CUCKLED or CUCK'D: A Tickling Story

The telly remote was thankfully so close to my hand that I had to make the most minimal of efforts to switch it on, otherwise I wouldn't have done so.

Catherine was a flurry of activity and nervous chatter that thankfully required no response from me because I couldn't hear anything she was saying. Even the sight of one of the outstanding episodes from my favourite sitcom couldn't distract me.

I watched the minute hand as it finally reached eight o'clock. There was no knock at the door.

A part of me felt relief; as though eight o'clock on-the-dot was the arrangement and because Anthony hadn't arrived he automatically forfeited the deal. This fantasy was short-lived but it did lead me to consider whether he might be the type to just put the fear of God into me but not turn up.

I felt a renewed hope. How long would I have to wait before I could confidently feel this was all just a scare tactic? "Because I'll do it, God," I thought, even though this was the first time we'd chatted since I was 11. "I'll sit here watching the clock all night long, listening to Catherine's endless list of flustered questions as she realisation dawns that she'll be stuck with me for the night. Please just don't let him turn up--"

It was then that the telltale crunch of footsteps on the driveway gravel caused a zing of alarm throughout my body. The six wooden front porch stairs were scaled in three steps that caused the wood to creak. Then the doorbell sounded and made Catherine drop the fork with which she was setting a third place at the table.

I wrenched myself from the armchair to find her checking her hair in the dining room mirror. She then gave me a nervous smile and stood in the living room doorway, peeking out and waiting for me to open the front door. I felt like a butler--already the most disposable part of this encounter--but even more so when I opened the door to reveal Anthony in a top-of-the-range black suit and white shirt with the top two buttons undone. He held a bottle of wine and a rose.

'Hi,' he announced with understated confidence.

'Hello,' I whispered, from the other end of the spectrum.

He knew Catherine was watching but remained unmoved, with his eyes locked on me, until I was forced to speak: 'Come in, please,' I said, noticing how shiny his smart shoes were.

He wiped his feet and cast his gaze at Catherine who stood with uncharacteristic shyness, half-hiding in the living room.

'Hello. I'm Anthony,' he said.

'I'm Catherine,' she said and held out her hand.

His hand dwarfed hers as he took it gently and lifted it to his lips. 'What a pleasure,' he said and handed her the rose.

'How lovely!' she said, with a girlish giddiness that made me want to shout at her to stop behaving like that.

She led him into the dining room. 'Please come in,' she said.

I shut the front door and hurried to join them. Anthony was already making himself comfortable in my chair.

'We usually ask guests to take off their shoes--' I said.

'Don't worry about that!' Catherine interrupted. 'Would you like me to pour you some of your wine, Anthony? It looks rather posh!'

'I don't drink, actually. I'll just have water. I brought that for you.'

'You don't drink?' I asked.

'I never really feel the need for it,' he explained.

'Well, that's impressive!' said Catherine as she admired the bottle all the way into the kitchen, leaving Anthony and I alone.

One look from him let me know I shouldn't try to assert myself with demands such as the removal of his footwear. I took one of the other seats and felt very out of place in my off-the-rack work suit and woollen grey socks.

'I hope you like lamb...' said Catherine as she returned with a glass of white wine for herself and a water for him.

'Love it,' he said. 'It smells great and I'm sure you're a wonderful cook, but right now I'm thinking of tucking into something else.'

Catherine almost spat out her wine. 'You just say what's on your mind, don't you?'

'That's the way I am, Catherine.'

Lost for words, she looked at me for the first time, still with the giddy smile that I wished she would control, even if it were just out of consideration for my feelings. 'I've not done this before. Shouldn't we get to know each other a little more...?' she asked.

'We can do that, if that's what you'd like,' he replied. 'But there are only so many hours in one evening and I like to take my time. Hopefully, if we make our way to the bedroom, I can show you everything you need to know about me.'

Catherine went to take another gulp of wine but Anthony spoke in a way that slowed her hand: 'I can tell you're nervous, but don't get tipsy -- I want you to remember everything about this evening.'

He punctuated this with a reassuring smile and Catherine appeared utterly spellbound. I witnessed the change in her as she embraced the situation -- she lowered her glass without taking even a sip, took a deep breath and said, 'Maybe we should go upstairs.'

My heart felt like a fine china vase, precariously perched on the corner of a high mantlepiece over a cold granite floor. I hoped she included me in the invitation and I was immeasurably grateful when she took my hand.

-- -- -- -- --

***Chapter 17***

The overwhelming lucidity of the situation made me feel like I was gliding as Catherine led me upstairs, but I dropped back to earth as Anthony's heavy footsteps met the stairs behind me. A ripped patch of wallpaper just above the skirting at the top of the stairs caught my attention. It had been a feature of the landing since the twins got bored with their toys one day and occupied themselves by pulling at the homestead décor. Catherine caught them and put a stop to it and, to prevent them being told off, I said, "Don't worry -- it's time we redecorated anyway."

That was over six years ago and I felt a pang of embarrassment that my house was not as stylish or pristine as Anthony's.

We entered the bedroom and he closed the door behind us. We stood in a silent triangle. For the first time I could convince myself that we were equals in this scenario, until they both regarded me with an expectation of some direction. I felt my mouth emulate that of a goldfish.

'Why don't you sit?' said Anthony, taking the initiative, for which Catherine seemed grateful. But, while she interpreted it as a helpful suggestion, I knew it was an order.

I went to our outdated armchair, which had been used as place to sling clothes vs a place to sit at a ratio of approximately 500:1. By the time I sat, he was already closing in on her. She was visibly shivering with nervous expectation and looked up at him with the "overawed maiden" expression every man wants to believe only he has the power to evoke from his woman.

I didn't feel it could get any worse for me than having to witness this. If it would have done me any good to plead with him to stop I would have done, but he wouldn't be satisfied, the truth would come out and this would all have been for nothing.

'Are you cold?' he said, gently rubbing the tops of her arms. 'You don't feel it.'

'No. Just nervous,' she said with a pathetic giggle.

'Then I shall have to try to make you less nervous,' he said with a tone that was obviously intended to have the opposite effect. And it did. She shivered again. 'Maybe you should get onto the bed.'

Catherine threw me an excited glance. I forced a smile. Of course, if this was going to happen, she should enjoy it. I just didn't want to see her enjoying it.

She sat on the bottom of the bed and laid down, then wriggled her way up until her head almost reached the pillow. I could tell she was self-conscious at not having done this in the most elegant of fashions.

'One moment...' said Anthony.

'What is it?' she asked.

'We can't have you wearing your shoes on the clean bed sheets, can we?'

My heart froze in my chest.

'I suppose not,' she said.

'Let me,' he said.

He gallantly knelt at the foot of the bed and removed one of her shoes. I prayed to God he wasn't into feet.

With two gentle swishes Catherine's nylon-clad feet were revealed. He placed her high heels neatly under the bed.

'There you go,' he said.

'Thank you,' she replied and ventured toward the pillows with no more grace than before.

I focussed on Anthony's eyes, seeking the merest flicker of movement that might indicate an interest in my wife's feet. I pictured myself flying at him on a surge of adrenaline, but this was probably more of a fantasy than something that was ever likely to happen. However, instead of looking at her feet, he turned to me. He could not have failed to notice the look of undiluted dread on my face but he remained enigmatic.

He removed his blazer and draped it over the arm of my chair -- half dropping into my lap. Catherine settled into place as he rolled up his shirt sleeves and sat next to her on the bed.

'Tell me, Catherine: what do you like?'

Catherine responded with a look of delighted surprise, as though she'd never been asked that question before.

I was sure I had asked her that question before.

'Well, I like to be admired and desired...'

He nodded and listened.

'I like to be held...'

'Tell me more.'

'I like feeling hands around my body, here...' she indicated her torso just below her chest. 'It makes me feel small, but secure.'

Anthony gave a subtle hum of appreciation for what she was saying. He moved closer to her and slowly placed his hands around her rib cage. 'You mean, like this?'

Catherine closed her eyes and moaned with pleasure. 'Mmm. Yes.'

I felt a kick in my insecurities that she seemed to talk from experience. I couldn't remember ever doing something so innocuous to her and, unless she'd been harbouring a secret desire for it since she was 18, I was curious to know how she knew she liked it so much.

'You never told me you liked that,' I said.

'You never asked, honey,' she replied meekly, her eyes still closed.

Jealousy burned at my chest. Even if I did this to her in the future, I surely couldn't surpass this moment; not only was Anthony the first to do it, but his huge hands almost encompassed her torso. I saw him smirk and resolved to never again crack open an insight into such a thing.

Just then Catherine twitched and her eyes popped open.

'Sorry, did I hurt you?' asked Anthony.

'No. You accidentally squeezed my rib and I'm ticklish.'

Pow! It came out of nowhere and thwacked me across the head like a sopping wet bath towel. The words that, if spoken by Catherine at any point in my life before that moment, would have turned me on more than anything. They now made every cell of my being cringe.

I fixated on Anthony and could only hope this needless admission wouldn't be followed by him dangling some hackneyed phrase such as, "Oh, really...? Then you wouldn't want me to do this...!?"

Instead he replied, 'I'm sorry. I'll try not to do that again,' and went back to holding her in place.

I released my grip on the arms of the chair.

'I like your dress, Catherine,' he said.

'You d-o?' Her question was interrupted by pleasure as he slid his hands along the velvet and came to rest either side of her breasts. He began to massage them. I waited for a surge of husband's indignation to fuel the fire of my jealousy but it didn't come. I was too relieved at not having to witness what would have been a thousand times more disturbing to me -- if he had taken advantage of her sensitive ribs.

His hands ran over her breasts and I predicted how hard her nipples would be; pressing against the padding of her bra. Catherine looked to me and smiled. At last she was checking to make sure I was okay with this. I smiled back to reassure her and she returned to her own little world.

'I feel so spoilt,' she said softly.

'As you deserve,' he replied.

'What do you like, Anthony?' she asked.

'Me? I don't think I should say. As it's the first time we've met.'

'Erm, you have your hands on my tits, mister -- we are safely beyond small talk!'

He snickered. 'Okay, then, Catherine: I like bondage.'

'Ooh! That's naughty!' she said.

Again, the implicit bedazzlement in her tone was instantly abrasive to me. I like bondage, but I never saw the point of introducing it into our bedroom conversations if she was going to hate what I did to her while she was tied!

'I like being held down--' she said. Again, this was news to me. '--but I've never been tied before.'

I could tell this pleased Anthony. 'Perhaps it's time your dress came off,' he said, then he addressed me: 'Don't you agree?'

I feebly concurred.

'You heard your husband, Catherine: he wants you to get undressed for me.'

In a ritual of anticipation, she stood and presented her back to him. He slowly unzipped the dress and she inched it from her shoulders to the floor. As well as the sexy black stockings, she was wearing the sweet lilac Victoria's Secret underwear that I only ever saw on Valentine's Day.

For the first time, Anthony's uber-cool persona slipped. 'My God. You have an incredible body,' he said.

'You're surprised?' she asked.

'I don't know what I expected.'

He coaxed her back onto the bed. She knelt with the blinking innocence of a naive young virgin and for several long moments I was certain they were going to kiss.

He placed his giant palm on the smooth curve of her waist and stroked it. She went rigid and clapped a hand over his, stopping him and stirring my rancor once more.

'Anthony,' she said. 'I want you to be happy. Would you like to put me in bondage?'

I broke into a sweat.

'Yes, I would,' he replied.

'Do you have anything with you?'

'Yes. It's in the car--'

'I have some!' I interrupted.

'You do?' asked Catherine in surprise. 'Since when?!'

'I... got some today. Just in case.' I hurried from the room, bounded downstairs to the shopping bag by the armchair--knocking over a stale cup of tea in the process--and raced back up, half-expecting them to be French-kissing in a tangle of limbs and bedclothes. Instead, they were as I had left them.

'Here,' I panted, handing Anthony the bag.

He waited for me to sit then pulled out a tangle of ropes, cuffs and an under-the-mattress restraint system. Any questions Catherine had for me were swept away by the thrill of the impending experience.

-- -- -- -- --

***Chapter 18***

Catherine was amused and impressed when Anthony lifted our new mattress with her still on it and slung the restraint system into place.

'You're very strong, Anthony. Do you do sports?' she asked.

He just smiled and encouraged her to lie back down. She shivered again with nervous energy as he slowly wrapped the leather cuffs around both wrists. As he cupped her nylon-clad heel, raising her right leg for the ankle cuff, I saw her leg jump. It was subtle, but I knew why it happened: her nervousness was making her exceptionally sensitive, and I was glad he didn't notice.

He then did the same with her left leg. This time her reaction was more pronounced.

'Feeling jumpy, Catherine?' he asked.

'Sorry,' she said, 'like I said: I'm ticklish.'

I screwed up my eyes and shook my head to blank out what I'd just heard.

'Yes, you mentioned that before. Are you trying to tell me something?'

'Like what?' she asked, perplexed.

'Do you want me to tickle you?' he said with a devilish tone and ran his hands up the silky nylon of her calves.

'Oo! No!' she squealed at a high pitch. In a second she was on the pillows, hugging her legs.

My heart thumped in my chest.

'Put your legs back,' he commanded, softly.

Catherine began to slowly unfurl herself. 'Okay, but promise you won't tickle me! I'm really extremely ticklish.'

'Put them back.'

She hesitated, but did as she was told. My dread was compounded when I noticed his smile.

'You didn't promise not to tickle me,' she said.

'I know I didn't,' he replied, matter-of-factly. 'Let's get you tied down and then I'll decide what I'll do with you.'

With that, Catherine spread her arms and legs to each corner of the mattress. Of all the things that had happened thus far, this offended me the most because I can guarantee that if I was in Anthony's position, Catherine would have done everything short of making me sign a contract to ensure I didn't tickle her.

She fixated on him as he secured her into place then crawled up the bed and loomed over her; resting on his fists. I could see her heart beat as they just looked into each other's eyes. The only sound in the room was Catherine's nervous breath. She and I both had the same question in mind: what would he do next?

He lowered himself until his lips met her stomach and began to kiss it all over. Soft and gentle. She closed her eyes and moaned a little. He moved down and and kissed over the silky material of her panties, occasionally pausing to blow warm air through the material. When he kissed her inner thighs, Catherine drifted further into her own world and turned her head so I couldn't even see her expression. I was totally surplus to the situation.

His hands slid up her body and found her bra. He must have unclipped it somehow because he lifted it without effort and Catherine's magnificent breasts were exposed. She welcomed his look of deep appreciation. He massaged them as he continued to kiss and gently nibble at her thighs and loins. He then moved higher and she opened her eyes to greet him; willing him to do what he moved up to do: he cupped his lips over each breast in turn and began to lick at her stiff nipples. She began to writhe and press herself against him.

I had to look away. I was ashamed that I couldn't remember the last time I saw Catherine so aroused. I resolved to be a more considerate lover. That is, if she ever wanted to sleep with me again after this.

Suddenly, she gasped.

I looked up. They were looking at one another -- Anthony was stoic while Catherine held her breath with a smirk of confusion.

'Yes?' said Anthony.

'You did that on purpose,' said Catherine.

He nodded.

'I told you...' she said.

'Told me...?'

'I'm ticklish!'

My stomach performed a triple backflip.

'I know,' he said.

'You promised--'

'No. I didn't.'

'Oh, God, don't--'

'You said you wanted to make me happy, did you not, Catherine?'

She nodded.

'Well, this is something that would make me happy.'

She was speechless and turned to me. I was frozen in my seat.

'I won't be able to take it--' she said.

'Aww, I'm sure you will...' said Anthony as he began to play with her in a way that was obscured from my sight.

She flinched. 'No, wait, let me get ready. Let-me-get-ready-let-me-get-readyyy!' she pleaded, but before she could say any more she was overwhelmed and the room filled with her divine womanly laughter. She struggled, naturally, but the bonds, plus Anthony's position on top of her, meant she couldn't move to any significant degree.

'Oh-my-God-oh-my-God-oh-my-God!' she exclaimed in between bouts of laughter.

Anthony lifted himself and I could see the grip he had on her waist. He balanced himself enough to comfortably mirror the action on her other side and she screamed in surprise.

He stopped and she gasped for breath; assuming it was over.

'Oh, my God, you're so naughty!' she said, flushed. 'That's too much!'

'I'm not finished,' he said in a businesslike fashion.

'What?!'

'I'm just being nice and giving you a small rest.'

'Why do you want to do this to me?!'

'You look beautiful when you laugh, Catherine. And I want you to feel who is in control.'

Catherine blushed and seemed to accept these reasons.

'Ready...?' said Anthony, priming himself.

Catherine shook her head vehemently and steeled herself. Anthony's taunting fingers closed in on her hips and teased them in a way that walked the line between light strokes and pressure; it was not a touch that would render a laughter response. I felt hope that, within the last ten seconds, he'd somehow lost the knack. Still, Catherine was the easiest of targets. She kept her eyes fixed on the ceiling and was doing well at maintaining her composure via breathing that took me back to the Lamaze classes we attended when she was pregnant with the twins, but suddenly she jolted and let out a squeak.