Under the warm covers, my cool fingertips caressed his bare tummy, unwittingly eliciting a bark of laughter. The tickle was unintentional, but I love to hear him laugh (and I also love to make him squirm), so I continued my explorations with as innocent a look as I could muster.
“Be good,” he chided with a gruff guffaw, unsuccessfully attempting to dodge my wandering hands.
I peeked up at him from behind my lashes. Lips quirking, I retorted, “I’m always good.”
Seeing the cheeky glint in my eye despite my best efforts to hide it, he retaliated. Around a bubble of laughter, he stilled my hands by manacling my wrists with his own.
“Whatsa matter?” I inquired sleepily, knowing full well that ~ like me ~ his erogenous zones are also his most sensitive tickle spots (we call them ‘erroneous zones’), and also knowing that ~ like me ~ being touched there gets him…erm…tickled. In more ways than one.
“Duchess…” he warned. (Duchess is a nickname. Long story. Suffice it to say, being called Duchess either makes me laugh or gets me hot. Or both.)
Already pleasantly distracted by the erotic feel of his large hands chaining my wrists, the note of chastisement in his voice set my senses (and other things) on edge. “Hmmm…?” (That was about as eloquent as I was going to get under the circumstances.)
With an exasperated sigh, he leaned in close and continued.
Oooh, I love to feel his breath on my neck…
“Be good,” he admonished again.
Blinking up at him, I muttered an eloquent query. “Uhm?” (Loosely translated, this means, “Why the hell should I?”)
Noticing that his message clearly wasn’t getting through, he tried again. “Behave, Duchess.”
Behave, or you won’t get a spanking.”