Archive-name: Bondage/blankwar.txt

Archive-author: Joe Mattis

Archive-title: Blanket Wars, The





> Ob-bondage:  I imagined that I'd write a little bondage vignette to go here,

> possibly called "The Blanket Wars", or perhaps "Fun Things to Do with a

> Bedsheet", but the damn thing had a life of its own and grew to about 14000

> words...geez...so I'll make a separate post of it.



Comments are welcome.  Thanks!



******************



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

tasty stir-fry (enjoyed over a bottle of white zinfandel) for dinner, Jim

and Janet 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, with a single sheet covering the two of them.

In their respective dreams, their king-sized bed became a stretch of frozen

tundra, complete with arctic winds cutting across the expanse.



What began as an overly-affectionate huddling together for warmth

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 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 blanket 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, chump!"  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,

and glowered down at him with a frighteningly predatory look.  "You know,

Jim, I'll never understand how such a smart man can consistently get himself

into such *dumb* predicaments!"  He tried boosting himself up with his arms

(all those workouts came in handy when he was wrestling with Janet who,

although no pushover, was never able to beat him in a fair fight)...and he

collapsed backwards!  Quickly, 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 of the sheet now, Jimmy?"



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

get the blanket..."



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

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

naked 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 of him.



Looking 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, honey, 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 her 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 horrid!"



"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 he was face down,

whereupon she grabbed onto the sheets wrapped around his ankles and pulled

herself around.  His 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 flattened himself

so that the mattress would absorb the blow, but to his surprise Janet merely

settled gently on top of him.  "You're learning, boy!  What is it they say

about old dogs and new tricks?"



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

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

on him, with her thighs 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 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 when Janet wound the excess sheet 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 2?  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*) like this 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?  When we were smootching, and you started

kissing my neck, and when I laughed, 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 12 and staying with

relatives before a wedding.  His cousin Karen (how old was she then? 15?

16?) 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, and

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 20 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 said as she stopped her tickling,

and she 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 started to open his

mouth 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.

"Tickle toes!" and she dug into the sensitive skin under Jim's toes.  "Tickle

here!  Tickle there!" she teased, as she frantically scratched at one

sensitive spot, then another.  "Tickle tickle tickle!!" she teased,

ruthlessly, while Jim prayed to God, to any god, 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, but he realized that 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 10 minutes of eating me, but when

I stopped you just kept on *laughing*."  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??" and 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 a struggle (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."  While she closed them, Jim had flopped back onto the bed, and

she returned to 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, "Maybe you won't have to

give me head after all!"



He glanced down.  "Geez...I guess not."  He looked at Janet, hungrily, and

grinned.  "But this time," he paused while he backed his wife back down onto

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



-Joe Mattis    ARPA:  jam@isl1.ri.cmu.edu

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

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