Steve had always liked to think that most men take pleasure in teasing their women occasionally with a little tickling mixed in with their foreplay. For him, it had become the centerpiece of his sex play. And now, more than ever before, he had a partner eager for more than just a little teasing, a woman who truly enjoyed the unique, erotic feeling of tickling torture.
He had become accustomed to the role of teacher, coaxing his dates to submit to the bondage and tickling that aroused him so much, turning them on to a whole new kind of sexual experience. To have a woman submit to his every desire so completely, indeed to take the lead in asking to be tied up and tickled relentlessly, was such a radical departure that it made him giddy.
It took tremendous will power to stop tormenting his lovely victim's clit with the feather, but he wanted her to cool off and catch her breath.
"Oh please, don't stop now!" she gasped, her eyes pleading for more.
He untied the rope holding her right leg to the post, flung it up over the cross beam, and pulled it down, lifting her right leg well up into the air. Then he secured the lose end to the post.
He picked up one of the Japanese fude and held in up for her to see, brushing it over his fingertips.
"I think we should move on to something a little more intense. This should drive you crazy."
He reached out and began to run it in a circle around her left tit, not quit touching the nipple.
"Ohh, that's good! So good, yes! Ahhhh!"
Then he let it flick over her nipple. Whereas the big, soft, fluffy feathers had swept over large areas of her skin, the Japanese calligraphy brush concentrated on a tiny spot.
She did not laugh. She jerked and twisted as much as her bonds would allow. Her face held a strained expression, as if she were suffering.
He began to switch back and forth between her breasts, focusing on just her nipples. They were full and hard, and bounced nicely as her body jerked and bobbed back and forth as the brush swept over them.
"Ohh, ohhhh! Stop it, please! That's too much! Oh, I'll die if you don't stop that!"
He didn't let up, delighting in her apparent agony. He had no intention of harming her, much less tickling her to death.
"Now, let's look for your most ticklish spot!"
He got down on his knees, reached up, and started to run the soft brush up and down the back of her right thigh, gradually letting it get closer to her cunt. Finally, when he guessed that she would burst with anticipation, he slipped over into her slit, letting it glide softly up and down.
"Ohhhh. No! No! Not that! Oh, it's torture there! I can't stand it!"
Steve noticed how much her expression looked as if she were in the throws of sexual intercourse. He had noticed the same thing in other women. In the beginning, the tickling would often bring laughter, but as it continued their expression became more strained. This kind of tickling had a lot in common with sex. Both were intense, and felt so good as to be almost unbearable. It was hard to tell the difference between a person in great pain, well on the way toward orgasm, and being subjected to good erotic tickling.
He was holding the brush in his right hand, sliding it up and down her slit. Then he reached out with his left hand and carefully spread the lips of her vagina, gradually opening the flower and letting the brush run over the petals. He used as little pressure as he could from his left hand, so that all she had for stimulation was the maddeningly light touch of the brush. He began to concentrate his strokes at the top of the slit, seeking out her clit.
"Ohhh! Ohhhh! Ahhhhhh!"
He had found it, judging from her screams and the even wilder jerking of her body. Then he saw it, moist and pink, poking itself out from the soft folds of her inner lips like a miniature, glistening finger. He zoomed in on it, twirling the brush around it, then flicking it back and forth.
He wanted to give her a few minutes of really good sexual pleasure, but still did not want her to reach orgasm. He was careful not to keep the brush on her clit for too long at a time. He brushed it for a few seconds, then moved away and tickled her slit, then came back again.
By now she was not saying much that was coherent. Sometimes she seemed to be speaking in Korean, but mostly she gave out with moans, cries, and screams. He couldn't be sure, but it seemed as if her cries got stronger when he stroked the brush over her clit, then tapered off when he moved away. All of it sounded just like a woman reaching the peak of orgasm, yet it went on and on as the minutes ticked by.
Finally he stopped, to let her rest and to try something different. She just hung there, her eyes closed, panting. Gradually she opened her eyes and spoke, her words barely getting out as she gasped for breath.
"Steve, oh Steve! This is so good! Please, more Steve, don't stop. Oh, my leg. Please let down my leg. It's starting to hurt."
Quickly he did as she asked. A cramp at this point would ruin a good time. He also untied the ropes that had been pinching so hard on her breasts, to free them for the next stage. He was delighted with how well the brush had worked, and knew that what he had in store for her was at least as devastating, having done it so many times to so many women.
He waited just long enough for her to catch her breath, without letting her arousal fade away. Then he went and picked up her gown.
"A while ago you said this dress really felt good to wear. I'd like to see what happens if we use it in a different way."
He held the dress with one hand at the neck and the other at the hem, adjusting his grip until it formed a smooth, wide band hanging loosely between his outstretched arms. Then he slowly brought it up towards her breasts, watching her face to see her expression when the cold, silky fabric touched her most sensitive skin.
While he was getting the dress smoothed out and ready to use she had been looking at him questioningly. Her eyes had remained fixed on the shiny black fabric as he slowly brought close to her. The moment it made contact she flung her head back and let out a low, sobbing moan. He started to draw it slowly back and forth, and her voice shot up an octave to a shriek of surprise.
"Ahhhhh! Eeeeeeaaaaa! It feels so good! Oh, yes! Ahhhh! It tickles so much!"
There really wasn't much to it. The trick was to keep the dress from getting twisted up, as the best feeling came when the fabric slid smoothly over her skin. Back and forth, back and forth. A little faster, a little slower. He knew all too well that this was a mind blowing trip for any woman.
"Talk to me. Tell me how it feels. I want to know what you are feeling."
"It tickles! So much! Really different, so good! Ahhhh! You're driving me crazy! Oh, stop it, I can't take this anymore. I'll die. Please stop, no more tickling. No more, please! Ahhhhh. Let me go!"
Steve guessed that she was suffering nothing more than the wickedly unbearable sensation of constant erotic tickling. Feeling powerless to make it stop made it even better. If he thought she was in trouble in any other way he would stop. As it was, he kept on, letting her experience the resignation to her fate that bondage allowed.
"Whenever you wear a dress like this I want you to remember how good this feels. You already know to wear it without any underwear, something a lot of other women would do well to learn. They dress themselves in this incredibly sensuous fabric, but miss out by wearing too much underwear. It needs to touch you, all over. It needs to slide over your skin, like this. Doesn't it feel good?"
"Yes. Oh yes!"
"How long can you stand it? I love to watch women out for the evening wearing gowns like this, imagining that they are naked underneath, feeling sensations like this. Enjoying for hours the constant pleasure a gown like this can provide, keeping them aroused, knowing that when they are alone with their man they will finally be satisfied. Perhaps even bound and tickled first, just as you are now. The anticipation of what lies ahead adds to their arousal. They can't wait to get away, eager to experience again this unendurable pleasure, finally to come in explosions of sexual release, again and again."
"Oh Steve, stop! It feels so good! I can't bear it any longer! Please stop, please!"
"I want to do this to you for hours. I want to have you in a little cabin, far up in a cool valley, isolated, completely alone, a place where nobody can hear your screams. I want to play with you like this for hours, for days. I want you to experience pleasure unlike anything you have ever felt."
"Ohhh, I can't stand it anymore! No more, please, it tickles so much!"
Some women he had done this to had come this way, just from having qiana dragged over their tits, and he wondered if she might do the same. He continued to torment her for several minutes, then stopped, not wanting her to come, not before she experienced what he considered the best.
As soon as he stopped he quickly untied her and led her to the big black lacquer table in the center of the room.
"Now I want you on your back. This I have done many times, and it is usually incredibly good. If it hurts, tell me so and I'll stop."
She followed him without hesitation, exhausted from her ordeal. He threw some zabutons onto the table, then laid her down on her back with her ass hanging well out over the edge, her feet resting on the floor.
"Are we going to make love here? I thought you said you would tickle me more."
"Don't worry," he replied. "This should tickle like nothing you have ever felt. Besides, for me this is making love, in a different sort of way. Do you really want me to pull out my dick and stick it inside you?"
"Oh yes! Well, not exactly. I do want you to be satisfied, but I also like what you've been doing. I mean, this is so special to me. A couple of times there, especially when you used that little brush, I almost came. I've never done it that way before. This time, can you just keep going and let me come? I think I'd like that. Later it can be your turn, OK?"
Her frankness was a joy to him. He wished that Carol felt that way. He thought about her favorite situation, her arms tied over her head, a dildo deep in her cunt, nipple clamps pinching her tits, while he spanked her with a thin bamboo switch. That was how she had her best orgasms, but beating on the woman he loved made him uncomfortable. He did it because it pleased her, and she did things that pleased him.
But was it enough? Sure she wore those slinky gowns for him, and paraded around the house in soft, sheer lingerie. She knew how infatuated he was with the touch of qiana nylon, and had been the one to suggest using it on him. She had bought several remnants from a fabric store and treated him to long sessions of sex play with it, tieing him spread-eagled to her bed, dragging it over his cock until he came. She was very good at it, getting him right to the edge, then stopping, then starting again, sometimes making it last for more than an hour if he was up to it.
And there was her store. Several times she had treated him to a little fashion show, using herself and her salesgirls as models. Later, when they were alone and she was playing with him, she would remind him of what the girls had modeled, suggesting to him how good it must have felt to them as they walked around, pointing out that it felt as good to them as it did to him.
Sometimes she would describe how they might talk the salesgirls into a tickling session after the show. She was a great story teller, shameless in her detailed descriptions of what they might do to their victims. In those stories she described every way imaginable to tickle a woman. It turned him on to hear such stories, but as yet she hadn't done anything like that.
She also told him about customers, although she never mentioned names. She knew he had a thing for young girls, and loved to tease him with stories of high school girls shopping for something to wear to parties and proms. She told him they always looked at the clingy little polyester dresses, and how she always encouraged them to try on one of the sexy nylon gowns. She had a rule, posted in all the dressing rooms, that bras must be removed to avoid snagging the fabric. She would go into great detail about how they looked, their firm little titties feeling for the first time how good qiana felt, their nipples erect, wearing nothing but sweet little cotton briefs under the sensuous fabric. She said she always pointed out how the panty line was visible, and how it was best not to wear anything under a dress like that. She described how they giggled and blushed, or what they said to describe how good the dress felt. She always made it a point to tell them that a dress like that would drive any man wild, so if there was a special someone they wanted to trap, that was the way to do it.
He often came with the words of such an story burning in his mind, imagining the young girl wearing the dress being fondled by her boyfriend, basking in the pleasure it gave her. He would give anything to be in Carol's store and see a young woman put on one of those gowns for the first time. Carol had promised to arrange that too, but so far had not.
Recently he had decided to break loose and meet other women, his only goal to experience first hand again what had become for him just a fantasy. What had triggered this was seeing so many woman wearing slinky gowns to parties at which he entertained. After many evenings of staring at them from behind his drum set he had begun to mingle, in hopes of finding one who enjoyed what he did.
His approach was simple and basic. He started out by complementing them on how terrific they looked, gently focusing the topic on their dress, commenting on how nice it must feel to wear. If things went well, he asked them to dinner, with the single condition that they come dressed exactly as they were as they spoke. That was a lot more efficient than meeting a woman and then trying to talk her into dressing that way.
They always looked surprised, but often there was a twinkle in their eye as they accepted. He tried to keep away from the topic of the dress during dinner, but after that it was always an exciting game trying to see how far he could go in getting what he wanted.
About half would balk in one way or another, and he continued on without forcing anything on them. The other's were quite receptive. A few had already discovered for themselves what a great sex toy a dress like that could be. Every night had been different, every woman unique in her attitude and the details of what did and did not turn her on. The variety was itself a source of pleasure for him, not unlike the pleasure to be had discovering new restaurants or tasting new wines.
But always he had to go elsewhere to satisfy his special hunger. Carol simply did not enjoy being tickled. How strange, he thought, that she loved the look and feel of slinky dresses, but not what he considered to be the next stage. She had allowed him to try it, several times, but she hated it. It turned her off faster than a bucket of ice water.
And now, here he was, in her bar, with one of her girls, having the time of his life. It was a dream come true. A dream, he thought, that might turn into a nightmare if she ever found out.
He fetched one of the stout bamboo poles and tied his partner's wrists to each end, then drew her legs up and did the same with her ankles. Then he tied a long rope to the center of the pole and ran it up over a ceiling beam, securing the other end to one of the table legs.
He went and fetched her dress and knelt down on the floor next to the table and to her right. He held the dress in both hands, one at each shoulder, and shook it a few times until it hung smooth and straight a few inches from her nicely rounded ass. Then he lowered it, letting it pile up on the floor until the top was in line with her ass. He watched her face, like he had the first time he used the dress on her nipples, not wanting to miss her expression when the cool nylon made contact.
He brought his hands toward her head, letting the nylon just lightly touch her ass, and pulled it slowly up.
"Oh! Ohhh! Steve, oh yes! Ooooooo!"
He was careful not to pull the dress too far forward. He just wanted it to tickle her ass and the backs of her thighs, saving her cunt for a few more minutes. The hem got to her ass just as his arms were fully extended, and he let it glide slowly back down.
He continued this way, dragging the cool qiana across her ass, letting the sensations build. He knew that in this position the fabric would slide right over her asshole, a most delightfully ticklish spot.
She quivered and jerked, tossing her head from side to side, lifting her head to see what he was doing, then dropping it back onto the pillow in exhausted desperation.
Delighted with his partner's reaction, Steve thought about how unfortunate it was that so few people tried this sort of thing. Everyone has experienced having their armpits or feet tickled, but it is a rare few who have discovered how erotic it can be, for both parties. Even more unusual are those who enjoy having their more private places tickled in the form of sex play. Not that they don't like it, but rather that they just haven't tried it. It can only be fully experienced when tied down, unable to do anything to make it stop.
Steve also knew from reading that extensive foreplay like this works especially well for women, whose physiology is geared more towards lengthy, continuous arousal. For most men, once they are aroused they need to build to orgasm. To delay too long can leave them too exhausted to come. Steve had learned from more than a dozen encounters that year that a woman could endure this kind of gentle tickling for a very long time, even several hours, and enjoy it tremendously.
Now he moved his hands a bit towards her head, drawing the fabric over her crotch at more of an angle, letting it slid over her cunt. He could keep his hands low, close to her stomach as he pulled it up, supplying more pressure to her crotch. At that angle the dress did not always fall back down, but all he had to do was raise his hands a bit and down it would slid.
"Ahhhh! Oh yes, that feels so good! Oh, I'm so ticklish there! This is maddening."
Up and down the dress slid, silently delivering its erotic cadence, the light glinting off its shiny surface as it flowed over the twists and turns of her crotch.
"Eeeeee! Ahhhh! It tickles so much. I really can't stand it! Stop, please, no more! I'll die!"
Steve wanted to include her breasts in the onslaught of stimulation, so he changed his pattern. He held the top of the dress in just his right hand, and when he drew the dress up between her legs he kept moving his hand towards her head, letting the fabric fall across her breasts. He grabbed the hem in his left hand just as it slid across her tummy, to pull it back and get it started on its way back down her crotch. This brought a whole new level of thrashing from her. Now every major erotic zone was being stimulated, from her asshole to her nipples.
Next, and last, came the tricky part. His goal was to get the dress down into her cunt enough to touch her clit. On some women this simply did not work, their clit being too deeply buried in the soft folds of skin that surround it. When contact could be made, it was sometimes too painful to be enjoyed. He was not here to torture this lovely girl, only to give her a mind blowing sexual experience. For those who could stand it, it was pure rapture. His right hand was in position. All he had to do was go back to the shorter pattern, and use his left hand to part the lips of her lovely cunt.
"Remember what I said, tell me if this hurts. It may be intense at first, but try to endure it. If you don't like it, I'll stop."
She nodded in agreement.
It only took a second.
"Yaaah! Ohhhheeeeee!"
Steve immediately lifted his right hand guiding the nylon away from her clit, while keeping up the tickling of the lower part of her cunt and ass. What he wanted was short bursts of contact with her clit, until he could determine how much she could take. He waited for her to complain, hoping that she would not. Then he lowered his hand again.
"Ahhhh, oh Steeeeve! Ahhhhh!"
She was going bonkers, but not asking him to stop. Slowly he increased the time he let the dress contact her clit, until finally he was no longer pulling it away.
She was absolutely wild. She bucked so hard he was afraid the table might collapse. She screamed, no words, just screams, so loud that he was worried that the others in the bar would hear her. He was very thankful for those heavy doors.
He was beginning to wonder when to stop, and whether or not she had come. She had looked like a woman in the peak of orgasm now for over fifteen minutes. Then he noticed a rhythm building in her. She moaned in a series of rhythmic grunts, and with each grunt her body tensed and relaxed.
Then she went berserk, and he guessed that she had reached it at last. Now he had to bring her in for a landing. To stop cold would be to deprive her of some of the peak experiences a female can have. He wanted her to come again and again, like a flat rock skipping across a lake before finally sinking out of sight.
He kept to his pattern, watchful for any signs of real duress. All he saw was a woman feeling the most intense sexual pleasure imaginable. On and on he went, careful to keep the pressure light. Her wild gyrations subsided, then peaked again as a second orgasm slammed through her. Again she waned, then rose to yet another peak. This one did not seem as intense, but it lasted for almost a full minute.
Then she collapsed, as if she had fainted. She was moaning, her words just barely audible.
"No more. Please, that's enough. It's starting to hurt. No more, no more."
He set the dress aside, then quickly released her from the bamboo pole and cuddled her on the floor. She nuzzled her face against his chest, and for several minutes her body shook in a series of brief spasms.
When the tremors stopped they lay still for quite some time. Then she opened her eyes and spoke, her voice soft and sweet, heavy with weariness.
"Thank you, Steve. That was the most incredible experience I have ever had. Now, what about you?"
"Next time. You've done enough for me for now. You rest."
"Will there be a next time? I hope there will be."
"I promise you, I am yours any time you want. By the way, do you have anything else to wear? I'm afraid your, ah, wetness has gotten itself all over your gown."
"Oh, don't worry. Marie can fetch me my spare from the office. We always keep spares in case a customer spills a drink on us. I never thought I would need it for a reason like this."
"By the way, what's your name?"
"Hyong. But my friends all call me Teddi."