Thinking about how once a month I lead an hour long marketing meeting over zoom with my boss & colleagues present. It would be so easy for someone to be sitting at my feet, lazily dragging their fingers over them, watching as I try to control myself on camera. I’m stifling my laughter and rushing through my presentation as their fingers crawl higher over my calf and into my inner thighs. I’m trying to keep still, to not make it obvious what’s happening as I’m still being tickled. Eventually I wouldn’t be able to handle their nails under my toes and disconnect my zoom so I can burst into ticklish laughter, texting my boss to apologize for my laptop dying unexpectedly.
Previous chapters: [1, 2]
Time seemed to slow as Max finished securing the last knot of the ankle restraints. Serina tested her bonds with a gentle tug, her body now stretched lengthwise across the sofa. A look of expectation came across her face as she watched Max with anticipation.
"Comfortable?" he asked, his voice carrying that rare note of confidence that made her heart skip.
"Mmm, your knots are surprisingly good," Serina observed with a playful smirk. "Been practicing, have we?"
Max's answering smile held a hint of mischief as he reached for her feet. "I believe in preparing for all eventualities, Ms. Project Manager. Isn't that what you're always telling the team?" His eyes gleamed behind his glasses. "Though I admit, this particular scenario received... extra attention."
With deliberate slowness, he removed her left shoe, then traced a single finger up her sole. Serina jerked in her bonds, a surprised squeak escaping her lips.
"That's not fair!" she protested through suppressed giggles. "I wasn't ready!"
"Oh? Should I give you a countdown next time?" Max teased, but his movements became awkward as he tried to maneuver himself into position. He wanted to sit on the sofa with Serina lying across his lap but hadn’t anticipated how hard it would be to slide under her bound form once she was tied up, resulting in an ungraceful shuffling that had Serina shaking with laughter.
"Having some trouble there, Mr. Practical?" she giggled as he made another unsuccessful attempt. "For someone who plans everything so carefully—oof!" She was cut off as Max bumped the sofa, causing her to bounce slightly.
"This looked easier in my head," Max admitted, pushing his glasses up with one hand while trying to navigate with the other. The serious expression on his face as he puzzled through this logistical challenge only made Serina laugh harder.
"Oh darling," she managed between fits of giggles, "you're adorably hopeless sometimes. Did your research not cover the mechanics of—eep!" Her teasing was interrupted as Max finally succeeded in sliding under her, positioning her across his lap.
"You were saying?" he asked, waggling his fingers menacingly above her. "Something about being hopeless?"
Serina's eyes widened at the gesture, but her competitive spirit remained undiminished. "Oh please, I can handle anything you dish out. I've sat through hour-long meetings with Tom from accounting. Tickling is nothing."
"Is that so?" Max's fingers descended, dancing along her sides with scientific precision. Serina's response was immediate - a cascade of girlish giggles that she tried desperately to suppress.
"Still nothing?" he asked, changing his technique to light fluttering touches that drew helpless squeals from her throat. His other hand found that sensitive spot just below her ribs, and Serina's laughter took on a higher pitch.
"M-Max!" she gasped between fits of laughter, twisting futilely in her bonds. "You... you've been... practicing this too!"
"Mhmm," he hummed, switching to gentle circular motions that had her alternating between breathless giggles and desperate squeaks. "I’m actually improvising now." He said with a satisfied grin.
"Oh s-shit!" Serina managed through her laughter. "I’m in big trouble now aren’t I? You're such a-EEEK!" Her sass dissolved into a shriek as Max found a particularly sensitive spot.
"I'm such a what?" he asked innocently, his fingers never ceasing their torment. "Please, do continue. I'm fascinated by your analysis."
“P-perfectionist–NOOO!”. Serina managed to scream before dissolving into another fit of hysterical laughter as Max demonstrated his newfound control over her reactions. Each change in pressure or pattern drew a different reaction from her-soft hiccupping giggles when he used feather-light touches, sharp squeals when he found a sweet spot between her ribs, desperate belly-laughs when he switched to kneading her armpits. Her body writhed and bucked beneath him, abdominals contracting with each involuntary convulsion of laughter-all precisely under his control.
But between bouts of helpless laughter, Serina still managed to throw out challenges: "Is that... all you've got?" she challenged between gasps, though the tears of laughter forming at the corners of her eyes betrayed her bravado. "I could... do this... all day!" she insisted, even as her flushed face and trembling limbs told a different story. Max merely smiled at her defiance, knowing it would only make her eventual surrender that much sweeter.
Max's confidence grew with each perfectly timed tickle and strategic touch. "You know," he mused, pausing just long enough for Serina to catch her breath, "I think I'm starting to understand why you enjoy testing my composure so much at work."
Serina lay utterly exposed beneath him, face flushed crimson and hair wildly disheveled across the cushions. Her chest heaved with desperate attempts to catch her breath, arms straining helplessly against the restraints that kept her most sensitive areas defenseless against his touch. Despite her compromised position, she still managed to grin up at him with defiant eyes. "Oh? And what... what have you learned?"
Max's answering smile was both tender and predatory. "That you enjoy the thrill of poking the bear when there's safety glass between us." His fingers descended without warning, digging mercilessly into the center of her armpits and drawing a shocked shriek from her lips.
"At the office—" he continued methodically, switching to rapid fluttering motions that had her writhing beneath him, "—you can raise your arms all you want, knowing I can't do a thing about it." He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "But here? No safety glass. Just consequences."
Her defiant grin dissolved into desperate laughter as his fingers found that devastating spot just below her ribs. "P-please!" she gasped between convulsions of giggles. "I d-didn't—" another shriek as he intensified his assault, "—know you'd b-be so g-good at this!"
"Another valuable lesson, then," Max replied with scholarly satisfaction, though his eyes darkened with desire at her helpless squirming. "Never underestimate the quiet ones. Especially when they've been studying your weaknesses for months."
His fingers stilled momentarily, giving her a chance to catch her breath. "So, Ms. Project Manager," he said, adjusting his glasses with practiced precision, "care to share which spot is your most ticklish? It would be the efficient approach."
Serina's eyes sparkled with defiance once more. "And deprive you of your careful research? Never! Some things are worth discovering the hard way, don't you think?"
"Interesting." Max's voice took on that analytical tone she knew so well from their project meetings. "You do realize that according to chapter seven of my reference material, statistically speaking, there's an 87% chance that your most sensitive area is..." His fingers traced a deliberate path up her side, moving with scientific intent.
"Max!" Serina squeaked, both thrilled and terrified by his methodical approach. "Don't you dare use your data analysis skills for this!"
"But Serina," he replied with mock seriousness, though his eyes danced with amusement, "you're always telling me to think outside the box. To be more... creative with my problem-solving approaches."
His fingers began a methodical exploration upward. "Let's analyze the data points, shall we? Our initial testing showed increased sensitivity in the upper quadrant..." His touch traced along her ribs, drawing helpless giggles. "Interesting reaction, but not quite statistically significant."
"You... you're impossible!" Serina gasped between laughs, knowing exactly where this was heading.
"Proceeding with phase two of the investigation," Max continued, his voice taking on that familiar presentation tone he used in meetings. His fingers crept higher. "Previous research suggests the axillary region should show... ah, yes. Observable increase in subject response."
The moment his fingers reached her armpits, Serina's laughter jumped an octave. "Max! Nonononono!"
"Now this..." he paused, watching her squirm helplessly, "this is what we call statistically significant data." His fingers began swirling patterns against the sensitive skin. "Would you say this confirms our hypothesis?"
"I... CAN'T... BREATHE!" Serina shrieked between peals of hysterical laughter, her resistance crumbling completely under his precise torment.
"Fascinating," Max mused, varying his technique. "Subject displays classic signs of ticklish vulnerability. Recommend further testing to verify results." His fingers danced mercilessly in the hollow of her armpits, drawing increasingly desperate squeals.
"YOU... YOU'RE ENJOYING THIS... TOO MUCH!" Serina managed between fits of uncontrollable laughter.
"Simply being thorough in my research," Max replied calmly, though his eyes sparkled with delight at her reactions. "After all, good science requires..." his fingers fluttered faster, "...repeated testing."
Max noticed something fascinating. When his fingers hit a particularly sensitive spot, making Serina twist away with a desperate squeal, he instinctively followed the movement, easing his touch to keep contact with her skin. As his pressure lightened, her breathing changed - less frantic, more appreciative.
Then something remarkable happened. Serina arched slightly, seemingly exposing her left armpit more fully to his touch. Was it deliberate? Max couldn't be sure, but he found his fingers naturally gravitating there, his movements becoming more focused, more sensual in response to her subtle invitation.
They fell into an unspoken dance - when she gasped or tensed too much, he would instinctively ease his pressure, drawing softer sighs from her lips. When her body relaxed or tilted toward him, he'd increase his intensity, drawing those delicious squeals he'd come to crave. Neither needed to speak; their bodies communicated in a wordless harmony of give and take, a delicate balance of control passing between them.
Max watched in fascination as her laughter transformed from defiant giggles to sweet, accepting squeals. Her earlier sass dissolved into breathless pleas. "M-Max... please... mercy!" The sound of his name on her lips, breathless and needy, sent a wave of satisfaction through him unlike anything he'd felt before.
He gentled his touch, reducing the tickling to slow, soothing strokes. Serina's breathing began to steady, only for Max to suddenly resume his merciless assault on her sensitive skin. Her shocked shriek of laughter told him everything he needed to know about this shift in their dynamic.
"No more... teasing..." she gasped between fits of giggles, all her earlier playful challenges replaced with sweet surrender. "You win..."
Noting the slight catch in her breath, Max eased his assault. His fingers slowed to gentle caresses, letting her recover. With his free hand, he reached for a water bottle he'd positioned earlier on the coffee table.
"Here," he murmured, supporting her head with one hand while bringing the bottle to her lips. "Small sips."
Serina's eyes met his as she drank, and Max felt a flutter in his chest at the tender appreciation reflected there. He'd planned for this moment, positioning water within reach, contemplating her needs before she voiced them. The look she gave him - part gratitude, part wonderment - made his meticulous preparation worth every second.
As he set the bottle down, his gaze fell to where her crimson qipao had ridden up during her struggles. His eyebrows rose at the sight of pink polka-dotted panties, a smirk tugging at his lips.
"Really, Serina?" he teased, confidence flowing through him. "Polka dots? What are you, seven years old?"
Serina blushed furiously, but her eyes held a glimmer of defiance. "Just you wait until I get free, Mr. Practical. We'll see who's laughing then..."
Max's smirk widened. "I wonder..." he mused, fingers playing with the hem of her qipao. "Does the rest of your ensemble follow this... unique fashion choice?"
Before Serina could protest, he slid the dress up over her head and down her arms to where her wrists were bound. His triumphant expression faltered at the sight of a plain brown cotton bra.
"Oh, Serina," he chuckled, shaking his head. "A fun, vivacious woman like you, wearing mismatched, practical underwear? How very... disappointing."
"Hey!" Serina's face flushed deeper red. "I didn't exactly plan for anyone to see me like this tonight! And they're comfortable, okay?"
"Comfortable?" Max adjusted his glasses, his expression serious. "This is clearly a crime against fashion. And crimes..." he wiggled his fingers menacingly, "deserve punishment."
Serina's eyes widened, but her lips curved into a knowing smile. "Oh? And what kind of punishment did you have in mind, Mr. Fashion Police?"
"I believe we've already established the most effective method." His fingers descended on her exposed sides, drawing fresh giggles as Serina played along with exaggerated outrage.
"This is so unfair!" she protested through her laughter, not making any real effort to defend herself as his fingers danced higher along her ribs. "Picking on my practical fashion choices... when you're the one who uses only black pens!"
"Ah, but black pens are professional," Max countered playfully, his fingers creeping deliberately toward her armpits. "Mismatched underwear, on the other hand..." He let the sentence hang as his fingers found their target, drawing a delighted shriek from Serina.
"OK! OKAY!" she squealed theatrically, her eyes sparkling with mirth despite her breathless laughter. "Next time... squeal... pink polka dots... giggle... matching set! Are you happy now, Fashion Police?"
"Hmm," Max pretended to consider this while continuing his playful assault. "I don't know... that didn't sound very convincing."
"Oh no," Serina managed between fits of giggles. "Whatever shall I do to prove my sincerity?"
"Only one way to find out," Max replied, his voice dropping to a predatory tone that surprised even himself. His fingers intensified their assault, switching rapidly between techniques that left her no chance to adapt or resist.
Max watched in fascination as her playful protests transformed into something raw and primal. Each new spot he discovered drew a different sound from her – nervous giggles evolved into desperate squeals, breathless chuckles became high-pitched keening when he found the hollows beneath her ribs. Her composure disintegrated completely when he focused on her armpits, drawing out sounds he'd never imagined could come from professional, composed Serina.
"FUCK! SHIT! MAX, PLEASE!" she shrieked, her body bucking wildly beneath him, head thrashing from side to side. Her desperation sent an unexpected thrill through him, awakening something primal in his core. The sight of her writhing in her practical brown bra, tears of laughter streaming down her flushed cheeks, polka-dotted panties fully exposed – it was both absurd and the most arousing thing he'd ever experienced.
Suddenly, Max's fingers stilled as his expression shifted to one of scholarly revelation. "You know..." he mused, pushing up his glasses with one hand, "I just realized there's a much simpler solution to this fashion crisis."
Before Serina could process his words, his hands slipped behind her back. There was a moment of fumbling, followed by a soft click, and then the offending brown cotton bra was gone.
"There," he said matter-of-factly, though his voice had grown husky. "Problem solved."
Serina's initial gasp of surprise quickly transformed into something else entirely as their eyes met. The playfulness hadn't left her expression, but it was now mixed with unmistakable desire. Her lips parted slightly, and the look she gave him carried all the permission he needed to continue.
Continues in chapter 4.
I never wish stress on anybody. It is a weight on your shoulders that can sometimes seem impossible to lift. But, I hope someday, when I find a partner, that I can be her stress reliever.
She comes home one day, perhaps a hard day or several days at work. I can see the toll it is taking on her. As soon as she walks through that door, I’ll grab her hands and lead her (or better yet pick her up and carry her) to the bedroom. She’ll notice the restraints as I lay her down on the bed, whispering in her ear, “Tonight, is all about you, sweetie.”
She’ll blush a bit, and weakly push up on me and tell me that I don’t have to do this. That she’s fine. But, I grab her wrists and pin them back down on the bed, looking into her eyes. “Oh yes I do. I have to do this!” I can see the want, the NEED, in her eyes now. She surrenders, allowing her limbs into the restraints. Wrists and ankles tied firmly to the corners of the bed.
I know her. Every inch of skin I’ve already mapped. Where her most sensitive spots are. The ones she absolutely craves to be exploited. The ones that drive her to insanity and back. The ones that make her giggle. The ones that make her laugh. The ones that make her scream. The ones that make her moan. My touch will be her medicine. Tickling away the stress until she can no longer think about anything but the ticklish torment she’s in. I want to tickle her into a state that forces her to just lay there, unable to stop smiling. The sensations tingling all over her body long after I’m through.
Undoing the restraints, I lay in bed with her, holding her and stroking her hair. Telling her that she’s my good girl, as she drifts soundly off to sleep.
The next morning, we both get ready for work. Her energy has visibly returned. She shines brightly as we kiss each other before heading out. The whole time I notice, her smile never wanes.
If you are a cute guy and you have clean, well taken care of armpits.
I’m sorry but that means you want to trapped by me and have them tickled so much and so long they go pink and sweat more than you did at your most intense cardio session.
And while you could beg me to stop, actually I’d love to hear you do your best, the fact you did make them so open and exposed for me means you kind of wanted it. So now you’ll be a good boy, rather you like it or not, and will take as much of it as I want.
