Are you tickled?

The second you enter the play space; you feel the weight of your clothes bearing down on you. Your shirt is too tight, your jeans constrictive; the fabric of your underwear rubs you the wrong way. You’re hot and itchy, and you know what you need.

“Take your clothes off,” mistress orders.

You comply eagerly, stripping until you stand before me in your nakedness, and it feels right. It feels like coming home. She studies you, enjoying the way your body trembles under her gaze, the way you flush pink from head to toe. I step closer to you, brushing a feather over your sensitive nipples, making you gasp.

 “Mistress,” you whisper, “I need…”

 “I know what you need,” she interrupts. She reaches for a set of soft fur lined cuffs, attaching them to your wrists and ankles. I secure you to the massage table, leaving you spread-eagled and vulnerable.

 She hops up on the table and straddles you, her face just inches from yours. She can see the anticipation in your eyes, the desperate longing for touch.

 “Please,” you beg, “tickle me.”   She laughs, a low, sensual sound that makes you shiver. “Oh, I’ll do more than tickle you, my dear,” she promises.

Before she climbs off the table, She leans forward, tracing her tongue along the curve of your ear. You moan, squirming against the restraints. She nips at your earlobe, then soothes it with her tongue, all while her fingers dance over your skin. She teases your nipples, your ribs, the soft skin of your inner thighs. You’re writhing now, panting, begging for more.

 She obliges, of course. She tickles you until you’re gasping, until you’re laughing so hard that you can’t breathe. She doesn’t stop until you’re begging her to, until your body is slick with sweat and your eyes are shining with tears. Finally, she senses you are at your limit, and she pauses. She slowly releases you from the handcuffs. 

Trembling and gasping for breath, She wraps you in a sheet and slides up next to you. She feels the rapid beat of your heart and the warmth of your body. I can still hear the echoes of your laughter, the sound of your desperate pleas and your gasps of pleasure.

 “Thank you, Mistress,” you murmur, your voice hoarse from laughter.

 “You’re welcome, my dear,” she replies.

She knows what you need, and she's here to give it to you. She's here to make you laugh, to make you scream, to make you beg. She's here to give you the release you crave, the relief you need.

 She's your mistress. She's here for you.