Message-ID: <17719eli$9812010435@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: zawackyj_1@hotmail.com (Zawackyj Zabum) Subject: {ZAWACKYJ ZABUM} "THE TICKLEOPPS TOURIST ATTRACTION" (M/F mild bdsm slow ) [1/1?]* Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.multimedia.tk Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Reply-To: zawackyj_1@hotmail.com Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <3664e657.39263411@news.bigpond.com> DANGER! GROWN-UPS AT PLAY! ********************************************* (Quick intro/disclaimer) This story is published here on Usenet on the understanding that THIS IS NOT THE REAL WORLD! It's a great place for people with my kind of malady - Erotoscribblemania. This is to say I have a writing fetish. I love to write stories. The kind of stories I love to write most are sexual fantasy adventures which are purely for my own mental stimulation and the enjoyment of anybody old enough to be allowed to read them. Most societies I know of believe people under the age of 18 shouldn't be allowed to read the kind of things written in this forum, and I'm not going to suggest otherwise. But I would like to stress to anybody old enough to be reading that what you are about to read is strictly fiction and merely an outpouring, usually unedited, of the fantasy world which exists only in my mind. None of the characters, places, events or anything else is real - I made it all up. Some of the concepts here would be illegal if you were to attempt to imitate in real life what you read. If you are stupid enough to do that, you only have yourself to blame and I will not accept any responsibility. That said, read on and enjoy. If you feel so inclined, email your comments to Zawackyj_1@hotmail.kom ***************************************************************************** THE TICKLEOPPS TOURIST ATTRACTION ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Copyright © 1998 by Zawackyj Zabum/All Rights Reserved 'Do you really organize tours like that?' Briget Marlow asked, unable to believe the story of the bizarre tours she was being told about by Mark, a fellow travel agent she met earlier in the day at the conference they were both attending. 'Don't you believe me?' Mark grinned at her. 'I don't know...' Briget smiled uncomfortably, unsure of whether he was playing a teasing mind game with her or not. It was difficult to tell, but Briget was intrigued by the thought implanted in her mind by the weird story Mark told her. And afterall, who was she to disagree? Just because "tours for perverts" wasn't ever discussed in the travel agent's course she'd recently graduated from, didn't mean they didn't exist. She absently toyed with the blue plastic swizzle stick in her glass, using it to chase an ice cube around the bottom of the empty glass. 'You can come up to my room and see the tools of my trade, if you like...' Mark said, casually sipping his drink and watching discreetly for her reaction. He had a good feeling about her. It wasn't just that she was attractive - that was something which had virtually become a prerequisite for employment in the competitive world of travel. No, it was something deeper than that. Mark Grayson had only just met Briget that day and yet he felt as if he'd known her for ages. She gave off a certain vibe to him, like discreet signals that he sometimes felt only he could read. They probably weren't intentional on Briget's part. Infact, he'd have been not nearly as taken with her if they were deliberate. He found no joy in brazenly provocative girls, the ones with short skirts and high opinions of themselves who paraded around full of self confidence almost daring men to approach them. They invariably turned out being exactly like the personas they projected, and he hated that. He liked mystery. And secrecy. Any girl who brazenly leads men on, particularly where sex is the goal, only does so because she's too unimaginative to get it any other way. That's what he thought, at least. It had been twenty years since he was in high school, but he still vividly remembered the first time he started to understand himself and what it was he found desirable in the opposite sex. There was a girl in his senior class - Anna - who nobody seemed interested in. He couldn't understand why, although she was clearly not like other girls in his class. She wasn't ugly or anything, though she made it difficult to tell sometimes with the dowdy choice of clothes she wore. And she wasn't dumb. Quite the opposite in fact and yet, this didn't make her a part of the nerdy group. She didn't seem to fit in at all and just kept to herself all the time. In some ways, Mark thought this intimidated guys more than anything. It intimidated him at the time mostly because he really wanted to get to know her but didn't know how to get past the layer of quite shyness which seemed to cloak her. None of the other guys knew what to make of her either, so they ignored her and spent all their school days chasing after the cheerleaders, who invariably lead everybody on until that crucial moment when they'd get all prissy and spurn whoever it was who'd been chasing them, leaving the poor bastards with blue balls and their tongues hanging out. Mark quickly tired of this kind of humiliation. Begging just wasn't in his character - not even as a teenager. Briget reminded Mark of Anna, although she was quite a bit more stylish. He had a thing about grooming and women who took a bit of care in their appearance, and Briget was as pretty as a porcelain doll with silky blonde hair neatly framing her roundish, soft face and a blush of pale rouge that was almost indescernable from her natural, blemish free skin. All of this merely enhanced her most alluring feature - the bluest of eyes that sparkled, not just with a vibrancy caught in the yellowish light of the hotel bar, but with the honesty of a young person to whom everything in life seemed new and exciting. It was this sign that Mark valued most highly. It was a look that few women have, particularly those like Briget, who Mark guessed to be in her late twenties. The look of innocence was usually lost in the teenage years or soon after, so anybody older than that who still has it simply had to be extraordinary. They're like gems that, in their raw state, seem lacklustre and without value. But all it takes is a little work. A bit of chipping away at the protective shell, some rubbing in the right places, and that arcane wisdom which only experience can instill certain people to make a craftsman like Mark. Briget, perhaps because her senses were slightly dulled from the drinks she'd been having in the hotel bar with Mark, considered his invitation back to his room. There was no denying he was propositioning her - he couldn't have been more direct, even if it was almost comical in the way it had been made. She smiled inwardly at the funny memories of ridiculous shows on television where the man offers a girl the hackneyed line "come up to my room and see my etchings". She never thought of herself as being fully capable to deal with any proposition, particularly if there was a risk of intimate relations. However, nobody had ever used the "come up to my room" line on Briget and she felt, maybe because it just sounded so funny, that it might be ok to agree. Surely nobody ever used that line seriously, she thought to herself. It only took a moment's contemplation before Briget agreed to accompany him to his room, though by doing so, a nagging voice in her conscience suddenly spoke to warn her of the possible dangers. It was a familiar voice, one she usually obeyed, but this time she made a conscious decision to ignore it and put it out of her mind. By the time she arrived at his room her thoughts of caution had evaporated and were replaced with a faint tingle in the pit of her stomach of eagerness to submit to his charm, should things go in that way. Predictions of this nature weren't something Briget was very good at. But she had to at least assume that might happen and, without dwelling on the thought at that time, there seemed twinge of feeble, indefinable hope. Mark casually invited Briget into his hotel room and gently closed the door. This was always the most difficult moment of any new encounter - locking the door. He was conscious of the fact most girls, if not all, innately understand the significance of this subtle action. He was aware girls generally reacted one of two ways. Either they'd suddenly begin questioning his motives, to which he'd usually find himself passing it off with some joke knowing that he'd be disappointed and unfilfilled by the end of the evening, even if the girl didn't walk out on him or she'd accept it without discussion. Whether or not a girl understands the symbolic nature of locking the door, to remain silent at this juncture is to tacitly say "I am your prisoner". It's never something openly stated because this kind of girl is the kind Mark knew and loved. Too timid and polite to object. He discreetly watched Briget for her reaction, which was one of almost visible trepidation, but she was silent as he'd hoped. In fact, she smiled so sweetly, nervously, almost naively as if to tell him she'd never done anything like this, that Mark had to believe she would be even more delightfully submissive than he could have dreamed. 'You've got a lovely big room here,' Briget said, mentally noting and comparing it with the cheaper, smaller room paid for by the travel agency that employed her. 'There's more...' Mark said, waving his hand towards the door next to the mini bar. 'It's a double room...there's another through there.' 'Really?' Briget replied, genuinely curious. 'Are you staying with someone else?' 'No, of course not, Briget...I'm the boss!' Mark laughed heartily, not just to make Briget feel at ease but because he loved the innocent way in which she asked. It was obvious to him why she asked. She wanted to know whether or not they'd be disturbed. He laughed quietly again to himself. 'You mean...you're paying for all of this room for yourself?' Briget asked, watching as Mark leaned over and tapped some keys of the computer he had set up on the coffee table. The hushed sound of a dial tone and then the familiar squeal of an internet connection filled the quiet room. 'Yes...that's right. I told you downstairs...my business is very successful,' Mark said. He was distracted for a moment as he flipped through the screens of email messages he'd received. Briget quietly moved around the room behind him, taking the opportunity to glance out the window at the sub-tropical tranquility down below. She felt the voice of her conscience buzzing in her ears again as she thought back to their earlier conversation in the bar. The question formed in her mind but she was reluctant to ask it. 'You weren't joking about those tours?' Mark stopped what he was doing and looked back over his shoulder at Briget. 'No...' he smiled warmly. 'What made you think I was joking?' 'I don't know...' Briget mumbled, shrugging her shoulders and feeling a little foolish for asking. 'Are you saying you really do organize those tours you told me about?' 'Yes. Does that bother you?' Mark asked, casually returning to his computer task. There was a long silence. 'I guess not,' Briget said, trying to sound confident in her answer. 'It's very lucrative...here...come and see for yourself...' Mark said, pulling a chair close to the coffee table and inviting Briget to sit at the screen. Briget smiled as best she could, uncertain that she wanted to know any more at all about Mark's strange business, but she quietly demured and sat for him. 'What are these?' she asked, squinting slightly as she looked at the screen. 'These are messages sent by my clients...click on the folder lebelled "Fantasies"...' he said, standing back slightly so he could observe her reactions without her seeing. Briget nervously placed her hand on the mouse and directed the arrow to the small yellow icon, clicking it gently and watching as the screen filled with about a dozen subfolders. Each was simply numbered with a short code, making Briget feel a little unsettled with cautious interest. 'Let me tell you something before you go any further, Briget...these are my clients...my valued customers...what you are about to see is strictly confidential...do you understand?' Briget felt a knot forming in the pit of her stomach, twisting uncomfortably as if to warn her she shouldn't go any further. But her curiosity had been aroused and she felt compelled to continue, sensing that the mystery details contained in the folders might shock her but anxiously wanting to explore further. She mumbled her agreement to maintain discretion and felt for a moment like an athlete waiting for the starter's signal to open the first folder. 'This is Mr Dawson's idea of a great holiday, Briget...' Mark said, knowing in advance what she was about to read. He waited silently as she slowly read through the short list on the screen. Briget read the first line quickly but suddenly stopped before she got to the end of it. She wasn't at all prepared for what she read and had to re-read it to make sure it said what she thought it said. 'Eeew!' she gasped, feeling awkward about the weird image that flashed to mind. 'What's the matter? Does Mr Dawson's fantasy disturb you, Briget?' Mark smirked after first mocking her reaction in a childish voice. 'Do people really do that?' Briget asked, her voice filled with incredulous doubt. 'What? A grown man wanting to dress up as a schoolboy and have his backside thrashed by a big, angry woman? What's wrong with that?' Mark laughed loudly, cajoling Briget to see the funny side of it. 'I don't know...' Briget said after a minute. Mark was obviously exaggerating about what the strange man had written - he only said that he wanted to be spanked by a woman, not thrashed, but Mark had made it sound even more ridiculous. She took a deep breath and made an effort to sound more worldly than she really was. 'I suppose there's nothing wrong with that...what people do for...you know...' she couldn't bring herself to say pleasure. She pointed the arrow to the next folder and clicked. 'Ah! Mr Fujuma!' Mark said, his voice now alive with a playful humor. Briget burst out giggling as she read his message. 'He says...' she put her hand to her mouth and tried to hold back an uncontrollable laugh. 'He says...I love to wear a diaper under my clothes when I go out. I want you to find me a woman who will dress me like a baby and watch while I pee my pants...' Briget shrieked with laughter, her eyes filling with tears while she gasped for breath. Mark laughed with her, feeling pleased with her reaction so far. He knew by the way she was laughing that she would be intrigued by the next client and, without rushing her, he urged her to go to the next folder. He didn't say anything as she opened it and began reading. Briget was still having little fits of giggles from reading about the fruity Mr Fujuma but, as he expected, these quickly subsided as the content of the next message sank in. 'Well...what do you think?' Mark eventually asked, waiting while Briget read the message for a second time. 'Mmmm...' was all Briget could say. She was dumbstruck, not just by what she read, but by the unexpected shiver that made her skin prickle with goosebumps. 'He's prepared to pay a good deal of money to find what he's looking for...' Mark wasn't sure the money aspect would appeal to Briget, but he was relieved that she meekly asked the fee he charged for his service and so he told her. 'That much?' Briget said, sounding unsure of whether the amount was good or bad. It actually didn't interest her. What did interest her was the peculiar request he'd made. She glanced again at his name, Jeremy, at the bottom of the short message and then scanned back up quickly to look again at the line which had really caught her interest. He said he wanted Mark to "find him a new girl to play with..." 'Are you interested?' Mark asked. Briget wasn't ready to know what to say. She was still engrossed in a tantalizing daydream which suddenly sprang to mind after she read what Jeremy had gone on to say - "I want to spend a weekend with this girl exploring every part of her..." 'It doesn't sound too strange to me...' Mark whispered. Briget wasn't wanting to hear that just at the moment. As far as she was concerned, it was strange and thoroughly bizarre, especially the next part - "I want somebody who is NOT willing to have the most intimate recesses of her sensuality investigated...someone tied up and helpless while I give them the TICKLEOPPS treatment to reveal their most hidden desires..." There was no doubt in Briget's mind that this weirdo wanted to torture somebody by tickling them, a concept that was too freakish to believe, but one which made her head reel with a totally new and astonishing thrill. Briget had never given much thought to things such as bondage, mostly because she tried to keep such thoughts out of her mind. She now felt confused. As far as she had known, bondage was only ever spoken about in either joking terms, like it was some weird abnormal fetish of harmless weirdos or, more disturbingly, in conjunction with a serious crime like rape. Both uses it seemed alarmed a sense of guilt in Briget. The thought of being considered a weirdo was not a pleasant one and being bound and made vulnerable and helpless was, on the one hand, highly arousing for unknown reasons but also frightening when she considered the dangerous possibility of being hurt or even killed by some wild lunatic. But Jeremy didn't seem to be a lunatic, at least, not in a violent kind of way. Afterall, how could tickling somebody be dangerous? 'Come on Briget...it'll be fun!' Mark said, throwing caution to the wind and gently taking hold of Briget's wrist to help her to her feet. 'What?' Briget was suddenly paralyzed with dread. It was immediately obvious what Mark was suggesting, though she couldn't think straight to voice a proper objection. Instead, she allowed him to lead her, unwilling as she was, across to the door connecting the neighbouring room. 'You can't mean me...' she was mumbling as he pushed her, gently but firmly through the door. 'Come along Briget...you know you want to...' Mark smiled kindly at her as if to reassure her there was nothing wrong with him slipping her white cotton blazer off her shoulders. 'No...I don't...really...' Briget's voice trembled, her attention caught by the sight of bondage paraphenalia lying on the large bed in the center of the room. She struggled, twisting her wrists which he gripped securely in his hands, but didn't resist enough to prevent him removing her blazer completely. 'Yes you do...' Mark laughed happily, realizing that her reluctance was more show than real. 'No...I don't...' Briget said as Mark released his grip on her wrists and quickly unbuckled the broad leather belt of her modest skirt. 'I don't...' Briget whispered, almost breathlessly as Mark pulled her toe-to-toe and pressed his face into the side of her neck. His warm breath and gentle nibbling made her shiver and she instantly swooned, lolling her head back while he lightly kissed her beneath the ear. 'Yes you do, Briget...' he said, briefly lashing her ear with his tongue. He could feel her melting, her hands nolonger pushing away his, which were blindly unhitching her skirt. It fell silently to the floor around her ankles, the heavy belt buckle tinkling quietly as it dropped on the carpet. 'I don't...' Briget sighed, her eyes closed and body trembling apprehensively as Mark's fingers groped for the small pearly buttons of her blouse. He was being very hasty in his undressing of her, yet this seemed to make it feel more sensuous than she could have imagined. In fact, Briget sensed that if she was given the opportunity to think, she'd break free from him and run from the room, and so she found herself secretly willing him to be quicker, compliantly shedding her blouse when prompted by Mark's peeling open of it. Mark knew he had her once he caught sight of her breasts, neatly cupped in the filigree scallops of lace holding them. The shadowey dark circles of her nipples were already displaying signs of arousal with the small buds pointed tensely in the fabric. He hooked his fingers into the elastic between her breasts and lead her closer to the bed, pulling it just roughly enough to tacitly convince Briget of where he wanted her to be. Briget was already blushing when Mark deftly snapped open her bra, the single hasp between her breasts popping open with hardly any encouragement from him. The sudden freedom of the fleshy mounds caused them to jiggle momentarily, alerting her to the fact she was almost completely nude. Briget relaxed slightly as Mark nudged her, gently pushing her so she flopped face first down on the cool, soft bed. There was almost a reflex action from her as she felt his fingers hooking into the flimsy elastic of her plain lace undies. Without any prompting, she pressed her elbows into the mattress and discreetly raised her hips, her face burying into the sweet smelling pillow to conceal her nervous embarrassment as her body was stripped bare of the last remnant of her clothing. If it had been difficult for Briget to submit to the removal of her clothes, it was even harder to permit Mark to manacle her wrists with the broad leather cuffs he wrapped around each of them. It wasn't so much that she didn't want him to - she did, albeit it with some reservations. But he was mercifully quick, buckling each wrist before turning his attention to her ankles. Briget felt light-headed as each of her ankles was wrapped snugly with leather cuffs. She bent her arms defensively up under her body, defensively because he was about to steal her freedom and she was willingly submitting. The way his hands grabbed her ankles, manipulating the shoes off her feet, thrilled her and made her acutely aware that she was now completely naked. In a moment, he was back beside her head, leaning over and gently prizing her manacled wrists free from under her body so as they could be attached with attractively small padlocks to the ends of a long wooden bar. Briget watched silently as Mark tugged the bar close to the bedhead, lifting the loose end of a short rope from behind it to secure the bar and Briget's outstretched arms above her head. 'You see,' Mark said. 'I told you you wanted this!' Briget just blushed and sheepishly mumbled her agreement. 'Yes...but not from some stranger...' 'Don't worry Briget...you won't know who's in here with you...or care...' Mark chuckled to himself as he slipped a sleeping mask over her head. 'What are you doing?' Briget felt a rush of panic as everything went black behind the mask. She arched her back, immediately struggling to turn her head to try and discern what he was doing. 'Yes...' Mark said thoughtfully. 'Very nice...it's even got the nice little emblem of the airline company on it...they gave us those in a sample bag when we arrived at the conference...I wonder why they did that?' Briget didn't laugh at his perverse joke. Instead, she fought desperately against the manacles around her wrists, feeling more and more helpless, especially when she felt his hands back on her ankles. 'Please...please Mark...don't do this...let me go...' Briget whimpered as her legs were spread obscenely apart. The small vibration of the padlocks snapping closed at the ends of a long bar sent little shock waves through her ankle bones, up her widely spread legs and seemed to ripple around her crotch until all her concentration suddenly zoomed to her clit. She dared not speak out loud what she was thinking, but the sensation of having her body trapped in such a lewdly revealing position had stimulated her in a totally unexpected way and she felt certain her now swollen clit was itching and stirring from beneath the protective fleshy hood at the apex of her pussy. This both filled her with a dry-mouthed excitement and acute embarrassment, intuitively sensing Mark's penetrating gaze on her uncontrollable display of perverse delight. The cool conditioned air filled the void between her thighs, reminding her that she was helplessly on display for him, unable to do anything to modestly protect herself. Struggling against the secure restraints only deepened her escalating arousal - the tender lips of her slit unfurling almost magically to betray her most profound emotional condition. 'There! That should hold you!' Mark said, hitching a rope from the center of the spreader bar to the short middle castor wheel at the bottom end of the bed. 'Now...let's get Jeremy on the phone and see what he has to say about you. I'm sure he'll be very pleased!' Briget's heart pounded furiously in her chest. Mark's fingers feathering on the soles of her feet, gently pressing into the soft webbing between her wriggling toes, made her think again about the message she'd read from Jeremy. She listened intently to the beeping sounds of buttons being pressed on a mobile phone, Mark obviously using the moment to imply by his casual groping of her sensitive feet what would happen once his client arrived. Mark listened as the phone buzzed it's familiar ringing tone, admiring the perfectness of the beautiful nude body stretched out on the bed in front of him. He felt swelled with self-satisfaction, his eyes wandering from the tips of Briget's long, spidery fingers to the tips of her attractively dainty toes. There was a pinkness about her feet which was highly alluring to him. It suggested not merely a cleanliness about her, but was a clear sign of her wariness about having them handled in any way. He cupped the big toe of her right foot in his hand just to feel it's form in his hand. He held it for a second, twisting it gently to force Briget's foot into a position where he could see the subdued red gloss on her toes. He congratulated himself silently for having been accurate with his first impression of Briget. The nails were neatly trimmed and the application of the red polish revealed things about her he knew she probably didn't even realize herself. He didn't have to imagine her sitting in her room earlier in the day, rubber spacers holding her toes widely spread while she applied the gloss, being thoroughly careful to paint it on evenly and without spillage on her toes. He knew she was too innocent yet to understand, but the ritual of painting her nails, especially in making her toes attractive, was a manifest sign of a desire to have them tickled and caressed. It was also true, Mark knew well, that a girl who'll let you touch her feet will let you touch her anywhere. It didn't matter that Briget presently had no say in the matter. She wasn't objecting at all to his sensual caressing and, looking at the way the rest of her beautiful nude body was vulnerably open to his eyes, there was no way she could stop him or anybody else caressing her all over. Mark wondered whether he should check his computer for the names of some other clients...maybe make a group booking for the weekend? 'Hello, Jeremy?' Mark said when his call was finally answered. 'I have your itinery all set out here and ready to go...don't forget your camera!' More? email me: Zawackyj_1@hotmail.com Reviews of this or any of my stories are welcomed :) -- +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | | | | Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | ----