Scene Review - Tickling

Source: https://fetlife.com/groups/7308/group_posts/2440316…

Written by: JoePTickle
With Lady Maria & I


Story............

This time the door atop the stairway was open a crack as I approached. She welcomed me in with a smile.
We stood easily in the short hallway near the couches, where I then sat to undress. Three hours in our last session had gotten us well acquainted. So by the time the other had finished prepping herself in domme attire, the mood was light with casual conversation.
They pounced as soon as I rose, my clothes behind me in a patient pile. The pair of hands with the long manicured nails (the Lady) snaked up toward my underarms, the other (the Mistress) making her way down to my hip bones.
“Hmmm, what shall we do with him today?” asked the Lady in response to my flinches, with dancing, narrowing eyes and a widening smile. We all knew the answer.
The restraining table was three feet away.
Soon my back was pressed warmly against its soft-padded black surface. My wrists bound in handcuffs above my head.
The table’s devilish design leaves a wide slot between the victim’s legs, granting the tickler free walk-up access to the more… sensitive areas. But this time, my ankles were cuffed together. Then the cuffs were tied to the ceiling by a long chain, just enough to suspend my feet over the table’s slot.
The Lady pulled my wrist toward her and traced the palm of my hand. I fought against it, but she had better leverage to pry my clutching fingers open. My guard was depleted by the Mistress’s strong fingers prodding into my rib cage. Soon she too traveled up toward my hands, pausing for a while to tickle my chest.
They played with my face as if I were a baby, making delighted sounds while tickling my nose, ears, and chin. My helplessness allowed them to hold my head motionless, left only to wrinkle and wriggle and grunt.
Twisting did no good for me, and plenty for them. One would strategically glide along my left side, allowing the other access to the arch in my back. One would suddenly attack deep into my inner thigh muscle, and the other would exploit my exposed rear end with light tickles.
“Where are you going?” Lady would ask.
“Does he think he’s going to get away?” Mistress would grin in reply.
They enjoyed looking directly into my eyes and taking in the flailing, somewhat sweaty mess I was becoming.
The Mistress slipped on a set of pointed metallic fingernails and drew slow circles around my stomach and, in a bit of foreshadowing, in lazy weaving lines along my shaft.
And of course, students that they are, they eventually settled down by my feet where they knew they’d take me to another octave of thrashing.
Having them bound together and dangling made play easy. The Mistress particularly loved to work her fingers in between my toes, with every new one unleashing a fresh round of spasms. The Lady could tuck my swinging feet under her arm, with no escape from graceful patterns.
They were both punishing and nurturing. They saw my ankles reddening from hanging in the cuffs, so they propped them up on their legs to allow them relief. At least, from the pain.
As for the tickling, they experimented gleefully. They slipped a nylon over one foot to see whether it made me more ticklish. Removed it and sawed it smoothly between my toes like a rope, no matter how tightly I curled them. Carefully rolled a pinwheel up around the heel and outstep.
“Such adorable toes and soft feet he has,” smiled the Mistress.
“I’m having so much fun!” said the Lady. “Even the tops of his feet are ticklish.”
Eventually they were ready to play with me on a new toy. They unlocked the cuffs – just long enough to move me to another padded black leather table. Half of the table was raised in step-like fashion relative to the other half.
They knelt me onto the table’s lower half, cuffing each ankle to a corner, then leaned me forward onto the top half so that my elbows and forearms rested on its surface, refastening cuffs there as well.
My prayer-like position was ideal for spanking, and just as effective for tickling. But they also tethered my knees wide apart to the edges, and slipped a blindfold over my eyes.
Now they delighted in my defenselessness, heightened sensitivity, and inability to anticipate them.
It was so easy for the Mistress to reach around to each side of my upper body from behind and probe into my underarms despite my childlike attempts to yank my elbows down. Or to slide her relentless fingers down my back and nest them aggressively under my hips.
They loved to distract me with dueling sensations, to the point that I could no longer tell who was doing what. One set of nails sailing backhandedly along my calves, another scratching randomly around my rear end. Suddenly a pair digging into my side, or tracing my ears, or squeezing my knees.
With an almost breezy lilt, the Mistress asked, “Did you ejaculate the last time you were here?”
They both giggled mischievously as my face began to flush with the accessibility of my position, and their acute knowledge of just how to play me, like some erotic instrument, to titillate right up to the edge and then ease off – or not.
My feet were assailed by one or both of them continuously for what seemed an hour. They enjoyed watching me try to shift my ankles away from the spidering of their nails, until she was ready to simply cup my foot firmly in her hand or her lap and drag her fingers up and down the instep. I’d flex my toes and she’d slip her nails into the wrinkles of my arch or tickle down by the heel.
The other would slip up toward my rear, feathering the cheeks so that I’d try to buck, tickling my balls or thighs enough to dissolve my concentration on my feet.
Out came vibrators of different sizes, into their playground that the lower half of my body had become. My soles tingled and strained to escape the new torment. The Mistress peeled back my toes to explore, while the Lady pulled a larger one along my right hamstring, and then laid it gently along the head of my shaft, briefly before rolling it around there.
The ecstasy of merciless tickling is certainly possible without arousal, but it was inescapable now. They had me, they knew it. It was an irresistible crescendo of sensations flooding my weaknesses that they knew perfectly how to exploit.
The Mistress camped happily and expectantly at my feet to hunt each ticklish nerve, laughing and relishing her role in my final struggles.
The Lady, leaning in close to my privates from behind and trickling those maddening nails up and down, or lingering just below the head.
“Oh… look at that…” she cooed softly with each teasing stroke, as if she were never leaving, as I quivered and clenched against the bench. “Just the way I like it.”
It was a euphoric cloud. Too many nails caressing too many oiled body parts. Too worn down by the hours of involuntary writhing and gasping. Too many gentle taunts now tickling even my ears and mind beyond what they could handle. Too vulnerable, at the endless hands and devious resolve of these masterfully skilled vixens.
Today they chose to drain my resistance entirely; with one last exasperated heave, they finished me off, leaving me to collapse upon the bench in exhaustion.
Tenderly the blindfold and cuffs began to come off. I looked up wearily and caught her smiling eyes.
“Hmm, I wonder how you’d do next time with six hands instead of four?”