Two or three minutes had gone by since the Porsche's driver disappeared into the coffee bar. Maria's terror had passed, and in its wake her clit felt as though it were on fire. The rest of her body was tingling from the ticklish feel of the ice cold fabric that slid constantly over it. Another minute, she knew, and she would literally go insane. She would either pass out, or slip into a hysterical frenzy. Either way she would die on the spot or wake up in a hospital. To go much longer feeling what she was feeling was unthinkable.
The ladies rest room was just a few shops away. Walking there would be hell, as the movement would make the clit teaser torture her clit much more than it did standing still. Once inside, she was certain, all she had to do was step out of her pants, pull off the teaser, and her suffering would be over. Her outfit would still be tickling her body, but that was nothing in comparison to the continuous torment welling from her clit.
She had almost made up her mind to go, but a tiny part of her vetoed the idea. It was as though that part of her was enjoying the torment and wanted no part in having it end. As she studied a girl's cotton mu'u mu'u hanging on a tree rack without really paying any attention to it, the realization hit her that what she was feeling was quite a bit like having sex. Really good sex. When the sensations flooding her brain were pure, uncut pleasure so intense that they made her feel as though she were being tortured. What she felt there in the store was very much like what she felt before the stormy sea of stimulation rose into a discernible swell which would slowly become a wave that crashed against the shore in a mind searing orgasm. She felt nowhere near an orgasm, only the dark, churning sea of unbearable pleasure.
Suddenly aware that she was not watching the coffee bar, she whipped her head around as her stomach knotted at the thought that she may have missed the Porsche's driver coming out. If she had been about to slap herself her hand would have been raised and ready to strike, but at that moment he stepped through the black portal of the coffee bar's entrance and slid nonchalantly into a cane backed chair at one of the little tables on the sidewalk. The fear that had been born of her thinking she had lost him was seamlessly replaced by acute uncertainty due to her total lack of knowing what to do next.
Her body was not so inclined to ponder. By the time her symbol of masculinity had settled onto his chair her cunt was twitching. Suddenly the feel of the silky fabric became far more intense, tickling her so much that she could not help but shudder slightly as a feint squeal sprang involuntarily from her throat. A split second later the fiery pleasure coming from her clit swelled in intensity, to a point where she could not imagine herself capable of resisting the temptation to thrust a hand down inside her pants and push the soft, smooth, rosebud shaped piece of plastic aside.
That unfamiliar part of her that vetoed the retreat to the rest room seemed to want more. An image floated into her brain as if it wasn't hers to control, like piped-in music in a store. She was standing, only her wrists and ankles were bound and drawn apart. She was wearing exactly what she was then, right down to the clit teaser. The Porsche driver stood before her. They were in an indiscernible place but completely alone. He was wearing black leather -- long, tight pants, and a jacket. His cock was a big bulge in the pants running halfway to his left knee. Or was it sticking out, through the fly? Yes. And it, too was covered in tight black leather. No, she thought, just the shaft. The tip was left exposed, a huge, dark, purple-red mushroom. He was standing very close to her. He was running his fingers over her sides, her armpits, and her breasts, tickling her through the silk. It was absolute torture, only so, so good. Then he inched a little closer, and her cunt exploded with unbearable tickling. Without looking down she knew what had happened. The swollen tip of his cock was rubbing the crotch of her silk pants. She was unbelievably ticklish there, her most ticklish spot besides her feet. She knew his plan, to do this and only this until he came, which would take a very long time. She sighed in resignation as her first orgasm began to build, knowing for a fact that she would come many times this way before he was satisfied.
Maria had been staring at him, but not seeing him. Then she came back to the little mall, the dress shop she was in and the coffee bar across the parking lot, and noticed with a start that he was staring at her. A delivery truck lumbered by, a chain at the back clanking noisily as it jostled over a speed bump. The moment the intruder passed she saw that he was still staring at her.
Every sensation she had been enduring continued, if anything growing stronger. On top of that, her heart had started pounding, her palms felt clammy, and her stomach was starting to grind again. She turned away, but she could not stand the thought of walking away from him, or letting him walk away. She could only resist peeking for a few seconds, then she turned around again. Just as she saw that he hadn't budged her body's movement made the rosebud nudge her now fully extended clit, enveloping her in pleasure so intense that she felt as if her knees were about to buckle. She could not help shuddering, and tried to mask it by pretending to sneeze. This in turn made her clit scrape even more against the prickly recess in the center of the rosebud. Lacking any other plan, she made it look like a sneeze again, and to her surprise she heard a disembodied voice say "Bless you!" It was the shopkeeper, whom Maria had completely forgotten about. Suddenly she felt extremely vulnerable, and without thinking walked out the door.
Even before she was out the shop her body was wracked by sensations so intense she could hardly keep from falling to her knees. The distinction between pleasure and pain was impossible to make. The only thing Maria could say was that as excruciating as it was, it was nonetheless delicious. Now that the sun had set a cool breeze blew down from the distant mountains. The silk that covered her was thin enough to let some of it pass right through, while the gently moving air sent waves flowing through the supple fabric. Already made cold by the shop's air conditioning, the sudden flurry of movement sent tickling chills coursing over her skin and up her spine where they blossomed like fireworks, one atop the other in a wild frenzy. A barely audible exclamation of surprise escaped from her throat before she got control of her reactions. Then all she could do is stand there, with no idea what to do next, while her silk pants and blouse continued to flutter over her, tickling her right at the point where it was all she could do to hold back her laughter.
It took a second or two for her to grasp what was happening. In that brief time what had begun as terror transformed itself into delight. Maria realized that she was experiencing exactly what she had hoped for. In fact, it was better than she had hoped for. The silk felt wonderful, it was tickling her out of her mind, and the rosebud was pressed up tight inside her labia with her fully erect clit inside it, rubbing against its gently textured interior, flooding her with incredible pleasure. Yet, she was certain, anyone who looked at her saw an attractive, if not terribly young, woman dressed in elegant, sensuous silk. The only hint that she was even mildly aroused were the bumps her erect nipples made in her blouse.
Her mask of composure in place, she decided without really thinking about it to cross the parking lot and pass by where the Porsche's driver was sitting. Her only plan was to stroll past and see how he reacted, while getting a better look at him. When observing men from a distance Maria had a bad habit of filling in the unknowable with the best of all possible alternatives. As she moved in, her target's score usually fell off considerably as crooked teeth, bad skin, dandruff, dirty nails and other detractions became apparent. Usually there was enough wrong with the guy to cause her original score to go negative.
Three steps from where she had been standing she knew that the trip was going to be agony. It made her think of going to rock concerts in the arena, where the sound was so loud that she wanted to bolt outside, yet the overpowering beat, the persistent wailing of the lead guitar, and the screaming admonitions of the singers held her mesmerized.
In the background, her long, sleeveless silk tunic and pants kept tickling her, cold and gentle but impossible to ignore. What was different was the sensations coming from her cunt, and a sensation from her nipples that had been on hold during her retreat into the dress shop.
There was more to the ingenious clit teaser panty than the tight leather thong and the soft plastic nub that surrounded her clit. The inside of what she called the rosebud was festooned with soft plastic hairs, finer than the bristles of a toothbrush but stiffer than a makeup brush. They were angled slightly down, away from the opening, so that as the clit found its way into the little hole they drew it gently inside.
The rosebud was not attached firmly to the leather crotch. Instead, a thin wire protruded from the base of the rosebud and ended in a loop, as though the nub was to be worn as a pendent on a necklace. This wire passed through a small metal grommet set into the leather, and a thin washer on the outside kept the loop from pulling through. A thin gold chain about an inch long was attached to the eye loop, and the other end of the chain was attached to a heavy lump of chrome plated brass. The lump was about the size of her little finger, a slightly flattened cylinder that was curved to follow the curvature of her crotch. Another short chain went from the other end of the weight to an eyelet attached to the leather thong in back, up near the waistband. The chains were just long enough to allow the weight to dangle about an eighth of an inch below the leather. When she walked, every time her foot came down the weight yanked against the rosebud, pulling it slightly down. The angled bristles lining the hole tugged at her clit as they slid down its shaft. A split second later, the inherent springiness of the design made the rosebud press back up into place, its return trip made slightly easier by the angle of the bristles. The end result was that every step Maria took produced a mind shattering spasm of pleasure from her clit.
Even the metal weight dangling below her cunt supplied its own direct stimulation. The side facing her cunt was covered with about a dozen pointed studs, much like those used to decorate wristbands and collars. They were short and the points were well rounded, so there was no danger of them damaging any delicate tissue down there. Their primary function was to tickle the labia, and this they did extremely well now that she was walking.
Her nipples were enduring their own sweet torment, one not foreseen by the Japanese inventor of the clit teaser but one she would certainly approve of for its effectiveness. Its operation was simplicity in itself. The silk Maria's outfit was made from did not have a smooth, flat surface. The weaving process had been altered somehow so that there was a barely perceptible pattern of ridges running across the fabric, almost as if after every three or four passes of the shuttle it had gone back and forth several times in the same spot. Maria had seen this texture in many silk and rayon fabrics, but never before had she seen it done with such fine fabric and in so subtle a manner. A casual glance at the fabric would have you think it was perfectly smooth, but if you were to draw your fingernails over it you would discover that while a horizontal motion did in fact feel utterly smooth, a vertical motion would produce a delicate, whispering buzz.
It was this zing that was tormenting Maria's nipples. Her full, unsupported breasts jiggled up and down with her every step, making the nipples rub against the inside of her silk tunic. A lighter fabric, or most types of satin, would just move with them, but the silk her outfit was made of was just heavy enough to stay put, leaving her nipples no choice but to rub continuously up and down against it. The result was remarkably intense, enough that it made her take her mind off of the agony still pouring from her clit.
She had gone three steps and she was struggling to maintain her composure. Three clicks of her spiked heels hitting the asphalt and she was ready to cry out in anguish. That little someone inside her head was beaming, doing handsprings and crying out "You see! You see! I told you this would work! Don't you love it?" And the funny thing was, she did.
Just as Maria was emerging from between two parked cars a big Mercedes sedan cruised past a few feet in front of her. She barely caught a glimpse of the driver through the windshield, a middle-aged Japanese man who's sallow, sagging skin made him look especially old. A precious looking Japanese women was sitting in the front passenger's seat. Her hair style and minimal makeup made her look quite young, young enough to be called a girl, but she could have been in her late teens or possibly older.
What caught Maria's attention was that the man's right hand was resting on the girl's left thigh, just above her knee. That, and the fact that the girl seemed to be wearing the traditional Japanese schoolgirl uniform -- a dark blue pleated jumper and a white blouse, only the blouse had long sleeves and was obviously made of something like silk, and the jumper was far too shiny to be cotton.
As the big sedan moved slowly past her, from left to right, she quickly lost sight of the man's face but for a second or two longer could still see most of the girl, including the man's hand. In fact, as the car cruised slowly by she could see that he was lifting his hand slowly from her leg, in a flowing, languid manner, and as he did the girl's stony, bored expression melted into a grin. To Maria it looked like he had just been tickling the girl's knee, and the idea sent a spasm of excitement and longing shooting through her body. The girl leaned forward slightly and brought her right hand up to cover her face. The billowy white sleeve flowed around her arm in a way that left no doubt that it was made of something much more feminine and sensuous than cotton. By then the girl's expression had gone from a grin to uninhibited laughter. She never quite finished bringing her hand over her face, as if she only intended to make a token effort at complying with this custom. This meant that Maria, and perhaps more significantly the driver, could observe unobstructed the peculiar look of woman's face contorted with laughter provoked by being tickled.
Maria was struck by the notion that the couple in the car were either on their way to, or had just come from, a long tickling session. The moment this thought flashed in her brain she knew which it was, that they had just made a rendezvous and were on their way for an a evening filled with tickling. Her insight arrived in a flash, seemingly outside of and disconnected from the temporal world around them.
Just as the extra rush of excitement that this vision stirred up started to kick in she saw the girl in the car turn and stare at her. The girl's face was at the same level as Maria's crotch, and Maria was suddenly fearful that the girl had spotted something that gave away the presence of her clit teaser. But that wasn't quite what her expression conveyed.
"No," Maria decided, "it was more like she saw what I am wearing and knew how good it must feel. Maybe she saw something in my own face. The way I looked as I watched her being tickled. It was instant recognition, bonding. Perhaps a little smugness. 'There you are, starting to look old, alone and watching, while I'm so young and pretty, sitting in this air conditioned luxury car teasing a wealthy salaryman who loves to tickle young girls.'"
The car lumbered past. Through the back window Maria could see the silhouette of the girl, still laughing, reaching over and playfully pushing the man on the shoulder as if to make him stop. Apparently she was loosing, but then Maria doubted that she was trying to win.
Across the parking lot, perhaps thirty feet away, the Porsche driver looked up from the newspaper he had been scrutinizing, peering right over the edge, directly and very intently at Maria. The first thing she thought of as she started walking across the parking lot was how much more attractive he was than the man in the car that had just passed by. She could not imagine being pawed by a flabby old man like him, no matter how much money he spent on her. Or paid her, which she imagined might be the basis for their relationship. Maria wondered if the girl in the car worked for one of the Island's many escort services. Perhaps her bio carried a hint, like "Always looking for the right man to tickle me pink." Or, perhaps it was much colder. Perhaps, she thought, the service had a form the man filled out, listing special attributes he would be willing to pay extra for. Long hair down to the knees, exceptionally large breasts, tiny feet, leather clothing. Why not a ticklish school girl?
As the throbbing pleasure invoked by the return of walking flowed through her body Maria pushed aside the unflattering thoughts and focused again on the man she wanted. As the other couple faded away she had one last image, of the girl tied to a big brass bed and the man tickling her bare feet. Then the girl became Maria, and the old man turned into the handsome hunk she was drawing so near to, the man who was still peeking at her over his newspaper.
Maria was halfway across the driveway, approaching the row of cars lining the opposite side. She saw the black Porsche and decided to walk beside it. With her brain already saturated with tactile pleasure the proximity of the bulging sports car sent new waves of desire rushing through her so intense that for the first time that afternoon she felt on the brink of an orgasm. As she approached the front of the car she had to step up onto the raised sidewalk. The act of lifting her leg made the clit teaser bite extra hard on her clit, and it was just enough to push her gently over the edge. It was not a mind shattering orgasm, more like a sigh than a sneeze. For a few seconds she just stood there, staring blankly at the coffee making paraphernalia on display in the window, shuddering as if hit by a chill. In her mind she wanted desperately to cry out, but she kept her jaw clamped tightly shut.
When the seizure had passed Maria turned towards where the driver was sitting, and at the same time noted that the empty chair at his table was the only available seat. The driver was reading his paper. She was relieved that he might not have noticed her odd expression a moment ago, but then she began to worry that he had seen enough of her to realize that he was not interested after all. Before she could really think about it he looked up, and upon seeing her standing there his expression of nervous delight filled her with joy. In a move she had failed to anticipate he stood up and gestured at the seat across from his.