Tickle

It is probably a silly game. The sort of dilemma that gets set up in power exchange relationships for "fun." There is no "win" choice really. Depending on your point of view. I know this.

He'd taken me off for a bit of a snuggle. Claimed He was sleepy. I'd rubbed His back, scratched Him, massaged the tight muscles in His neck and shoulders. He seemed all happy and content.

It began pleasantly enough. Just stroking my skin. Sensations that I seem hungry for these days. Yearning for touch that reminds me that I am still alive; still woman.

Then He found a spot that tickled, and the game was on. Tickling me. Over and over and on and on as I squirmed and squealed. Always there is a simple bargain that He offers: "You can stop the tickling anytime you want. All you have to do is say, Please paddle me, Sir."

Almost always, I give up eventually and ask for the dreaded paddling. I simply can't bear the tickling after awhile. Yesterday, though, I was feeling horny and felt determined to hang on, to avoid the paddle, and maybe get through it without destroying my chance for hanging onto the sexy mood...

So, He tickled and tickled and tickled and tickled and tickled -- until He wore Himself out, and I was a gasping heap. I had no thought at all at that point; not triumph, not of accomplishment, not anything. Just breathe.

And then He grabbed the paddle and started in on me. I wailed in protest, and begged. "Why?"

"Whose are you?" Came back the reply. "When? and How?"

Even through my tears, even through the screaming, frustrated, foot-stomping, pouting demons in my mind that wanted to insist that it simply wasn't fair, I replied with the expected answers: "Yours. Always. All ways."

swan