0 comments/ 19045 views/ 10 favorites How To Tickle A Girl Insane By: Smokey125 SS39: "How To Tickle A Girl Insane" *** After two stories featuring husband-and-wife BDSMperors Mrs. Sandra Ariana Burton and Mr. Louis Oliver Burton at the forefront ("How To Break A Bad Rabbit" and "How To Wage A Wargasm"), I've brought them back for a third time—well, just Sandy this time (Lou had a similar previous engagement to keep this same evening, and was unable to be here for this particular function)—in another demonstrative instructional story: "How To Tickle A Girl Insane." And proving a bit different from the first two, this will be my first foray into the category of "How-To." Like a lot of my stories, it's LesBDSM-oriented. *** December 4th, 6:00 p.m. The auditorium teemed with guests and attendees in eager preparation and anticipation of this evening's presentation. The front desk at the floor boasted a laptop computer connected to the large screen above, which displayed tonight's lecture's title and topic. The audience applauded as Professor Sandra Ariana Burton made her way out to the floor, wearing a white lab coat and a pair of eyeglasses on a chain—to establish a modicum of credibility, as well as academic situational kinkiness—carrying a tote box containing a semi-large array of various items. She sat the box on one corner of the desk, gave the crowd a wave and took a bow. "Welcome!" Sandy greeted. "Thank you so much for coming! I am Professor Sandra Burton, and I am so proud and pleased to host this evening's symposium for you!" She gestured to the screen and read the title. "Tonight's Presentation: How To Drive A Woman Crazy, Through Both Sensual And Intense Tickling!" The crowd applauded and cheered. Sandy scanned and examined the turnout, which was roughly three-quarters male. But the auditorium was also populated by quite a number of both coupled and single lesbians and bisexual women. Sandra had to admit to herself that her own excitement and enthusiasm about tonight didn't seem to compare to this audience's. Sandy grinned. "I know, yay!" she agreed, pumping her fists into the air. "Fun! Right?! "Okay, so let's just go ahead and get started!" she announced with a clap. "So! How To Drive A Woman Crazy—as to why a woman, this is our presentation this week. Next week, we're going to show and tell you how to drive a man crazy with tickling. The more important question at this moment: why tickling?" She paused before answering. "Anyone?" Several attendees glanced at each other. A few murmurs sprinkled through the air, but none of them spoke up or raised a hand. "All right, I'll take this one," Sandra volunteered with a proud grin. She had the laptop and the slideshow application actively set up onscreen, as well as a camera positioned at a strategic level on the auditorium floor, for close-up footage of tonight's model whose services she would be using. Sandy sauntered to the laptop and pressed a key. The screen jumped to the next slide. "'Tickle!'" she read off the screen. "'Verb! To poke, stroke, scratch or otherwise touch—normally a person—using any object, most commonly one's fingers, in such a manner as to evoke an involuntary sensation of titillation or tingling, which in turn produces one or another form of laughter from the recipient of aforementioned touching.'" Her narration of the definition provoked some applause from the crowd. "Now, I know what some of you may be thinking, or may have already thought when you decided to attend this seminar. 'How To Tickle A Woman Crazy? Well, what's so complicated about that? I can do that; anyone can do that. What's to know? Just grab her, pin her down and go to town on her, right? How hard can it be?' Well, I won't contradict you on that score, because I don't know you personally, so I'm unqualified to assess your tickling skills. What I want to do for you tonight is simply illustrate some interesting tips and tricks that'll hopefully help you sharpen and finesse your technique, and maybe teach you a couple things you didn't know. "Tonight we are going to be examining the scientific side of tickling. So let's take a little look at the concept itself and see with what we're dealing here," Sandy went on. "Now, if you ask me, tickling, in general, gets a really bad rap. I mean, we tickle-philes here this evening form quite a minority, in contrast to the whole population of the outside world. Grab your average person off the street and ask them how they feel about it. Ten times. Collect yourself ten random opinions and/or viewpoints. Normally, about five to seven will say they find tickling to be rather 'strange,' 'creepy' or 'really weird.'" She performed the same keystroke. An asterisk and the words, "Based on actual study" appeared on the screen. "About three may say tickling is cute, if it's a kid or something, but they usually hate or feel funny about being tickled, or doing the tickling themselves. One out of these ten, however, may say they genuinely like it, or perhaps even find it to be a turn on—if you're lucky. But even so, still, a possible one out of ten...not such a great result. A fair number of folks are the least bit skeeved-out by the idea of basic skin-on-skin human contact—some are uncomfortable with so much as hugging, or even shaking hands—these folks are commonly germophobes—which already doesn't bode so great for us. Not that we're planning to 'tickle-molest' anyone, of course." The audience emitted some titters and chuckles. "For the truly extreme and/or uptight, tickling is viewed as a form of harassment." Some "boo"s and hisses punctuated this remark. "I know. These are usually the same folks, by the way, who don't find the joke 'har-ass-meant nothing to me' funny at all." The crowd laughed a bit louder. "But then we've got an entire other side to the whole deal." Click—next screen. A diagram of a physically restrained stick person appeared. "This is the level to which we take it once we kick in the bondage factor." The audience cheered. Sandra grinned and nodded, pointing around the room. "Right? Yeah, here's the good stuff. NOW then, once you have someone tied up—and presuming you actually know how to do it well enough so they won't escape—which, P.S., is what 'bondage' means, so do it correctly—now ya got yourself a couple options." Click. Next slide. Three words in very large type ate up the entire screen: NAUGHTY, OR NICE? More cheers and laughter from the crowd. "'Sa right!" Sandy continued. "Now that your victim is, eh...down, shall we say...do you be nice, and go easy on her, for a few cute giggles, some light pleading and a silly smile plastered over her face?..." Some knowing laughter and clapping ensued. A smirk crept up Sandy's face. "...ORRRRR...do ya be mean? "Do you get evil on her ass?...Torture her? Punish her? Make her suffer?" The audience practically erupted in cheers and applause over this second option. Sandy clicked to the next screen. "Here we are...now then, this is another aspect of our fun little shared fetish that outsiders...just...well, don't get. Once more, go grab those random folks you polled before, if they're still not too creeped-out by this point, and ask them their stance on restrained tickling. What's the first word that comes to mind?" A similar collection of murmurs emanated, through which Sandra detected the correct answer. "'Abuse!' That's right! Now, okay, even we fetishists will admit it, there is a fine line between genuine abuse, and..." Sandra shrugged and facially pretended she needed to consider her next words. "...Hot, kinky fun." More cheers and applause. The mischievous grin returned to Sandra's face as she nodded and took a bow. Click. Next slide. "Now, we're all of course familiar with both the consensual and non-consensual forms of tickling used as torture. Many of us enjoy exploring the consensual side in our personal lives, normally as a way of spicing things up sexually, maintaining that kinky piping-hot goodness. Or some of us may use it as a fun little way to get our partner to give us something we want, yes? "And then of course we've got the variety of torture popularized by the Chinese, used mainly in the ways of interrogation or just plain downright torment. Now just why is tickle torture so effective as a method of getting something you want out of someone?" Click. "Because even though we can't tickle ourselves, we don't choose to laugh when we get tickled by someone else. It's an innate, normal human response to this stimulus. If we're ticklish, we can't help it. Obvious, but important to remember. We can't hold the reaction back. If we try, it swells up inside like a balloon and eventually we explode, 'cause we can't move our breath back and forth the way we're supposed to. Soon it's so overwhelming, we'll do whatever we can to get them to stop. Now here we've got another two sides to consider. Depending on whether we're '-lees' or '-lers,' if things get out of hand, it can be looked at two ways. Some might, again, call it abuse. To a lot of us, however, tickle-philes and fetishists, there's no such thing as out of hand, now is there?" The crowd broke out in another chorus of cheers. "Right! A couple of factors in play here now. One, of course, the endorphin rush. Here's another of those infamous 'fine lines,' if you will. Dilemma: do you tickle until the victim begs you to stop, and then obey their wishes? Or do you just keep going? Click. "Sometimes you agree beforehand to use a safeword. Let's take an approximated audience poll real quick," said Sandy. "All those of you who feel that safewords are a good idea and should be used, please applaud now." About two fifths of the audience cheered and clapped. "Okay; and those who say to hell with safewords??" The other three fifths of the crowd roared, deafening their predecessors. "Now that is it of which I am speaking," agreed Sandra. "Personally, I feel the same way, though I value differing opinions. Although for the truly sadistic, you may make your victim think she'll be able to have a safeword to make the torture stop, but when she tries to use it, the most evil of us say, 'Too bad, tickle-slave!' and keep going! After all, what's she gonna do about it all tied up?" More applause. "At this point, we may run the risks of making the poor laughing doll declare that she hates us, or is going to get us back so bad for this when she gets out of it, but these are the chances we take when we put her through this kind of hell. "A'righty!" announced Sandy with a clap of the hands. "Now comes the first moment we've all been waiting for, gents and ladies. Time to bring some of our discussion to life! So do please join me in giving a very big, nice warm welcome to our tickle model for the evening. Direct from Paris, France, please give it up, for the lovely, Miss Giselle Boudreaux!" The biggest wave of cheers yet ensued as a beautiful young dark reddish-haired mademoiselle joined Sandy on the floor of the lecture hall, wearing only a robe and a pair of slippers. Sandra took and shook the young maiden's hand in both of hers. "Bienvenue, ma amie!" she said to Giselle. "Lovely to have you here this evening!" Giselle mouthed a big "bonjour" and waved to the audience. "They can hear you, Giselle," Sandy told her. "The floor of the auditorium's miked. So you can talk at normal volume. They'll hear." "Oh, okay! Bonjour! Sank you, Madame Burton, merci!" Mademoiselle Boudreaux replied with a big smile. "Pleased to be here." "Pleased to have you with us. May I ask how old you are?" "I am 27," Giselle informed her. "Great. How long have you been in the States?" Sandy asked. "Two years." "Terrific! Are you liking it here so far?" "Oh, yes. Folk is very kind, city is so beautiful, food is quite delicious. I am sorry my English is not very perfect. But just before I come here I buy T-shirt zat says, 'I heart America.'" The crowd cheered and began to break into a chant of, "U.S.A.! U.S.A.! U.S.A.!" Giselle grinned and nodded in agreement, waving her fist in the air in rhythm with the chant. "That's so awesome," said Sandra as the chant died down. "Well, this little corner of America is especially delighted to have you with us tonight. And your English sounds pretty darn good to me. Now, as I understand, you're quite a fan of tickling, yourself?" "OOOH, yes!" she answered excitedly. "Is one of my favorite sings. I love to tickle, and to be tickled. I laugh very hard eizer way." "Excellent," said Sandy. "I guarantee you're gonna be doing some heavy laughing this evening. "And you've done quite a bit of modeling as well, yes?" "Oui, madame. Bohs here and in my homeland I am model." "Perfect! That makes you an ideal candidate," said Sandy. "Have you ever done fetish work? Anything in the adult film business?" "Eh, just a bit." "Okay, good enough," Sandy nodded. "So why don't you go ahead and show our audience just what they will be admiring this evening..." She turned to the crowd with a wink. Giselle turned her back to the audience momentarily as she slipped off her robe and slippers. The crowd began to verbally appreciate what they saw right away. Sandy and Giselle heard a number of whistles and other forms of approval. Giselle was flattered, but also quite used to the attention by this point in her career. Sandy took the robe and slippers and placed them away, letting the audience took a good long drink of their model, who performed a few twirls for them, giving everyone in the room a complete view of her shapely physique. "Okay! So," said Sandra, returning to center stage with the now naked Giselle, "As we know, my husband Lou has filled you in on the details of our little, eh...demonstration this evening..." she said discreetly, winking to the audience again. "...Are you nervous?" "Eh...little bit, yes," Giselle admitted with a chuckle. "But also very excited." "'Atta girl," encouraged Sandy. "You're gonna be just fine." The members of the audience who already knew Sandra Burton were well acquainted with this tone. A few knowing titters and snippets of evil laughter at their model-victim adorned this remark. Sandra furled out a long, soft bedsheet, laid it across the surface of the desk and patted it. "So why don't you go ahead and hop on up here, Giselle, and we'll lasso ya on down." Giselle obeyed, and Sandy retrieved her strings of rope. Both were an equally considerable length, to handle just about any bondage job called for. The first thing Sandy did was to take Giselle's ankles one by one, bring her feet to the corners of the desk and tie them to its front legs. Then she threaded the remaining rope under the desk, brought it up behind the back, took the girl's hands behind her back and tied them together. The display earned yet more applause, from audience members who were becoming rather turned on watching Sandy truss the young lady up, as well as in anticipation of what was to follow. Giselle was now sitting on the desk facing the audience, hands behind her back, legs lying straight out spread-eagle. "Theeeeeere we go..." announced Sandra as she finished up. She came back around to the front again to reassess her handiwork. "Beautiful. Can you move around at all, Giselle?" Giselle tried to squirm and wriggle around as best she could, which wasn't very well. "I don't sink so." "Fantastic. Then things are going just as they should." Sandy went into her tote box of tools and toys and fished out her blindfold. "Now, ladies and gentlemen, I always highly recommend using a blindfold myself," she told them. "I am a big, big proponent of them. For two major reasons. One, if your victim can't see, obviously, she won't be able to tell where you're coming from or what you're about to do to her—if you don't give her any warning, that is, of course—thereby heightening the suspense and excitement of it all. A lack of any warning is very key. Keep her antsy. And remember, she'll be struggling for breath. And you control when she gets to breathe and when she doesn't. Oh yes, and something not many people realize: in order to laugh, you must be exhaling. If you try to laugh while inhaling, you'll make a strange choking-like sound. It's not natural to do this. So if you can see your girl's belly going out, indicating she's inhaling, go for it. She'll be forcibly thrown into a laughing exhalation, and she'll just get weaker and weaker. "And two, as we know, when we lose one sense, we've still got four other senses which are then enhanced...eh, well, unless of course you're Haley Joel Osment, then it's five other senses. "But anyway," Sandy continued, "In this case, having the sense of sight taken away, our Mademoiselle Giselle Boudreaux will have her other senses heightened, including the sense of touch." She slipped the blindfold over her eyes and tied it in the back. "How's that, Giselle? Is that comfy? Can you see?" "Oui, is fine. Non, I cannot see." "Good!" Sandy gripped her from around the back and dug her nails into Giselle's hips. She burst out laughing. "Okay!" exclaimed Sandy over the applause supplied by the crowd. "There's one spot! "Now then," she ambled around the desk to Giselle's side. Giselle turned her head to follow as she moved. Sandy placed a finger to her lips to quietly signal the audience to remain silent. She clicked the laptop keyboard. The next slide appeared on the big screen. ASCERTAINMENT OF VICTIM'S WEAK SPOTS rolled across the screen, word by word. The crowd could see why Sandra'd asked them to remain quiet at this point. Before saying anything more for the moment, Sandy went to her tote box and retrieved a standard pointer used for presentations and seminars just like this. Tonight, however, it would serve a slightly different utilization. The ivory pointer was honed to a relatively fine point at the nameworthy end—not quite enough to injure someone, but just enough to tease or irritate them to the point of frustrating ticklishness. Sandy began to put it to use on Giselle. The first area she touched was the girl's left armpit. She squirmed and chuckled in response. "Ascertainment of your victim's weak spots," Sandra now narrated. "Or, as we in the biz also like to call them, 'sweet' spots. "There're a few ways to do this. One is, you can simply ask." Sandy turned to her. "Giselle, where are you most ticklish?" "Um...my-my feet...uh, m—" Sandra slid the end of the pointer down the sole of her left foot. Not expecting it, Giselle let out a tiny shriek. "EEEEE!" she giggled amidst laughter and applause from the audience. "Go on," instructed Sandy. "Where else?" Now more nervous, Giselle nonetheless continued. "My, uh...my bellybutton..." She paused and instinctively sucked in her belly, anticipating the tickly sensation to strike the given point next. When it didn't immediately come, she let it back out and went on. "A-and my, uh—" Now, of course, Sandra tickled her bellybutton. "AAAAAHHaahahaa!" laughed Giselle. More cheering. "Hey! Zat's not fair!" "Nobody ever said life was fair, Giselle. Go on then, where else?" "Um...um..." Giselle was starting to feel hesitant disclosing this fragile information being used against her. Of course, she knew what this night would entail; she had to expect this sort of thing. Somehow, simply imagining it wasn't as intimidating as having it actually happen. It crossed her mind to remain silent from this point about her most sensitive and ticklish areas, but she knew that wouldn't exactly hinder them from being explored or discovered. How To Tickle A Girl Insane Almost as if reading her mind, Sandra tickled her right foot with the pointer, using her other hand on her belly and ribs. "We're going to find those spots one way or another, Giselle, ma amie chatouilleuse. So you might as well just spill 'em for me." Oh, sacrebleu, thought Giselle. For the first time this evening, she was beginning to get pretty scared. But Sandy knew she'd have to cease eventually, so she did, giving Giselle a short break, turning back again to address the audience. "Of course, if your victim is reluctant to reveal her susceptible areas, the next move is self-evident," said Sandra. A few audience members called out. "That's correct, my friends; find 'em yourself!" Giselle gulped. "This will be lots of fun. Well, for you." The crowd laughed. "I.e., the tickler. Depending on how much your girl gets excited—or even gets off—on being tickled, it can be lots of fun for her too. Now, what I like to do is test each area using the same instrument. Doesn't matter what the instrument is. Could be your finger, could be a feather, a pointer, anything. The variable in play is the victim's body. By using the same tool all over, you get an accurate reading of where your girl is most ticklish. "Now, she has already been kind and brave enough to divulge the vulnerability of her feet for us..." Sandy rapidly wiggled the end of the pointer again up and down Giselle's left foot. She broke out laughing once more. "Oh, what a delightful, delightful sound," commented Sandra, her voice bearing hints of ominous malice. "Now let's do the other one, 'cause we can't leave one out, that's not fair, now is it?" So she got her right foot next, which provoked the same result. "I'd call that a tie—no pun intended—between both feet," determined Sandra. "And I give them about a 9 on a scale of 10. This is a scale I'm using. I'll tell you the ratings I'm going to give on these, and that way I can show you how my findings and evaluation can also help you determine more conclusive data." Giselle felt the pointer glide up the side of her right leg next, approaching her calf. She began to tense up and giggle. "Keep in mind, your data may be slightly compromised if your victim's in too much anticipation and her power of suggestion comes into play," Sandra noted. "She may then appear more ticklish than actually is. But it won't be compromised too much. Even if it seems her mind is playing tricks on her—mind over matter and all that—her body will nevertheless yield the truth." The pointer rode up to her thigh. Giselle let out a small squeal. "Aha. See, we've got another trigger on the inner thigh right here," said Sandra. She waggled the pointer and made her laugh once again, less hard. "Eh, okay, not quite as strong, but worthy of note. I'll give that a 6." Her other leg and thigh gave up a similar reaction. Giselle was nervously anticipatory of what was to come next, but she was granted a bit of temporary relief as Sandra said, "All right, we're gonna skip the private property for now and come back to it later. First, let's go on with the rest of the upper body." Sandy went on narrating things as she ran the same simple test across Giselle's torso from side to side, along her ribs and tummy, basically all of this area she deemed a 7. Sliding up to her underarms and chest, the number rose. Under the arms was an 8, and all over and around her very sensitive 34C breasts and their nipples a 9. When Sandra tickled her tits, Giselle flung her hair around to try and protect them with it. But Sandra had thought of this beforehand. "Nice try," said Sandy, pointing the pointer. Turning back to the crowd, she instructed, "Also not a bad idea to keep some hair ties and scrunchies on hand, to keep the girl's hair in check." She plucked one from the tote and ponytailed Giselle's crimson locks. "Now that that's taken care of..." She took up the pointer once more to go over the girl's neck—a 5—the jawline and under the chin—also a 5—and not least but last, her ears—a 4. "Excellent," said Sandy, letting the pointer drop. She crossed to Giselle's other side, intentionally loudening her steps. Giselle turned her head in the direction of the footsteps. "Now that you've got this list of scores according to your girl's more vulnerable areas, you can put it to strategic use in terrorizing her. And I will now demonstrate the next technique I'm going to show you." Standing to Giselle's right, in which direction the girl's head was still turned, Sandy reached around her back to her left and attacked her left side and armpit. Giselle shouted in raucous laughter, reflexively trying to turn her head and bite Sandra's hand. "The Diversion Tactic, ladies and gentlemen," Sandra explained. "Making her think you're going one way when in fact you're planning otherwise. All part of distracting your victim's mind and messing with her head, in order to more effectively torment her." More applause followed. "Devious and sadistic, folks. This is part of the whole mindset you want if you wish to drive a girl tickle-crazy: devious, sneaky, and sadistic. Sweet and benevolent won't get the job done. Even if you are by nature sweet and benevolent, playful and mischievous might work for you, considering you're doing something that, when all is said and done, is actually good for your victim's health, heart and overall circulation. Many folks fail to realize just how healthy a hearty dose of laughter actually is. Did you know that laughter can help oxygenate your blood, lower your blood pressure and even strengthen your immune system?" The spell of audience murmuring that followed suggested that some did not. While in the midst of this contemplation, surprising everyone, Sandra whirled on Giselle and very abruptly ravaged her midsection. Giselle screamed and tried her best to struggle away. "Devious and sadistic!" Sandy reiterated. "No warnings, no mercy! I'm telling you, folks, blindfold your girl, spring a few surprises on her...and you own her. It's like having her in a mental vise. Now you can play whatever games you will with her pretty little head. "Like, here's one of my favorite games," she illustrated. She stood before Giselle and began randomly poking her up and down with her fingers. Giselle started reflexively squealing and jerking back and forth. "Ooh! Oooh! Where'm I goin'?" Sandy asked impishly, continuing to aimlessly rapidly prod her. "Where're we goin'? Where're we goin'??" Giselle was having a little trouble keeping it together. She burst out guffawing hysterically. "'Atta girl," said Sandy, patting her thigh. "Now, we've got some traditional tickle games from our childhoods: Guess The Toy, Buzzing Bee, Favorite Kiss, Magic Spot, et cetera. The most famous of all, easily: This Little Piggie. Perfect for us grown-ups who wish to stay in touch with our juvenile sides. Sufficient for kids, but appropriate for adults as well if taken past the predictable limits. "Bottom line: there are exceptions to every rule, but the rule in this case is—a harder, more aggressive touch is normally gonna get you more of a result. Evident info, but you stimulate those nerve endings enough, your victim will go categorically in-freakin'-sane." Giselle swallowed anxiously. "There you are," gestured Sandra. "That's what you w—y'know-actually, y'know what, let me get you a close-up of this." Sandy pranced back to the laptop and struck a couple of keys. A light lit up on the camera mounted on the floor sitting in front of Giselle. The big screen flipped from the slideshow presentation to Giselle's body. The crowd lit up themselves, applauding further. "Terrific." Sandy returned to Giselle's side and hopped on the desk with her. "As I was saying, note the worried look on the model's face. See that? That's exactly what you want, right there. She's not acting; she's genuinely intimidated. Now begins the real fun." Sandra turned to Giselle and purposely chuckled at her with a very evil-sounding undertone, intended solely to frighten her. "Let's just put this in perspective," Sandy said to the audience. "Take a step back and collect stock of what's going on here, folks. You've got a naked girl, tied up and blindfolded, at your disposal." Someone in the audience shouted something above the cheering. "Sorry?" Sandy called. "Say again?" "Just the way every girl should be!" the audience member jokingly yelled out, egged on by some additional laughing and cheering. "Ah. Well, in this scenario, yes," agreed Sandy. "This setup in and of itself instills a great deal of power and control in the dominant party. Think about it; she can't move, she can't see—take the factor of tickling out, and you can do literally anything to her right now. "And there's absolutely nothing...she can do about it." As the audience became more and more revved up, Giselle became more daunted. "This is an additionally effective device to put into play to drive your girl utterly insane," said Sandy, arm around Giselle, patting her outer shoulder. "Toss some cruel taunting her way. Throw a scare into her! Once you've got that idea planted in her head, she'll carry it with her throughout the experience, and in her mind it will psychologically intensify the impact on her. Like, try this one." She turned to Giselle and lowered her voice. "Are you scared, honey?" she asked her ominously. "Oui, Madame," Giselle admittedly nodded. "Good," purred Sandra maliciously. "You should be. "Right then!" Sandy hopped down on the floor and retrieved her tote box. "Now we've taken a look at how the pointer works, as well as the fingers and nails, so let's try some other devices, belonging to the plumery family." Giselle felt something tease her cheek. She tittered. "This is a standard crow feather," said Sandy. "It's fluffy, yet has a moderate heft to it. Again, it may depend on your victim and her sensitivity to light touches versus heavy touches, but in the majority of cases, your stiffer feathers will get you more of a laugh." Sandra waved the crow feather over Giselle's body, giving her a light taste of it. "You can refer back to your point rating system to remind yourself of your girl's most ticklish areas, but keep in mind at the same time, while reliable, even the most conclusive data can fluctuate." She took up and displayed another feather. "Here's your basic peacock feather. Very, very soft. Observe." Sandy used this one on the bottoms of her left toes first. Giselle reflexively wiggled and curled her piggies, giggling like a little girl. "Before setting about to truly drive your girl out of her poor mind, I highly encourage you to try all different kinds of feathers. Soft ones, stiff ones, fluffy ones, any you can find. Even on the less fragile body areas. Just play about with her, y'know? Annoy her a little. Find out what gets which types of reactions. Again, you've got her tied up; where's she gonna go? "Now here we go," Sandra resumed, twirling another feather, long and white. "This one's stiffer. This feather belongs to a mallard duck. 'S see what happens here." For this she opted for Giselle's bellybutton. She slipped it in and twirled it. Giselle abruptly tossed her head back and broke out laughing, extra hard. "Ooh! Nice!" assessed Sandy. Keeping it up with this mallard feather, she picked up the crow feather and also tickled the sole of Giselle's foot simultaneously. Her laughter logically increased. "Once more than one toy is brought into play, so then can be more than one area of the body," said Sandy. "And here's an important point: don't worry about only focusing on the most ticklish areas. Tickling someone in multiple spots is a bit like a chess game, in a way; the weaker chesspersons should combine with the more powerful for strong, effective play. And don't stay on any one spot for too long, otherwise the brain will start to grow accustomed to this spot being tickled, and the effect will decrease. "Another reason to tickle all over, and mix various degrees of ticklishness together, is that with numerous triggers to be forced to focus on, the human brain will subsequently start to become overwhelmed, and thus dulled in its functioning. Now, certainly we don't want the girl to be lobotomized as a result of our escapades, but we do want her to be out of control and go crazy. "Observe what happens when I tickle under the chin." She used the crow feather. The reaction was reduced to a small chortling. "See? Not much. Now let's bring one of the more sensitive spots into play at the same time again." Sandy took the mallard feather and twirled it between Giselle's toes, with which Giselle grabbed and pinched it. "Ah—bad girl! Bad!" Sandra scolded, aggressively raking her nails up the girl's sole. Giselle screamed in laughter and dropped the feather. Sandy reclaimed it, whipping it then back and forth and down her arch. Giselle was going nuts. The crowd noted her rocking and struggling, laughing even harder than before. In between her laughs she nabbed a breath, gasped and blew in the direction of the feathers, trying to push them away with expulsions of air. "Ah, she's trying to blow them away," Sandra clarified. "This brings you to a decision. She's starting to act irrationally, as you can see, thinking she can just whoosh the tickling away like this, so what's your next move? Do you keep going with the feathers? OR..." Sandy gave Giselle a bit of a break, laying the feathers to rest on the desk. "...Do you..." She replaced them with her fingers, vigorously jiggling under her chin and digging into the bottom of her other foot. Raising her voice to be heard above the screaming laughter, she finished. "...USE SOMETHING ELSE, SUCH AS YOUR DIGITS, INSTEAD??" Giselle was indeed beginning as feel as if she was losing it. The Burtons had warned her what she was getting herself into when she signed on to be part of this presentation, but she still wasn't quite expecting this level of unruliness. Fortunately, she was soon granted another merciful rest. "Now, a little tangent to go off on here. "As regards tickling with the feather, one of the questions I am asked most frequently is, can you make someone sneeze by tickling her nose with a feather, the way they do in cartoons? And the answer, I'm afraid, as funny a little trick as this would be, is a no. Great touch for that classic slumber party shaving cream prank, but for getting a sneeze effect...no. Let's try it and you'll see." She showed them, removing the pheasant feather from the tote and lightly waving it in the girl's left nostril. She twitched and turned her face away with a wince, but did nothing else just now. "Oh, mon dieu," Giselle uttered, scrunching her face up, trying to make the irritating tingly feeling in her nose go away. "There, you see? If this were possible at all, your best bet would be a feather more of this consistency, like a pheasant feather, maybe a couple of them, and such an effect could only be achieved by twirling the tips of the feathers inside the nostrils. And even then, the sensation this causes is too light to disturb anything enough to trigger a sneeze. You would have to 'cheat' to pull this off, thereby sprinkling the feather with a dash of pepper, or dander, or pollen, or ragweed or something. Don't worry, though, Giselle, we're not going to do that to you. "So let's go back to the slideshow for a moment," said Sandra, clicking the laptop to do so. "And go to the next portion of our lecture, which explains, why are we ticklish in the first place to begin with? Easy; two words— "Nerve, endings." The two words popped up in boldface on the screen, clearly visible even in the back of the auditorium. "These are of course the same little guys that detect pain, and tell our brains when and how much to hurt. The human body contains millions and millions of nerve endings, and it's thoroughly impossible to put your finger on a number with any degree of accuracy, because, natch, everyone's body is slightly different in these regards, and also because due to day-to-day activity and other related factors, the number shifts from one day to the next. What we do know is that each bodily region can contain upwards of one thousand nerve endings each. In the more fragile spots, like one's extremities and genitals, the numbers go up. For example, since our topic tonight involves tickling a woman, let's have a look at the neurological side of the female anatomy." Click. A list of the female body parts appeared on screen with a corresponding lineup of estimated nerve ending amounts, sorted by the latter. Sandra read it off for them. But not before the audience cheered reading it themselves. "And just off the lead at number two, the bottoms of the feet, at seven thousand—to which I think our sweet friend Giselle here can definitely attest. And finally, at ol' numero uno on the girl-bod, at a rough eight thou, our friend, the clitoris." More applause. "Yay!" Sandy cheered along. "I'll let you in on a little secret vis-à-vis the clitoris you may not know. The clit serves absolutely NO purpose, other than exponentially boosting a chick's sexual pleasure. Almost anything that physically drives a girl downright cuh-RAZY...involves our little buddy Clitty here. Now, if you can get inside there and really nail her g-spot, she's yours. I will promise you that right now. But unfortunately, ol' G. Spotty is not always readily accessible." She clicked the laptop. Next slide. A shot of a woman's vagina wide ajar appeared, to the audience's further approval, along with another definition. A line connected the word in the text to the clitoris in the photo. "'Clitoris. Noun. The extra sensitive elongated erectile organ at the anterior region of the vulva, in female mammals.' "First preference pronunciation, incidentally: KLIT-ə-rəs, accent on the first syllable. Second: klə-TOR-əs, second syllable. But just for a bit of edification. Big fat hairy deal, my friends—we all know what it is, and the second and third syllables usually don't even come into play, unless you're at the doctor's office or something. Bottom line—or, well, top line, rather—it's a clit. Easy." Click. A side-view diagram illustration of a woman's midsection appeared, again with text and a line pointing to it. "And here's your g-spot. 'Sensitive, erogenous zone on the anterior wall of the vagina.' In other words, if you don't know where the g-spot is, go inside her, palm up, curl your fingers upwards alongside the interior and reach along until you come to a soft, fleshy patch of skin inside. It's located just about halfway between the vaginal opening and the cervix. Great for swelling during sexual arousal, but for tickling, not quite so much. We'll go more into the g-spot in a future seminar." She returned to the camera on Giselle. "For right now, what do you think, friends?" said Sandra, throwing her arm around Giselle and shaking her like her B.F.F. "Shall we put this chick's genitalia to the test??" "YEAH!!" came the deafening roar, accompanied by further cheering and clapping. "Well a'right, my ticklish friend!" Sandy grinned, kissing Giselle on the cheek. "Time to say your prayers!" "Oh, Madame, se il vous plaît, have mercy on me..." Giselle moaned. Sandra clicked the laptop once more and found the appropriate slide to respond to this. Apparently, she knew Giselle would make this exact request at some point in the seminar. She found the slide and read out loud. "'Mercy. Noun. Relenting or forbearance to cause or allow harm to another. Forgiveness or compassion, especially toward those less fortunate than oneself. Pity.' All right, now, Giselle, my dear lass..." said Sandra, clapping a hand on the model's shoulder, "...After reading that definition...I still don't know what the word means." She grinned amidst more audience laughter. How To Tickle A Girl Insane Giselle bowed her head and began mock-weeping, not far from the real thing. Sandra went back to the tote box. "All right, now, I'm not always wild about using these, but for purposes of demonstration, I'm going to," she said, showing the crowd the objects she'd just retrieved, a pair of genital clips, which resembled bent scissors. "These are gonna be a bit uncomfy—on our victim, that is to say—but a few minutes later, comfort is going to be the last thing on her mind." Giselle whipped a worried expression on Sandra. Sandy crossed to the model's other side, leaving Giselle looking in the direction of nothing, and again clicked on the laptop. The screen went back to the full-on camera shot of Giselle sitting on the desk. The next Sandy took from the tote was a spool of thin but sturdy string, which she threaded around the handles of the genital clips. "'Kay, Giselle, my gal, try not to be alarmed by what I'm about to do," warned Sandy, which uneased Giselle already. "Wh—...what are you about to do?" Sandy reached between the girl's legs, gently began to pull apart her delicately groomed labia and applied the clips. Giselle gasped. "Hey!" she exclaimed. "OW! Stop zat!" "Oh, now, don't be a baby, sweetheart. It's just gonna be a teensy bit painful." "WHAT?!" cried out Giselle. "You never said anysing about pain!" "Didn't I?" Sandra evasively sidestepped. "Anyway, don't worry, dollface. The tickling's gonna be way worse than the pain." Giselle gulped. If this was true, Madame Burton was right; she should be scared. Ten minutes later, Giselle was wincing as the string around her legs pulled the clips which were attached to her pussy lips with just enough force to keep them in their grips, holding her exposed cunt wide open. The audience was through applauding the revelation of her soft pink vagina, which now sat ajar on its own. "Madame, zis hurts," Giselle complained. "I don't like it." "Well, I notice you punctuated those statements with periods, not exclamation points, so it can't hurt quite that much," Sandy remarked, unloading more items from the tote box. Giselle nodded. "Okay, zen, let me rephrase. Zis hurts! I don't like it!" Sandra chuckled. "I appreciate you maintaining your sense of humor, Giselle. Now, ladies and gents, I'm going to need a volunteer. Giselle, do you have a preference between a male or female volunteer?" "Um, non," she grumbled, her sarcastic side emerging. "All righty. Hang in there, sweetie. That frown'll turn upside-down soon enough. So, anyone down front like to volunteer for us?" Several very fascinated attendees began to literally jump at the chance, but were beaten to it by an eager young woman near the middle of the front row, who promptly raised her hand and stood. She leapt in front of Sandy before any of her neighbors had a chance to get there. "I'd love to!" she smiled. "Fantastic!" said Sandy, holding out her hand. "Your name then, please, Miss?" "Violet Daniels." "Well, lovely to meet you, Violet. Why don't you come around to the back here and shake Giselle's hand?" "Pleasure, Miss Giselle," said Violet, as the immobile model felt her indeed shaking her hand behind her back. "Pleasure is mine," Giselle rejoined a bit sourly. "Right. Now Violet, the first thing I'd like you to do is choose your weapon—ER, your tool of choice," quipped Sandy, prompting some laughter from the crowd. She'd laid out the array of tickle toys from the box beforehand. "We've got a variety of feathers, some of which you've already seen put to use, a couple hair clips, few nail files and letter openers, a set of stick-on fingernails, a fork, a backscratcher, a bobble hairbrush...few other odds and ends here...what do you like?" "Ooh, I really like the look of the hairbrush," Giselle heard Violet's icy voice coo. She shivered. "Very good!" praised Sandy. "Now, my friends, upon actually engaging in this yourself, you might not have a friend to help you tickle your girl, and you might not be able to locate some of these items, in which case you can simply improvise. Lots of different things can effectively tickle someone if you simply use them properly. "So! Our friend Violet has chosen her implement—I, meanwhile..." She put a finger to her lips again, discouraging the audience from making any sound immediately. "...Will be using this." Sandra had been saving this particular item since the inception of the presentation, which she retrieved from behind the desk. This item she was now breaking out to show the crowd was an ostrich feather: an entire foot long, whose plumage resembled the droops of a weeping willow tree. It too was extra fluffy but retained some sure tangibility. She waved it over Giselle's back between her arms. "How's that feel, mademoiselle?" A chill rode up Giselle's body. "Eeeeeeee!" she squeaked. "Wonderful!" celebrated Sandy. "Now push up on the desk and lift your ass for me." Giselle turned her head around as far as she could reach. "Huh??" Sandy lifted her hands by the wrists and gave her a light spank on the left ass cheek. "You heard me." Giselle reluctantly leaned back, clenched her fists, pressed her carpals on the desk and fulcrumed up her bum. "Good girl," said Sandy. She slipped the feather beneath Giselle's bottom, perineum and pussy, turned it 90° on its side, so that its plume was now perpendicular to the desk, and gave her permission to let herself down. "Aaaaaand, sit." Giselle obeyed, and Sandra whipped the ostrich feather through her from the back, snaking it through all the girl's most vulnerable regions betwixt her thighs, viciously tickle-sawing her from the cunt to the asshole. Giselle shrieked her lungs out, to the voyeuristic delight of the crowd. "Whoo-hoo!" Sandra whooped from behind her. "Enjoy that, did ya??" "What ze hell was zat?!" the model screeched. "What ze hell did it feel like?" Sandy teased her, holding up her wrists and waggling the ostrich feather under her anus. "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!" Giselle screamed once more. "STOPPIT!!" "Oh, I do believe we're reaching our goal, ladies and gents; she's going crazy on us!" announced Sandy. A considerable wave of applause followed. "OH mon foutu DIEU, I hate you!" Giselle declared. "Aw, thank you!" Sandra graciously returned. "How sweet!" She gently spanked her again. "All right, come on, lift 'er on up!" "WHAT?!" "Once more, you heard me, doll. Do it." Giselle groaned. "Oh, I can't believe zis," she muttered under her breath, leaning back. "Care to join me this time, Violet?" Sandra proposed sadistically. "Okay, can I do her feet??" Violet asked eagerly. "Oh, you bohs so cruel!" Giselle shouted. "Aw, ain't she adorable?" gushed Sandy, fondling Giselle's facial cheek. "Okay, so, Giselle, my friend, our volunteer Violet is going to be tickling your feet, and I'm going to handle your, eh...between the legs situation here, front to back. Cool?" "Oh, let's just get it over wis," Giselle groused. "Okay, then, my dear..." Sandra silently clicked over to the next slide, put her finger to her lips once more and pointed up. A new set of words floated onto the screen— VOLUNTEER: I WILL BEGIN TO COUNT DOWN FROM 4, SO THE VICTIM WILL THINK WE WILL BEGIN TICKLING AFTER 1. BUT WE WILL ACTUALLY START ON 3. THIS IS ANOTHER EXTREMELY EFFECTIVE TECHNIQUE ON A BLINDFOLDED VICTIM, TAKING ANY AND ALL FEELING OF SECURITY AWAY FROM HER, AND REMINDING HER THAT SHE CAN NO LONGER TRUST EVEN HER OWN MIND. ARE YOU READY? Sandy waited for Violet to finish reading, and once again held her finger to her lips. Violet nodded enthusiastically. "Okay, let's count down to it," called Sandy deliberately. "Four...three—" As planned, they attacked prematurely. Violet took the hairbrush in her left hand, devilishly torturing Giselle's right foot with it, and used her right hand on the left foot. And Sandra repeated the saw technique, slithering the ostrich feather from between Giselle's pussy lips back to the posterior. The sound that came out of her was utterly indescribable. "GOTCHA!" Sandra laughed at her wickedly. "AAAHHHHH! AAHHAAAAA! HAAAHAAAAAAAHHH!! PLEA...PLEASE...STOP!!" Giselle erupted. "I...I CAN'T...BREAZE!!" "Ah—" Sandy held up a hand. "Okay, Vi? Hold off for just a moment, please." Violet let up. Giselle was about to start sobbing her eyes out for real. "Giselle has just brought up another valuable piece of information I must pass along to you, in the name of science and accuracy," Sandra said to the crowd. "If your victim claims she can't breathe, don't listen. She is fibbing. We halted for now, but just so I could bring this to your attention. If she's able to tell you she can't breathe, she's still breathing. If you can talk, you can breathe. Audibly saying the words 'I can't breathe'...is a lie." She turned back to Giselle with a malevolent sneer. "And we do know what happens to liars, now don't we, Madem-Giselle?" Giselle hung her head and cried, dampening the blindfold. This evil woman was heartless and merciless. "Oh, ple-e-e-ease," she begged tearfully. "Liars..." Sandy paused for effect. "...Must be punished." She forced Giselle to lift her butt for the third time, and snaked the ostrich feather beneath once more. "Violet, if you would, please, take the mallard feather there, the—yes, that's it, the white one. Very good—and, eh, if, this time, you would be so kind as to, uh...'clickle' her 'tit' with it, please?" She winked at Violet, reaching around Giselle's body and pointing to her exposed, erect clit. "You can continue on her foot with the brush too. Ooh, yes, and this will help as well." She removed from the box and handed Violet a small bottle of slippery baby oil, which Violet knew what to do with. She winked back at Sandy. "Yes, it's a shame you don't have a third hand so you can get both her feet and the, eh...other area there at the same time." "I could tickle her other foot with my mouth," Violet suggested. "Oh! That's good thinking! Great, good girl!" congratulated Sandra. "And I will carry on from back here. Remember—no mercy." "No-o-o-o-o..." Giselle wept, tears spilling down her red cheeks. "Please don't, zis is tortu-u-u-ure!" "I'm sorry, Giselle," Sandra shrugged matter-of-factly. "You agreed to be our model for this evening. You knew what you were getting yourself into." "But-but...no, I didn't! Not zis!" Giselle contradicted. "I beg to differ. We asked you if you would be willing to take absolutely anything we could dish out, and you expressly said yes." "But...b-but I-I didn't expect—" "All set, Violet??" called Sandy, cutting off Giselle's desperate protests. "Yep!" Violet called back, lubing up the bottom of Giselle's right foot with the baby oil. "Wh—?? What is zat now?!" Giselle demanded to know, feeling the warm wetness on her sole. "Dynamite!" said Sandy. "Well, then, what the hell're we waiting for, right? Get her!" "NOOOOO—" Giselle once again began to screamingly implore before she was chopped off by the latest wave of tickle torture. Uncaged laughter stabbed at her larynx and lungs, accompanied by shrieks of the evening's sought-after insanity at the sensation of the mallard feather's blade brushing over her pulsing clit, which she had not been expecting. She'd misunderstood Sandra's instructional disguised phrase 'clickle her tit,' and so had been anticipating her breast being attacked—but which too was now also happening, courtesy of Sandra's free hand. Giselle'd been waiting for that, but not having her clit tickled. The hairbrush was flying back and forth over her now oiled up right sole, and Violet was indeed putting her mouth to work on the left foot, nibbling and licking on and between the toes, the ball and the arch. Sandy's previously dormant five fingers and nails were working her boobs equally as hard, jumping over and around her torso to get at her armpits and ribs as well. She also altered the activity of the ostrich feather under Giselle's taint with the other hand, keeping it in place and maliciously twirling it, instead of straight-sawing it back. The next thing unfortunate Giselle knew, she was...officially...out of her mind. And so was the audience. "DON'T FORGET TO SWITCH IT UP ON HER!" Sandra yelled to the crowd, again to be heard over Giselle's hyena-like laughter, as she randomly grabbed, pinched, squeezed, prodded and dug her nails into patternless points on the poor girl's flesh. "DON'T LET HER BE ABLE TO PREDICT WHAT'S COMING! KEEP HER ON HER TOES!...SO TO SPEAK!" she added with a laugh. There was no doubt about it, Professor Sandra Burton was well aware what she was doing on her this evening. She knew her stuff. For all Giselle knew right now, she could have been having a humongous orgasm, but she couldn't discern it in the slightest, because her brain no longer worked. She started feeling as if it were all a great big nightmarish O.O.B.E., watching herself from outside, in slow motion. Eventually, she was going numb, and the sounds she was making were no longer human. This horrifically hellish latest span of torturous teasing and vindictive vellication could have been lasting a few minutes, it could have been lasting two hours. There was no way to tell. Giselle was on the verge of turning purple. And she was no longer laughing. She was hacking, wheezing and spitting. If she could only speak, she had a pretty good idea of what she would scream right now. "OKAY!! GODDAMMIT, OKAY, MADAME!! MISSION A-FREAKING-CCOMPLISHED!! I'M CRAZY!!" The situation had gone way too far beyond ridiculous. Giselle was past the point of having lost her mind. Her body was all but vibrating like she was being electrocuted. But finally...at some indefinite, indeterminable later point, finally... ...It was over. When she could merely begin to catch her breath back, Giselle's face was already buried in tears. Her head was spinning, and her eyes would need a moment to correctly reorient themselves. Sandra's voice echoed in her ears. "Hooray!" she cheered. "Let's give a nice big hand to our volunteer, Miss Violet Daniels, and our model, Miss Giselle Boudreaux!" The audience about blew up in applause. Several of them proceeded to give standing ovations. Giselle tried to collect her bearings and assess what was going on. She was no longer being tormented. It looked as if the evening's entertainment had at last come to an end. It seemed surreal, almost as if, ...Did that really all just happen? Part of her felt a little wounded inside that the crowd apparently didn't care if she died down here, but just wanted to see her being inexorably tortured. Of course, the presentation of the evening was how to tickle a girl insane, and she had been aware of that beforehand, but...she guessed this just seemed like it'd be a bit more fun in her mind. Instead, she was dizzied, red in the face, cried out, and now had a headache. "And that, my friends, is how you tickle a woman crazy!" Sandra gave Violet permission to return to her seat, and began untying Giselle. Giselle wasn't totally sure how to react now that she was actually being released. Part of her felt like hauling off and serving Sandy up a hearty knuckle sandwich, right in the nose, knocking her out cold, tying her up and giving her a taste of her own medicine. But most of her was so happy to be freed from this prison of torture, she wanted to hug her instead. Besides, with her lingering vertigo, she had a much better chance of getting a hug than a hit. But she didn't think she even had the leftover energy to achieve this. When Sandy finally let her out of the ropes and removed the drenched blindfold from her face, she collapsed on the desk lengthwise and began recuping on her back. "Let's let our dear model recover a bit, shall we?" suggested Sandy. "Don't fret, she'll be all right. When you've put as many folks through this particular treatment as I have, you eventually sense when you're going to go too far, and when and if your victim will end up physically harmed or damaged by it. A little rest, a nice glass of water, some nourishment, she'll be good as new. Promise. "In the meantime, shall we open up to a little Q and A? I'll be delighted to answer any questions you may have that are pertinent to tonight's subject material." She looked around for curious hands, and spotted one. "Yes?" A young man in the sixth row lowered his hand. "What if someone's not ticklish enough to be driven crazy by this?" he asked. "Well, everyone's got a little 'ticklish' to them," said Sandy. "Hypothetically speaking, most people are going to be ticklish enough in one locale or another, but certainly there are exceptions. My advice is to track down that bit of ticklish in your victim, threaten her—or him—with authority, for intimidation—exploit it for all it's worth and see what kind of results you can whip up. "Remember, just the threat or idea of being tickled is automatically pretty scary for most of us. And even if your victim isn't actually that ticklish her—or him—self, just the power of suggestion alone can be a pretty effective tool in instilling fear. Look at it psychologically. We're taught from an early age that innocent tickling is just playful fun, but shortly past that can get really out of hand. And we all love to laugh, but we don't always enjoy being forced to laugh, or...being forced to behave in any given way. It's pretty logical; as adults, outside of work, we don't usually love or appreciate being told what to do. Or what to feel, you see? That in mind, seeing an evil smile and those 'I'm-gonna-GETcha' fingers coming their way usually plays pretty well in your favor. You may still encounter someone who knows proof-positive they're not very ticklish, and won't be scared by it. And if you can't achieve results with them...you can still always bring them my way, if you see fit; I love a good challenge. Does that answer your question?" The sixth-row young man nodded affirmatively. Sandra solicited for other questions, and took one from someone in the upper left. "How did you get started in the tickling business?" this attendee wanted to know. "Ah, well, together with my husband Lou. He's a cinematographer, so we turned one of the rooms in our home into a studio and started making all kinds of fetish videos, not just tickling-related. We've got a whole range of BDSM covered. We call it The Fetish Buffet. We performed in them just by ourselves some years ago, then we started getting a collection of models onboard. We do just about anything bondage-related, but tickling remains one of our shared passions and deepest loves. It was even one of my favorite things in the world as a child, and back in my college sorority days, before he and I even met. Good times. Anyone else?" A person just about halfway back in the middle had the next question. "Hi, Mrs. Burton. Do you personally prefer to tickle men or women more?" "Both," Sandra answered immediately and definitively. "Both absolutely equally. My hubby and I are both bisexual, and we both love shooting and working with our male and female friends and models mutually. We don't discriminate in the slightest on basis of gender," she smiled. "If you're bisexual, of course, men and women can both be exciting in their ways, and on different levels. So neither of us have a preference there. We also openly embrace the opportunity to work with individuals of different ethnicities and such, incidentally, and we do have to have a minimum age limit, which is 18, but anyone 18 and up is welcome to come work-slash-play with us." She saw another hand go up and pointed. "Yes?" How To Tickle A Girl Insane "Do you obtain sexual arousal from tickling, or being tickled?" came the next question. "And if so, how much? Or to what degree?" "Oh, you bet your bottom," Sandy nodded. "If you can get past the jumpy initial feelings of discomfort the idea alone may bring on, tickling can truly be one of the most sensual and delicious in all of the erotic arts. It helps for certain that I have and always have had a healthy, strong libido, yet just the concept turns me on in major ways I can't even describe in words. From the rush-like feeling of quick aggressive contact running over you, to the knowledge that you can't help but laugh, especially in restraint, to the involuntary and thus wildly satisfying smiles playing about your faces, to that heavenly sound of gut laughter...yes indeed, my friends. Forgive me for being indelicate, but sometimes it's all I can do to keep from vanishing on the spot to quench my own desires." The audience knowingly laughed along and gave up some more applause at this declaration, highly able to relate. Someone down near the front on Sandra's left raised his hand. "Can you achieve orgasm by being tickled alone, without any other form of stimulation?" this guest asked. "Do you mean can I personally, or can anyone?" "Uh, well...both." "Ah. Well, for me, no. I'm too ticklish. Otherwise, it depends on the individual person. Some cannot—especially with particularly ticklish genitals, as the compulsion to laugh can get in the way and disturb the mounting arousal—but there are others certainly whose sensual attraction to the feeling of contact is so vastly strong in the first place, they might laugh if caught off-guard, but their brains—aware that their bodies are being touched at all—have the power to psychologically override the need to laugh and activate and fire up the libido right away. Though usually in order for this to happen, the tickling needs to be more gentle and passionate. I find it an amazing sight to behold myself. Both on video and in person I've seen individuals—usually women—many women possess these magic sizzle spots on their bodies and feet—brought to utter moans of ecstasy by a feather, or a nail finding its tranquil way along her hot, revved-up body. If things go on this way long enough..." She shook her head. "...Whew...who knows how far it can go. "In fact, I never disclose this information, but what with its germaneness to our subject of discussion..." Sandra backed up behind the desk, removed one of her shoes and placed the heel of her bared foot on the surface, sole pointed to the audience. "...I personally have a spot directly beneath the arch, on both of my feet, that when touched, the right way...makes me totally, MELT. That's my weak point, right there. There's no other or better way to describe it than that: melted Sandra. But I must kindly ask you, my friends, not to use this information against me...or certain, uh...additional circumstances may ensue." She winked, putting her shoe back on. Another query arose. "Speaking of, uh...orgasms..." The crowd giggled. "...Is it true that we're more ticklish after we come?" "Absolutely," Sandra grinned. "Excellent question, thank you for bringing it up. What happens is, during arousal, the human body's heart speeds up to increase and hasten bloodflow. The blood rushes to our homologously functioning sex organs: the cock in men, and the clit in women. And then, as we know, the blood fills inside and inflates them to erection. Arousal continues on its way to climax...and I'm gonna speed this along in the interest in time, so long story short: bing-bang-boom, we come." The audience chuckled in amusement. "So after the orgasm hits, the brain tells the blood to return to post one, if you will, but the nerve endings—which you'll recall, we went over those before..." Sandra reactivated the laptop and quickly toggled back to the slide where she'd originally discussed this. "...Here we go. The blood is flying back where it came from, but the nerve endings...kinda don't exactly get the message just yet. They're independent from the bloodflow in this respect, and hell, you just came, for crying out loud," she chortled, "So all those thousands and thousands of nerve endings are still gonna be hypersensitized for a short time. Has anyone here ever felt a little squeamy, or sensitive, about doing anything like snuggling with your playmate right after sex?" Several audience members nodded and raised hands. "There you go. Same thing. Post-orgasm, we're usually sitting in our lovely afterglow for a while, and we want to decide on our own when to go on from there. So, often if someone or something touches us in the afterglow state, it can feel disturbing. And even a little skeevy. Some folks aren't bothered by this at all and do want to keep cuddling after the big 'o,' but many don't. And even if you enjoy some cuddles after making love, you likely won't highly enjoy some additional tickling. It's just not the ideal time. Make sense?" The audience responded affirmatively. "Fantastic!" Sandra clapped her hands. "Anybody else?" She looked around a few seconds. That seemed to be it. "No other questions?... "...Well all righty then! Thank you so, so much again for coming this evening, ladies and gents, I certainly hope you enjoyed our presentation, and learned something new, and I wish you the best as you collect your wife or girlfriend or other lady companion, sweep her away into the realm of erotic kinkplay, put her on lockdown, and show her some fun tickle techniques!" Sandy sent them off excitedly. "Also, please feel free to visit Lou and myself online at The Fetish Buffet and share your own stories of ticklish bliss with us! For anyone who may be interested in modeling or participating in one of our shoots, we've got business cards just outside, by our presentation poster. I'm Sandra Burton, my friends, and how about one more hand for Sleeping Beauty here, our Parisian model this evening, Miss Giselle Boudreaux!" The crowd broke out in one last raucous burst of applause before getting their belongings together and starting to file out. Sandy could hear post-seminar discussion between the participants as they rose to exit, and she could detect high intrigue in the timbre of their voices, which she found enormously flattering and gratifying. Not everyone departed right away. A few guests stuck around to chat briefly with Sandra one-on-one, or to shake her hand and tell her how much they enjoyed the seminar. A few even embraced her. "Are you sure the Giselle girl there's gonna be okay, though?" she was asked. "Oh, I guarantee she'll be fine," promised Sandy, packing up her own presentation materials. "We simply tuckered her right the heck out, so she's just taking a long nap right at the moment. Shucks, to be honest with you guys, I'd be surprised if she didn't drop off after that insane workout." She grinned warmly at them. "I am so very happy you all came tonight. I hope I've given you some guidance to have some hot 'n' kinky fun with your ticklish female companions." She bade them farewell, packing it all in—save for the bedsheet over the desk, on which Giselle was still fast and sound asleep. How To Tickle A Girl Insane That reminded her. "Eh, Madame Sandra, I like to apologize, for I said I hated you, while you and ze other girl tickle me." Sandy smiled. "Oh, that's perfectly all right, Giselle. Believe me, I've been presented with far worse and harsher words than that," she chuckled. "Don't worry about a thing, you're certainly forgiven." "Oh, sank you. I realize I do not hate you at all. I very very much like you." "Well, thank you, my friend! I like you as well. So...you enjoyed working with me tonight?" "Oh, yes! Yes, it was lots and lots of fun." "Do you think you might like to come back and meet my husband Lou, and work...and/or play, with us again?" "Oh, I sink I would enjoy zat a great deal, Madame Sandra. What can I do wis you?" Sandra grinned her naughty wicked grin, dozens of ideas automatically swirling through her devious mind. "Oh... "I'm sure we could figure something out..." Hee hee hee hee hee...