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.