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WARNING! This is adult oriented fiction of a strong sexual nature. If you are under 18 years

of age or easily offended by such material, then click your browser's back button now. The copyright of this story remains with the author, Night Owl. This posting does not give you the rights to post this on any website. You must obtain the author's permission prior to posting.

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Julie and the Rack

by Night Owl

First Posted: 7/04

(Story Content:  M/f, Bondage, Intense Tickling)

"Are you sure you can handle this?"  I asked Julie as I tightened the last knot around her ankle.

"Whatever you can dish out, Mister, I can handle."

("Oh, you're going to pay dearly for THAT remark!"  I thought to myself.)

"Well.... as long as you're sure, Hon."

Julie was trying to impress me with her courage and spunk, but I could tell she was getting nervous.  It wasn't the force of the restraints that bothered her so much, nor was it the crude-looking rack made out of 2x4s that imprisoned her angelic form.  I knew what scared her the most was the very thought of undergoing a long, grueling tickle session.  She had never done this before, and being a 'tickle virgin,' she had no idea of what to expect.

"Just remember to use the safe word if gets to be too much," I tried to sound reassuring, then gave the knot one final tug.

"Yes, yes I know, 'Red' means to stop," she teased.

"That's right."

The truth was, I really wasn't sure what I would do if she were to back out now.  I had waited a long time for this moment, and I already knew full well, even at this early stage, that it would be all I had anticipated.  For me there was no turning back.

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As far back as I can remember, I cannot recall a time when it didn't give me a special thrill to be able to wiggle my fingers against some woman's ticklish spots, or even to just HEAR the word spoken. Even as a child, when sex wasn't a part of the picture, I fantasized about tickling girls.  Then as I reached puberty, bondage and tickling became a powerful source of fantasy, accompanied by frequent hard-ons and two or three masturbation sessions per day.  Call it role awareness or even a sadistic quirk.  I get a charge out of the experience of power I wield, to make a woman giggle and writhe uncontrollably; not to mention the ability to drive her mad with sensations that hover on the edge of torture, and at the same time, drive her mad again with the pleasure of her orgasms.  Through the years, most of my relationships had ranged from one-night stands to casual month-long affairs, and since there were no emotional ties getting in the way, I had nothing to lose in trying to initiate tickling during sex.  That is, until I met Julie.

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When I first saw this woman at the office last spring, my initial attraction was purely physical.  In fact, I could hardly keep my eyes off her.  At 5' 8'', she had the classic 'barbie doll' figure -- slender body, long legs, tight round hips, and a mane of golden hair that fell loosely over her shoulders and down her back.  She was wearing a black blazer that day, with the hem of her skirt cut no less than six inches above the knee, and a slit up one side that gave my wandering eye a nice glimpse of her upper thigh as she sat at her desk with her legs crossed.  She wore no hosiery of any kind.  She never did, as I recall, and certainly didn't need them with that smooth light almond complexion.  Finally, a pair of black high heels capped off a sexy, yet professional look that drew long, lusty stares from every male in the office as she walked by.  I knew it was going to be a challenge to work under the same roof with such a distraction, but that was only the beginning.  The following Friday was 'casual dress day', and this time Julie came in wearing jeans and a white, sleeveless sweater top, the kind with wide armholes that drove me absolutely insane!   You see, like most tickle lovers, I've always had this special, private fetish for women's underarms -- those silky curves, that ticklish flesh, the depth of pocket, the whole bit.  So the minute I saw Julie in that top, I became hopelessly obsessed.  I HAD to find a way to get a closer look.

It was an unusually slow Friday with Memorial Day weekend coming up, so later that afternoon, a few of us decided go around the office and replace some of the fluorescent lights above the cubicles.  I made sure I got to Julie's desk first, then climbed the step stool and started fumbling with the light fixture, hoping that my act would get her attention.

"Need any help?" she looked up from her computer.

"Sure, if you don't mind.  This one's giving me some trouble."

She pulled out a folding chair and took her place just opposite me.

"See if you can twist your end in while I do the same," I suggested.

Julie reached upward, stretching both arms as she did so, and began working her end of the bulb into its mount.  This gave me a wonderful view of the most beautifully smooth, hollowed armpits that I had ever seen.  I watched them intently as she fumbled with the fixture, turning the bulb this way and that.  She was so close, that I literally could have reached over and touched them. Then Julie caught my gaze before I could look away.  I was busted!   But what surprised me was that she didn't seem to mind my looking at her.   She just smiled and gave me that 'I Gotcha!' look.  I refused to let the moment get the best of me, so I smiled back, wondering if she really knew what I was staring at.  For the next several days, we both flirted with each other, through eye contact and small talk until I finally asked her out.  We eventually started dating seriously.  In that time, I had tickled her briefly on many occasions, eliciting beautiful giggles from her before she pushed me away.  But never had I revealed my deepest urge . . . my truest love for tickle torture.

As I got to know Julie, the more my feelings for her began to change, to grow, and hers for me also.  We even talked about taking our relationship to the next level . . . like marriage, kids, the whole deal.  Yet I knew that I could never make such a commitment, without her knowing how much I longed to tickle her lovely form.  It was not as if I'd never shared my passion with other women before.  As I mentioned earlier, some indulged me a little, some not at all, but Julie was different.  I cared about her a great deal, and I didn't want to take the chance on her thinking me strange.  Nevertheless, one night I finally took the plunge and opened up to her.  It took dinner at my place, and three glasses of wine before I could finally drum up enough courage to speak about it.  I told her how tickling a woman was the most erotic thing to me, how laughter was an aphrodisiac, and of my fetish for each ticklish spot on the female body.  I told her everything.  How I'd dreamt of tickling her since that very first day I saw her.  How often I'd wanted to tie her down and tickle her until she screamed, tickle her to orgasm, and then make love to her!  After I was finished pouring out my heart and soul, I didn't know what to expect.  A part of me felt at ease that I was no longer keeping secrets from her, but another part of me wanted to get up and run away and not face the rejection that might follow.  When I finally looked at Julie, her blue eyes were filled with a glow I'd not seen before.

"I had a feeling you were into that sort of thing," she finally answered, and then her mouth curved into a smile, "I guess I've always known since that day we met, when I caught you staring at . . . well, you know . . . my underarms."

"I wasn't sure you'd noticed," I answered, looking at her sheepishly.

"It was pretty obvious!" she laughed.

"So what do you think?"

"I have to admit, it does sound like fun . . . but I'm just not sure if I can handle it.  You know how ‘touchy’ I am."

It was true Julie was deathly ticklish, but at least she didn't run away from me screaming!  I continued to promote the idea and did my best to allay any fears that she might have about my intentions.  I even came up with a few safe words that she could use if she should want to back out at any time, such as 'YELLOW' for 'take it easy' and 'RED' for 'stop right now.'  As we talked, Julie became more curious, even intrigued with the subject.  She gave me a guide to all of the most ticklish spots on the road map of her body, "feet . . . helplessly ticklish and defenseless when I'm attacked there . . . armpits . . . make me giggle like a little girl . . . and the closer to my tummy, especially under the ribs, my worst spot."  After some gentle persuasion, she finally broke down and decided to give it a try.

"So when do we do this?" she asked.

"How about next Saturday?"

"Sounds good, but I thought you'd want to start tonight? I’ve certainly had enough wine!"

I laughed, then winked at her, "Patience my dear. Since you’re a rookie, I want your first time to be a memorable one for both us, so I'll need to plan everything out carefully."

Julie gave me a curious look, but I preferred to keep her in the dark and offered no further explanation.

"All right then, it's a date," she said. “As for tonight, let’s not iet this wine go to waste.”

She then took my hand and guided me to the bedroom.

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The next morning and after Julie left, I immediately began making preparations for our special encounter.  The idea I had in mind for her required a different form of restraint, something much more erotic than simply tying her to the bed like I had done with other women.  I went to the hardware store and purchased the materials I needed -- several 2x4s, large bolts, and some brass hooks.  I picked a spot on my living room floor and began drilling holes into the boards and fastening them together with the bolts.  When I was finished, I had built a rather crude, but very effective restraining rack, though it looked nothing like those table racks used in medieval dungeons.  This one had the 2x4s forming a box frame, about 5 ft. square, with the hooks fastened in various places to hold ropes, chains, leather straps, whatever I decided to bind her with.  The sturdy contraption looked somewhat odd and out of place in my living room.  Spread out beneath it, was a thick, black bearskin rug that I had purchased at a southwestern gift shop, with a pillow carefully positioned underneath it.  This was the spot were my pretty captive would lie.

The following week I began teasing Julie to get her into the proper mood for our 'session.'  I often called her on the phone when I knew she wasn't alone, and told her exactly what I would do to her if I was afforded the opportunity, using explicit mental images described in the most lurid, taunting detail.  She giggled and played along, and I could sense her nervous excitement growing as I drew her deeper into my fantasy.

When Saturday finally arrived, we started off the evening with a candlelit dinner and a bottle of wine at her favorite restaurant. Julie looked incredibly gorgeous that night in her black spaghetti strap dress. (by then her leggy skirts had risen to an eye-popping 12 inches and were already a signature look for her around our office). I felt excited and restless when I first saw her.  I was eager to take her home and indulge my fantasy, but I remained patient, allowing her time to relax.  As we left the restaurant, I chose to walk behind her, watching the way her shoulders and hips moved, the way the heels she wore shaped her thighs and calves.  It was already late when we got back to my place.  I took her hand, and led her inside.  The house was dark as I motioned her into the living room.  A votive candle I left sitting on the end table cast flickering shadows on the walls.  Then Julie's eyes widened when she first saw the crude-looking, box-like structure sitting in the middle of the room.

She whispered, "What on earth is THAT?"

"Just a little something to restrain you with, my dear," I looked at her with a wicked grin.

The expression on her face was mixed with shock and intrigue.  On several occasions, we had tried light bondage during our lovemaking, but nothing like this.

"Are you OK, sweetheart?"

Julie gave me a nervous smile and nodded,  "Looks like you've been busy."

The fact that she was putting so much trust in me only intensified my love for her.  I gave her a gentle kiss as a reassurance.

"Now take off your dress, please."

Julie paused a moment with her eyes fixed on mine.  She then took a few steps back, and slowly, pushed the straps down over her bare shoulders.  My heart began to beat faster as she shimmied her body out of the thin garment, stepped out of it, and casually kicked her heels off.  Then with a final maneuver that seemed intentionally seductive in its display, she held the dress off to the side and let it drop dejectedly to the floor.

"Very nice.  Very nice, indeed," I teased her, "you won't be needing that bra tonight either, and remove those panties, too."

Without saying a word, she unhooked her strapless bra from behind and let it drop to the floor, then very slowly, slid her black, lacy panties down her legs and stepped out of them.  Her breasts were not very large, but they had the round youthful appearance of an eighteen year old.  The sudden rush of air made her nipples stand out in dynamic display as she stood silently before me in the candlelight.  I let my eyes wander freely down her body, and it was then, that I got the most pleasant shock of my life!  Julie was always meticulous in keeping her legs and underarms smooth by shaving them everyday, but this time, she had gone quite a bit further and removed all of her pubic hair as well!

"Now it's YOUR turn to be surprised," she grinned as I stood there speechless.

Seeing such a vulnerable display of her most intimate flesh turned me on like you wouldn't believe, and as a tickler, it brought new possibilities to mind that I had never even dreamed of before.

"So what do you think?" she asked.

"You KNOW what I think."

I held her in my arms and we kissed for several minutes.  I relished the feel of her warm body against me. Then I whispered to her,

"Shall we try this out for size?"

She looked nervously again at the strange-looking contraption I had built.  Julie wouldn't show it, but I could tell she was having second thoughts about allowing herself to be tied up, knowing what was going to happen next.  It took a moment or two for her to gather up the courage before answering.

"OK, I'm ready."

I led Julie to the rack and motioned her to lie back on the bearskin rug that was spread out neatly underneath.  She began to relax a little and slip into the proper mood as the soft fur made contact with her bare skin.  Next, I brought out some rope and proceeded to tie up her limbs in the way that I had planned.  After the last knot was tightened, I then sat back to admire my handiwork.

The view was exquisite in the dim candlelight, and I was instantly captivated by her beauty and helplessness.  Julie was lying on her back with her arms drawn wide above her head and tied by the wrists to the base of the rack at each corner.  The pillow underneath the rug, kept her back arched just enough to stretch her firm breasts tight across her ribcage.  Those long, sexy legs that I admired so much when we first met, were now raised and spread wide apart like a V with her ankles fastened to the top corners.  I made sure the ropes were pulled tight enough to lift her tush about five inches off the floor, keeping her lower body suspended while allowing her back to rest comfortably against the soft rug.  She was now well-presented for whatever diabolical intentions I might have, and her recent shave left every smooth, naked detail out in plain sight, from her slick pussy all the way down to the tight, puckered hole in that gorgeous ass.

"See if you can get loose," I teased

Julie twisted and pulled her wrists, then each ankle, but it was no use.  She was utterly defenseless and completely at my mercy.

"There's no turning back now, my pet."

By now my erection was getting painful.  Never before, did I want her as much as I did at that moment, but I resisted the urge, knowing that my patience would soon be rewarded.  I brought out the tools I would use for our session -- a black peacock feather, two sable brushes, and a long feather duster.

"Oh God!"  I heard Julie whisper to herself, as though she were truly realizing for the first time what was in store for her.

"Try to relax," I said, "it's going to be a long, eventful evening and you're going to need your strength."

I decided to make myself comfortable and stripped down to my cotton briefs.  Then I picked up the feather and began to contemplate where I should start first.  Julie looked so delicious all bound up, ticklish and waiting to be driven out of her mind!  That spot between her legs was especially inviting now that she was hairless down there, but I elected to avoid it for now.  Instead I knelt beside her, bent forward and gave her a long, deep kiss.  She parted her lips willingly as I explored the inside of her mouth with my tongue.  I took a few moments to pamper her with more kisses, then playfully held the feather up in front of her face.  Julie's eyes widened at the sight of it.  She turned her head away as I tickled her lips and nose and ears with gentle strokes. Man, the girl was ticklish!

I placed the feather against her left wrist and ran the tip along the inside of her arm.  My touch was excruciatingly light.  She tried to twist her elbow away, rubbing it against the soft bearskin, which only seemed to intensify the sensation.  Then she held her breath as I dragged the feather slowly down to her open armpit and ended its journey with long, agonizing stroke across those silky, delicate curves.

Usually at this point, a woman would fill the room with fits of unbridled laughter, but Julie had a unique way of dealing with her tickling.  Each stroke was like a live wire touching her body, and her tortured giggles almost sounded like she was in pain.  Her discomfort didn't discourage me, though.  On the contrary, it only fueled my excitement.  I began to tickle her underarms more vigorously with the feather, switching from one to the other without stopping.

“NO-HOOOOO!  P-PLEE-EE-EESE . . . STO-OP . . . HE! HE! HE! HA! HA! HA! HA . . . !

Julie tried to work her wrists free, but the ropes held firm, depriving her helpless pits of any relief from my teasing strokes.

"You'd better get used to it, my pet.  There's more where that came from . . . a LOT more!"

I ran the feather up and down the sides of her ribs, across the flat plane of her tummy and into her navel.  She began to twist and turn her body in an attempt to elude me, but I followed her movements effortlessly while keeping the feather tip in constant contact with her skin.  The intensity and frustration must have been unbearable.  I could see it in her face, in her eyes and from her body language.  I relished the sounds of her helplessness -- ropes rubbing together, the wooden rack creaking as she struggled futilely with her restraints, and of course, that sweet, tormented laughter.  Julie was the perfect victim for anyone who liked to see a tied up woman truly "suffer" tickle torture.

"N-n-no more," she gasped, "it's t-too much!"

"I'm sorry Hon, but you're going to have to see this through."

She couldn't help the moans of pleasure between giggles as I circled the feather tip around and around her breasts, again and again, before closing in on her hardened nipples and teasing them with light, tantalizing strokes.  I must have traced every curve above her waist at least half a dozen times, using a combination of long strokes and flicking motions, pausing occasionally to let her regain her breath before continuing again.  My relentless tickling was driving her into a frenzy.  By the fifth break, her eyes were filled with tears from laughing so hard.  She begged me to stop the torment; to relieve the itching that my tickling had caused. She said if felt like her lungs were about to explode.

In spite her endless pleas, not once did she use the safe word.

Setting the feather aside, I moved around and knelt down with her head centered between my knees.  Gently, I stroked her long golden hair and let it fall around the front of my briefs, now stretched tight over my growing erection underneath.  I then reached for the feather duster.  It had a long handle with feathers attached to the length of it, similar to a bottlebrush.  I lightly swept it across her naked breasts, tickling both of her nipples at the same time. 

"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh," she moaned softly.

Julie's body seemed to be tingling with sensitivity, and I could tell she was slowly becoming more and more aroused by my insidious torture.  I watched in admiration as she continued to pull against the restraints -- knees flexing, her pretty raised ass swaying back and forth seductively.  I don't think she realized just how much her reactions were pleasing me to no end.  I brushed the feather duster across her stomach and up the sides of her ribcage, then over her breasts again.  Julie's skin must have been crawling by now with so many feathers touching her at once.  She arched her back off the rug, tilted her head backward with her face nearly touching my open crotch, and moaned much loader this time.

"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH . . . MMMMMMMMMMM . . . !"

"I think you're enjoying this a little TOO much," I smiled.

"Are you . . . complaining?"  Her body relaxed again. She was almost out of breath.

"Not at all, my pet."

I set the feather duster down, then began to tickle her in earnest with my fingers.  More helpless laughter ensued.  Julie wiggled and squirmed uncontrollably as I let my fingertips roam freely around her upper body, lingering in spots that gave me the best reactions.  I tried to imagine what it would be like to feel dozens of tiny spiders crawling all over her bare flesh, then tried to imitate their movements with feather-light strokes.  She begged me to stop, yet at the same time, pushed her breasts upward toward my fingers.  Over and over, I toyed with her emotions, taking her between the blissful pleasure, and the torment of unmerciful, non-stop tickling.  Her head moved up and down, back and forth, rubbing her silky blonde hair against my pampered crotch.  It was a sensation that made my cock and balls swell uncomfortably under the tight, confines of my briefs.  I was more than ready to fuck her, and Julie was ready too, but part of me wanted to keep tickling her until she absolutely could not take any more, and only I would decide when that time was.  No begging, screaming, or laughing would convince me to stop until I was good and ready. Not even the safe word – sorry pet.

Several minutes passed before I finally gave her a much-deserved break, though the ordeal was far from over.  I grabbed a sable brush and positioned myself between her open legs.  Slowly Julie's mind cleared, and when she saw me standing there with the brush, she began to squirm again, but the power of the restraints continued to frustrate her, compounded by the fact that parts of her body were completely out of her line of sight.  She had no idea where I was going to touch her next.  The effect must have been maddening.  I held the brush up over her captive feet so she could see it, then dragged the soft bristles from the heel of her left foot to the toes.

"N-n-not on my feet!  PLEE-EE-EEESE . . . NO-HO-HO-HOOOOO . . . !"

Poor Julie was in hysterics as she was now struck with a whole new degree of ticklishness.  She squealed with laughter, jerked her knees and twisted her ankles.  I gave both her feet the full treatment, tickling her up and down the arches, between the toes, over and over again, as she squirmed helplessly with the ropes.  Every now and then I had to pause for a minute to let her catch some air so that I could continue without running the risk of the poor girl passing out on me.  Then I ran the brush, very lightly down the back of her left leg, past the delicate crease behind her knee to the smooth muscles of her thighs.  Julie tried to twist her leg away, but this time it was only a half-hearted attempt.  Her body was so weak from struggling, and from the gut-wrenching strains of laughter.  I applied long tickling strokes to the backs of both legs several times, then worked the brush around her hips.  Did I mention that Julie has the best ass I've ever seen? Well now it was thrust upward and widely split in this position, making an obscene offering of both her shaved holes.  I continued to tickle every inch of those beautiful cheeks, then briefly let the brush sneak in between them.

"Enough! C-can't . . . take . . . anymore!"

Julie tried to move her ass away, but the unrelenting ropes only forced it to swing back into the path of the brush.  I could tell she was beginning to feel disoriented, as though thousands of nerve endings were flooding her brain with signals, all begging her for some kind of release.

Now it was time for my final assault.  Starting at the crease above her tailbone, I dragged the brush along the length of her smooth, gaping crotch, taking time to let the soft bristles tickle her asshole.  Then I took the second brush and began another short journey with a slow, agonizing stroke from her navel, downward between the glistening, pink folds that guarded her sex.  Julie arched her back again, and cried out,

"OOOOOHHHHHHHHHHH . . . GODDDDDD!"

Her swollen labia were spread wide, and I explored every inch of her opening with that brush.  I was able to apply smooth, calculated strokes to her most sensitive areas without any pubic hair to inhibit them.  By now, Julie's full attention was focused on her building orgasm.  Her mind was drained of all inhibitions, of all rational thought and replaced with instincts associated with being deep in the throws of sexual ecstasy.  I let her calm down for a moment before resuming my attack.  She desperately needed to be fucked, and as for myself, it took every ounce of self-control to keep from plunging my eager cock into her helpless body.  I tickled her feet again, this time with both brushes, and watched her squirm and wiggle, her laughter drawing the air out of her lungs until her side ached. I dragged one brush over her aching clit, which was now peeking well out of its hood.  She begged me repeatedly to stop, but she STILL would not use the safe word. Maybe she forgot it, I don't know . . . I didn't even care. I persisted in tormenting her there for several more minutes.

Finally, I could hold out no longer.  I put the brushes down and pulled off my briefs while my young damsel lay gasping and almost semi-conscious from fatigue.  Julie's tired blue eyes then sprang to life when she saw me standing naked and fully erect before her.

"Are you ready for this, sweetheart?"

"Yes," she whispered between breaths, "just FUCK me already!"

I positioned myself between her thighs and slowly slid my member past those luscious, pink folds.  She enjoyed this immensely.  It brought her just as much relief as it did pleasure.  I could feel the soft, wet flesh inside her vagina stretching and tightening around me as I plunged into her until our bodies touched.  I moved my hips slowly and rhythmically at first, then began pumping harder and harder.  To my surprise, Julie managed to raise her ass up by flexing her knees and began to fuck me back!  She was thrusting her pelvis as much as her strength could allow, matching me stroke for stroke.  I quickened my pace, my balls slapping against her open tush. She moaned, then cried out. Our sweaty bodies rocked vigorously until we finally came together in a brain blasting orgasm, so intense, that it left us both unable to utter a sound.  

Afterwards, I untied Julie, then we went to bed where I treated her to a long, slow massage to ease her tired limbs.  Unable to resist the urge, I teased her with a light stroke of my finger up the center of her back.

"Save some for the next time," she giggled.

Then we fell asleep.  

End  ;-)