CUCKLED or CUCK'D: A Tickling Story

I swallowed, 'Don't be scared. I'm not going to hurt you.'

'Anthony...!' Amy said, concerned.

'No, you can call me "Sir",' I said.

'Get away from her, man!' said Anthony, tugging at his bonds.

I turned to him. 'I said: don't be scared! I just want to know if Amy is sensitive in the same way you are...'

My voice was now under control but my heart was thumping in my ears as I knelt on the bed and reached a hand towards Amy's beautifully toned waist. I heard her call her husband's name again but I was lost in a trance. This was going to be the moment. She instinctively coiled away, a look of fear in her eyes. When she had moved as far as the restraints permitted, my hand closed in on her side.

Threats and shouts from Anthony were wrapped in cotton wool as I took hold of Amy's waist and began to waggle my fingertips into the muscle.

She metamorphosed through a range of expressions that were nothing short of divine: she tried to frown at me but couldn't keep it up; then she attempted a exaggerated look of patronising bewilderment; but quickly lost control and, as my touch infiltrated her defences; a smirk spread across her lips.

'D-don't do that!' she chortled. From the tone of her voice I got the impression that her amusement was due, in part, to an enjoyment of the sensation.

She wriggled and writhed, obviously trying to limit her reactions. I shuffled closer on the bed and grabbed both sides of her waist at once. She went from restrained giggles to a wide-eyed bawl of laughter, her head rising up in surprise as she pulled against the wrist restraints.

Amy Sergeant was ticklish!

If I had died at that moment, I would have died happy; aware that I'd experienced the sexiest adventure of my life.

I massaged quick circles all around the flanks of Amy's tummy as I prospected for the priceless spots that made her thrash and break into different levels of mirth. The spots just above her hip bones were especially effective and made her laugh out loud.

As these laughs subsided a little, Anthony's yells, which had always been there somewhere, made their way into my aural focus: 'Ghhht...yrrr... hands off her!'

I stopped and looked at him. 'There's no need to shout.' My facial muscles remained unruly, but this was now more down to elation than nervousness.

Despite Anthony's struggles he was no nearer to being free. 'Don't tell me what to do in my own house! Get off of my wife!'

His level of aggression was pretty intimidating but he was also tethered, immobile, to a chair. I edged off the bed and went to the chest of drawers. I rifled through them until I found some things to suit my purpose.

'Don't go through our stuff! Get the hell out!' shouted Anthony.

I turned to him with a cute pair of Amy's ankle socks and a silk scarf. I balled up the socks and stood behind him. 'Open wide,' I said.

'No!'

I tried to push the socks into his mouth and narrowly avoided losing my thumb as he champed at it.

'Very well...' I said and put the socks into my pocket. I then crouched behind the chaise longue and reached around it in a deliberately slow pincer movement.

He pulled at the bonds as my hands closed in on his waist. 'What are you doing, man!?'

I didn't answer.

'No! Don't touch me!'

With that, I gripped and set my fingers wriggling into the muscles of his waist. An instant straining sound emitted from his throat but within seconds laughter blew his lips apart. The chaise longue rocked on its feet as he threw his body left and right. He tried to push my wrists away with his elbows but the cuffs prevented him doing so with any great effect.

I walked my fingers up his firm body and jiggled my thumbs rapidly into the the muscles just behind his pecs. He spasmed with erratic bursts of effort. I could tell that his mouth was wide open from the barrage of laughter firing from the back of his throat. While I was infatuated with Amy because of her beauty, Anthony was more ticklish than any guy I had ever seen on the internet. He was possibly even more ticklish than his wife!

Before I felt the need to dry-hump the back of the chair, I chose to feed my curiosity and find out where else he was ticklish.

As I emerged, I noticed a strange sneer on Amy's face; a confusion of concern and embarrassment at how her husband was reacting.

A light sheen of sweat had appeared on Anthony's stomach. 'Don't touch me, man!' he said. This was a sincere demand but accompanied by an irrepressible beaming grin. He recoiled as I taunted him by slowly reaching forwards. I placed my fingertips on his chest and, mimicking actions I'd seen in video clips, began to tease his nipples with my fingers.

Again he tried to hold in his reaction but his tight lips burst open with the same wide-mouthed laughter as before. I had always struggled to empathise with any man with sensitive nipples but I just wanted to give it a try and, wow, did it work! I was delighted at my new discovery and played with all the techniques I could think of: fast, slow, light, firm, erratic and in circles. He jerked back and forth, managing to plead amidst his cachinnation, 'Ohshit! OhGod! No-no-no-no-no-no! Ha ha ha! Shit! Ha ha ha! Oh, God, stoppiiiiiit! Ha ha ha...!'

He surged back in the chair, squeezing his eyes tight and causing the front legs to lift and slam back down on the floor. As his mouth gaped open I saw an opportunity -- I took the bunched-up socks from my pocket and popped them onto his tongue. He was so lost to laughter that he didn't immediately seem to notice, giving me time to secure the socks with the silk scarf. He lurched forward in surprise and I quickly tied a knot at the back of his head.

'Gnnnfff gnrrr!' he shouted.

'I'm sorry, Anthony, did you say you wanted me to do more of this...?' I said and wriggled my fingers all over his impressive torso.

He shook his head in protest but fell back into uncontrollable laughter as soon as I touched him. He bucked in the chair as if trying to shuffle it towards the door millimetre by millimetre. His perspiration mixed with a sweet-smelling moisturiser, which assisted my fingers as they slithered over his muscles, taking every opportunity to exploit his plentiful weak spots.

I noticed, as my fingers climbed his body, that he started to elevate in his seat. As an experiment I played his ribcage up and down, watching him rise and drop with each movement. I also noticed that the higher I went, the higher the pitch of his laughter became. Then I passed his upper ribs, which made him arch his back.

What's wrong, Anthony? Don't you want me to go any higher?'

His nose to the heavens, he shook his head vigourously.

'No? Is there something there you don't want me to find?'

He ignored me but was still laughing from my lingering strokes at his serratus anterior muscles.

'So you're not afraid I will reach your... armpits?'

Just the word made him struggle and yell a muffled plea.

'Let's find out...!' He clamped his arms to his body to keep me out but my slippery fingers slid effortlessly into his hairy underarms. 'Oop! Looks like I made it!' I teased and wriggled my fingertips.

A low moan quickly ramped up into a girlish squeal as he shook with incessant high-pitched laughter.

'For God's sake!' said Amy.

I looked over to her. Her sneer was now purely contemptuous although I couldn't tell if it was for Anthony or myself. Perhaps both. I got the impression that the sight of her husband being touched by another man was less than agreeable to her.

'Don't worry, Amy. I haven't forgotten about you.' I said and left Anthony breathing heavily through his nose.

-- -- -- -- --

***Chapter 9***

I knelt over her on the bed.' Don't bother,' she said, unable to match my gaze. 'This isn't funny--eeeee...!' My slippery fingertips began lapping at her delightfully silky smooth underarms, melting her tough exterior to reveal the side of her I wanted to see.

She tittered without pause or variation, which gave me no reason to stop. Her laugh rang out like majestic music and I got lost in her beauty; enhanced by the unadulterated smile she kept hidden from everyone else. I had seen her laugh on the shop floor at Pemberton's, while downing G&Ts at the Christmas parties and while flirting with Anthony in the park at lunchtimes, but never like this. I doubt this was a side of her even Anthony had seen.

Her head flipped left and right, her eyes squeezed tight as I stroked at her skin. I then sprang to her neck and her eyes pinged open in surprise, her laugh became louder--even joyous--as I lightly played under her chin, over her throat and behind her ears.

I glanced to Anthony. He could do nothing but watch as I slowly lowered my mouth towards her neck. When she saw me coming, a look of concern mixed with her giggles and her usual desire to remain pretty under any circumstance evaporated as she gurned to defend her neck with her chin. I saw my access blocked and smiled; it felt like we were playing a game and so I tickled her behind one ear and, as she coiled her head in response, I dived into the unprotected gap.

I took a deep breath and inhaled her wonderful perfume, clamped my lips to her flawless skin and blew a long, drawn-out raspberry into her neck. The sound of her belly laugh right next to my ear was exquisite! I could imagine how she looked. I drew in a deep breath and blew another; even longer and more drawn-out. The result was a laugh that was even louder and more joyous.

I decided to tease her by running my hands lightly down her body as I drew a slow in-breath on her neck, bringing with it a rush of cold air, which caused her to shiver and let out a Marilyn Monroe-esque "Ooooh!" of either surprise or delight. I felt the hint of goose-pimples when my fingers stroked lightly over her smooth ribcage and heard her shuddering breath of anticipation as my lungs filled to capacity...

...I waited a moment...

...she simpered in torment...

...then I blew rippling air into her neck! Simultaneously, I pressed my thumbs into the delicious golden spots just above her hips. She bucked and threw her head back with unrestrained laughter. It was then that I felt her thigh press against my groin and I realised I'd been rubbing against her.

I quickly sat up to avoid climaxing on the spot. When the moment had passed I looked down and she was watching me, still shuddering with residual titters. I smiled. During my time at her neck I'd become convinced that she wanted me to do this.

That's when she said, 'Get off me, you freak!'

I swallowed my smile and responded by grabbing her knees. She convulsed on the spot and burst into wild laughter, thrashing against her bonds. Her hair was becoming messy. I probed and adjusted my squeezing technique and each time accentuated the effects of the squeeze before it. I'd never done this to Catherine--or anyone--but it seemed I had a real knack for it!

I continued to punish Amy for her rudeness but as my exploration of her knees began to incorporate her thighs Anthony shouted muffled threats and demands from behind his homemade sock gag.

'What's that, Anthony?' I asked. 'You want me to do this to you? Okay!'

His eyes glared in frustration and fear as I stepped down from the bed and knelt beside him. Again he struggled to no avail and I provoked him with childish taunts as I lifted both hands over his strapped legs and slowly lowered them like metal two contraptions in a casino claw machine, with his knees as the prize.

His struggles increased and his protests became louder as my fingers descended annnnnnnd... gripped!

Anthony howled with laughter, his eyes rolled back and he rocked back and forth with primal abandon. I watched him with glee as a fresh layer of perspiration rose on his chest and got the impression that he had slipped into his own private tickle hell.

'Jesus Christ!' Amy exclaimed. Dishevelled and still catching her breath from her own ordeal, she was watching Anthony with unmistakable embarrassment. I could predict her shouting, "Enough already!"

His eyes met hers, telepathically transmitting a message along the lines of, "I can't help it! Make it stop!" Although, with how hysterical he was, I doubt he would have been able to manage such coherent sentences.

Making him lose his mind was so easy that I gave Amy a comical look as I squeezed his knees, hoping she would see the funny side of it. Her expression didn't change. Clearly she thought I was just a weirdo but I at least got the impression she no longer felt threatened by me.

She shuffled in her position and my attention was drawn to her stiletto-and-stocking-clad feet. My arousal throbbed as I became aware that the opportunity was in my grasp to see them again but this time up close! That would be the icing on the cake of this whole experience.

I was reminded that I was squeezing Anthony's knees on autopilot when I noticed his own white-socked feet waving for my attention. Male feet were something else I was curious about and I didn't have to be a genius to know Anthony's were likely to be pretty damn sensitive.

I fixed an evil grin and looked at him but was concerned with what I saw -- he was sweating profusely and obviously needed more air than he was able to get. I tore off the scarf and he blew out the socks. 'Man.........you've gotta.........gotta stop this!' he gasped.

'Why?' I asked.

He was so overwhelmed with the number of obvious reasons that he just stared at me.

'I mean, I haven't even heard you beg yet!'

'I'm not begging you. Just let us go!'

I smiled. 'Sounds like a challenge to me! I tell you what: whoever begs me to stop first, I will tickle the other one for a solid ten minutes!'

'I'm not begging you,' snapped Amy.

'Neither am I,' said Anthony.

'...and,' I continued, impressed at my own cool demeanour, 'because you might accidentally say, "Stop," or, "No," without realising it, I want you to address me as "Master" and say "please". Okay?'

Amy snorted at how fat a chance there was of her saying it and Anthony just glowered. I considered that he may have taken this suggestion as having historically racist overtones, but that wasn't how I intended it and so chose not to feel the slightest bit of guilt.

'Let's start here...' I said and knelt at his feet. They appeared huge to me and must have been over 12 inches long. He was wearing thick white sports socks. I couldn't picture them letting much sensation through but I gave them a quick test by twiddling a couple of fingers at one arch. He twitched a little and I heard the familiar strain in his throat as he tensed up. I tested the other arch with the same result. 'I think you may have ticklish tootsies, Anthony. Would you like to admit it now, or do you want me to prove it?'

'Get the hell outta here, man! Are you cracked!?'

I took hold of the cuff of one sock with both hands. He twitched again as I accidentally brushed his ankle. I pulled the sock cuff through the restraint and revelled in taking the time to peel it up his foot. First his smooth heel appeared...then his arch...then the ball of his foot...then his toes. I did exactly the same with his other foot.

Foot fetishism is inexplicable to me -- why does the sight of a sole turn me on? I can't put it into words but my brain knows what it likes and Anthony's soles were indescribably enticing. As someone who appears so athletic, I assumed they would be trashed from being stuck in running shoes or football boots, but he had no calluses, his toes were in good shape and his feet were so large they felt almost monolithic; like they were casting great shadows over me.

I ran an appreciative hand down one foot. He wriggled a little and was obviously judging me but I didn't care. His soles were smooth and I admired how the dark skin on the tops of his feet graduated into the lighter skin underneath. It was like God saying, "Here they are, my friend. Enjoy yourself!" And with my feet and Catherine's being the only pairs I had to them compare to, his skin felt different; almost naturally tougher than hers or mine. This made them all the more sexy; being so different from what I was used to. Now I just needed to know how ticklish they were...

I used my nails to make delicate exploratory scratches at the top of one arch. He held his breath, his toes clenched and his head dropped back.

I did the same to the other foot and he fell into shallow, panicked breaths.

My nails skated in circles over the balls of his feet and, although they were clenched, the effect was obvious -- he tossed his head from side-to-side, as if in some fevered dream.

I increased the circles to cover more of his arches and this time his reluctant strain sound didn't last long. As I scampered my fingers down to his heels and focussed there, a toothy grimace spread across his face.

I then raked my nails quickly up both soles and he squeaked, which caused me to laugh.

'Don't you laugh at me!' he shouted with undiluted resentment, but I swiftly undermined his demand by shooting my fingers straight under his toes. He jolted and looked to his wife with an expression that subverted his attempt at valour before erupting into wild, helpless laughter. I unleashed a frenzy of tickling under and between his toes, on the tops of his feet, up and down his soles and around his heels and ankles. Amy and I had only witnessed a comparatively small hint of his sensitivity before this point. His mouth was fixed in a gaping hysteria, his eyes were wide and vacant and he propelled himself back and forth so hard that the chair made a series of leaps across the floor, eventually toppling me onto my backside, although I did not relent in my attack.

I was lost in awe and couldn't decide on what to focus -- his magnificent soles or his sweat-coated face and body. He tried to form a word and I eased off a tad; I didn't want him to have a reprieve, but I wanted to hear what he had to say.

'P...!'

'Yes, Anthony?'

'P-Please...! Please......'

I sat up, astonished. I didn't actually think he was going to say it! 'Yes?' I asked.

'Please...! Please stop!' he yelled, amid whoops of laughter.

'Now, you know that's not exactly what I wanted to hear, don't you?'

He nodded rapidly, showering his thighs with the sweat from his brow.

'What do you say...?'

He clenched his teeth in a last-ditch attempt to resist that was doomed to failure. His eyes shot a look of regret to Amy as he broke: 'Pl-please, M-M-Mmmaster! P-P-Please...!' he drew a huge intake of breath and screamed, 'T-tickle her instead!'

Amy and I were equally aghast.

-- -- -- -- --

***Chapter 10***

'You what!?' Amy shouted.

'I know!' I cried, overjoyed. 'That wasn't even two minutes!'

Amy and I clearly had different perspectives on the matter.

'I'm sorry, baby! I can't help it! You know what my feet are like!' said Anthony, but I suspect it wasn't only Amy who viewed his justifications as pathetic.

She just shook her head and looked on as I crouched at the foot of the bed. I began to unbuckle the ankle strap of one stiletto. 'Look, why are you doing this?' she asked.

I took this to be a heartfelt enquiry and, for the first time in my life, I expressed myself with absolute honesty: 'I suppose it's not much of a secret now. I have fetishes... for tickling and feet,' I felt myself blush, 'and you are so perfect...'

I was a little disappointed that Amy seemed to take this information in her stride. 'You do know this isn't normal, don't you?' she said.

'Yes I do. But it's one of the rarest circumstances... I couldn't have wished for it in my most aspirational dreams. I know you're not willing participants, but I'd like to thank you. Both of you.'

Anthony obviously still viewed me as a freak, but I saw something change in Amy. She closed her lips and laid her head back as though she accepted the situation and wasn't going to question it any more. As she held my gaze I released the strap and slowly, deliberately slipped off the stiletto, which gave a delightful swish against the nylon of her stockings. My heart was once again thumping in my ears and my mouth was dry. I had to put effort into swallowing, which she noticed and it felt to me as though she was now the dominant figure in the room.