You already know what happens when I reach for the feathers.
Your breath catches before they even touch you.
But tonight, I’m not letting you move.
Your wrists are bound, your body stretched open — every inch of you offered up, helpless, waiting. The glossy black bondage table beneath you reflects your own trembling, a reminder that there’s no escape, no control, no hiding.
I start softly. The first touch is barely there — a flutter down your chest, a teasing brush along your sides. You try to twist away, but the restraints keep you perfectly still. Every laugh…every squirm ignites My sadistic fire.
It’s delicious, isn’t it? That helpless laughter that turns into trembling gasps. The way tickling becomes torment when you can’t move, when you can’t beg Me to stop. When all you can do is feel.
Feathers are such liars — delicate, innocent, playful. Yet in My hands they become something else entirely. They strip away your defenses until you’re nothing but breathless, exposed, undone.
I love that moment when your laughter breaks into silence — when it’s no longer funny, just overwhelming. That’s when I lean close, whispering that you belong to Me. That even soft things can own you.
And I let the feathers remind you… submission doesn’t always scream.
Sometimes, it laughs.
Check out one of My tickling videos on My fan site: https://tinylf.com/bsal1z1DpH
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