Library Tickling Torment: Submission and Overstimulation

The side door of the university library gave under Rosa’s shoulder the way it always had, a tired latch and a rush of warm recycled air against the January dark. Noelle, twenty, slipped in behind her with snow still melting on her boots, coat buttoned to her throat. Rosa was twenty-one, home from college for winter break the same week as her girlfriend, and she moved through the stacks like the dark already belonged to her. Emergency lights laid thin amber bars across the carpet. A heating vent ticked. Paper dust and old glue sweetened the dark. They had come for a private make-out, mouths and hands and nothing louder, the stupid hungry thing they did when the apartment was too crowded and the campus was a ghost town of closed doors.

Outside, snow hissed against the high windows, and the library held its breath around them.

Rosa backed Noelle into the history aisle until a shelf dug between her shoulder blades. “Quiet,” she murmured, and kissed her anyway, deep and unhurried, one palm flat on Noelle’s stomach under the open coat. Noelle made a small sound into the kiss and arched for more. Rosa’s other hand slid up her side, a tease meant only to pull her closer, and Noelle came apart.

A yelp tore out of her, bright and helpless. Her whole body jackknifed off the fingers. Rosa went still, then did it again, lighter, two nails skating the ridge of ribs through the sweater. Noelle’s knees buckled. Laughter ripped up in panicked bursts she could not swallow, and she caught Rosa’s wrist with no real strength at all.

“Rosa. God. Don’t.”

Rosa’s mouth curved. The sadistic streak she usually kept folded small inside soft dates woke all at once, starving. “You’re ticklish.”

“I’m dying. I can’t.” Noelle was already giggling again, eyes wet, hips twitching, and the sound was not only distress. Heat had flooded her panties the second she was pinned. She wanted the kiss back. She wanted that mean little smile more.

Rosa touched her underarm through the sweater, a quick cruel flutter, and Noelle shrieked and folded, boots skidding, laughter breaking into hiccups. The desperate squirming did something ugly and perfect to Rosa’s pulse. She wanted to take her apart in this aisle. She wanted the laugh ruined into begging. She wanted Noelle saying yes with her whole shaking body.

She caught Noelle’s chin. “Color check before I get mean. Red and I stop. Yellow and I give you air. Anything else, I keep going until you can’t stand up. Say it back.”

“Red stops. Yellow breathes.” Noelle’s voice shook with leftover giggles, cheeks blazing. “Please don’t stop yet. I want you like this.”

Rosa’s eyes went dark. She pinned both wrists above Noelle’s head against the shelf and walked her fingers, slow and vicious, along the soft seam of her side. Noelle bucked and laughed and went wetter, and the sound of it lit Rosa up from the spine out. She was going to dominate her. Completely.

Rosa did not let her go. She dragged Noelle’s coat off her shoulders and yanked the sweater up to her collarbones, baring warm stomach and the pale undersides of her arms. Cold air hit sweat-damp skin. Noelle tried to twist away and only offered more of herself. Rosa pinned the wrists higher with one forearm and set to work. Her knee kept Noelle from folding in half, and that trap made every touch worse, meaner, impossible to escape.

Ribs first. Not a poke. A relentless scratch of nails along each line, back and forth, until Noelle’s laughter went high and animal and her boots drummed the carpet. Her stomach hurt from laughing. Sweat cooled on her ribs every time the vent kicked on. She begged in broken pieces. Rosa ignored every word that was not red. She walked her fingers into one underarm, then the other, fluttering, scratching, digging in until the muscles seized.

“Rosa, please, I can’t breathe.”

“You can.” Rosa’s voice had gone low and pleased, the closet dom finally out and greedy. “Louder.”

She spun Noelle, bent her over a low returns cart, and caught both wrists behind her back. Off came the boots and thick socks. The first fingernail down a bare arch tore a scream of laughter out of her. Rosa tickled both soles in cruel little scribbles, the tender center, the place under the toes, until Noelle’s legs kicked uselessly and tears ran into her hair. Her cunt throbbed, soaked and ignored, and the helplessness made her hotter.

Rosa dragged her onto the carpet, straddled her hips, and bound her wrists to a shelf upright with Noelle’s own scarf. “Still green?”

“Green,” Noelle gasped. “Green, fuck, green.”

“Hold still. You won’t.”

Inner thighs next. Rosa shoved the jeans to Noelle’s knees and found the soft skin high on each leg, beside the crotch of her panties. She scratched. She spidered. She pinched and released and scratched again, never quite on the wet cotton, always close enough that Noelle’s hips jerked toward the fingers and away in the same frantic second. Laughter collapsed into sobs. She thrashed until the scarf creaked. Her bladder, tight from the cold walk and from laughing until her belly cramped, gave a warning clench.

“Rosa, I’m gonna pee. I can’t hold it.”

“Red, or keep going?”

“Keep going.” The word broke on a laugh. “Green. I don’t care. Don’t stop.”

Rosa’s smile was all teeth. She doubled down, ribs and inner thighs at once, merciless and rhythmic, and breathed against Noelle’s ear. “Then wet for me. Lose it. I want to see my girl give it up.”

The tickling would not stop. Soles, ribs, underarms, a circuit with no gap long enough to recover. Pressure crested. Heat flooded down. Noelle soaked her panties in a hot helpless gush that spilled over the cotton, down her ass, onto the carpet between her shaking thighs, and the sound she made was half wail and half broken laugh. The carpet darkened under her in a spreading patch, and Rosa watched it like a prize.

Shame burned. Arousal burned hotter. She could have said red. She did not. She lay in the puddle and shook, resistance coming apart under Rosa’s hands like wet paper.

“Say it,” Rosa ordered, still tickling, awful little strokes over the soaked thighs that jerked aftershocks of laughter through her. “Say you’re my sub. Say you’re my play toy. Say I can do this whenever I want.”

“I’m yours,” Noelle gasped, voice shredded, piss-warm and humiliated and so turned on she could barely see. “I’m your sub. I’m your play toy. Please keep me. I’ll be good. I’ll be your toy. Rosa, I’m yours.”

Rosa’s cunt clenched at the surrender. She did not stop the fingers. “Mine. My willing little play toy. Now we start the real part.”

Rosa stripped the soaked panties down and left them tangled at Noelle’s knees with the jeans, the wet fabric cold against her calves. She shoved the sweater higher and yanked the bra up so both breasts spilled out, nipples already tight from cold and from the wreck of laughing. Then she settled between Noelle’s spread thighs on the carpet, one hand splayed on a rib cage that still jumped at every touch, and she smiled down at the mess she had made.

“You don’t come until I say,” she said. “If you get close, you tell me. If you come without permission, I start over and I don’t let you finish until the lights come on. Nod if you understand, play toy.”

Noelle nodded, frantic, wrists flexing in the scarf. “Yes. Yes, Rosa. Please touch me.”

Rosa did not touch her cunt yet. She drew one fingernail in a feather-light circle around a nipple, not quite on it, again and again, until Noelle’s back bowed off the carpet and a thin whine leaked out of her. The other hand drifted over the lower belly, tickling so lightly it was almost nothing, then skated the crease of the thigh, then the soft skin just above the clit without landing. Noelle’s hips chased. Rosa pulled away every time.

“Stay.”

She alternated. Nipple, then the other, tiny scratching flicks that made Noelle gasp and laugh at once because she was still miserably ticklish. Then inner thigh. Then the sole of one foot she dragged up and trapped against her own hip, drawing idle shapes on the arch while her free fingers hovered a breath above Noelle’s swollen clit. Noelle’s cunt clenched on nothing. She made a mortified sound that turned into a moan when Rosa finally brushed the lightest tickle straight over the clit.

One stroke. Two. A flutter so delicate it felt like a moth wing. Noelle’s whole body seized toward orgasm and Rosa lifted her hand.

“No.”

“Please.”

“No.”

She did it again. And again. Feather over the clit until Noelle’s thighs shook and her mouth fell open, then denial, then nipples, then the cruel little tickle under the breast and along the ribs that made her laugh and lose the edge, then back to the clit just as the laughter broke into need. Every denial dragged a fresh laugh out of her and ruined the climb on purpose. Rosa kept the circuit cruel and patient. Minutes stacked. The aisle stayed silent except for Noelle’s wrecked breathing and the soft wet sounds when Rosa allowed a single slick stroke and took it away. The stacks swallowed the sound and gave nothing back. It felt like hours. She lost every word except please and Rosa and I can’t. Her thighs shook so hard her heels knocked the shelf.

“I’m close. I’m close, fuck, Rosa, I’m right there, please let me, please.”

Rosa pinched a nipple and tickled the clit in the same heartbeat, then stopped both. Noelle wailed. Her hips fucked the air. Rosa did not give her anything but the hover of fingers.

“Beg better.”

“Please let your play toy come, please, I’ll do anything, I’ll be so good, I can’t think, I can’t, Rosa, my clit, please, it’s too much, it’s not enough, I’m gonna lose it, please.”

She was nearly incoherent, words slurring into wet sounds, eyes unfocused, tears tracking into her hair. Rosa edged her through three more almosts, each one meaner, each denial paired with a tickle somewhere that made laughter punch through the begging and ruin the climb. Underarm. Sole. The thin skin beside the clit, never quite on it. Noelle thrashed in the scarf and sobbed and laughed and begged until the sentences fell apart into fragments.

“Please. Cunt. Yours. Can’t. Let me.”

Rosa swung a leg over and settled her cunt down onto Noelle’s mouth, jeans shoved aside, panties yanked to one thigh. The weight of her silenced the begging into a muffled groan. “Eat,” she said, and ground down. “You don’t stop licking until I say. Hands stay where they are. If you get close again, you keep licking through it and you do not come.”

Noelle obeyed. Her tongue pushed up into slick heat, desperate and sloppy, licking Rosa’s cunt like it was the only thing that might earn her mercy. Rosa rolled her hips, smearing herself over Noelle’s nose and mouth and chin, and while Noelle ate she reached back and kept the torment going. Feather tickles over the clit. A scratch along one sole. A flick of nail across a nipple. Denial, denial, a single firm circle that made Noelle moan into her cunt, then nothing but air.

“That’s it. Filthy little toy. Lick my pussy while I edge you. Get your tongue on my clit. Harder.”

Noelle did. She sucked. She licked in frantic stripes. Her own cunt fluttered on the edge of coming and Rosa yanked the touch away every time, replacing it with a tickle to the ribs that made Noelle laugh into Rosa’s pussy, the vibration dragging a curse out of Rosa’s throat. Rosa rode her face and tickled her and refused her until Noelle was shaking so hard the shelf above them rattled, until the begging was only wet muffled noise against Rosa’s clit.

Rosa came first, because she decided to. She ground down and held Noelle’s head with one hand and rubbed herself on that desperate tongue until her orgasm hit sharp and mean, pulsing over Noelle’s mouth, thighs clamping, a low groan bitten off against her wrist. She stayed seated and looked down Noelle’s wrecked body.

“Now,” she said. “Come. And you don’t stop licking.”

She pressed two fingers to Noelle’s clit and rubbed, firm at last, no more feathers, and the orgasm that had been denied for what felt like hours tore through Noelle in a continuous, shattering wave. She screamed into Rosa’s cunt. Her hips bucked. The climax did not peak and fade. Rosa kept the fingers moving, steady and relentless, and Noelle came and kept coming, cunt clenching, slick gushing over Rosa’s hand, thighs spasming, the pleasure so thick it scared her. Laughter and sobs mixed in her throat. She licked because she had been told to, sloppy and shaking, while her own orgasm would not end.

Then Rosa did not stop.

The continuous orgasm broke into overstimulation so fast Noelle’s vision whited out. Every stroke on her clit was too much, sharp as the tickling had been, and Rosa layered it, nail flicking the oversensitive nub, then a feather-light torment that made her thrash, then hard circles again, then a tickle up the soaked inner thigh and back to the clit before she could breathe. Noelle’s bound hands yanked at the scarf. Her heels drummed the carpet. She sobbed into Rosa’s pussy, muffled, incoherent, pleasure stuffed so full inside her it hurt and still felt like coming, aftershock rolling into aftershock with no gap. Rosa tickled her ribs with the free hand while she rubbed, and the combination wrecked her. She thrashed. She wailed. Tears and spit and Rosa’s slick covered her face. She did not say red. She could barely say anything. Her body answered by coming again, weaker and sharper, a continuous ruined orgasm that Rosa dragged out and out until Noelle was nothing but shaking and sobbing and overstuffed pleasure under her.

Rosa finally lifted her fingers. The absence hit almost as hard as the touch had. Noelle jerked and sobbed, cunt still pulsing, mouth slack and shining in the air where Rosa’s pussy had been. Rosa climbed off slow, slick strings breaking between them, and hauled the limp, trembling body up against the shelf, not to comfort her, to keep her owned. Noelle’s legs failed. Rosa pinned her there with a thigh shoved hard against that oversensitive cunt.

“Look at you. My sub. My play toy. You pissed yourself on the library carpet because I tickled you, then you ate my pussy and came until you sobbed. That’s the deal now. Next time we sneak in after hours I tie you in the stacks and edge this desperate cunt until you soak the floor again and beg to lick me clean.”

“Yours,” Noelle rasped, grinding helplessly, ruined and flushed and still twitching. “Your play toy. Please.”

Rosa caught her jaw, smeared the mix of spit and slick across her lips, and made her lick it off her fingers one by one while Noelle shook and dripped onto the carpet. The domme-sub thing between them sat ugly and perfect in the quiet stacks, both of them flushed, Noelle’s thighs still shining. Rosa laughed, mean and satisfied, and dragged Noelle’s face back down between her thighs, cunt wet and waiting, fist tight in her hair.

“Now lick my cunt, play toy, and don’t you dare stop until I come all over your piss-wet, ruined face.”