Wife Tied Up and Tickled by Her Friends

The suite smelled like warm vanilla and the lemon polish on the four-poster. Danielle stepped out of her heels at the door and felt the hush of the thick carpet under her bare feet, the city a soft smear of light beyond the curtains. She was twenty-eight as of that morning, still in the pale silk dress Bertrand had zipped her into before dinner, and she had spent the whole meal trying not to smile too wide at what she already knew was waiting upstairs.

They were all there when she turned.

Bertrand stood at the foot of the bed in his shirtsleeves, thirty and broad through the shoulders, watching her the way he always did when he was about to be careful and filthy at once. Cassidy lounged against a carved post in a short black slip, twenty-seven, red hair loose, one ankle crossed over the other like she had all night. Alastair sat on the edge of the mattress, twenty-nine, sleeves rolled, a coil of ivory silk rope in his hands and a grin he was not bothering to hide.

“Happy birthday,” Cassidy said.

Danielle’s pulse kicked. “You really did it.”

“You asked,” Bertrand said. His voice was low. “Still yes?”

“Still yes.” She lifted her arms. “Please.”

They undressed her without hurry. Cassidy worked the zipper down her spine and kissed the place it left bare. Alastair knelt and eased her panties down her legs, palms warm on her calves, and Bertrand drew the dress off her shoulders until the silk pooled at her feet and she stood naked between them, skin already tight with wanting. The air of the suite licked over her nipples. She shivered and did not cover herself.

“On the bed,” Alastair said.

She climbed up and lay back on the cool sheets. The posts rose around her. Soft silk found her right wrist first, Bertrand’s knot neat and loose enough that she could curl her fingers, tight enough that she could not pull free. Cassidy took the left, her fingers light, her mouth brushing Danielle’s pulse as she tied it. Alastair spread her ankles toward the lower posts, silk whispering against her skin, and when the last knot settled she was open, stretched, completely unable to close her legs or hide her breasts or do anything but feel.

She tested the ropes once. They held. A helpless little laugh broke out of her.

“Oh my God.”

“Feathers,” Cassidy said, and produced two from the nightstand, long and gray-white.

The first stroke drifted across Danielle’s collarbone. She jerked. Bertrand’s fingertips followed, tracing the underside of one breast, not quite tickling yet, just promising. Alastair drew a feather down the inside of her arm and she yelped, hips twitching, the sound turning into a giggle she could not swallow.

“Sensitive already,” he murmured.

“She’s been thinking about this since she asked us,” Bertrand said. He dragged the feather in a slow circle around her nipple and watched it peak. “Haven’t you.”

“Yes.” Her voice came out thin. “Don’t stop.”

They didn’t. Feathers and fingertips mapped her: the hollow of her throat, the soft skin under her breasts, the flare of her ribs, the trembling plane of her stomach. Every pass made her squirm against the silk. Her nipples stood stiff and dark. Between her spread thighs she could feel herself getting wet, a slick heat she could not close her legs around, and the knowledge that all three of them could see it made her cheeks burn and her cunt clench.

Cassidy leaned in and blew across one nipple. Danielle gasped and laughed at the same time.

“Birthday girl,” Cassidy said. “You look perfect like this.”

Bertrand’s hand settled on her hip, steadying her. “We’re going to tickle you until you can’t think. Then we’re going to use you exactly the way you begged for. You can say stop whenever you want. Otherwise we don’t stop.”

“I won’t say stop,” Danielle whispered. She pulled at the ropes just to feel them bite softly and failed to free even an inch. Her nipples ached. “Do it.”

They started at her underarms.

Alastair’s fingers skittered into the soft hollow and Danielle’s whole body arched off the mattress. Laughter tore out of her, bright and helpless, and she thrashed against the silk until the posts creaked. Cassidy took the other side, nails light, relentless, and Bertrand dragged a feather along the ladder of her ribs until she was sobbing giggles, head tossing, breasts shaking.

“Please—oh God—Bertrand—”

“Please stop, or please don’t?” he asked, and the feather dipped lower, tracing the crease where her thigh met her hip.

“Don’t—ah—don’t stop, you bastard—”

They rotated without speaking. Soles next. Cassidy sat at the foot of the bed and scratched lightly across the arch of Danielle’s left foot while Alastair worked the right, and Danielle howled with laughter, toes curling, calves straining against the ropes. Every jerk of her legs only opened her wider. Bertrand stayed at her side and let his fingertips wander her inner thighs, not quite touching her cunt, close enough that she could feel the heat of his hand.

The laughter started to change. Between bursts she heard herself moan.

“There,” Cassidy said, delighted. “She’s tipping.”

Alastair’s fingers left her sole and walked up her calf, her knee, the tender inside of her thigh. He stopped just short of her pussy and stroked the slick skin beside it, feather-light, until she was shaking for a different reason. Cassidy switched to her ribs again, merciless little scratches that made Danielle buck and laugh and then gasp when Bertrand finally slid two fingers through her folds.

She was soaked. The sound of it was obscene in the quiet suite.

“Listen to her,” Bertrand said. He circled her clit once, slow, and she cried out, laughter breaking into a high, needy sound. “All that squirming and she’s dripping on the sheets.”

“Because you’re—fuck—because you’re tickling me and touching me and I can’t—” She yanked at her wrists. The silk held. “I can’t get away from any of it.”

Cassidy crawled up beside her and pinched a nipple, then soothed it with the feather until Danielle was writhing, caught between giggle and groan. Alastair’s mouth brushed her inner thigh, not a kiss so much as a tease, breath hot, and his fingers joined Bertrand’s for a moment, spreading her open so the cool air hit her.

Danielle’s head fell back. Her cunt pulsed around nothing. She could see Bertrand hard in his pants, the ridge of him obvious. Alastair’s cock strained against his zipper. Cassidy’s nipples showed dark through the thin slip, and when she shifted, Danielle caught the shine of wetness on her thigh.

“Please,” Danielle said. The word came out wrecked. “Please use me. I’m tied up, I can’t do anything, I want all of you. Fuck my mouth. Fuck my pussy. Sit on my face. Tickle me while you do it. I want to come like this. I want to be ruined like this. Please.”

Bertrand’s eyes went dark. “That’s our girl.”

He stood and opened his pants. His cock sprang free, thick and flushed, and he climbed onto the bed beside her head, one hand gentle in her hair.

“Open.”

She opened. He slid into her mouth in one slow push, the weight of him heavy on her tongue, and she moaned around him as Alastair stripped and knelt between her spread thighs. The first stroke of Alastair’s cock along her slit made her jerk. He rubbed the head through her wetness, teasing her entrance, while Cassidy shed the slip and swung a leg over Danielle’s chest, then higher, until her cunt hovered just above Danielle’s mouth—no, Bertrand was already there. Cassidy laughed, breathless, and shifted to straddle Danielle’s face from the side for a moment, then waited, fingers already trailing over Danielle’s ribs in a tickling threat.

“Rotate,” Cassidy said. “She asked for all of it.”

Bertrand pulled out of her mouth with a wet sound, stroking himself, and nodded at Cassidy. “Take her mouth. I’ll get her tits. Alastair, don’t you dare be gentle.”

Cassidy settled over Danielle’s face, knees planted in the pillows, and lowered her slick pussy onto Danielle’s tongue. The taste of her flooded Danielle’s mouth, salt and heat, and Danielle licked up into her with a desperate sound as Alastair drove into her cunt in one long thrust.

She came almost at once.

The orgasm hit while she was laughing into Cassidy’s pussy because Bertrand had both hands on her breasts, fingers spidering over the sensitive undersides and then pinching her nipples, and Alastair was fucking her deep, the slap of his hips loud, his thumbs digging into the soft skin just above her hip bones in little tickling circles that made her thrash. She couldn’t close her legs. She couldn’t push anyone off. She could only take it, tongue working Cassidy’s clit, cunt clenching hard around Alastair’s cock, laughter and moans muffled against wet flesh.

“That’s it,” Alastair groaned. “Fuck, she’s squeezing me. She’s coming already.”

“Keep tickling her,” Cassidy gasped, grinding down. “She gets wetter when she can’t stop laughing.”

Bertrand’s fingers danced over Danielle’s ribs and the sides of her breasts. She bucked, sobbing a laugh into Cassidy’s cunt, and the movement drove Alastair deeper. A second wave built before the first had finished. Her toes curled. Silk bit sweetly at her ankles.

They switched when Cassidy came, shuddering, flooding Danielle’s mouth. Cassidy slid off, flushed and grinning, and grabbed a feather. Bertrand took her place, feeding his cock back between Danielle’s lips, and Alastair kept fucking her, slower now, grinding, while Cassidy tickled the soles of Danielle’s feet with merciless little strokes of the feather.

Danielle screamed around Bertrand’s cock. The vibration made him curse. Her hips jerked, trying to escape the feather and chase Alastair’s thrusts at the same time, and she couldn’t do either. Tears of laughter streaked her temples. Her pussy gushed around Alastair, a wet squelch with every stroke.

“Switch,” Bertrand said, voice rough. He pulled out, strings of spit shining on his cock. “I want her cunt. Alastair, her mouth. Cassidy, sit on her again when you’re ready, and somebody keep on her feet.”

They moved her only as much as the ropes allowed, which was almost not at all. Alastair knelt by her head and slid into her mouth, gentler than Bertrand, letting her suck him while she caught her breath in shaky laughs. Bertrand pushed into her soaked pussy and groaned at the heat of her. He fucked her in long, deep strokes, one hand pinning her hip, the other tickling up her side until she was writhing on his cock, laughter breaking into cries every time he bottomed out.

Cassidy crawled between them and lowered herself onto Danielle’s mouth again, facing Bertrand this time, and reached down to scratch lightly at Danielle’s breasts while Bertrand fucked her. Alastair’s hand found Danielle’s left foot and tickled the arch without mercy.

It was too much. It was exactly what she had wanted.

Danielle came again, harder, a broken wail muffled by Cassidy’s pussy. Her cunt spasmed around Bertrand, milking him, and a hot rush of fluid soaked his cock and the sheets beneath her. She squirted, helpless, hips jumping, and Bertrand swore and fucked her through it, the wet sounds filthy, while Cassidy rocked on her tongue and moaned her name.

“Again,” Cassidy panted. “She’s not done. Look at her. She’s laughing and coming at the same time. Don’t stop tickling her feet.”

Alastair obliged. Danielle’s legs shook in the ropes. Bertrand pulled out just long enough for Alastair to trade places with him, and then Alastair was back inside her, pounding, and Bertrand was in her mouth, and Cassidy had slipped off to kneel at her side and use both hands on her ribs and the soft skin under her arms, tickling without pause.

Danielle shattered.

Orgasm after orgasm rolled through her until she couldn’t tell where one ended. She squirted again when Alastair ground against her clit, a hot splash that made him groan and fuck her faster. Bertrand came down her throat with a rough shout, holding her hair, and she swallowed what she could, the rest spilling from the corner of her mouth. Cassidy leaned in and licked it away, then kissed her, messy and sweet, while Alastair kept thrusting.

“Inside?” Alastair asked, strained.

Danielle pulled her mouth free of the kiss long enough to gasp, “Yes. Yes, come in me, all of you can, I want it, don’t stop tickling—”

He buried himself and came, pulsing deep, and the feeling of it tipped her into another sobbing peak. Cassidy’s fingers never left her sides. Danielle laughed through the orgasm until she was hoarse, tears on her cheeks, cunt fluttering around Alastair’s spent cock, body a wreck of pleasure and helpless giggles.

They gave her a minute. Only a minute. Then they rotated again—Cassidy’s fingers in her pussy, curling, Bertrand’s mouth on her clit, Alastair tickling her breasts and the soles of her feet in turn—until she squirted a third time, crying their names, silk ropes creaking, completely used and completely wanted.

When the last aftershock faded into twitching laughter, Bertrand reached for the knots.

“Enough of the ropes,” he said, voice tender under the roughness. “Come here. All of us. One more, and then we hold you.”

They untied her carefully, rubbing her wrists and ankles, kissing the faint pink marks. Danielle’s limbs felt loose and electric. They gathered her into the center of the huge bed, no silk now, just hands. Bertrand slid back into her from behind, slow, spooning her, his cock slick with her and Alastair’s come. Cassidy lay in front of her and rubbed her clit in steady circles, kissing her mouth. Alastair stretched along her front-side and sucked her nipples, one then the other, his free hand stroking her stomach, her thigh, the flushed skin of her hip, no longer tickling so much as worshipping.

They moved together. Bertrand’s thrusts were deep and unhurried. Cassidy’s fingers were perfect. Alastair’s mouth was hot. Danielle came one last time with all three of them on her, a long, rolling orgasm that made her clutch Cassidy’s shoulder and push back onto Bertrand and cry out into the kiss, shaking, full, adored.

Bertrand followed her over the edge with a groan against her neck, spilling inside her again. They stayed locked together while the tremors eased.

Afterward they cleaned her with warm cloths and pulled the ruined top sheet away, then piled back onto the bed in a tangle of bare limbs. Danielle lay on her back between them, skin flushed pink from collar to thighs, hair a mess, smile stupid and bright. Cassidy traced idle shapes on her stomach. Alastair kissed her shoulder. Bertrand’s hand rested over her heart, feeling it slow.

“Best birthday,” Danielle said, voice scratchy from laughing and moaning. “You tied me up and tickled me until I begged, and then you wrecked me. I loved every second.”

“We loved giving it to you,” Cassidy murmured. “You looked so pretty when you couldn’t get away.”

“You asked for exactly this,” Bertrand said against her hair. “Bondage. Tickling. All of us. We were happy to.”

Alastair’s fingers drew a line down her arm, gentle now. “Already thinking about next time?”

Danielle’s eyes stayed closed, but her mouth curved, and inside her chest something bright and scheming unfurled. She could already see it: the same suite, or maybe the cabin they rented in the spring, her on her stomach this time with her wrists tied to her ankles, feathers on the backs of her knees while Bertrand took her from behind and Cassidy sat on her face and Alastair held her feet. She would ask them next week. She would make them promise not to stop until she squirted twice. She would pick the ropes herself.

“Next month,” she said, already planning the knots. “My turn to choose the hotel. And this time I want my feet tied up over my head so none of you can reach them unless you’re also fucking me. Start saving your weekends.”

Cassidy laughed into her neck. Bertrand’s hand tightened, pleased. Alastair kissed the corner of her smile.

“Consider them saved,” he said.

Danielle nestled deeper into the three of them, sore and glowing, and let the plan settle warm behind her ribs while the city lights moved slowly across the ceiling.