I like rope just fine. It definitely is most readilg available and is quite efficient in restraining a person helpless to a bed with the most amount of exposed tickle spots.
But there is something poetic about using my straitjacket.
1. I love holding it up in front of you. I tell you to put out your arms. Or maybe I ask if you would be so kind as to extend your arms out in front of you. The tease that it's your decision, that you have to will it really gets me.
2. I love the moment once the back buckles are secured and you notice how form fitting it is, you look at the ridiculous long sleeves your arms don't fill out. And you watch me circle around in front of you.
3. I love the somewhat confused, clumsily walking baby giraffe moment when I help you guide your right arm and then your left arm through the center loop.
4. My favorite moment isn't this next one. You're looking forward to this. Around you the sleeves tighten, and I gently but certainly feed the strap back through the buckle and pull out that extra slack, the slack that gave you a little extra breathing room, the slack without which the truth of the situation becomes now so obvious. But my most favorite moment is then, while you're testing it and learning that truth, I reach between your thighs from behind you, grab hold of the end of the last strap, and trace it down over your sex and then back up behind you. There it is tightened and secured.
Now, every time you squirm, try to move your arms, jostle about, or even change positions in the slightest, you'll have a very real, a very visceral sexual reminder.
And I haven't even begun to tickle you yet.
