I finally write a thing! An impromptu thing, instead of all the things I have half finished, Pft. Inspiration is fickle like that, I guess.
This is a sort of insert yourself here thing, with reader as ler for a mystery girl with very specific tastes. Sort of a POV tickle, because I couldn’t decide which position I’d want to be in more, Lee or Ler. Ler is gender neutral so anyone can enjoy it.
It’s very NSFW and very sexual, jsyk.
Can’t do a cut cause I’m on my phone, sorry! For similar reasons, please excuse typos. Writing on an iPhone is hard.
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You’ve been tickling her for ages now. After stretching out over the bed with her, whispered conversation and cuddles had turned to fingertips walking over her skin. Yours felt her tremble as you teased up her sides, and worked up from soft giggles as you tickled her under arms, to full blown hysteria as you meticulously tickled her feet.
From the ball of her foot to the tips of her toes, up and down and all around, you progressed to intermittent kisses over soft skin until she was a moaning mess. You’d taken note of her hips, bumping up every so often, subtly grinding at your weight over her body.
You can feel every intake of breath, every word unspoken. Every moan she makes when tickle words slip past your lips and over her skin.
Your fingers are dallying at her hips now, delicately tracing the bowls of them, innocent little movements that thwart the conversation she’s trying to make. Every time a word finally finds the courage to make it past her lips, a helpless giggle shatters the spell and ends any hope of a sentence coming out.
Another desperate moan sneaks past her lips, despite the fact that she’s chewing on the bottom one whenever she isn’t attempting to speak.
Her hair is a mess and sweat is sneaking in soft trails down her neck. Her pupils are blown, and a pervasive flush floods over her cheeks, ears, down her neck, all the way to her shoulders.
“Please-” She manages to finally push out a word, and you reward her with a mock innocent cock of a brow. You have no idea what she’s talking about, of course, she’ll have to be more specific. Your fingers drum lightly over her skin as you wait, hands on each hip, earning you a helpless and frustrated squeak. “Nh!! Y-you know what I want!” Her desperation is leaking into adorable frustration, her arousal starting to break past her shyness at last.
But you still won’t give in. She has to ask, like good girls do.
Her eyes close tight and she curses softly, a whine leaking out as her hips bump up at your useless hands. Like she thinks if she wiggles enough your resolve will break. You tell her to use her words, your tone syrupy and sweet, as if the task is a simple, easy thing .
Reaching over to the night stand, you pluck a feather to your finger tips and twirl it with an absent mind. You hum patiently and pretend not to notice her moan and the fact that her eyes are as wide as dinner plates now.
Her hips bump up again, a rapid succession of horny little pushes, while she lets out a stream of anticipatory “fuck"s. You smile, you can’t help it.
Is she interested in the feather? What should we do with it? You hover it over potential places to attack. Here? Here?
All the while she’s clutching at the sheets for dear life, moaning and trying to break past the dam of shyness to express what she really, really, wants.
You start at the heel, sweep up the arch, dally under her toes, trace slowly up her leg, past her knee, trailing delicately up her inner thighs… And you stop.
Her whole body quivers, skin mapped with goosebumps, a low desperate keen of need escaping completely uncontainable.
“Oh my god, please, please- please- tickle my pussy! Fuck- fuck!” There are frustrated tears at the corner of her eyes, and she moans with the euphoria of finally having asked what she really, desperately, wanted.
Your pussy? You ask aloud, as if you’re so surprised. You can’t believe somewhere so sweet and needy could be ticklish. Really, you’re ticklish here?
Your feather sneaks down, lightly grazing over outer lips, and she draws in a sharp breath. Despite herself, little “oh no” ’s are tumbling out, and you can’t help but laugh at that. What a silly girl, hadn’t she just asked for this? Wasn’t this what she wanted? To be tickle, tickle, tickled, right down here?
Nervous laughter is replaced by a more natural sort as you spread her gentle and begin to explore. There are so many ticklish spots, and she’s so very, very, wet. You can wager easily that this is where she wanted to begin with at the very start, but she’d been battling with asking since the first possibility of fingers on skin.
You never touch her clit, not yet. Your feather teases every which where but there, stroking up and down her perineum, tracing up and down her needy slit. Circling, but never quite touching, where she needs it most.
As this is happening, your voice drips with sweet teases, coochie coochie coos and tickle tickles that make her moan so much as to sob.
Her hips rock up at next to nothing, and you’re careful to keep your feather away from where she’s trying to get it. Better instead to surprise her into helpless laughter for as long as she can take.
Her ticklish little pussy is so wet and ready now that it’s almost torture for you as well. Slowly, torturously, you bring the feather up to her clit.
She wants tickles here right? More than anything else in the world? She has a needy, ticklish, aching, clit, and she loves when we coochie coochie coo, doesn’t she?
She sobs out yes and the dam bursts. Suddenly she can’t stop talking. Yes, please, God, fuck. She loves being tickled, needs to be tickled, she’s so wet, it’s so hot, she loves you so much, please, please, pleasepleaseplease!
It’s not just desperation, not just words to effect a reaction. You know these words to be fact. She’s held these all on her tongue from the second you two laid on the bed.
You tickle her clit. Her chest heaves with adoring breaths and she’s gasping your name, gasping yes, cursing like an cute little sailor. Her fists tear and beat at the sheets and her sweet little toes curl and uncurl. Her hips are unchecked, shoving wildly. In a flash she grabs you, and you have to focus hard and keeping the feather flocking as she mashes your lips together in a fierce kiss. She’s giggling and moaning into your mouth, holding you so tight, fingers gripping your hair. A million I love you’s for each rebellious smooch.
When her breath starts to catch again you know the end is nigh. You gently press her to the sheets again and issue forth a river of tickle talk as your feather flicks over her clit, up and down, up and down.
You wonder if it will be too much, if she’ll have to beg you to stop so she can roll over, making herself cum as you tickle her anywhere you can touch. Or if she’ll grasp your hands and beg you to fuck her, beg you to make her feel full and good while you hiss tickle talk into her ear. Or maybe, she’ll come, just like this.. Just from a stiff red feather.
Just because she loves it. Just because she loves you. So much.
The feather wins, and she’s coming so hard she sobs and clings to you like this is the last time she’ll ever hold you. Your name melds into a moan shaped by her reddened lips.
When she finally relaxes, her body going limp, she pants into your shoulder and moans past a delirious smile. Though she’s sapped of much energy, she rolls so she can grind her ticklish little pussy against you. She seems to have and idea about where things should go next.
You hum, sneaking your fingers to her hips, and up her sides.
Her suggestion has merit… However…
She has no idea how ticklish she’s going to be after an orgasm like that.
Before you get your turn, you resolve to show her.
my corner 