The following work of fiction contains some sexually explicit content. All depicted characters are 18 or older.
SYNOPSIS: Laura loves a shy college classmate, and she fantasizes about bringing him face-to-face with his own tickling fetish.
Originally posted May 2007
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Lights off. Lie down.
Breathe in... breathe out...
Relaxing... breathing... and there goes the afterimage from of the light switch. There's the sound of the frogs from outside. There are the speckled designs on the inside of my eyelids.
All right, time to fantasize.
Relaxing, and...
I walk into the room. My favourite restraining table is here.
The guy that I'm in love with, Darren Smith from art lecture, is strapped to the table.
He's very kind, and shy. Both times that he's passed me on his way to his seat, he's pardoned himself apologetically. It's fascinating to watch him read outside. He's usually at a bench alone. If someone else nears, he moves elsewhere. I've also noticed that while almost everyone is wearing sandals, he always wears shoes and socks outside.
My hypothesis is that Darren was brought up in a family that taught him -- directly or indirectly -- that advances toward women are to be discouraged, that one's sexuality is a shameful thing, and that one must keep it to oneself. I doubt that Darren has even had a girlfriend; he seems too inexperienced. Besides, I think he's only eighteen or nineteen.
This is bothersome. Guys like Darren deserve to have good girlfriends. They are well-mannered and considerate, and they're good thinkers. Yet, they lack the confidence to even greet a member of the opposite sex, let alone ask them out.
Ironically, this is also very opportune, because they are sexually repressed. They have nervous systems, reflexes, passionate sexual urges... but they feel as though they mustn't express any of it.
Of course, their resistance is denial of the truth, and this brings about a wonderful duplicity. As a result of this repression, they are very easily embarrassed when faced with the idea that their bodies are capable of responses beyond their control. I bet that Darren even blushes when the doctor tests his reflexes, and he can't stop his leg from jumping. This makes him an ideal candidate for my ministrations.
When I have a man like Darren in my room, my primary objective is not to use him for my own gratification. Rather, it's to force the man to explore himself. I bring him face-to-face with his own body so explicitly that he can't deny it anymore. I bring him to terms with the truth. For as long as he resists, it will be profoundly arousing to him.
Darren has absolutely no idea.
He is lying on his back at waist level. His bare arms are restrained, crossed at the wrists behind his head. His legs, straight and together, are secure in the ankle cuffs. He's positioned as though he's simply relaxing in the sun, which I think is fairly adorable because he has no choice. I look him up and down. His hands are beautiful. His face is beautiful. His arms look strong. I note his genitals and legs, keeping in mind I have the opportunity to examine them as closely and as long as I want. His bare feet, never seen in public, are quite cute with the exposed soles facing directly outward.
I stand by him, my hair tied back, wearing my glasses, dressed professionally. It's time to begin.
"Good afternoon, Darren. I suppose you're wondering why I've brought you here."
I can see him coming to terms with his restraints and his nakedness as I continue speaking.
"As you're now discovering, you're quite unable to move. Don't worry, that's perfectly normal. If you would, I would like you to observe yourself closely."
I push a button on the side of the table; one of three. A screen appears on the ceiling above Darren's head. It's a live image of himself, as seen from above. I watch his eyes as he reacts to the sight of himself. The poor man; if he were able to move, he would probably curl up in a corner. Instead, he just watches himself lying with his arms behind his head in that leisurely manner. His legs, his feet, his penis and testicles, his chest, his body, all on display for me. His cheeks acquire a heartbreakingly adorable red tint.
I walk toward the head of the table, looking down at him. From his point of view, he'll see my face, and behind it, the image of his open body.
"Your body is an amazing thing, Darren. I want you to look at it. You can control it; you can make it do anything you want. Except now, of course, because you're restrained. But I want you to remember, it's a reciprocal relationship. Your body obeys instructions other than your own. It's designed for that." I say, placing one hand on his arm, and running the nails of the other through his hair. The skin of his forehead loosens, his eyelids relax a little bit, and a shiver flows down his shoulders.
"Darren, I'm going to begin with a thorough examination of your feet." I'm watching his face for his involuntary reaction to the phrase "your feet." His breath tenses, and his pupils dilate slightly.
"You always wear socks and shoes, even when it's warm outside, Darren. Are you afraid of something?"
As I finish that line, I press the next button, which juxtaposes another image with the first. Darren immediately sees the soles of his feet, staring directly at him. I particularly relish the moment when his brain detects a change in his field of vision, causing his pupils to instinctively dart over to the picture of his soles before he even realizes he's doing it. This is followed immediately by the trademark rush of red to his cheeks.
"Why are your feet so private for you, Darren? Is it because they're sensitive? Do you keep them hidden so as to seem proper? They're very cute, you know. Look at them."
I kneel at the helpless feet, staring at them too. I feel a rush of power just looking them up and down, knowing that I can run my nails across the skin, and those cute little digits will be trying -- whether he wants them to or not -- to defend the soles from the treatment.
"Darren, I want you to just relax and watch your feet. I'm going to start stimulating your body's nervous system, and you're going to put on a little show for me."
I give his mind a moment to wrestle with that information. I can almost hear his brain overheating, trying to logic it into something that doesn't turn him on so much. I think it's time to augment that.
"I want you to watch your toes curl, Darren."
He watches the image as my fingers caress his sole, and his responsive foot curls up in defense. It's the most adorable thing. I can't see his face from where I'm sitting, but I know that it's even brighter red in frustration.
"Very good, Darren. We both know you can't control it. Watch again." And I repeat the process on his other foot, causing the same lovable reaction. I smile to myself in approval.
I'm greatly enjoying this. Taking my time, I draw several gentle lines down his soles, imaging the effervescence I'm creating in him. I know, from testing my nails on my own feet, the sensation that your brain is being slowly taken over. It intensifies madly until the nails let up, and you think you're fine until the next stroke begins.
