The New Couch

Jennifer Aniston came into her and Brad's apartment in Chicago, having just gotten back from a long session for the show "Friends". She was very tired, and had been waiting all week long, just for the chance to doze on their new couch.

She put her things away, used the bathroom, kicked off her shoes, and flipped off the lights, before stretching out on their new $2000 couch. She didn't bother to change clothes, wearing a black leather skirt, white silk blouse, and off black pantyhose. She was soon fast asleep.

When she awoke, she tried to pull what felt like tape, off of her mouth. There was just one slight problem. Her arms had beens stretched until they were straight, and her wrists were bound together, and then bound to legs of the couch. Her feet, we also bound together, and tied to legs on the opposite side of the couch. Since it was dark, it took her a few moments to realize that she was blindfolded.

She pulled and jerked, trying to loosen or break the ropes. The ropes, however, had been wound around her wrists and ankles at least seven times, and the rope running to the legs, was atleast six thick. They had also been tied very tight, by and master rope tyer. She would not be getting free, unless set free.

Yet, she still continued trying, until she was just too tired to try anymore.

At that point, she heard footsteps entering the room, from the bedroom. They got closer, until she was sure that the person was hovering over her.

"Hello, Jennifer." She didn't know that voice.

She was gripped with fear. What could she do? She was helpless. He could do to her whatever he wanted. She began jerking and struggling against the ropes, again.

"It's no use, Jennifer. You can't escape."

She continued struggling.

She heard him kneel beside her.

"Come on, Jennifer. Be calm. This won't take very long."

He felt him pulling her shirttail out. She tried to scream, but no sound would come.

She felt his hands go up her shirt.

He began wiggling his fingers into her armpits.

She jerked, struggling wildly, trying to escape the probing fingers.

She was very ticklish. She began to laugh underneath the gag.


She continued struggling, as he continued torturing her armpits.


She was jumping against her restraints, bowing her midsection, and trying everything she could to escape the tickling fingers of The Tickle King.

She could do nothing, but lay there and laugh against the gag.

He was beginning to up and down her helpless sides, pulsating surges of uncontrollable ticklishness, as she strained and jumped against the ropes that held her in check.

He placed two pillows underneath her, elevating her midsection.

He then dug his fingers into her ribs, causing her to almost burst through the gag with insane ticklish laughter.

She was bucking up and down like a rodeo bull, but no matter how hard she bucked, there was no escape from those fingers that had so mastered the art of tickling.

He pressed in around her pelvis, and then back up across her stomach, gliding his fingers down her sides, while pressing hard enough to cause her to almost spasm.

She had never known such torture in her life.

He continued jabbing and poking her ribs, until she was on the verge of passing out.

Then he stopped. allowing her to catch her breath. It is really hard for one to breath, when there gagged, for they can only breath through their nose. Breathing through the nose is slower and brings in less volumes of air, so it is much easier to loose your breath when gagged.

It took her several minutes to get her breath back.

He took a place at her feet.

He took notice of their beauty, in the off-black pantyhose. He had seldom seen feet with such beauty. They were smooth, especially in the hose. The biggest thrill, was that they sat there, helpless in front of him, waiting for him to caress them with his mastery of the ticklish touch.

She sensed where he was, and tensed her whole body, in preparation for the onslaught. She had taken good care of her feet, careful to keep them pampered, so that they would still be in good shape when she was old. Such pampering made them very smooth and tender. Being very smooth and tender, they were ticklish to the tenth power.

He began stroking her helpless soles with his fingernails that were long enough to provide tickling pleasure, but short enough not to look bad.

She jumped so hard, she nearly pulled the couch up with her.

He went straight in full force, dragging five wiggling fingers up and down each foot. She crossed them over, scrunched them up, moved them up and down, doing anything to try and make the ticklishness seem less to her.

He grabbed on foot, and used is arm to shield it from the other foot. He pulled her toes back, and began sadisticly raking the ball of the foot. She was in hysterics.


He switch to the other foot.

He was having so much fun.

He began stroking the tops of her feet as well.

They were almost as ticklish as her soles.


She continued bucking violently, trying to somehow break free.

If only her feet weren't so ticklish, she thought.

He knew that they were her most ticklish spot, so he spent an extra long time on them.

He pulled out his cured feather, and began torturing her soles and toes with it.

After a few minutes of that, he began dragging the feather up and down her legs, being sure to cover ever square inch.

She was laughing so hard against the gag, that she was about to choke.

She wet herself.

He decided he'd been there about long enough. But he had to cover his tracks.

He tickled her feet again, with an outrageous ferver. He tickled her 'til she was turning shades of blue. He tickled her until she passed out.

When she awoke, she was lying on the couch, still in her clothes, but there was no trace of what had happened before she passed out.

She looked around, but could find nothing.

She then took a whiff of the air, and remembered wetting herself.

"Oh, my God! We just got that couch, and I'm already going to have to clean it."