A Day in the Life of Cami - Chapter 2

Chapter 2:  Getting Nice and Clean

I untangle myself from the covers and strip out of my sweat and cum stained pajamas, tossing them into my laundry basket.  Bleary eyed and stumbling, I toddle off into the bathroom and shut the door.  As I flick on the lights, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and move in for a closer look.

My medium length amber hair is matted and sweaty and my freckled cheeks are still bright red.  I’ve been told I have a cherubic face and pouty lips, but I’m never quite sure if people are teasing me or not.  My emerald eyes take it all in, turning from inquisitive to humorous as I catch myself staring back at me critically.

My gaze drifts down to my chest.  I’d call myself flat… if I was supposed to have breasts.  Not that it matters.  Many of the girls I know have fairly flat chests and I’m considered girly enough that most people don’t know I’m physically male until they check under my skirt.  I learned in history class that it used to be idealized for men to be muscular and tough.  Nowadays, men are expected to be soft and feminine.  I kinda like things better this way.  Being cutesy suits me just fine.

Enough introspection.  Time to shower.  I turn on the hot water, as hot as I can stand it, and hop in.  Our shower stall is huge.  Like ten feet by five feet huge.  We’re on the first floor and our shower was designed for people of a monstrous persuasion.  You know, nagas and driders and such.  While they’re pretty rare, it’s university policy to have special showers available in every apartment building.  I guess you could say I lucked out.  I never have to worry about being crowded or the shower curtain molesting me.

The hot coursing water feels incredibly good.  I’m not sure why, but being inundated with hot water always manages to wake me up and sooths my body.  I run my fingers through my hair, just enjoying the splashing sensation before actually cleaning myself off.

That’s when I hear the door creak open.  Before I can even turn off the water, two muscular arms wrap around my torso in a massive bear hug.  I hear Rhonda’s voice chuckle in my ear.  “Hello again, tickle slut.  We just wanted to make sure you were getting our favorite parts all nice and clean.  After all, you don’t want us to have to dirty our nails on nasty, grimy feet.”

Brenda slides in front of me, grabbing up my ankles before I can even start kicking.  “Or have to mess around with a filthy cock.  Well, an unclean cock at least.  All penises are filthy.  We just want to make sure yours is filthy in a good way.”

“Oh, please, not again!  Come on, guys, lemme go!  What did I ever do to you?” I plead, unable to wriggle free of their combined grasp.  I’m painfully aware that the two of them are as naked as jailbirds.  Rhonda’s massive breasts are pushing suggestively into my back and Brenda’s nipples are painfully hard at the mere thought of my upcoming torture.  Faced with both the tactile and visual awesomeness of their twin chocolate mounds, my cock reacts accordingly.

Rhonda performs a complicated maneuver, pushing my upper body between her legs and kneeling down.  Suddenly, I find my head sitting in her naked lap with my upper arms pinned between her calves and thighs.  I can flail my hands and forearms around, but that’s about it.  “What did you do to us?  Why, every day, you walk around this apartment with those sexy little feet and that tempting little cock.  Knowing how excruciatingly ticklish you are, you can’t expect us not to tickle you.”

Brenda, meanwhile, has laid down sideways underneath the showerhead, her back to me.  My ankles are clamped down hard between her enormous thighs.  I’d have better luck of lifting up the apartment building than pulling free.  She demonstrates my utterly helplessness by scratching at the center of my arches.  She giggles over my howling laughter.  “After all, if we didn’t tickle you a much as possible, you might start to think we didn’t like you anymore.  We don’t ever want you think that we don’t adore these pretty feetsies and your juicy flagpole.”

“Speaking of which…” mutters Rhonda, reaching behind her and grabbing my bar of soap.  She runs it around in her hands for a moment, ignoring my pleas for mercy as she builds up a good lather.  She tosses to Brenda who catches it over her shoulder.  Hands filled with thick, soapy bubbles, Rhonda begins to scrub down my penis.

At first, it feels kinda good.  Slick and sensual, her hands caress every inch of my mast.  It doesn’t take long before my foreskin peels back, revealing my soft, pink tip.  As Rhonda rubs it down, waves of pure pleasure course through my body.  Then, like the evil succubus from hell that she is, she begins to dance her nails up and down my rigid shaft.

I’ve often been asked which is more ticklish: my feet or my cock.  And I can’t honestly tell you.  I do know that both make me feel unbearably aroused when tickled.  Oh, and being tickled on either makes me laugh hysterically like a clown on nitrous oxide.

“Ohohohohohoho, please, Rhonda, you gahahahahahahatta stop!  You’ve got to stahahahahahahap!” I squeal, slapping the bathroom floor like I actually expect them to let me tag out.  The thick layer of soap on my penis lets Rhonda’s nails glide effortlessly from my scrotum to my crown, each torturous pass driving gales of laughter from my swelling cheeks.

“Oh, really, tickle slut?  I’ve got to stop?  Lemme see if you’re right.  Hmmmm… nope.  I can still tickle you.  In fact, we’re just getting started.”  Her words prove especially prophetic as Brenda starts coating my wriggling soles in a creamy layer of suds.  I can’t even tense up for the torture I know is coming.  Rhonda’s wicked fingers on my shaft make damn sure of that.

I was expecting her nails.  I really was.  Those long, pointed nails raking up and down my soles.  But that wasn’t what I got.  Hidden behind her own heavenly ass and her gargantuan thighs, Brenda reaches down towards my feet and I feel the most prickly and scratchy sensation.  Thousands of tiny bristles run up and down each of my soles, filling my wrinkles and crevices with tiny, poking tickles.  The sadistic bitch is scrubbing down my sole with real scrub brushes.

I howl.  I scream hysterically.  I pound my tiny fists against the floor and writhed within their clutches.  I can’t even shake my head with it trapped in Rhonda’s lap.  A tiny sensible part of me is grateful the pair of them hadn’t kept my head under the shower or I be drowned by now.  Red faced, all I can do was stare helplessly at Brenda’s backside and Rhonda’s murderous fingers.  The insanely ticklish scrubbing only takes a few second to take me from aroused to climax.  My hips thrust violently and a let loose an orgasmic cry of pure, tortured bliss.

“Ooo, I think she likes the brushes, don’t you?  I told you these would be perfect for her.   You said they’d be too rough, that they’d hurt her soft skin.  I knew the soap would keep them from being too harsh.”  Both of her arms work furiously, running the soapy bristles back and forth.  I try to dance my feet out of the way, but she simply pushes down harder and my soles are trapped under the brushes’ torturous paths.  My penis trembles under Rhonda’s fingertips, already primed for another release.

“Yeah, yeah.  You were right.  Guess it was a good thing we decided to buys these too…” she said, reaching behind her back and revealing to me… a pair of thick shaving brushes.  I stare at them for a moment, uncomprehending.  Having your feet ticklishly molested by scrub brushes will make a person a little slow.  Rhonda takes advantaged of my confusion to sweep the stiff bristles up and down the length of my shaft.  It tickles!  Oh, gods, does it tickle!  I practically crawl out of my skin at the unfamiliar sensation.

But the vile vixen isn’t done yet.  While one brush scraps along the underside of my cock, the other slips up to my tip and swirls around the pink crown.  I’m fairly certain the scream I make is inaudible to everything except dogs and dolphins.  Cum shoots from my tip, coating the brush in my hot cream.  Undaunted, Rhonda continues to caress my trembling cock with both brushes, earning her screaming orgasm after screaming orgasm.  She only pauses occasionally to lather me up again.  Brenda’s constant scrubbing makes sure my climaxes continue uninterrupted.

After a good, long while, I guess my tormentresses finally decide that their favorite tickle spots are finally clean enough.  Brenda stops first, using the moveable showerhead to rinse off my bright pink soles.  I’m so hypersensitive, even the water jets tickle like mad.  Once she’s finished, Rhonda takes it and sprays down my throbbing cock.  I can’t stop giggling for the life of me.  The pair of them stand up, shake themselves off like hound dogs, and head out of the bathroom.  Brenda mockingly locks the door before shutting it behind her.

Panting and gasping, I stand up on shaky legs and finish my shower.  For obvious reasons, I neglect cleaning off my feet or my cock.  I’m so hyped up, I’d probably tickle myself to death if I tried.

A Day in the Life of Cami - Chapter 1

A Day in the Life of Cami

What would it be like to live in your darkest fantasies?  If your everyday life became an endless parade of your secret desires and erotic imaginings?  What if you could be your most sensual dream?

Chapter 1:  Waking Up Smiling

I wake up to the sound of my alarm clock beeping.  I try to reach over and turn it off, but I can’t seem to move my arms.  The bulk of my blanket and comforter are holding me down, but it’s more than that.  Luckily for me, a hand, much bigger and stronger than mine, reaches up and presses the off button on my clock.  Unluckily for me, I hear a husky, feminine voice tease my ear.

“Time to wake up, tickle slut…”

This is when I realize I can feel the touch of cool air around my bare feet.  More than the clock, more than the voice, this is what really pulls me out of my slumber.  I wriggle around in my blankets for a few moments, feeling circular constrictions around my body.  A quick glance confirms it.  I’ve been rolled up in my bedding like a burrito, then secured with a series of belts strapped around my body.  A lot of belts.  A ludicrous number of belts.  Someone with a lot of extra time and energy really, REALLY doesn’t want me escaping.

My head’s been propped up on a couple of pillows at a comfortable angle that lets me see all the way to the end of the bed.  There I spy two huge figures, one sitting down and one in the process of seating herself.  They resemble each other closely.  For a starter, they’re both powerfully built.  Not sleek, artificially toned muscles, but heavy duty strength.  And, I’d be lying if there wasn’t a nice plumpness as well.  I’ve heard them described as BBMWs, Big Beautiful Muscular Women. 

But their striking looks don’t end there.  Both of them have delicious, mocha colored skin that contrasts rather surpassingly well with their bleach blond hair.  The one on the left has her long strands done up into a pair of flirtatious and feisty ponytails.  The one of the right has hers spiky on top and seriously short on the sides, creating a cockatoo hairstyle.  Despite their impressive builts, they have incredibly alluring features.  Soft hazelnut eyes with smoldering lashes, heart shaped faces, and full pouting lips.  They’re both clad in baggy t-shirts with the letters TTU written on them in bright pink lettering.  I had no idea the campus store sold shirts in XXXXXL.

Allow me to introduce my roommates, Brenda and Rhonda Teezin. 

When I first moved into the three bedroom university apartment, I was told I would be living with two sisters.  Identical twins, in fact.  What I wasn’t told was that the pair of dominant, overpowering sibling had utterly tickle tortured their previous roommates into helpless hysterics on a daily basis.  They’d gone through four of them last semester, before I came along.  To be honest, I have no idea if I would have actually refused to room with them had I known.

After all, they really know how to wake someone up in the morning.

“Hey, Brenda, Rhonda,” I said, addressing the ponytailed sister first and her mohawked sibling second.  “I don’t suppose I could convince you two to let me up, change my clothes, stretch a little, before we get started?  I promise, I’ll let you tie me up again, no trouble.  Just let me get myself ready, okay?  You know, for a change of pace?”  I flash them my brightest, most convincing grin.  I think I managed to keep the pathetic whimpering out of my voice this time.

The two Amazonian beauties just look at each other, share a pair of purely evil grins, and turn back to me, shaking their heads.

“Come on, tickle slut.  You know we can’t get our morning going without a healthy, hearty dose of hysterical screaming?,” says Brenda, looping a shoelace around my big toes a couple of times and tying it off comfortably snug.

“That’s right,” chuckles Rhonda, placing a single pointed nail on the center of my sole and wriggling it up and down.  “Besides, if we slack off, we might get rusty.  Need to know if we can make you howl just right.  Cause if we can’t, we obviously need to start working harder.”

“I thehehehehehe think you are working hahahahahard enough!” I giggle, squirming in my bundled bondage.  Honestly, I can barely move a muscle, but that tickly nail on my naked sole is too much to resist.  “Plehehehease?  I’ll cook you twohohohohoo French toast!”

Rhonda sticks her tongue out at me.  “Nuh, uh!  I’ve seen the amount of powdered sugar you use.  Don’t you know all of those sweets go right to your hips?  Guess I’m just going to have to tickle off all the extra pounds!”  She punctuates this last statement with a particularly fierce skittering of claws down my defenseless soles.  I squeal helplessly in response.

“Hey, budge over!  Stop hogging those soles.  I want my share!” shouts Brenda, pushing both of Rhonda’s hands onto my left foot as she begins raking her long nails down my right.  Without any further ado, the two sadistic ticklers began tickle raping my feet with gusto, their pointed talons leaving little pink lines down my soles.

I’m practically screaming with laughter now.  Tears of mirth are welling up in my cheeks and I can feel a hot blush cascading down my neck and shoulders.  But that’s not all.  Deep within my comforter confinement, I can feel my body beginning to react to the torturous tickling.  My roommates don’t call me a tickle slut for nothing.  I can already feel my erection hardening.

Unfortunately for me, the twins have become extremely skilled at tying me down.  I can’t even grind my hips effectively.  All I can do is giggle and squirm as the intensely tickling fingers make me more and more aroused. 

After several months of tickle torturing me endlessly, Brenda and Rhonda know all of my weak spots.  My arches, with their adorable wrinkles, are particularly tender.  After a few minutes of revving me up, the two wink at each other and sink their nails into my sensitive insteps.  I wail with laughter, shaking my head side to side and sending my tears flying every which way.

Before long, the diabolical torture is more than I can take.  I cum and cum hard, filling my panties with hot cream.  My laughter changes pitch, becoming louder and huskier.  The twins know this sound all too well.

“Mmm, five minutes to first orgasm.  I do believe that’s a new record, isn’t it?” asks Rhonda.  She used one hand to grip all of my left toes, peeling them back so my sole is nice and taut.  This lets her other hand rake it’s nails all the way from the soft pudgy ball of my foot down to my rounded heel.

“Nah, last time we managed it in four and half.  I think she was feeling especially sensitive that day.  We’ll know we’re doing good when we can do it in three minutes flat.”  Brenda decides to simply dig her nails under my toes, tickling in between them and ravaging my tiny stems.  

“I thihihihihihink your doing juhuhuhust fine!” I scream out, though the pair of them ignore me.  Once they’ve started in on tickling me, all I am is a pair of feet and a laughy face to them.  Such is the fate of a true tickle toy.

I literally can’t stop orgasming.  It’s like the feelings of their nails upon my naked soles are shooting up my legs and flying up my erection, tingling ever nerve along the way.  I can feel my cheeks burning red, partially from pleasure, partially from exertion, and partially from embarrassment.  After all, they can hear every lustful cry, every pathetic ticklish whimper as their talons drive me from climax to climax.  And they just keep going, raking their nails down my soles like a pair of kittens with a scratching post.  A particularly screamy scratching post.  Which, in this tragic farce, is a role played by my helpless soles. 

Finally, they stop.  I simply lay there, gasping for breath, every muscle in my body utterly exhausted.  Well, every muscle but one.  Trapped within its cocoon, caked with drying cum, my cock is still ready and eager to play.  Unfortunately for me, it’s not the only one.  I groan with terrified expectation as I feel something cool, slick, and way too familiar being slathered over my hot soles.  Baby oil.  They’re coating my feet with baby oil.  And I know exactly what that means.

“Please, guys, please, no!  I-I can’t take much more of this… Really, I mean it this time…  please?”  My mewling pleas earn only a cry of derision from Rhonda.

“This time you mean it?  Oh, so the last couple dozen times we did this, you were lying to us?  You really could take it?  Well, shoot!  I guess that makes you a liar, now doesn’t it?” she chuckles as she waves in her hand the tool of my destruction.

“And you know what we do to liars, don’t you?  We punish them.  We punish them severely.  I guess you’re just lucky that you like it.  Don’t you, tickle slut,” says Brenda, raising her own terrible instrument of destruction.  In her hands is the most diabolical tool of tickle torture ever devised by humanity.  A hairbrush.  Stiff bristled with plastic tines.  If I was wearing boots, I’d be shaking in them.  As it is, I have to settle for whimpering in fear and biting my lower lip.

“Shall we?” asks Rhonda, peeling my toes back like a banana and drawing my sole out taut and ticklish.  “Let’s!” replies Brenda and they both begin to scrub my bare feet with fiendish gusto.

“Ohohohohohoho plehehehehehehease, nohohohohohoho!  It tickles, it tihihihihihickles!  Stahahahahap!  Oh, you gotta sthahahahahap!” I scream, staring wide eyed at my tormentresses.  They utterly ignore me, brushing back and forth as if my feet are covered with some sort of stubborn stain.  Each torturous stroke sends shivers up my spine, bubbles of laughter through my belly, and shockwaves through my loins.  It only takes a few seconds of brushing before I cum and cum hard!

“Do you think we’re too easy on her?” ponders Brenda, scrubbing her brush underneath my toes.  No matter how hard I try to scrunch them, my toes are helpless to keep the teasing tines away from my tender stems.

“Nah,” replies Rhonda, holding my foot still as she vigorously strokes my arch with the stiff bristles.  “Dentists recommend brushing your feet twice daily.  It keeps away the cavities.”  She grins at me and I laugh hysterically at her almost pun.  It’s not like I have any choice.

For more than an hour, the two of them scour my soles with their diabolical brushes, pausing only to add fresh coats of oil to my flaming hot soles.  I plead for mercy and promise them everything from sports cars to cunnilingus during my scant few breaks… and laugh, cry, and cream myself during the protracted feet brushings.  By the time the two of them tire of torturing me and undo my bondage, I’m barely conscious.  I don’t even notice as they leave my room, closing the door behind them.