A babysitter's ticklish ordeal.

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"Well, in this game your soles are cellos and the brushes are the bows with which to play them with." - As I said so, I began to slide the brush from side to side across your sole and you immediately resume bucking again. This has me follow my every move by repeating them on your right sole. Your bucking is instantly followed by more cackling. "Do you not like me brushing up on your tickling?"

I laugh, knowing that you desperately want to tell me to get off your foot, but that your laughter has stolen your voice and that both your laughter and bucking has stolen your concentration. The bed is rocking and you are cackling to My heart's content personified, and this has me happily continue. To me your soles are heaven and I know that they are something I want to enjoy for sometime to come. Your bucking and cackling intensified to almost hysterical now and I can tell that you definitely want me to cease with the brush and could be at the point to promising me anything if I will stop. If that is the case, I'd love to stop to see exactly what you would do for me if I promised to stop.
 
How did I know that that was what you had envisaged? I really didn't want to play that game, but already my body tensed as I heard your words. My soft feet danced from side to side, trying to go with the movement of that hairbrush, trying to negate the awful sensitivity that I couldn't help but feel. I didn't have any luck, I was thrashing in the bed hard enough to make it move along with me, my laughter resounding around the room as I felt the brush on my soles. Your rhythm was perfect, the skin of my feet responding to each motion of the hairbrush, my entire foot curling as I fought for non-existent control. "No...I.." I couldn't respond to your questioning, my voice was captivated by giggles and harsh intakes of breath, along with the odd scream as the brush just became too much.

"Please stop. I'll do anything....just stop." It took me a while to get these words out, and even longer for me to lift my head up and remain still enough to look in what I hoped was your direction. I wanted you to see my pleading expression, clear as day despite the covering over my eyes. My muscles ached, my hair was beginning to stick to my face thanks to the sweat I'd started due to all the thrashing and bucking.
 
I heard your pleading, desperate eyes behind the blindfold and saw some compassion within himself amid an unbridled sense of sadistic pleasure. "I think I should let you see the kind of mess you have created around you." - I very slowly released you from the blindfold and noticed the sweat running off your forehead like raging rivers. I suddenly realized how to get full access to your body. "I think I should let you relax a bit. Don't you feel suffocated in these super skinny jeans?"

Pinned there on my bed, you were helpless to resist especially in your weakened state. Reaching weakly out of desperation you blinked tears from your eyes, breathed heavily for much needed oxygen and tried to realign your mind back to some sense of sanity after the brutal brush tickling. Sure enough, before you could even remember where you are I quickly pulled your jeans sliding down your long silky legs. Futilely you squirmed your smooth coltish legs in an effort to keep the jeans but I easily snatched them over feet.
 
I breathed a sigh of relief as you removed the blindfold, for a moment daring to think that you were finished with me. My eyes met yours briefly, anger and frustration in them, though I soon looked away again. I blinked sweat out of my eyes rapidly, noticing hhow I had ruined the well made bed, sheets tangled underneath me, long since brought free of their neatly tucked corners.

"I'm fine. I just need..." I knew you weren't going to let me go that easily. I felt weak and hollowed out by now, and as much as I tried to press myself into the bed so you couldn't remove my jeans, it was all futile. Soon enough I had bare legs, smooth and perfectly tanned. I drew one knee up as far as the restraints would allow, twisting my body as I tried to stretch my aching muscles, attempting to feel normal again as my head continued to spin."Come on. What now?"" I whined, struggling to know how to deal with you. I was out of my depth and clutching at straws.
 
"Well I think Your senses are my latest play toy and I play hard." - All this while you screamed and continued to cackle jerking and writhing in your bonds as my fingers had no set agenda and I tickled here and there at will. Suddenly my fingers began stroking you between the legs close to the womanhood. I quickly took out a paintbrush from my bag, and tormented the area close to your lips even further, even probing it further over your pink thong panties to seek out the tender bud below. To keep you on edge, my free hand sporadically spider tickled your left foot and you continued the spasmodic jerking.

I sat between your legs and single finger stroked your womanhood up and down. My finger now traveled down the lips and back up again, going even slower this time. The sensual and torturous finger stroking of your lips and bud was bad enough, but the vibe was pure torture personified. Meandering and slithering its way up and down your lips and bud was driving you crazy and you began begging me for any sort of release.

Suddenly I stopped. I now went behind you and you strained to see where the evil teen is going. Two hands on either side of your lower ribs caused you to squirm even more. The hands playfully slipped under your t-shirt and now began to tease the upper ribs one at a time. The fingers were soft and ballet like, sliding between each rib from the sides to the center. I knew you needed release from this torturous tickling, needed this boy to stop immediately and let you have even a minute's rest. But the fingers kept meandering over and in between the ribs, playing with them, teasing them, and torturing them.
 
I shivered at your words, struggling to come to my senses and gather myself into a normal human being again. No sooner had I begun my efforts, you assaulted me again, your torturous fingers roving over my body as I twisted this way and that, ocassionally pressing into your slender fingers, squealing with a childish delight that I could no longer hide. I didn't notice the paint brush until it was on my skin, teasing my inner thigh and causing my legs to kick out wildly. "No...I can't take it." I whispered, meeting your eyes and begging for you to give me a moment of peace. All I got in return was a touch of your finger over a lacy thong, my womanhood soft and inviting to your advances. I couldn't deny your touch, enjoying the sensual sensation contrasting with the manic quivering of my ticklish skin.

And then it stopped. I strained my neck, watching you carefully, "Not now. You can't...leave me..." I betrayed myself, your continual assault having worn me down so much that I no longer knew what I wanted, let alone what I really thought about you. Even as you settled behind me I groaned, leaning back into you as I began to breathe ever more rapidly, building into a yelp as your magnificent fingers met in the minor cleft between each rib, a particularly sensitive area. "Can't...breathe..." Even as your fingers danced across my body, my ribcage rose and fell in an uneven and rapid rhythm, my breath hitching as I turned my face into you, trying to keep from screaming and succeeding only in muffling the sound as I reached a breaking point that I was certain would lead to my demise.
 
"You know what, your cackles are music to my ears. But I'd really like a symphony and I'm going to tickle you to get that right now."

The fingers now played up and down your sides like you were an accordion and you strained in your bonds and cackled more loudly than ever. This was pure torture personified and you wanted to be free of it right now. Your mind was being barraged with tickles and every upper body nerve ending was being blindsided as well. I knew if I kept this up you would certainly go insane. Each touch and stroke was worse than the one before and you were violently flinching with each one. As my hands were teasing your ribs I pulled your shirt slowly up. I'm sure you could feel the cool air in your tummy and flinch when given the occasional pinch.

The t-shirt went further and further up and you screamed inside for release. Reality kept violently invading your senses as your shirt was teased over your head and left bunched up on your arms. The cool breeze now came to your armpits only to make you scream even louder inside and desperately tried to bring your arms down. How's that? Better?" I asked as I looked down at my teary eyed babysitter and admired her shimmering body, that smooth hour glass tummy, the heaving soft ribs and those large milky breasts of fleshy fun that threatened to burst from the small white bra with every panicked breath.

With an agonizingly slow pace I sped up the wiggling, dancing lightly on either side of your tummy. When tickled from both sides at once, as with your underarms, there is nothing to do. At least when tickled in one spot there is an illusion, that the one can always move in the opposite way for escape. As my speed grew so did your pleading, along with the pitch and frequency of the giggles. Soon the giggles outweighed the real words and before long I had my fiery fingers up to such a speed you were wildly whipping your head side to side and screaming for freedom among your squealing laughter.
 
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