In my favorite tickling fantasy I am bound by my wrists and ankles in a standing, spread-eagle position. I am wearing a very tight sleeveless blouse and bell bottom pants that fit super tight from the waist through the crotch, then smooth but not tight through the thighs, then flaring out to very wide bottoms. My outfit is made of very sensuous nylon jersey, or sometimes fluid, slippery satin. I always picture the crotch seam pulling deep inside my labia, and the top molded to my huge breasts so that my erect nipples are clearly visible. He tickles me by running his fingertips or fingernails over the slick, shiny fabric. I howl with laughter, begging him to stop, crying out in total exasperation that I cannot stand it another moment. My screams are accompanied by wild gyrations, limited mostly to hip twisting and head shaking by the ropes that keep my limbs spread and my body vulnerable. For a long time he avoids my pussy, but eventually his fingers trace the groove in the fabric pulled tight up into my crotch, tickling me out of my mind while slowly teasing my clit to mind-shattering orgasms. If I have trouble getting over the edge at this point he pulls out my Hitachi Magic Wand and press the throbbing ball against my clit until I pass out.
