Nothing had happened yet, but I knew it would. I was expecting something. Anything! Anticipating the feeling, waiting and waiting. What was taking so long? I wasn't sure. This was the first time that we had tried anything like this. He said it would be fun, and I trusted him. Mihangel would never lie to me. He was my raven haired angel. Everything kind and good in my life, the light that brightened my way and made even my darkest of days tolerable. I loved my angel very, very much. There was no reason for me to ever distrust him.
At first, I wasn't sure what the man was up to. I had learned over the year that we had been together that he was a strange one. There were times that he said things that had absolutely nothing to do with the current topic of our conversations, only to completely forget he had said anything at all moments later. Occasionally, he would insist on repeating an action that had no meaning, and would become flustered if he felt like something was preventing him from doing it, be it vacuuming the floor or brushing his hair. I never thought much of these things, and just assumed it was part of his personality, a small amount of OCD that was nothing to worry about. It was just an endearing trait of his that made him so beautifully unique.
"Angel," I purred softly, "what are you doing?"
No answer came. Instead, my bare chest was patted affectionately by a warm, strong hand before Mihangel ventured off to do something else. I couldn't see anything. Even if the lights were on, flooding my apartment bedroom with a soft glow, the darkness would still surround me. That devilish angel had blindfolded me. It was exciting, not knowing what he was up to, but nerve-wracking at the same time. He could be doing anything.
And to make matters more mysterious, I was restrained. Laying spread eagle on my mattress, bound to the bedposts at my ankles and wrists, was a little less than comfortable. Since my gray boxer shorts still clung to my hips, I assumed this was some sort of foreplay. That was fine by me, since I rather not be tied down during sex.
But confusion was starting to take away the appeal of the situation. Mihangel shouldn't be taking this long! Was something wrong? Had he walked into the other room to turn off his cell phone only to notice a text message explaining that his little sister had been hit by a bus and needed a kidney ASAP? Or worse! Maybe poor Mr. Snickers was choking on a hairball! A million different ideas popped into my head. Explanation after explanation for why I had been abandoned in such a vulnerable position until eventually I settled for the truth.
That bastard was teasing me. He was torturing me with waiting on purpose.
Right when I was starting to become very annoyed, very angry, and very sore all at once, Mihangel came back. I could almost see those green eyes pouting at me as warm, slightly chapped lips brushed against my neck. Shivers ran down my spine. It was sensual, yes, but in a way, I hated it when he did little things like that. His touches were always soft, always light, always teasing. It drove me insane. I couldn't handle those sweetie pie strokes, it tickled too much, and no one knew better than Mihangel that I hated to be tickled. The first time he tried two years ago, I nearly burst one of his testicles. He knew better.
"Baby, you left me." I whined, lifting my head in an effort of figuring out what the hell he was doing down by the foot of the bed.
"I know. Forgive me?"
In my head, I could see Mihangel's lower lip stuck out at me, begging for some word of forgiveness from me. I was fully prepared to say it, too, but something had grabbed my attention. A finger was trailing up and down my chest. It wasn't a bad sensation, but it wasn't a good one either. The touch was still too light for my liking. A feeling of dread began to fill me as one finger tip became four, all lightly trailing along my flesh.
"Don't worry, Jamie, I'll make it up to you. Okay? I promise."
Something was different about that deep, silky smooth voice. An underlying threat that made the short brown hair on the back of my neck stand on end. "Angel? What are you doing? Mihangel!"
I found out soon enough. For as long as I could remember, I had been very sensitive to being tickled to the point it almost terrified me. Almost like a phobia. There's nothing I can do to make myself hate it less, and I had informed my boyfriend, my best friend, of this little matter ages ago. Angel had permission to do whatever he wanted, as long as it was within reason sanity, except tickle me.
It started out as a light sensation at my neck that trailed down the sides of my ribs to flutter around my midriff. The feeling of Angel's fingers on my skin was unmistakable. But, unlike the other times his hands were pressed against my body, there was nothing pleasurable about it. "Angel, no, don't! Stop!" My desperate protests were barely English. It was nothing more than a nervous reaction, something that many ticklish people began to do even before the torture started; I began to laugh.
My laughter only encouraged Angel to move his fingers faster and faster. I naturally wanted to protect myself, but I was bound tightly. There was barely enough slack in whatever the man had used to restrain me to bend a knee. Forget kicking and squirming around. All I could do was giggle helplessly and jerk, trying my hardest to throw Mihangel off my hips where he had decided to settle himself.
Panic began to well in my chest. Panic, and hurt. I couldn't understand why my lover was doing this to me. He knew I hated it. He knew that it scared me to be in such a defenseless position. As his touches became harder, applying pressure to those sensitive spots along my neck, torso, and legs, my laughter became hysterical. Breathing was impossible. Tears soaked the necktie that blinded me. Mihangel ignored my desperate pleas for mercy. At one point, he even had the nerve to try and kiss me. Angry and hurt and terribly confused, I bit down on his lip as hard as I could. There's a chance I drew blood, but I'm not sure. Angel jerked away, and increased his relentless attacks to my poor body.
Honestly, I would have preferred it more if he slapped me.
But no. The tickle torture didn't stop for what felt like hours. My struggle for freedom had become small muscle spasms. Blood leaked from my lip where I had bitten through it. The same where my nails had bitten into my palms. My laughter had long since turned to screams, and once my voice cracked and gave out, those faded to pathetic whimpers. Every second was painful. Every inch of my body ached. Even those areas that hadn't suffered directly were burning.
When it was finally over, when Mihangel's hands stopped moving against my skin, I was on the verge of collapse. One can only take so much, and I had had enough. Not to mention a lack of oxygen with a little bit hyperventilation had left me rather lightheaded.
"Oh, Jamie . . . " familiar full lips were at my neck, planting firm, chapped kisses while arms slipped snuggly around my waist. Nothing ticklish at all. These were the touches that I liked, though I was much too exhausted to respond. "I'm so sorry, baby. I couldn't . . . I love you. You know I love you."
Love? I didn't feel loved. I felt used and hollow in a way that didn't make sense. This man that I had been so completely willing to surrender my entire life to had violated my trust and my body in a way that left no marks that were not self inflicted, but still tore me apart. Of course, I couldn't run out of the apartment screaming rape since it had been consensual. At least, it had been at first. But it barely made a difference. He betrayed me. Mihangel . . . my angel . . .
Slowly, Angel removed the blindfold from my puffy, red, dark eyes, leaving me blinking furiously to adjust to the darkness while my wrists and ankles were released as well. He even helped me sit up, gently rubbing my back. I could feel his intense gaze burning a worrisome hole into my skull. For a moment, I considered slapping him, or punching him, kicking him, grabbing the heavy flashlight from my nightstand and beating him until that wonderfully tan skin was nothing but one big, ugly bruise . . .
But I couldn't do that. Not to the man holding me so tenderly now, offering me a glass of water that tasted faintly of honey, and even helping me drink. Had I been trembling so uncontrollably before? I wasn't sure. Weak and tired, there wasn't much I could do at all, and I leaned against Angel's chest, listening to the beating of his heart as he gently rocked me, humming a soft tune that painted images of warm beaches in my head.
I love him so much.
It turned out much differently than I originally planned . . . probably the last thing I will upload until my hand heals a little.
For the record, I hate the name Jamie and no, I do not have a secret tickle fetish.