#why is my husband such an evil tickler?

[chaoticklesblog]

Oh my God. My husband was tickling me last night, and he kept his hands on my tummy while I would giggle and squirm nervously. He'd actually stop tickling me for a few moments and keep his hands still so all I could do was laugh in pure anticipation and while he was keeping his hands still and I started squirming this man actually chuckled at me and said "that's right, you BETTER be nervous." Like I'm sorry, excuse me, what the fuck?

[tcklspnrd]

First Time of Adele

"When the kinky marriage was showing the stretcher rack to little Adele, her eyes went wide open. The 24 years old girl couldn't believe that her dream of being tickled tortured was about to become true (and for two lers at the same time, so she was double enthusiastic).

The device was pretty simple and homemade, but pretty effective: it was a massage bed with stocks for the ankles nailed to one edge of the bed, and the rack with a lever on the other side. While Robert was explaining the functions of the bed, and some anecdotes of their forbidden games, for Adele was hard to listen to them without jumping as a wild animal to test it.

Suddenly, Natalie wore the leather bracelets to Adele. She shivered a bit because she didn't expect its roughness on her delicate wrists, but her heartbeat became faster. The party was about to start.

She finally lied on the bed. She put herself comfortable and in a way where her ankles fit perfectly on the stocks and her body could be stretched very tight. The cold mattress on her skin was in a way pleasent, because her body was becoming warmer and warmer. Robert was locking her ankles to the stock, while Natalie engaged the bracelets to the rack, and then started to turn the lever. 'Clack', 'Clack', 'Clack'... And each of them made Adele's body more and more helpless.

But the couple had an ace under the sleeve. Robert decided to toe-tie each of her toes, and Natalie had an extra strap to tie her elbows to the bed. When the young girl squirm a bit to accommodate herself to let the wife to tied her better, she realized how actually good she was immobilised. She was confident enough to endure a few hours of tickle torture. But she never finds herself on such a vulnerable situation, and the thoughts of being at the mercy of the kinky couple, proud of making each other crying and begging for mercy on that same damn bed, ruined completely her confidence and her body became incredibly sensitive (Aka, ticklish). When they finish, Natalie jump up and sit down gently on Adele's arms. Her level of weakness reached the next level, and she couldn't hold it anymore and she couldn't stop giggling nervously.

-Oh, honey, you are already giggling? Hahaha... But we haven't even started yet, hehehe. Well, let me ask you something: are your feet your weakest spot?- Natalie asked with a playful voice.

-Y-Yes... ma-maam- Adele answered with a slightly trembled voice.

-Well sweety, I have to tell you: my feet aren't even in my top 3 of most ticklish spots, and my husband made me crying of laughter just by tickling them. He is the most skilled foot-tickler I've ever experienced in my life. And, well, I don't like to brag, but these nails of mine are super effective on exposed underarms... Like yours. We love to have new cute tickle toys like you, but I don't know if you would be able to achieve the challenge of 30 minutes nonstop tickling without safewording...

After saying that, she started to caress both Adele's triceps with just her index fingers. Adele turned on, her body was so warm, her breathing ran faster, her limbs were so weak and her giggles started to go through her clenched lips. She looked at Robert's face, and she realized how helpless she was. 'Where did I get myself into? Why I had to be so bald and agree to do this? Why I have to feel today my body a thousand out of ten ticklish today? Why am I so stupid?'. But after these thoughts, out of the blue Adele stared at Natalie's eyes, and with an unexpected boost of confidence, she said:

-Do...your fucking...worst...

Natalie started to laugh, and then, with an evil smirk on her face, she set up the timer, and with the meanest of the smirks, she said:

-Well, sweetheart, you asked for this. Prepare to know the true tickle hell..."

This is a extract of a tickle history that I have in my head and I'd love to write when I have time (and the will, hahaha). Hope you enjoyed it😊

[kanene-yaaay]

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

Kanene’s note: Okay, I’m- aaaaa

I’m very proud of this one because it’s a little different of what I use to write and it was cool to try a new something. I didn’t even wrote the laughter because I was writing this next to my family and I didn’t wanted any of them asking why my characters were laughing so much xDD.

Warnings, fun facts, random things and stuff:

* Switch!Émile and Switch!Remy (It is def romantic. They are married and very gay and there is a lot of kisses in it-)

* Hmmm… This is a Tickle-Fanfic! If you don’t like this kind of stuff, please look for another blog, there are plenty of amazing art in this site!! ‘u’).

* Something around 2700 words. -w-)b.

* Sorry for any spelling, pontuation and grammar mistakes! I didn’t proofread that one very well, so I will probably be correcting a few things later. Any advice is always very, very welcome!

* Just two silly and very mean boyos being two silly, teasy and ticklish boyos. xDD

* A versão em português brasileiro irá ser escrita, ainda! Thankys for reading, my lollipops! Watch a fun video, take a good rest, talk with the one that you love and drink water! Byeioo!~

                                [~*~]

- Émile ~

 He didn’t know from where this came from. In a second they were on the couch, smiling and watching Steven Universe, and in the other a cold shiver ran across his body, making him turn to his husband, just in the exact moment to see he taking off his sunglasses, locking his glare on him with those sweet, dangerously warm eyes and grin. Just like that. It took a heartbeat before Émile realized what was about to happen, a wobbly smile beginning to control his features as he felt himself almost paralyzed, Remy starting to tap his fingers on the lenses of his own glasses, his malefic smirk never fading.

 Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

 They stared each other, Émile’s gaze finally changing to his fingers, another round of goose bumps spreading across his spine, the adrenaline taking over his veins and giving him the enough strength to dash in full speed through the hall.

 Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

Which leaded the poor, almost giggling, adult to his current state: hiding behind his room’s door and wishing with all his will power that this plan would really worked as well as it had when he watched in the cartoons.

 (He tried to ignore the voice in his mind reminding him how all that chases usually ended up in the end, the thought only being enough to heat his face.)

 - Émile ~ - It was in days like this that one wearing glasses could swear that Remy was a witch. Because there wasn’t any other realistic, rational and plausible explanation about how much the giggles trapped in his throat got louder, bouncier and even more difficult to control just with the slight sound of his voice, obligating their owner to press his hand further around his mouth, lightly biting the tip of his tongue. – You had better hide well, because you know what is gonna to happen when I find you, don’t you?

 Émile shook his head, his back forcing itself on the cold wall.

 Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

 - Oh, gurl, maybe you don’t even remember anymore… Now, we can’t fusion like this, can we? Let’s me remind you, then. ~ - The chased hold a pouty whine when heard these words, already feeling the beginning of a blush spread in his neck. Remy knew very well how teases could be as unbearable and unnerving as the tic… I mean, The Thing. – First, I will carry you aaaaall the way back to the couch and maybe my fingers will slip in tweaks and squeezes all over your hips, who really knows, ya know? But you better don’t squirm that much, because then I will have no escape but be obligated to bring my other hand to better hold you and just hope that this one is not more slippy then the first, right?

 Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

 - And then: The couch. Nothing different will happen there, really. I will just lay down with my extremely ticklish, helpless husband to take a nap, and, if my glorious lips will be random blessing your incredibly sensitive neck with a lot of Goodnight Kisses and my hands will keep lightly scratching, squeezing and poking all the length of your sides, sometimes even giving a little attention to your hips, because no way in hell I will be sleeping in a hard pillow, it’s none of your business, giggly boi. – Émile couldn’t help nor stop the pitched squeal that escaped from his mouth, eyes widening and breathing immediately stopping, the others giggles also begging to escape. - Oh, and, by the way, better keep your mouth very shushed while this. We don’t want the Tickler Master waking up, am I right?

 Silence.

 Remy’s nonchalant tune still full filling the air, which didn’t carried the sound of his steps anymore. The cartoon lover knew there was no way for him to save himself and, in a surrender act, just let his high, excited giggles run happily across the room hiding his face in flames behind his tremble hands. Seconds later, he heard the sound of his door being closed and his hide spot exposed.

 - But we both know that you just can’t contain yourself, my so poor, so defenseless lee. – Émile playfully screamed as he was lifted up in the air, quickly being carried in bridal style. He opened his eyes enough to see Remy in a bat of eyes deviating his glare from his form, the tender smile taking pieces of seconds before changing to an evil grin, fingers suddenly tweaking his kneecaps and hips, leading the carried to jump, a squeal signaling the flow of giggles that followed it.

 - Please, Remy, please!! – Each new squeeze was a snort interrupting his words, making him try to start again only to get the same result and repeat the cycle all over, resulting in a more helpless babbling than anything else. The said stopped, adjusting his hold in order to sneak his thumb in that damn spot right between his shoulder blades, switching between kneading and prodding while leading to an even more no-understandable sentence. - No there, no there, no there!!! Pleasepleaseplease-

 - Huh? Whatcha you are trying to say, hun? That I’m the most handsome husband in the entire world? That you are so sensitive that only a few squeezing and prodding are enough to transform you in a blushy, laughing mess? – The one being held felt his laughter increasing, the words spreading tingles in all his others ticklish spots, even the ones which weren’t being attacked. He shakes head, denying. – Is that you love all these teases and specially when I tickle tickle tickle you? Huh? Use your words, babe.

  – Nonononono! – Émile arched his back just to find another attack to his hips, bucking the said as Remy buzzed his fingers in the exact point where his sides and hips connected, and generating loud crackling as response. – You a- nah! You are mean mean mean!! – His arms danced to a place to another, too much occupied with the crazy sensation to really focus in stopping it, Remy increasing his efforts in order to make the snorts start to bloom amongst his laughter and squeals, no needing too much to succeed. – Remy!!!

 - Yes, gurl? Geez, you should love my name. It seems like you can’t even spent a whole real minute without saying it! – His tune was still nonchalant. However, he leaned down for a heartbeat in order to steal a peck from his beauty, giggly and cute as fuck, husband, who obtained a new shade of red creeping down his neck. Nooooice. – Anyway, what did you wanna tell me? Be quick, I still having a lot of places to knead, scratch, scribble, wriggle… This whole ‘Tickle your extremely ticklish husband, like, really, reeeeeally ticklish, like seriously, this guy is a whole tickle spot himself, a alive version of Tickle Me Elmo, and, when he became a helpless mess just tease him more and more until the big, rational, Émile Picani turns in just a poor, so poor, blushy lee.

 - REMY!!

 - What? Can’t handle the truth? Boo-hoo, then.

 Émile didn’t answered, unless you considered his fast, absolutely incoherent, stumbling words a kind of response, choosing to clench is hands in his shirt and hide his face in flames, instead. His laughing being so strong that reverberate through the attacker’s chest, who couldn’t stop feel like a villain as he stared with a gigantic grin adorning his lips the ribs that such act let defenseless. Well, he internally shrugged as he took a deep breathe, suit himself. His arms were growing tired anyway.

 Émile thought he was going to melt in any moment, the teases still heating his sensitive skin and increasing the tickles in a way that should be definitely illegal, but in the moment he felt the raspberry, spreading, taking over his nerves and T I C K L I N G he died.

 And screamed, for sure. Oh, and also gripped something while kicked and trashed as if Mabble’s life was depending on it (not his own life, of course, since he was already dead). Some part of his desperate brain noticed he was falling, but the laughter exploding from his mouth and the impossible to ignore feeling quickly expelled any other thing.

 He opened his eyes, breathless as his watery vision focused in the form mostly layed onto him, their giggles flying and filling the entire room. After some heartbeats, Remy finally got up, his hands resting on the floor and sustained the weight of his body. Their eyes met.

 - I’ve forgot how much of a kicker you are. – Émile just curled up a little more, pulling his tongue out in a very mature and hard to win, statement

 - ‘s not my fault your arms are weaken than Deadly Arms’ ones.

 - Excuse you?

 - Nuh.

 - I beg your heck pardon?

 - No, you let me fall for you. Twice. In love and on the floor. I’m ignoring you until the end of ours married days.

 - Oh, is that so? – Remy replied, adjusting his position so his hands would lay each one in the sides of his husband’s head, who immediately recognized the smile beginning to shine and exploded one more time in a flow of giggles, his arms in front of his body, attempting to conjure a kind of shield.

 - Wait wait waitwaitwait!! Nonono! – A yelp cut his sentence when a hand tweaked his thigh. - I’m sorry, I’m sorry!

 - Yep, gurl, you will b- And his threat was interrupted when Émile pushed his shirt and connected their lips, stealing his words, breath and any and every coherent thought from his head, his giggles still floating from his mouth, which leaded, if that was even possible, to the coffee lover melt further, allowing himself to be carried away by the tenderness and love, sighing and deepening the kiss.

 …Until that dirty, evil, nasty cheater digs his fucker fingers in his damn stomach, which ruined the romantic moment and absolutely did NOT made Remy Tough Picani release a half shriek half snort that DIDN’T resulted in the only one wearing glasses coos softly, excuse you.

 - Awww. – Émile gave him an innocent smile, quick turning the tables and sitting on Remy’s legs, his fingers swinging in a dance that consisted in craving his thumbs right above his waistline and vibrating his others fingers in his torso, the maddening sensations culminating to free, belly laughter escape from the ‘victim’s’ mouth. Eyes tightly closed, wrinkled nose. – What is the matter, my dear? The cool, bad boy Remy can’t take some ti-tickly tickle tickling in his tummy-yummy-yummy? Huh? Huh? Can’t he? Because he is super hype dyper sensitive, aren’t you? Yes, you are! You are!

 - OH MY GOD, SHUT UP!! – Remy could feel his face, against his own will power and threats, melt in flames. His laughter being replaced by hysterical giggling as his husband changed his technique to spidering, slowly walking his fingers up before quickly drag his nails in random patterns the way down, going up and down one time more and after that a couple more of times, always managing to catch four or five snorts. – THIS IS SO DUMB, FUCK.

 - Now, now, Mister Ticklish Master. Let’s not be a Squidward to the Tickle Monster, alright? He just wanna to hear aaaaaaall that adorably, lovely, helpless giggles of yours!! – Émile lowered down and touched their noses, his smile increasing as he felt the other’s laugh hitting his cheeks, his tune now in flying in joyful whispers. – And what a cute laughter you have! Definitely the most lovely, sweet and favorite lee of the Tickle Monster!

 - ‘m not- ‘m not cuteyourbi-nOPLEASENOTTHERE- His words stumbled in each other, specially when his shirt was lifted and a finger began to squirm and scratches his bellybutton, his legs now kicking while his hands tried to get enough strength to stop the marvelous move. However, exemplary falling as the attacker focused some quick prodding in the exposed axillaries, receiving what was suppose to be an angry snort. Émile couldn’t help but coo one more time. – I’M. NOT. – He couldn’t help the squealing cutting his sentence. - CUTE. FUCK OFF!

 Émile made a soft sound of sadness, pouting even if his husband was still with his eyes tightly closed, unable to see it.

 - Now, it’s a pity that you don’t believe in the words of your own husband. – He switched to lightly scribbles and pokes at his sides and lower ribs, making sure to rub circles in each one of them while also gave his ‘victim’ some room to breathe and understand his words.

 - Well… maybe, maybe he would… – Remy tried, really tried to frown and looks angry, but that was really hard with the giggles still interrupting his words. His body melting in the gentle, good touch. Totally against his will, for sure. - ... if his husband wasn’t being a jerk and tickling him.

 He stared directly at Émile, therefore he didn’t lose the slightest which red freckled his cheeks, smirking, wobbly that is true, but also proudly in being the only between both who managed to say ‘tickle’ without shuttering. Sadly, though, he also didn’t lose the way his eyes and smile widened, showing that the other had an idea.

 Butterflies started to panic in his stomach, especially when Émile’s gaze focused there with a ratter crazy gleam, his next phrase coming out as a soft, dangerous purring.

 - You know… all of this made the Tickle Monster a bit hungry… and he heard that some lil lil lee has a very yummy yummy tummy right here. – His hands squeezed his belly, as if to prove his point. Remy jumped, the adrenaline running all speed across his body as the words starting to weight in his brain.

 - Wait, WAIT! Émile!!! – The one being called slowly moved towards his target, ignoring the squirm and pleas from his husband, who grew more and more desperate as his attacker innocently smiled and looked at him, his head gradually lowering to his most ticklish spot. – Émile, Émile, please, I’m actually begging you. I’m begging you!! I’m cute, see? I said it!!! Émile!!!!

 - I’m listening. ~

 - No, you’re not! – His euphoric, hysteric giggles already began to take over his sentences. – No! Fuck!!

 - No? – Émile’s lips already were resting on his belly, the word sending shivers across his nerves, which was not helped by the fact that the other absently shook his head, demonstrating his saying.

 - No! No!

 - A no to ‘no’? So that is a yes?

 - nO.

 - No? But what about the ‘yes’?

 - Stop it! Oh my gosh, I’m gonna to get a bitching divorce!! It’s a no to your yes!

 - Got it! It’s a ‘no’, then?

 - Yes!

 - A yes? Okay!

 Before any other protest could fly from his mouth, a shriek did it first. And again. And again. And one more time, almost as fast as the nuzzled raspberries buzzing and the nibbles, together with the ‘nhom nhom nhom’s’ sounds, spread and madly tickled in a total oblivion to his kicks, pushes and loud, thunderous laughter painting the air.

 It didn’t took too much before the cartoon lover stopped, already aware of the other’s limits, and touched their foreheads again, Remy’s breathing and reminiscent giggles being the only thing breaking the silence which involved them in a calm, cozy, warm feeling.

 - You don’t look at me like that, your traitor. – His tune was free of any harm, his bright gaze and blushed cheeks locking his attention. Émile couldn’t help himself but kiss the pout out of his face. – And don’t you dare to kiss me. – Quick kiss. - I don’t trust in your sweet lips anymore. – Soft kiss. – They are a hell of a trap. – Giggly kiss.

 - I love you.

 Their eyes met, one more time, and Remy finally gave up, swimming in that deep, caring moment. Their hands intertwined themselves.

 - I love you, too. – He lightly poked Émile’s ribs, winning a yelp before receiving the same treatment. – But only sometimes.

 - Uh huh.

 - What? It’s the truth!

 - Sure it is, dear.

 Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

 Their heart did, beating in unison.