Archive-name: Bondage/wrapup.txt

Archive-author: J. Mattis

Archive-title: Wrap Up





 Copyright (c) 1991 by J. Mattis.  All rights reserved.



Jim thought, "Damn it...she's charging the net again!" and started

running forward hard, pounding his feet against the red clay.  His legs

pumped about three times when Janet, tennis racket in hand, started

to swing her arm all the way around.  Instead of just dinking the ball over

the net, Janet was giving the ball an overhand smash.



At this point, Jim was about ten feet from the net and closing fast, and he

realized that this was the last place he wanted to be.  His wife puffed out a

throaty "Unghh!" as she smashed the ball.  Jim's reaction was substantially

less dignified.



"Shit!"  He brought up both arms and closed his eyes.  He could swear he felt

the breeze as a yellow meteor shot past his head, and he heard it strike

the court behind him.  He imagined that it left a crater.  When he opened

his eyes, Janet was standing in front of him, panting hard and grinning.



"That's match-point, big boy.  *You* cook dinner tonight."



Jim lightly chastised himself for making the bet, considering his abysmal

record playing tennis against his wife.  Too bad he loved tennis, even when

he lost...it made for a lot of extra chores on his part.  Perhaps the way

that Janet looked in a white tennis skirt did something to cloud his judgment.



"C'mon, Janet...just two more sets!"  She rolled her eyes, and Jim conceded.

"Okay, okay!  Yes, Your Highness!"  He assumed a decidedly phony British

accent and continued, "I will cook the Royal Dinner tonight.  Does Her Majesty

require anything else from her unworthy servant?"  He bowed with a flourish.



"Hmmm..." she mused, eyes sparkling.  "How 'bout a kiss?"  She edged forward

half a step.



Jim stood back up and leaned towards her, smiling as he planted a gentle

kiss on her lips.  "You're adorable, you know that?"



"Why, thank you.  And you're a much better kisser than you are a tennis

player."



Jim tried to swat her bottom with his racket.  He missed.



--------------------------------------------------------------------------



After playing frisbee and tennis for most of the afternoon, Jim cooked up a

tasty stir-fry, which he served with a bottle of white zinfandel, and Janet

was well-pleased.  They decided to call it an early evening and went to sleep,

having allowed their feelings of horniness to be displaced temporarily by

feelings of fatigue.



Overnight, the temperature dropped from warm-and-pleasant to

goose-pimple-cold, an occurrence for which they were ill-prepared, having

left the bedroom windows open.  There was just a single sheet covering the

two of them, and in their respective dreams, their king-sized bed became a

stretch of frozen tundra, complete with arctic winds cutting across the

expanse.



At first, they affectionately huddled together for warmth, but this soon

degenerated, as the cold slowly pulled them awake, into a nasty little

tug-of-war, with the prize being a larger-than-fair portion of the

cotton/polyester sheet.  Having always been better at playing such games,

Janet curled herself into a fetal position, clutched a double-handful of

sheet to her chest, and gave a little, twisting *tug*.  Pretty as you

please, the last yard of sheet jumped away from Jim and settled neatly on

Janet, leaving Jim's butt exposed to the elements.  His eyes flew open just

as a breeze blew up his backside.  "Hey!  I'm freezing!  Gimme some back."



Janet purred a contented, sleepy little dismissal, "Jim, if you're cold,

just get up and take a blanket out of the closet."  Jim was ready to hoist

himself out of bed when he realized that he'd just been snookered (and not

for the first time!) into getting a blanket while Janet stayed in bed.  His

darling wife had suddenly been transformed, in his eyes, into an Evil

Manipulator, and he decided to stand up for All Men, everywhere.



"If you want a blanket, Janet, *you* get it.  Now give me some sheet!", and

he proceeded to haul at the sheet like he was pulling in the main sail.



With more than half-serious indignation, Janet growled "You jerk!  Pick on

someone your own size!" and she did that little clutching move again, which

rolled Jim over and recovered half of what he'd hauled away from her.



"Can't...there's no one else here." smirked Jim, and he pressed his (now

frozen) toes up against her warm, heart-shaped bottom.  She squeaked out a

surprised little "Yelp!" and jumped away from him, letting go of the sheet.



"Aha!!"  Jim grabbed the edge of the sheet and rolled back towards his side

of the bed.  "Loser!" he cried and, gripping the sheet tightly, he rolled

over and away from Janet, spooling the entire sheet around himself.  "*You*

can get the blanket for a change!"  He rolled clear to the other side

of the bed, and was quite pleased with himself, since he didn't get to

outsmart his wife very often.



He had about half-a-heartbeat to gloat, and then Janet jumped on top of him,

glowering down with a frighteningly predatory look.  "You know, Jim,

I'll never understand how a man as smart as you can consistently get himself

into such *dumb* predicaments!"  But Jim wasn't worried...all those

workouts came in handy when he was wrestling his wife.  Janet was no pushover,

but she never could out-wrestle him in a fair fight.



He tried boosting himself up with his arms...and he collapsed backwards!

At once, he realized that he'd mummified himself inside the sheet.  He thought

hurriedly....king-sized sheet...must be eight or nine layers of cloth...his

hands stuck by his hips, tangled up more than the rest of him...Janet sitting

on his stomach with her knees on either side of his chest, using those

cyclist's legs of hers to squeeze his arms against his sides.  Oh, I'm meat,

he thought, I'm hamburger fucking helper.



Janet was smiling down at him evilly.  "You've got such an *endearing* look

on your face, honey!"  And then her expression changed to one of

mock concern: "Have you got enough sheet now?"



"Okay, heh, yeah, Janet...you got me, yep, that was pretty good...I'll go

get the blanket..."



"Oh, Jim, what's your hurry, you're not still cold are you?  *I'm* the one

who should be cold!"  Reaching her arms behind her, she stretched her

bare torso backwards and turned from side to side, the silhouette of her

nipples sharply visible against the light from the bedroom window.  He

became acutely aware that he had a hard on, and he squirmed as it strained,

like the rest of him, against the sheet.  Janet brought her hands back down

and ran them smoothly over her breasts.  With a sudden surge of frustrated

horniness, Jim bucked frantically and nearly threw his wife off him.



Janet regained her balance and looked furious that Jim had the audacity to

try taking advantage of her posing for him.  She shifted her legs lower

down Jim's body and fell forward onto him, hard, knocking the air out of

him, and assumed a decidedly female-superior position.  Now, it was Janet's

turn to look surprised, as she felt Jim's erection pressing against her.



For a second, Jim thought that she might let him loose so they could go at

it...but Janet's expression shifted again, and became particularly merciless.

"Poor baby!" she cooed, "there's something you want really bad, isn't there?"

Wrapping her arms and legs tightly around Jim, she brought her face close

and started giving him soft kisses on his cheeks, his temples, his forehead.

A small moan of pleasure came from him, and he closed his eyes.  She kissed

his eyelids, and brought her mouth down to meet his.  His tongue reached for

her, and with no teasing Janet kissed him long and deeply.



"Oh, Janet, I want you...please let me go."



She gazed at him tenderly, and said "I want you too, really bad, but some

things are worth waiting for.  Besides, I *know* you...you'll enjoy it more

if I tease you senseless first."



"But you've already teased me senseless!" and, at this new development, he

started struggling in earnest.  But poised as she was, he could barely get

enough leverage to rock back and forth...rolling her away was utterly

impossible.  He strained fruitlessly for long seconds, and fell back

exhausted.



"You call *this* teasing?" she chided, her face inches from his.  "Darling,

I haven't even *started* teasing you!" and she placed her hands on both

sides of his face, keeping his head immobile.  She brushed several feathery

kisses against his lips and, as he strained for more, she unceremoniously

licked his nose.



"*Bleck*!!  Why, you bitch!!  Gaaa!!!! I hate that!"



"Oh, so I'm a bitch?  Well, what else am I supposed to do to you?" she asked

innocently, while she wiped the saliva off his nose.



"I don't care...anything but that!  That felt horrible!"



"But, Jim, I can only torture your face...the rest of you has gone

undercover."  She paused, smiling at her pun. "Except...except for...hmm..."

Like a dervish, she jumped back and landed her bum on his stomach, then

bounced off him and rolled him over another half turn, so that he was face

down.  Next, she grabbed onto the sheets wrapped around Jim's ankles and pulled

herself around.  Jim's first reaction (after "oof!") was that she was going to

try smacking his bottom, and he tried getting his hands back to ward off the

blows.  A split second later, Janet was coming back down on top of him,

making a "Hiiee-yA!" noise very much like Miss Piggy.  He laughed in spite

of his predicament, and flattened himself so that the mattress would absorb

the blow.  To his surprise, Janet merely settled gently on top of him.

"You're learning, boy!  What's that saying about old dogs and new tricks?"



Jim was now face down, with his arms behind his back, hands pinned against

his own butt, thanks to his thrashing around.  Janet was lying face down

on him, with her head by his feet, and her thighs were again clamped around

his chest.  Her arms were hugging his legs tightly, while her right hand

fumbled at the cloth by his ankles.  Suddenly, he felt cold air, as Janet

peeled back enough of the sheets so that his right foot was free.  He tried to

kick, but his knees were still wrapped tightly together.  Besides, what little

maneuvering room his ankles had disappeared as Janet grabbed up the excess

sheet and wound it around his shins.  His left foot was still bound in

cloth, but his right foot was totally exposed.



"So, is this the naughty foot that stuck it's cold toes up my butt, hmmm?"



Jim started to babble, "No no it was the other one I swear it wasn't that

one no..."



"I don't know, Jim, these toes feel *awfully* cold." she said, as she ran

the tip of her index finger along the base of Jim's toes.  "So were *you*

the coldest toe?  Or was it *you*?" she asked, punctuating each query with a

little squeeze of each toe.



"(*giggle*) It wasn't any of them! (*snort*)  Oh, God, please..."  The

gentle, almost loving touches underneath his toes made his foot twitch

spasmodically, and Jim became frantic at the prospect that Janet was going

to tickle him into hysteria.  He didn't plead yet, though...he clung

desperately to the ludicrous hope that, if he didn't beg her not to tickle

him, then Janet wouldn't think of doing it.



"Oh, so I'm going to have to conduct an Inquisition, is that it?  Well,

since you like picking on people smaller than you," she said snidely, "I'll

start with the littlest toe first...have you done anything that deserves

punishment, hmmm?"  And she started running her fingertips very lightly down

the toe, along the outside edge of the foot, and then back up again.



Jim's initial, stifled laughs gave way to a steady stream of giggles, like

water falling.  "No honest I-swear-to-god I haven't!" he gasped.



"You know, you've got a beautiful giggle, Jim, even if that wonderful

baritone voice of yours sounds more like a schoolgirl's now!  It's too bad I

don't hear you giggle more often.  So, how about Toe Number Two?  Do *you*

have any confessions to make?"  She started tracing her maddening fingertips

in a straight line along the second toe, up and down across the sole of

Jim's foot.  That tickled *much* worse than the edge of his foot did, and

Jim dropped all pretense of not begging.



"Please Janet plee-hee-hee-heeze (*gasp*), don't tickle me-he-hee-HA! HA! oh

God (*giggle*) it's-sss-it's(*sputter*) HA HA not fair hah HAH!!"



"Oh, and I suppose that what you did to me last week on the couch was fair,

right?  Remember, you brute?"  Yeah, he remembered...they were smootching,

and Jim started kissing Janet's neck, which prompted a ticklish little squeal

on her part.  When he heard her laugh, Jim couldn't resist taking advantage

of her.  "You tickled my neck, and then you pinned my arms over my head and

started nuzzling me under my arms until I nearly wet myself?  Do you remember

that, hmmm?"  She shifted over to the third toe, so that her fingertips were

sliding up and down the very center of his foot, taking little digressions to

follow the curves along the arch and heel.



Jim was out-and-out laughing now, and gasping for breath.  He'd always been

a tickle fiend, but that was when *he* was doing the tickling.  The only

time he'd gotten it back badly was when he was was twelve years old, and

staying with relatives before a wedding.  His cousin Karen (how old was she

then...fifteen?) caught him peeking when she was trying on her bridesmaid's

outfit.  He ran, but she caught him in about three strides and pinned him

down.  While she said "I'll bet you thought that was funny, huh?" over and

over, she proceeded to slowly and methodically tickle him half to death.  He

didn't even remember her stopping...just him catching his breath afterwards.

That was twenty years ago, and he wasn't sure if he could stand it if it

happened again.  He managed to blurt out

"Yes-I-did-it-I-did-it-I'm-sorry-oh-God" in one breath.



"Finally, a confession!  Very well!"  She stopped her tickling, and drew

herself up haughtily.  "It's the judgement of this court that, given your

offense, the punishment should fit the crime.  You are hereby sentenced

to the poetic justice of being tickled on the bottom of your right foot

until you go completely insane, said sentence to be carried out immediately.

Does the condemned care to make a final statement?"  Red faced, sweating, and

panting, Jim gasped in a breath and opened his mouth to reply when Janet

chirped "Time's up!" and began very lightly and rapidly dragging the

fingertips of both hands over the sole of Jim's foot.  She alternated left

and right hands, using all of her fingers and touching very lightly, scraping

as gently and as rapidly as she could.



If Jim thought that he'd ever been tickled before, he was wrong.  His voice

jumped from hyperactive giggles to full-bodied guffaws and back again as his

tortured nerves tried desperately to reach some sort of equilibrium, but

Janet was a cruel, relentless, and very talented tickler, and she altered

her touch just enough to keep Jim from adapting to the torment.  He felt

electric currents searing across his feet, racing up the backs of his legs

to his groin, and shooting out along his spinal cord.  He howled...he

shrieked...he positively *screamed* with forced laughter, while his body

thrashed like a wild animal.  "Kootchie, kootchie!" tormented Janet.

"You know, I've always *dreamed* of getting you into a position like

this...helpless and begging.  And you beg *so* well!  Kootchie, kootchie,

koo!  Tickle toes!"  She dug into the sensitive skin under Jim's toes, and a

spasm of howling laughter shook his entire body.  "Tickle here!" she teased,

as she frantically scratched at his arch.  "Tickle there!" as she moved her

fingers to the ball of his foot.  "Tickle tickle tickle!!" she teased,

ruthlessly, mercilessly, while Jim gasped, and squealed, and screamed, and

prayed...to whatever god feels sorry for people being tickled beyond human

endurance...that she'd stop.



Then Jim's sense of time disappeared.  He was in the Hell of Eternal Tickling.



--------------------------------------------------------------------------



"Jim!! JIM!!! Are you okay???"  He realized that his wife was shouting at his

face while he was still being tickled senseless...no wait, he was still

laughing, but he could see her hands and neither one was tickling him.

Janet was staring straight at him, and looked scared witless.  He started to

get a grip on himself, and then he realized...he could still *feel* it, and

he collapsed laughing once more.



"I'm okay...oh God...HA!!!"



The look of concern partially drained away from Janet's face.  "Um...I was

actually going to commute your sentence to ten minutes of oral sex, but

when I stopped tickling, you just kept *laughing*.  I was ready to

call the paramedics!"  Her eyes got wide again, and she tried loosening the

sheet from around her husband.  "Are you *sure* you're alright?"



Jim tried to sit up and blurted out, "Ten minutes of head?  How can I give

you head...(*gasp*)...when I can't even breathe??"  He collapsed backwards,

roaring with laughter, like this was the funniest joke in the world.



"Jesus...let me get you out of this...sit up."  The windings had loosened a

bit, and with effort (in no way helped by her husband's continuing

hysteria), she finally worked Jim's arms free and peeled the sweat-soaked

sheet away from his chest.  "I've got to close the windows...you'll catch

pneumonia."  She let go of Jim to tend to the windows and, like a rag doll,

Jim flopped back onto the bed.  Once the windows were closed, Janet returned

to Jim and continued the task of freeing him, trying to tug the sheet

past his hips.



"Ow!  Watch it!"  Jim opened his eyes wide, and looked coherent for the

first time.  He scooted around on the bed, and wiggled his hips while he

carefully worked the sheets past an...um...obstruction.



"Oh my!" gasped Janet, eyes riveted at his crotch, "Ahhh...maybe you won't

have to give me head after all!"



He glanced down at himself and smiled.  "Geez...I guess not." he declared.

His breathing was returning to normal, and he gazed at Janet, hungrily.

Grinning, he got up off the bed and walked, slowly but steadily, to where

Janet was standing, then started backing his wife slowly towards the bed.



"But this time," he said, pausing while he backed Janet down onto the bed

and lowered himself on top of her, "*I* get to be on top."



--