Steve was again sitting alone in a booth. Teddi was back after a complete redo of her hair and makeup, wearing a gown of silvery white satin, just like the ones worn by the old Hollywood vamps. They had tacitly agreed not to seem too close, but they couldn't help exchanging little furtive glances.
The other hostesses had been models of circumspect propriety when the two of them returned to the world, acting as if they had just returned from a stroll through the park despite the fact that Teddi's muffled screams must have been at times audible even through those heavily padded doors. He thought she walked a bit stiffly, and hoped he hadn't hurt her too much. He noticed she had on a bunch a jangley bracelets on each arm, and guessed that she wore them to cover the rope marks.
Just then he saw Carol come in. As soon as he saw her he went stiff with excitement. She had on something new, pants that looked like they were made of qiana. Dark blue, shiny, with outrageously flared legs. She stopped to talk with Teddi, which gave him a few minutes to watch her.
He had mentioned to her that he noticed that qiana was used only for dresses, and wished women would use it to make pants. She had replied that she had seen some jumpsuits made of qiana, but had not brought them in because she didn't think they looked elegant enough to suit her clientele. Later she told him that she had ordered some jumpsuits, including one with accordion pleated pants, and he was looking forward to one of her special shows.
He watched her in a trance, hypnotized by the way the fabric shimmered and flowed over her calves even though she barely moved. They were snug from the waist to just above the knees, and her terrific figure looked better than ever encased in such a tight sheath. He couldn't help thinking about running his fingers down into that little opening between her thighs, how accessible her cunt would be to tickling in those pants.
They were his favorite shade of blue. Seeing her in blue triggered a recollection of his earliest tickling fantasies, which started early in the sixth grade. He had spent years developing rich, complex feelings about sex, tickling, and sensuous clothing, and as he sat observing her they all flashed before him.
His awareness of sexuality developed in complete absence of real knowledge, and he filled the vacuum with fantasies that at times were quite bizarre. Later, as he had the opportunity to participate in sex play with girls, he developed a more realistic understanding of sexuality. Even so, a few of his earliest conditioned responses concerning sex stayed with him, like old friends, and he could always count on one of those fantasies to bring him intense pleasure.
There was a girl, her name long since forgotten, who was the subject of his first masturbation fantasies. Their families attended the same church, and one of her Sunday dresses was made of soft, dark blue silk, which glimmered with a soft sheen. Two strips of the same blue silk were sewn at each side at the waist, and were tied in a big bow in the back. The knee length skirt was full and flowed softly around her legs when she walked. It drove him crazy to see her dressed that way. He would always get a hard on looking at her in that dress, but never when she did not. For him, the blue silk dress and sex were synonymous.
Alone in his bed with his new found toy, he would think of her in that dress, remembering every detail of how she looked and acted, so sweet and fresh, and a bit alluring. Then the situation would shift, and he would think of having her tied up hanging by her wrists, unable to get away. Sometimes he thought of her as an unwilling victim who would come around once he started to play with her, but at other times he pictured her as a willing participant in his erotic games.
The fantasy always began the same way, a kind of ritual that set the stage for subsequent invention. He would untie the big bow at the small of her back, pull the strips of fabric as tight as he could, so that the fabric over her tummy was on the verge of tearing, then tie it again.
He imagined that the silk had a special ability to amplify tickling, a secret known only to himself, and that the tightness of the silk over her skin was an important part of the trick. He would imagine himself running his fingers over the taunt silk, tickling her stomach and ribs as she howled with laughter and pleaded with him to stop. Despite the fact that she writhed in agony as he tickled her, as soon as he stopped she would beg for more. Once he was sure that she really did not want him to stop he would tickle her for a very long time, until she was limp and exhausted. Afterwards, she would admit that she had no idea that her dress had such special powers, and would invite him to do it again soon. Later she would discover that he was the only person who could produce the special feelings that she now craved, providing him with endless opportunities to tickle her.
He didn't think of the dress as having any special qualities when worn normally, only the potential for intense tickling sensations when tied very tight.
He was too young and naive to think of tickling her breasts or her cunt. His actions never really became sexual with her in his fantasy. He only tickled her stomach and ribs, even though he masturbated wildly to this fantasy.
Sometime after that he began to notice Campfire Girl uniforms, which in those days were worn to school by the girls on the day of their weekly meetings. The skirts were the same shade of dark blue as that Sunday church silk dress, and although he was certain that they were made of some sort of everyday fabric like cotton serge, he used to imagine that they were made of silk.
Some of the girls had skirts that were shiny, a fact that he attributed years later to their having been repeatedly starched and ironed. At the time he did not know about that, and it was easy to imagine that they were either silk or some other secret fabric that tickled like that first silk dress.
His fantasies became much more involved. The very first memory he had of a Campfire Girl skirt was a dream. In his dream he was sitting next to one of the cutest girls in his class, on a bench on the playground next to the handball courts. He reached out and started to drag his fingertips lightly up and down her thigh, with the intention of tickling her. She did nothing to stop him. She only squirmed and smiled and said how good it felt. Then he woke up. He never had that dream again, but he could still remember it clearly, especially how warm and inviting her big brown eyes looked.
The fantasy scenario that grew out of the dream was rather strange. He imagined that he and his best friend were playing with a group of three or four Campfire Girls on the playground. All of the girls had skirts of luscious blue silk. He had a handful of short, stiff feathers, and stuck them into the cracks between the planks of a playground bench so that they all stuck up about six inches. Then he and one of his friends would carry one of the girls, holding her outstretched by her arms and feet, face down, and drag her along the bench. They kept her an inch or so above it, so that the feathers would tickle the front of her skirt. He got to carry her by the legs, so that he could watch her face as she screamed with laughter. Each girl had a turn, and they all enjoyed it immensely. Years later he would laugh to himself about that, having misplaced the girl's cunt by several inches, and missing the fact gravity would pull the skirt down.
After the bench fantasy he developed a new plot line, based on the preposition that some of the Campfire members participated in secret rites consisting of tickling sessions. He imagined that there were two types of skirts, a plain cotton everyday one worn by most members, and a special one made of silk worn by those who belonged to the special "inner circle." The silk skirts tickled unbearably when they touched bare skin, especially that mysterious spot between their legs. Panties would block some of the tickling, making it just tolerable although still quite strong.
The girls he saw at school wearing shiny skirts were the ones in the inner circle, and they were being treated all day to a constant flow of delicate tickling. There was danger in their game. Sometimes one of them would be trapped by the rest of the group behind a building during recess and striped of her panties. The touch of the silk on her bared flesh would tickle so intensely as to be unbearable. It would take all her will power to keep from screaming uncontrollably with laughter, her torment watched in delight by the other members as she fought to get her panties back.
A similar treatment was to require a member to wear panties made of very thin, sheer silk instead of cotton, as a form of punishment. These blocked some of the skirt's sensations, but much less than cotton. The silk panties had to be worn all day, and the poor girl made to endure this treatment would be driven half crazy by constant, gentle tickling.
All of this was just preparation for the after school meeting. He made up all sorts of tickling games for them to play. In one, all of the girls would remove their panties and stand in a tight circle, each girl facing her neighbor's back. They were allowed to use their hands to tickle the girl in front of them, touching any part of the skirt. The first girl to drop would have to wear silk panties to school the following week. The thought of eight girls tickling each other daisy chain fashion, their blue silk skirts dancing around their legs, catching the light in glistening waves as their bodies quivered, the sound of them shrieking in laughter, their faces straining in the attempt to endure the torment, knowing that one would fail and be subjected to a full day of something almost as unbearable, all of that combined to transport him to complete and utter ecstasy.
In another game the girls were paired off, and each pair took a turn while the others watched. They all wore nothing but their skirts, with nothing underneath, so even the observers were tormented by the tickling touch of their skirts as they waited their turn. The two players each held a long peacock plume in their right hand, and were joined by a length of rope tied around their left wrists that prevented them from getting too far apart. At the starting signal they started tickling each other with the feathers. The looser was the first to drop her feather. The winner got to put her panties back on.
It was easy to tickle the other's bare torso, but the best target was the skirt. The problem was that, as in boxing, to get close enough to tickle your opponent's skirt you exposed yourself to the same treatment. Even without being touched by the feather, the skirts added a lot to game, since the more a player moved to dodge the other's feather the more their skirt tickled them.
The game went on through an elimination process, matching losers, so that in the end the most ticklish girl was left. She was then tied to a big pillar, and each of the others had five minutes to tickle her using the feathers or their fingers.
There were eight girls in the group, so the unlucky looser had to endure over half an hour of intense tickling torture. This was on top of a lengthy elimination process, so there was a lot of incentive to endure as much as possible and win your match.
Steve gradually worked himself into his fantasy by imagining that one day, while walking home from school, he was approached by a neighborhood girl, dressed of course in her uniform. She would explain to him that she was a member of a club that played tickling games which she liked very much, but lost at frequently because she was extremely ticklish. What she wanted was someone to practice with, so that she could learn to endure it, and asked him if he wouldn't mind helping her.
He would respond as a kind and understanding friend, willing to help her, never admitting that he would sell his mother to have such a chance. From there he would spin off any number of situations. The plot line centered on them finding a safe place to play, usually a cave or basement rumpus room, where every day after school he would tie her up and tickle her for hours, all in the name of helping thy neighbor.
One common variation was to have two girls in the story, bound back to back so that he could tickle both at the same time, or face to face so that wherever their skirts touched they tickled each other. He would use a towel between them as a shield while he tied them up, winding a long rope around and around, from their ankles to their shoulders. Then he would pull out the towel and watch in delight as the two girls squirmed and squealed with laughter.
It was around that time that he got the idea that the best place to tickle a girl is right between her legs. He was not sure what a girl's cunt looked like, and knew nothing about its role in sex except that it was where you stuck your dick and did something to make a baby. He guessed that girls were very sensitive down there, and decided that it would be marvelous if it turned out that they were extremely ticklish there. He also began to include breasts in the category of special places, which seemed reasonable given the great lengths they went to in protecting them, and assumed that a girl's breasts were far more ticklish than his.
From then on his most powerful fantasy was to have the girl he was 'helping' tied up in her blue silk skirt, wearing a white silk blouse instead of the cotton blouse the uniform used. He even made it a point that the blouse should button in back, leaving the front smooth and unbroken. He always imagined her tied up in a standing position, so that the skirt would flutter over her legs and add that much more to the tickling he gave her.
He would begin by tickling her ribs, then move to her breasts. Then his hands would run up and down her ass, then the front of her thighs, gradually moving around to the inside and up to her cunt. The peak came when he slid one finger ever so lightly up and down her silk clad slit, his other hand brushing back and forth over the gleaming white silk covering her breasts.
Even though he knew nothing of female sexuality, he imagined that her hysteria would build until she felt something like the powerful explosion that he felt when the cum shot out of his dick, except that she would experience it over and over again.
All of those memories flooded over him as he watched Carol standing there talking to the woman that he had just spent over an hour with, doing pretty much what he had dreamt of doing for so many years. He hadn't realized that so much of his passion for blue silk still remained. In some ways he had come a long way since those confused years of adolescence, yet he realized that in many ways he hadn't changed at all.