The Thrills of Tickling

They say that rules are meant to be broken. For me, that old saying is especially true when it is applied to a tickling fetish. Normally, I’m obsessed with being in control but, for some reason, ever since I indulged myself in a tickling session with an experienced practitioner, I’ve enjoyed being submissive. In fact, where expert tickling is concerned, I’ve never looked back. It stirred me up to such an extent that, after he left, I had to masturbate not once, or twice, but three times, just to feel human again.

Now, during a tickle fetish session, I am only too pleased to be the sub or ‘the ticklee’. It’s the only circumstance in which I feel comfortable to be compliant and passive. Letting someone else do the thinking for me, just for a little while, is a blessed relief. That relief isn’t total, of course. As the session continues, my sense of intense anticipation about when, and where, the next skilfully applied tickle might occur just grows and grows. Wearing a blindfold merely enhances the experience. I love not knowing what’s going to happen next. As soon as the knot is tied, we agree on a safe word, or phrase. Today, it’s ‘be nice’.

I lie on the bed, face down, as his expert fingers get to work on me. He feels confident enough to provoke me with his exaggerated, cartoon voice. “Don’t you want to say, ‘be nice?” he teases. ‘Not quite yet,’ I think to myself. I don’t want to react. I try to resist the temptation to demonstrate my weakness – I really do. Then, he surprises me with a perfectly-timed little tickle and I collapse into giggles and squirm on the bed, a reaction that really gets him off.

As a session progresses, the more resistance I develop and the less ticklish I become. He knows this all too well and responds with variations of tickle intensity, the artful selection of different soft targets and by deploying a surprising range of mysterious implements.

Going for obvious areas like the armpit, ribs and soles is all very well, but I’m more impressed when a tickler is able to provoke me with tickles in places that I didn’t even know were ticklish. For example, near the ankles, behind the knees and the inner thighs. After his fingernails have done their work, I anticipate the subversive use of everyday objects: a hairbrush, a comb and even the ragged edge of a torn piece of paper. All of these are excellent but, oddly enough, the feathers included in shop-bought BDSM kits are far from ideal if you want anything other than light, relaxing, tickles.

The session comes to a logical conclusion when he has used all his implements and my tickle-sensitive areas have become resistant to his tricks and techniques. I find that I’m incredibly relaxed – it’s almost the equivalent of a professional massage. The main differences are that with a massage, there are time-limits and a paying customer can anticipate having all of their requirements being met by a fully qualified professional. A tickle session is very different because I know that the tickler is emotionally, intellectually and fetishistically absorbed in the process; he’s ‘into it’ and so am I. His attentiveness makes me feel spoiled and special.

After exchanging some pleasantries – and brief reflections – about the session, he packs his tickling paraphernalia and leaves. As soon as I close the door behind him, I rush to my toy box. There’s only one guaranteed way to put an end to the accumulated tension that I’m feeling. I’m also enduring multiple ‘twingles’ (something between twitches and tingles) between my thighs that demand to be taken care of.

That reminds me, I think I need to arrange my next tickling session…

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