How To Tickle A Girl Insane

SS39: "How To Tickle A Girl Insane"

***

After two stories featuring husband-and-wife BDSMperors Mrs. Sandra Ariana Burton and Mr. Louis Oliver Burton at the forefront ("How To Break A Bad Rabbit" and "How To Wage A Wargasm"), I've brought them back for a third time—well, just Sandy this time (Lou had a similar previous engagement to keep this same evening, and was unable to be here for this particular function)—in another demonstrative instructional story: "How To Tickle A Girl Insane." And proving a bit different from the first two, this will be my first foray into the category of "How-To." Like a lot of my stories, it's LesBDSM-oriented.

***

December 4th, 6:00 p.m.

The auditorium teemed with guests and attendees in eager preparation and anticipation of this evening's presentation. The front desk at the floor boasted a laptop computer connected to the large screen above, which displayed tonight's lecture's title and topic.

The audience applauded as Professor Sandra Ariana Burton made her way out to the floor, wearing a white lab coat and a pair of eyeglasses on a chain—to establish a modicum of credibility, as well as academic situational kinkiness—carrying a tote box containing a semi-large array of various items. She sat the box on one corner of the desk, gave the crowd a wave and took a bow.

"Welcome!" Sandy greeted. "Thank you so much for coming! I am Professor Sandra Burton, and I am so proud and pleased to host this evening's symposium for you!" She gestured to the screen and read the title. "Tonight's Presentation: How To Drive A Woman Crazy, Through Both Sensual And Intense Tickling!"

The crowd applauded and cheered. Sandy scanned and examined the turnout, which was roughly three-quarters male. But the auditorium was also populated by quite a number of both coupled and single lesbians and bisexual women. Sandra had to admit to herself that her own excitement and enthusiasm about tonight didn't seem to compare to this audience's.

Sandy grinned. "I know, yay!" she agreed, pumping her fists into the air. "Fun! Right?!

"Okay, so let's just go ahead and get started!" she announced with a clap. "So! How To Drive A Woman Crazy—as to why a woman, this is our presentation this week. Next week, we're going to show and tell you how to drive a man crazy with tickling. The more important question at this moment: why tickling?" She paused before answering. "Anyone?"

Several attendees glanced at each other. A few murmurs sprinkled through the air, but none of them spoke up or raised a hand.

"All right, I'll take this one," Sandra volunteered with a proud grin. She had the laptop and the slideshow application actively set up onscreen, as well as a camera positioned at a strategic level on the auditorium floor, for close-up footage of tonight's model whose services she would be using. Sandy sauntered to the laptop and pressed a key. The screen jumped to the next slide.

"'Tickle!'" she read off the screen. "'Verb! To poke, stroke, scratch or otherwise touch—normally a person—using any object, most commonly one's fingers, in such a manner as to evoke an involuntary sensation of titillation or tingling, which in turn produces one or another form of laughter from the recipient of aforementioned touching.'"

Her narration of the definition provoked some applause from the crowd.

"Now, I know what some of you may be thinking, or may have already thought when you decided to attend this seminar. 'How To Tickle A Woman Crazy? Well, what's so complicated about that? I can do that; anyone can do that. What's to know? Just grab her, pin her down and go to town on her, right? How hard can it be?' Well, I won't contradict you on that score, because I don't know you personally, so I'm unqualified to assess your tickling skills. What I want to do for you tonight is simply illustrate some interesting tips and tricks that'll hopefully help you sharpen and finesse your technique, and maybe teach you a couple things you didn't know.

"Tonight we are going to be examining the scientific side of tickling. So let's take a little look at the concept itself and see with what we're dealing here," Sandy went on. "Now, if you ask me, tickling, in general, gets a really bad rap. I mean, we tickle-philes here this evening form quite a minority, in contrast to the whole population of the outside world. Grab your average person off the street and ask them how they feel about it. Ten times. Collect yourself ten random opinions and/or viewpoints. Normally, about five to seven will say they find tickling to be rather 'strange,' 'creepy' or 'really weird.'"

She performed the same keystroke. An asterisk and the words, "Based on actual study" appeared on the screen.

"About three may say tickling is cute, if it's a kid or something, but they usually hate or feel funny about being tickled, or doing the tickling themselves. One out of these ten, however, may say they genuinely like it, or perhaps even find it to be a turn on—if you're lucky. But even so, still, a possible one out of ten...not such a great result. A fair number of folks are the least bit skeeved-out by the idea of basic skin-on-skin human contact—some are uncomfortable with so much as hugging, or even shaking hands—these folks are commonly germophobes—which already doesn't bode so great for us. Not that we're planning to 'tickle-molest' anyone, of course."

The audience emitted some titters and chuckles.

"For the truly extreme and/or uptight, tickling is viewed as a form of harassment."

Some "boo"s and hisses punctuated this remark.

"I know. These are usually the same folks, by the way, who don't find the joke 'har-ass-meant nothing to me' funny at all."

The crowd laughed a bit louder.

"But then we've got an entire other side to the whole deal." Click—next screen. A diagram of a physically restrained stick person appeared. "This is the level to which we take it once we kick in the bondage factor."

The audience cheered. Sandra grinned and nodded, pointing around the room.

"Right? Yeah, here's the good stuff. NOW then, once you have someone tied up—and presuming you actually know how to do it well enough so they won't escape—which, P.S., is what 'bondage' means, so do it correctly—now ya got yourself a couple options."

Click. Next slide. Three words in very large type ate up the entire screen: NAUGHTY, OR NICE?

More cheers and laughter from the crowd.

"'Sa right!" Sandy continued. "Now that your victim is, eh...down, shall we say...do you be nice, and go easy on her, for a few cute giggles, some light pleading and a silly smile plastered over her face?..."

Some knowing laughter and clapping ensued. A smirk crept up Sandy's face.

"...ORRRRR...do ya be mean?

"Do you get evil on her ass?...Torture her? Punish her? Make her suffer?"

The audience practically erupted in cheers and applause over this second option. Sandy clicked to the next screen.

"Here we are...now then, this is another aspect of our fun little shared fetish that outsiders...just...well, don't get. Once more, go grab those random folks you polled before, if they're still not too creeped-out by this point, and ask them their stance on restrained tickling. What's the first word that comes to mind?"

A similar collection of murmurs emanated, through which Sandra detected the correct answer.

"'Abuse!' That's right! Now, okay, even we fetishists will admit it, there is a fine line between genuine abuse, and..." Sandra shrugged and facially pretended she needed to consider her next words.

"...Hot, kinky fun."

More cheers and applause. The mischievous grin returned to Sandra's face as she nodded and took a bow.

Click. Next slide. "Now, we're all of course familiar with both the consensual and non-consensual forms of tickling used as torture. Many of us enjoy exploring the consensual side in our personal lives, normally as a way of spicing things up sexually, maintaining that kinky piping-hot goodness. Or some of us may use it as a fun little way to get our partner to give us something we want, yes?

"And then of course we've got the variety of torture popularized by the Chinese, used mainly in the ways of interrogation or just plain downright torment. Now just why is tickle torture so effective as a method of getting something you want out of someone?"

Click. "Because even though we can't tickle ourselves, we don't choose to laugh when we get tickled by someone else. It's an innate, normal human response to this stimulus. If we're ticklish, we can't help it. Obvious, but important to remember. We can't hold the reaction back. If we try, it swells up inside like a balloon and eventually we explode, 'cause we can't move our breath back and forth the way we're supposed to. Soon it's so overwhelming, we'll do whatever we can to get them to stop. Now here we've got another two sides to consider. Depending on whether we're '-lees' or '-lers,' if things get out of hand, it can be looked at two ways. Some might, again, call it abuse. To a lot of us, however, tickle-philes and fetishists, there's no such thing as out of hand, now is there?"

The crowd broke out in another chorus of cheers.

"Right! A couple of factors in play here now. One, of course, the endorphin rush. Here's another of those infamous 'fine lines,' if you will. Dilemma: do you tickle until the victim begs you to stop, and then obey their wishes? Or do you just keep going?

Click. "Sometimes you agree beforehand to use a safeword. Let's take an approximated audience poll real quick," said Sandy. "All those of you who feel that safewords are a good idea and should be used, please applaud now."

About two fifths of the audience cheered and clapped.

"Okay; and those who say to hell with safewords??"

The other three fifths of the crowd roared, deafening their predecessors.

"Now that is it of which I am speaking," agreed Sandra. "Personally, I feel the same way, though I value differing opinions. Although for the truly sadistic, you may make your victim think she'll be able to have a safeword to make the torture stop, but when she tries to use it, the most evil of us say, 'Too bad, tickle-slave!' and keep going! After all, what's she gonna do about it all tied up?"

More applause.

"At this point, we may run the risks of making the poor laughing doll declare that she hates us, or is going to get us back so bad for this when she gets out of it, but these are the chances we take when we put her through this kind of hell.

"A'righty!" announced Sandy with a clap of the hands. "Now comes the first moment we've all been waiting for, gents and ladies. Time to bring some of our discussion to life! So do please join me in giving a very big, nice warm welcome to our tickle model for the evening. Direct from Paris, France, please give it up, for the lovely, Miss Giselle Boudreaux!"

The biggest wave of cheers yet ensued as a beautiful young dark reddish-haired mademoiselle joined Sandy on the floor of the lecture hall, wearing only a robe and a pair of slippers. Sandra took and shook the young maiden's hand in both of hers.

"Bienvenue, ma amie!" she said to Giselle. "Lovely to have you here this evening!"

Giselle mouthed a big "bonjour" and waved to the audience.

"They can hear you, Giselle," Sandy told her. "The floor of the auditorium's miked. So you can talk at normal volume. They'll hear."

"Oh, okay! Bonjour! Sank you, Madame Burton, merci!" Mademoiselle Boudreaux replied with a big smile. "Pleased to be here."

"Pleased to have you with us. May I ask how old you are?"

"I am 27," Giselle informed her.

"Great. How long have you been in the States?" Sandy asked.

"Two years."

"Terrific! Are you liking it here so far?"

"Oh, yes. Folk is very kind, city is so beautiful, food is quite delicious. I am sorry my English is not very perfect. But just before I come here I buy T-shirt zat says, 'I heart America.'"

The crowd cheered and began to break into a chant of, "U.S.A.! U.S.A.! U.S.A.!" Giselle grinned and nodded in agreement, waving her fist in the air in rhythm with the chant.

"That's so awesome," said Sandra as the chant died down. "Well, this little corner of America is especially delighted to have you with us tonight. And your English sounds pretty darn good to me. Now, as I understand, you're quite a fan of tickling, yourself?"

"OOOH, yes!" she answered excitedly. "Is one of my favorite sings. I love to tickle, and to be tickled. I laugh very hard eizer way."

"Excellent," said Sandy. "I guarantee you're gonna be doing some heavy laughing this evening.

"And you've done quite a bit of modeling as well, yes?"

"Oui, madame. Bohs here and in my homeland I am model."

"Perfect! That makes you an ideal candidate," said Sandy. "Have you ever done fetish work? Anything in the adult film business?"

"Eh, just a bit."

"Okay, good enough," Sandy nodded. "So why don't you go ahead and show our audience just what they will be admiring this evening..." She turned to the crowd with a wink.

Giselle turned her back to the audience momentarily as she slipped off her robe and slippers. The crowd began to verbally appreciate what they saw right away. Sandy and Giselle heard a number of whistles and other forms of approval. Giselle was flattered, but also quite used to the attention by this point in her career.

Sandy took the robe and slippers and placed them away, letting the audience took a good long drink of their model, who performed a few twirls for them, giving everyone in the room a complete view of her shapely physique.

"Okay! So," said Sandra, returning to center stage with the now naked Giselle, "As we know, my husband Lou has filled you in on the details of our little, eh...demonstration this evening..." she said discreetly, winking to the audience again. "...Are you nervous?"

"Eh...little bit, yes," Giselle admitted with a chuckle. "But also very excited."

"'Atta girl," encouraged Sandy. "You're gonna be just fine."

The members of the audience who already knew Sandra Burton were well acquainted with this tone. A few knowing titters and snippets of evil laughter at their model-victim adorned this remark.

Sandra furled out a long, soft bedsheet, laid it across the surface of the desk and patted it. "So why don't you go ahead and hop on up here, Giselle, and we'll lasso ya on down."

Giselle obeyed, and Sandy retrieved her strings of rope. Both were an equally considerable length, to handle just about any bondage job called for. The first thing Sandy did was to take Giselle's ankles one by one, bring her feet to the corners of the desk and tie them to its front legs. Then she threaded the remaining rope under the desk, brought it up behind the back, took the girl's hands behind her back and tied them together. The display earned yet more applause, from audience members who were becoming rather turned on watching Sandy truss the young lady up, as well as in anticipation of what was to follow. Giselle was now sitting on the desk facing the audience, hands behind her back, legs lying straight out spread-eagle.

"Theeeeeere we go..." announced Sandra as she finished up. She came back around to the front again to reassess her handiwork.

"Beautiful. Can you move around at all, Giselle?"

Giselle tried to squirm and wriggle around as best she could, which wasn't very well.

"I don't sink so."

"Fantastic. Then things are going just as they should." Sandy went into her tote box of tools and toys and fished out her blindfold.

"Now, ladies and gentlemen, I always highly recommend using a blindfold myself," she told them. "I am a big, big proponent of them. For two major reasons. One, if your victim can't see, obviously, she won't be able to tell where you're coming from or what you're about to do to her—if you don't give her any warning, that is, of course—thereby heightening the suspense and excitement of it all. A lack of any warning is very key. Keep her antsy. And remember, she'll be struggling for breath. And you control when she gets to breathe and when she doesn't. Oh yes, and something not many people realize: in order to laugh, you must be exhaling. If you try to laugh while inhaling, you'll make a strange choking-like sound. It's not natural to do this. So if you can see your girl's belly going out, indicating she's inhaling, go for it. She'll be forcibly thrown into a laughing exhalation, and she'll just get weaker and weaker.

"And two, as we know, when we lose one sense, we've still got four other senses which are then enhanced...eh, well, unless of course you're Haley Joel Osment, then it's five other senses.

"But anyway," Sandy continued, "In this case, having the sense of sight taken away, our Mademoiselle Giselle Boudreaux will have her other senses heightened, including the sense of touch." She slipped the blindfold over her eyes and tied it in the back.

"How's that, Giselle? Is that comfy? Can you see?"

"Oui, is fine. Non, I cannot see."

"Good!"

Sandy gripped her from around the back and dug her nails into Giselle's hips. She burst out laughing.

"Okay!" exclaimed Sandy over the applause supplied by the crowd. "There's one spot!

"Now then," she ambled around the desk to Giselle's side. Giselle turned her head to follow as she moved. Sandy placed a finger to her lips to quietly signal the audience to remain silent. She clicked the laptop keyboard. The next slide appeared on the big screen.

ASCERTAINMENT OF VICTIM'S WEAK SPOTS rolled across the screen, word by word. The crowd could see why Sandra'd asked them to remain quiet at this point. Before saying anything more for the moment, Sandy went to her tote box and retrieved a standard pointer used for presentations and seminars just like this. Tonight, however, it would serve a slightly different utilization.

The ivory pointer was honed to a relatively fine point at the nameworthy end—not quite enough to injure someone, but just enough to tease or irritate them to the point of frustrating ticklishness. Sandy began to put it to use on Giselle.

The first area she touched was the girl's left armpit. She squirmed and chuckled in response.

"Ascertainment of your victim's weak spots," Sandra now narrated. "Or, as we in the biz also like to call them, 'sweet' spots.

"There're a few ways to do this. One is, you can simply ask." Sandy turned to her. "Giselle, where are you most ticklish?"

"Um...my-my feet...uh, m—"

Sandra slid the end of the pointer down the sole of her left foot. Not expecting it, Giselle let out a tiny shriek.

"EEEEE!" she giggled amidst laughter and applause from the audience.

"Go on," instructed Sandy. "Where else?"

Now more nervous, Giselle nonetheless continued.

"My, uh...my bellybutton..."

She paused and instinctively sucked in her belly, anticipating the tickly sensation to strike the given point next. When it didn't immediately come, she let it back out and went on.

"A-and my, uh—"

Now, of course, Sandra tickled her bellybutton.

"AAAAAHHaahahaa!" laughed Giselle. More cheering. "Hey! Zat's not fair!"

"Nobody ever said life was fair, Giselle. Go on then, where else?"

"Um...um..."

Giselle was starting to feel hesitant disclosing this fragile information being used against her. Of course, she knew what this night would entail; she had to expect this sort of thing. Somehow, simply imagining it wasn't as intimidating as having it actually happen. It crossed her mind to remain silent from this point about her most sensitive and ticklish areas, but she knew that wouldn't exactly hinder them from being explored or discovered.