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Remember Me? What's New? 1 to 1 of 1. Thread: No Laughing Matter! No Laughing Matter! Cleo was standing naked in front of her open wardrobe with a sigh: "Oh God, I have nothing to wear! After all, this was a special occasion, and she had to be dressed properly. Sexy, sure, but not too provocative, and certainly not too conservative. As its name said, it was a homosexual meeting place, but: Ladies Only! Her friend Mary had brought up the idea. Oh, they weren't lesbian at all, but everybody seemed to be talking about this club, so they just HAD to find out more about it.
Mary and Cleo were inseparable since their college days. But this had a deeper reason: Mary's full name was Maria Lesbian tickling stories Vellicata, and as Cleo was the result of her parents' honeymoon on a Nile cruise in Egypt, she was baptized as Cleopatra Nefertiti Neville. So their initials literally invited the nickname. Her middle initial had always seemed like an ancient Pharaoh's curse to Cleo: Her breasts developed as early as her female classmates', but they stopped growing too soon.
They remained small mounds instead of becoming apples or pears. In High School she had been at the center of jokes: "Never-a-titty", that's how her middle name was pronounced. With a doubtful glance, she looked at her reflection from the large mirror beside her wardrobe, and she mostly liked what she saw: 5'6", slim and trim body, short brown hair with a natural reddish touch which parted like a boy's, but in a carefully coiffured disarray.
Long legs, almost but not quite too thin, and a skin like white satin. If only her breasts were a bit larger! But Joe, her last lover, had affirmed they were just the right size: Big enough to play with nicely. When she was aroused, her aureoles protruded beautifully, and her nipples became almost half an inch long! Thoughtfully, she stroked herself there with both hands, sending goosebumps all over her body. Oh God, she was so ticklish that she almost managed to tickle herself, something that's considered impossible normally!
A glance on her Cartier watch made her hurry: In barely 5 minutes, Mary would arrive to pick her up. So she quickly chose her outfit: almost white nylon pantyhose, incredibly tight red leather hot-pants, and one of those white men-shirts Joe had left back when he had moved out. She let the shirt fall loosely over her pants, almost like a miniskirt. Finally, she donned her favorite sandals: dark-red, open-toed, and with leather straps which criss-crossed up her calves almost to the knees. As final touches, she pulled the back of her shirt's collar halfway up, and added a touch of Calvin Klein perfume behind her ears.
A bra was utterly unnecessary, obviously. She didn't even own one. The cool shirt made her nipples stiffen slightly, and they were clearly visible beneath the thin material. As the night air was cool, she slipped Lesbian tickling stories her black leather jacket adorned with steel rivets and decorative chains.
When Mary arrived, she proved to share Cleo's taste once more: She wore a white men's shirt, too, but it was bound in a knot above her navel, leaving just an inch of bare skin down to her broad belt around the hips of her black Lesbian tickling stories. Over that came a short red leather jacket. She was clad in black half-boots carefully hiding her pampered feet. She never wore sandals, as she was so afraid that somebody might tickle her there. If Cleo thought she was ticklish, it was nothing against Mary's sensitivity, especially on Lesbian tickling stories feet.
Mary was half a head taller than Cleo, and even slimmer. Some called her a beanstalk. But at least she had breasts, still small but much larger than her friend's. Her long pitch-black hair fell down to her waist, and Cleo considered her much more beautiful than herself. Needless to mention, Mary thought just the opposite. A cab took them to the club at North Beach. They passed muster, and the stern-looking female security guard allowed them to enter. Inside, it was incredibly hot and loud, just the way both liked it.
The place was crammed despite its considerable size, it took them some time to find a seat at the bar. With big eyes, the newcomers watched the dancing female couples, especially their outfits: Some were dressed like vulgar hookers, others like the newest fashion models, and another group was wearing pure men's clothes, complete with neckties and suspenders. Many wore black leather, along with fitting uniform caps. The tunes varied from techno with open dancing, over sexy lambada and salsa rhythms, to cheek-to-cheek slow-fox.
But there was no doubt about one fact: This was a place for the rich and the beautiful. Both pointed out the most grotesque male-lookers to each other, thoroughly amused by their butch attitude. They even wore large divers' wristwatches to stress their masculinity, and two had painted moustaches on their upper lips, imagine that!
When Cleo and Mary discovered them, they broke into a helpless fit of constant giggling, even increased when they saw a female couple eagerly engaged in a hot French kiss in the nearest corner. Suddenly, the black-leather-clad dominatrix sitting next to Mary addressed them: "You seem to have a good time. May I the funny party? Baring her white teeth, the dominatrix smiled like a shark: "So you're just amused by lesbians.
Do you want to know where the real action takes place? You'll be able to see what lesbianism really is about!
A huge quarter-ton female security guard blocked their way, but the dominatrix seemed familiar to this Cerberus, so she opened the heavy oak door for them. When the door closed behind them, the techno club noise reduced itself to a mere whisper.
The walls were padded with dark-red leather, and a few unidentifiable black objects represented the furniture. Several smoke-free flares dipped this chamber into flickering light, too dim to see everything clearly. Cleo thought she recognized some medieval torture instruments, but before they could exchange their impressions, both felt a sharp prick in their neck muscles. The lights went out instantly.
An unknown time span later, Cleo's mind returned to this world. Slowly, and slightly blurred.
She tried to rub her eyes, but she couldn't move her hands. At first she thought she was still paralyzed, but then the truth hit her cruelly: Her wrists were tied up! The shock cleared away most of her dizziness, and she recognized she was lying on a leather-padded table. Her legs and arms were stretched out, fixated to the table by broad, soft leather cuffs. When she arched her back and neck to see her hands, she noticed Mary standing behind her in a strange position: She was tied to an X-cross, spread-eagled, just as helpless, and with a fearful look in her eyes.
At first they were alone in this dungeon, but soon the oak door opened, and five women entered. Impressive, mature women, the youngest of them about thirty, the oldest one in her mid-forties. Two of them Lesbian tickling stories the men's clothes which had amused the girls so much before. One showed off her gorgeous model shape in a tight black mini-dress, and the last two were dressed in dominatrix outfit.
Her "kidnapper" was one of those, and she took the helm: "Welcome to the world of lesbianism, girls. As you seem to be so keen to learn more about us, we decided to let you participate in a little lesbian ritual we usually play here. There is a fixed of seven women for this ritual, and as only five of us are here tonight, we decided to invite two newcomers. See if you can find some kind of ID in their pockets, girls," she ordered her companions.
The rummaged through the captives' clothes and produced their driving s. And has anybody ever told you what your last name means in Latin? It means 'The Tickled One'! Oh, we really picked the right new members! That's illegal! And what has my name to do with tickling anyway? Don't you get worked up so much, that's bad for your beauty! And our little Egyptian empress doesn't know anything, does she? Let's show her! Slowly, very slowly they descended on Cleo's sensitive alabaster skin, attacking her on ten different spots at the same time. Cleo tried to suppress a fit of giggles, but she could only withhold it for three seconds: A high-pitched shriek was followed by an ear-shattering "Aaaaaah!
Then the guffaws pearled out freely. She didn't know where to concentrate first: her heaving, twitching tummy, her protruding ribs, the deep hollows of her shaved armpits, the extremely tender skin on both her inner thighs, or the high-arched, pampered feet. The fifty finger tips with their excruciating long nails painted in a firework of colors whirled Lesbian tickling stories her Lesbian tickling stories young body like a thousand ants, wreaking havoc on her supersensitive nerves.
Her view became blurred, and she lost touch with the real world. Her now agonized laughter and screams reverberated through the somber dungeon, turning it into a lunatics' asylum. Her five torturers knew exactly where and how to touch for the worst or best? Scribbling and dabbling on the softer skin at feet, armpits, and thighs, deep-gut kneading her flat tummy, counting the ribs with knuckles one by one. Slowly, she felt herself fading out, panting and gasping for oxygen. But the women showed their considerable experience in tickling: Whenever they felt their victim was about to faint, they granted her a breather for a few seconds.
All the time, the five dominatrixes brandished a huge, sadistically lecherous grin. They were obviously enjoying their "work" tremendously.
After about fifteen minutes of severe torture, one of the women looked up to see how Mary took the tickling of her friend. Indeed, Mary was infected by Cleo's laughter, unable to hide her wide smile. Now Mary's grin changed into a mask of terror: "No, no please no, you can't do that to me!
In vain, needless to mention. The Lesbian tickling stories dominatrixes turned their attention to her. As she stood upright and spread-eagled tied to the X-cross, the tickling fingertips approached her upper body. Long before the first touch, she let Lesbian tickling stories a scream: "Hellllllp!!! Exquisite torture, isn't it! Unable to control this, Mary giggled and guffawed her heart out, even without being touched.
But the women couldn't restrain themselves for long either, so the gentle giggle of anticipation was replaced by heavy guffaws as the nails met their targets. They seemed to know every ticklish nerve ending by heart, better than every anatomist. One woman knelt down to tickle the sensitive knee-hollows, while the others tickled away skillfully at ribs, tummy, and underarms.
The space for eight hands on the upper body was limited, so another woman squatted to give Mary's feet a fair share. The high arches permitted some access, but seemingly not enough, so the dominatrix stood up again and remarked with some frustration: "I can't reach her feet that way. Why don't we change their positions? They untied the completely exhausted Cleo who wasn't able to offer much resistance, and then Mary was unshackled, one of the strong women controlling her easily with a practiced police-grip.
Cleo found herself on the X-cross within a minute, and Mary was stretched out on the padded table. The dominatrixes' leader held a short speech: "I hope you girls are really amused now. You know, we disapprove of outsiders sneering and laughing at us for our sexual predisposition. Laughing about lesbians in a gay club is no laughing matter! But I'm getting all hot and bothered, we should have some more fun ourselves.Lesbian tickling stories
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