struggle. A gleam in his eye, perhaps. As he stripped down to his skivvies, I removed the cross from the room and used an entire roll of duct tape binding his hands to one of the legs of my desk. He lay flat on his back, arms up with his armpits and ribcage exposed. The first trickle of fear that swam across his expression did it for me. There was such a wide array of targets to choose from, I wasn't sure where to start!
I began gently, trailing my fingertips down his sides, wishing I hadn't trimmed my fingernails the night before. It caused little goosebumps to rise all over his torso, all the way to his armpits where I twirled my fingers, lightly, then a little bit rougher. He was giggling already, but soon he would be yowling like the little brats from my youth. As I tickled harder, sharp, loud yelps of laughter burst from his face, which was turning bright pink. "No, no, no, no, no, ahahahaha! No, hahaha stop! Please!" he cried, his body bucking and twisting.
These were not the safe words.
I quickly remedied his squirms by straddling him above his hips, planting my boots on either sides of his face and forcing my full weight onto his stomach. I began jabbing at his ribcage, and he tried to spin like a crocodile. He was incredibly strong, and our efforts dragged my (vintage, so very heavy) desk halfway across the room. I dragged him across the floor as I pushed the desk back against the wall, thrilled to have found his weakest spot. I squatted beside him and tickled him more, working my way up one side until his legs were thrashing, and then up the other side, poking my fingertips through his muscles and feeling his whole body buck and spasm. He was not getting away.
"Please! Stop, please! Hahahaha oh my God please stop! Hahahaha!"
"All right, all right, settle down." I laughed, kneeling next to him. I trailed my fingertips across his stomach. To be fair, there were abs there, but I wanted him to relax. I calmed him down, lightly rubbing his sides, waiting for that tension to dissipate before I started up again. His breathing slowed, and I tucked a pillow behind his head, gently poking the backs of his knees and scratching the soles of his feet. Eventually he relaxed. That was my cue.
"Oh, did you think I was done? I haven't even gotten to your vulnerable little belly! You think you can expose yourself to me like this and get away with it? When you KNOW I'm a tickle terrorist? Tell me your secrets, infidel!"
He screamed as I dug my nails into his tummy, wriggling them as hard as I could. He spun and rolled, leaving his left ribcage exposed. I went there with my hands, drumming my fingertips between his bones and pinching his armpit. He flipped to the other side, screaming and laughing, tears streaming down his cheeks. I began to notice my fingers were leaving bruises up and down his torso. Good!
"Are you having fun? Open your eyes, boy, are you having fun?" I held two index fingers in the air, threatening to poke him. He gasped for air, shaking his head "no," then "yes," then "no," then "yes," giggling all the while. I pointed out that he was smiling, so he wasn't allowed to say that he wasn't having any fun.
"But, it, tickles, so, much, it, hurts, Miss, B! Miss B please!"
"Please what? You're smiling! Why would I hurt you? I only want to see you smile!"
"It, hurts, so, much, hahahaha!" His face glowed red, just adorable. It really was.
"I'm gonna keep doing stuff to make you laugh, because I like to see that big ol' grin of yours, kay?"
"No, no, PLEASE, AHAHAHAHAHAHA!"
The red marks erupted all over his skin as I poked him all over, curling my hands into claws, digging my fingers in and switching the pressures, giggling aloud as I squealed "Tickle tickle tickle!"
I continued the game, taking him high and low for over an hour, until he finally ran out of struggle-power and said in a croaked voice, "Red. Red, red, red, oh fuck I'm done, red." His grin was ear to ear.
"Are you sure you can't take any more?" "Yes, I've had enough. I just... need to lay here... for a while."
Thank heavens. My hands were exhausted! we both calmed down, drinking orange juice and examining the damage. I had tickled him until he bled down both sides of his ribcage. It was awesome. Somehow in the midst of it all, I had managed to take a few photos. So yay! I'm looking forward to more sessions like this. This was just pure fun.