Chapter 10: The Itch of Choice
Hiroki gasped, the sound thin and ragged in the thick, perfume-laden air. Anya’s head rested beside his bare foot, her dark hair spilling over the velvet covers. Her right leg was bent, the sheer nylon of her stocking shimmering in the flickering candlelight as the smooth, cool tip of her big toe traced lazy, maddening circles high in his left armpit. It wasn’t the explosive, rib-cracking tickle that forced helpless laughter. No, this was something else. A persistent, insidious itch. It prickled deep beneath his skin, a low thrum of sensation that made his muscles flutter and twitch uncontrollably. He panted, hips lifting slightly off the bed, the damp silk of his underwear clinging obscenely to the rigid outline of his cock, which pulsed in time with each slow scrape of nylon. A weak giggle escaped him, more breath than sound.
"W-wait... please..." he managed, his voice trembling. "Th-that feels... strange..."
Anya tilted her head, her dark eyes gleaming with mischief as she peered up the length of his bound body. "Strange, Hiroki-kun?" she purred, her voice dripping with faux innocence. She increased the pressure just slightly, the tip of her toe digging with deliberate softness into the hollow. He squirmed, a fresh wave of that peculiar, pleasurable itch washing over him. "But darling, you asked for touch. You begged for our hands... our attention... remember?" Her stockinged foot resumed its slow, tormenting circles. "This is touch. Exactly what you wanted."
Beside him, Ingrid chuckled, a low, rich sound that vibrated against his ribs. Propped on one elbow, her blonde hair catching the candlelight, she watched Hiroki’s reactions with predatory delight. Amusement danced in her piercing blue eyes. Without a word, she lifted her own hand. A single, perfectly manicured fingertip descended towards his right armpit. It landed with feather-light precision and began tracing an identical, slow circle, mirroring Anya’s motion but with bare skin on skin. The sensation was sharper, more immediate than the nylon. Still maddening, still hovering on that knife-edge between unbearable tickle and deeply confusing pleasure. His entire body felt electrified, hypersensitive, every nerve ending screaming for more... or for release. He desperately wanted their hands, their mouths, anything on his cock, straining against the thin silk barrier.
"See how he writhes, Anya?" Ingrid murmured, her gaze locked on Hiroki’s flushed face. Her finger never stopped its gentle, torturous orbit. "Like a little fish on a hook. So responsive." She leaned closer, her breath warm on his ear, the scent of expensive perfume and dominance enveloping him. "Tell me, precious boy. Which feels better? Anya's clever little foot? Or my finger?" Her free hand drifted down, not to touch him where he craved, but to lightly trail over his ribs, making him jerk. "Who makes you shiver more?"
Hiroki’s mind swam. The conflicting sensations – the smooth, cool itch of Anya’s nylon-covered toe versus the sharper, more intimate scratch of Ingrid’s bare fingernail – warred within him, both amplifying the desperate arousal coiling low in his belly. He looked down, past his own trembling chest. He saw Anya’s long, black-stockinged leg extended, the sheer fabric clinging to the powerful curve of her calf and thigh as her toes worked their magic. The smoothness was different. Softer. Less invasive, yet somehow more pervasive. It felt… better in its subtlety, amplifying the strange, pleasurable warmth mingling with the ticklish discomfort.
"Anya..." he breathed, the name escaping in a sigh of confused surrender. "I... Anya's... feels..." He couldn't finish, biting his lip as another wave of sensation rippled through him, centering agonizingly on his neglected cock.
Ingrid’s eyes narrowed playfully, a mock pout forming on her lips. "Anya?" she repeated, her voice dropping into a dangerous purr. "My sweet little guest chooses Anya's stockings over my touch?" The single finger on his armpit suddenly became four. They danced lightly, spider-soft, over the sensitive skin, tracing rapid, feathery patterns. The sensation intensified tenfold, a flurry of prickling itches that forced a choked gasp from Hiroki. He convulsed against his bonds, thighs clenching, trying desperately to arch away while simultaneously pushing his hips upwards, seeking friction. "Oh, you ungrateful thing," Ingrid whispered, her voice thick with amusement. "Choosing her sheer nylon over bare skin? That stings, darling. Truly." Her fingers continued their relentless, gentle assault, never quite pushing him over into laughter, just keeping him suspended in that exquisite, unbearable sensitivity.
Anya’s laugh, low and triumphant, vibrated against Hiroki’s ankle where her head rested. "Oh, he appreciates quality, Ingrid," she murmured, her dark eyes gleaming with possessive delight. "Smart boy. You like my stockings, Hiroki-kun? The feel of them?" Her gaze traveled possessively down her own extended leg, the sheer black nylon shimmering like oiled skin in the candlelight. "I adore these legs... strong, powerful... perfect for keeping a squirming little thing like you exactly where we want him." Her stockinged big toe, still tracing maddeningly slow circles high in his left armpit, shifted its attention. With deliberate slowness, the smooth, cool tip began drawing identical, lazy circles on the sensitive arch of his bare right foot. The sensation wasn't sharp; it was a persistent, low-grade buzz of ticklish electricity radiating from both armpits and now his foot, a confusing blend of discomfort and burgeoning pleasure that made his breath hitch and his toes curl reflexively.
Hiroki gasped, a strangled sound escaping his lips. "Ah! N-no... it's... everywhere..." His hips lifted slightly, seeking friction against the air, the damp silk tenting obscenely. The sensations overlapped – the soft scrape of nylon in his armpit, the lighter, teasing circle on his foot, and Ingrid’s relentless four-fingered spider-walk on his other armpit. It was overwhelming, a constant hum beneath his skin, prickling and warm. He squirmed violently against the velvet ropes binding his wrists and ankles, muscles straining, sweat beading on his brow. A helpless giggle bubbled up, choked off by a sharp intake of breath. It wasn't laughter tearing from him yet; it was a breathless, gasping struggle against the sheer intensity of feeling, a strange pleasure coiling tight alongside the unbearable itch. "Feels... good... too much..." he panted, his voice thick with confused arousal.
Ingrid watched his frantic movements, a predatory smile playing on her lips. The 'jealousy' game was proving deliciously effective, amplifying his helpless thrashing. "Too much, precious?" she breathed, her voice a husky whisper directly into his ear, her warm breath sending shivers down his spine. Her four fingers maintained their light, rapid dance on his armpit, never relenting. Simultaneously, she shifted her weight. Her right leg, sheathed in the same sheer black nylon as Anya’s, lifted. The smooth, cool fabric of her stocking brushed against the trembling skin of his inner thigh. Slowly, deliberately, she slid her leg upward along his sensitive inner thigh, the friction subtle yet electrifying, moving perilously close to the straining bulge in his silk underwear. "Is this too much?" Her fingers dug infinitesimally deeper into his armpit hollow. "Or is it just...perfect?"
Hiroki whimpered, his body arching off the bed as much as the bonds allowed. Ingrid’s proximity, her scent enveloping him, the intimate slide of her nylon-clad leg so close to his aching cock, combined with the relentless tickling assault, shattered his earlier resolve. The promise of her closeness, her sudden intimacy, felt overwhelming. "Y-you!" he gasped out, eyes wide and desperate, fixed on Ingrid’s face hovering inches from his own. "Ingrid! Please... I choose you!" The words tumbled out, driven by panic and the visceral need for the source of the most intense, confusing sensation now creeping towards his groin.
Anya’s playful smile vanished instantly, replaced by a theatrical playful scowl. "Me?!" she exclaimed, her voice sharp with feigned outrage. "After praising my stockings? After choosing me before? You fickle little slut!" Her movements became abruptly aggressive. The toe circling his foot stopped. Her whole hand clamped down, fingers splaying wide over his bare sole. Her nails, sharp and precise, dug in and began a furious, rapid scribbling motion across the entire sensitive surface – arch, ball, toes. Simultaneously, the stockinged toe in his armpit ceased its circles and jabbed rapidly, relentlessly, into the hollow. The ticklish feeling exploded. Not laughter, not yet, but a violent, gasping convulsion ripped through Hiroki.
Hiroki's body seized, ribs straining against skin as Anya's scribbling nails ignited wildfire across his sole. "Mmmph! Nnngh—!" A garbled plea died against the sudden, suffocating press of cool, sheer nylon filling his mouth as Anya shoved her other stockinged foot past his lips, cutting off his voice. The taste of salt, perfume, and expensive fabric choked him while her first foot maintained its relentless jabbing rhythm in his sweating armpit, her hand still viciously attacking his other foot. Her free hand, shockingly soft, slid slowly up his trembling inner thigh, fingertips whispering over goosebumped skin perilously close to the throbbing tent in his silk shorts. "Mmmmf!" He tried to twist his head, gagging slightly, his cock jerking violently against its damp prison at the conflicting sensations – agony in his feet, itch in his armpit, and that insidious, gentle caress nearing his balls.
Anya leaned closer, her dark hair brushing his knee, voice a husky murmur cutting through his muffled panic. "Still think Ingrid's little finger feels better, boy?" Her inner-thigh fingers paused, pressing lightly just below the crease of his groin, making his hips buck. "Choose now. Who owns this desperate little body tonight? Her?" She flicked a glance at Ingrid. "Or me?" Her hand resumed its slow, maddening ascent, grazing the edge of his silk waistband. The promise, the unbearable proximity after hours of denial, ripped through him. "Mmmph! Ahn...nya!" The name vibrated muffled against her nylon-clad sole, saliva soaking the fabric. Choice made.
Ingrid's sharp intake of breath was pure, scalding fury. "You little whore!" she spat, her mock-jealousy igniting real heat. She gently intensified her assault on his armpit entirely, her fingers tickling Hiroki's armpit slowly getting fast. Her cool, wet tongue darted out, licking the delicate shell of his right ear, a feather-light, insidious tickle that made him jolt. "Choose her nylon feet over me?" Her voice dripped venomous sweetness directly into his ear canal as her tongue swirled. Simultaneously, while one of her leg still rubbing his inner thigh, she lifted her another long leg. The smooth, sheer nylon of her stocking scraped roughly over his ribs as she planted her foot firmly beside his waist. "You need reminding." Her bare toes, strong and precise, dug into the vulnerable, ticklish hollow of his lower ribs. Her another free hand slide to his belly, using one of her fingers drawing circle in his belly. "Who truly controls you?" She wiggled her toes hard, fast, a brutal, focused assault.
Anya’s triumphant laugh vibrated against Hiroki’s leg as Ingrid’s rib-tickle detonated. Pure, agonizing, breath-stealing laughter finally erupted from Hiroki, tearing past the obstruction in his mouth in choked, desperate bursts. "Hah! Nnghah! St-Stohah!" Tears streamed down his temples, his body convulsing wildly against the ropes, arching his back impossibly high, presenting his untouched, straining cock like an obscene offering. The sensations collided: Anya’s foot jamming his mouth, her other foot drilling his armpit, her hand flaying his sole, her other hand now gently caress his inner thigh close to the throbbing tent in his silk shorts; Ingrid’s tongue violating his ear, her hand tickling his armpit, her other hand now gently drawing circle at his belly, her toes mercilessly violating his ribs, her other leg's inner thigh rubbing his inner thigh. It was torture. It was ecstasy. Wave after wave of ticklish agony crashed over him, fused with a deep, perverse thrum of pleasure radiating from his untouched cock. He laughed, tears blurring the candlelit ceiling, his mind dissolving into pure, desperate sensation. He thrashed, he choked, he laughed, but the word 'stop' never formed, lost in the delicious, agonizing storm they orchestrated.
Anya and Ingrid enjoys the "jealousy" game watching their prey struggle with choosing. No matter who he choose, the tickling must intensified by the other. Watching Hiroki arching his back craving the touch on his rocked cock beneath the silk underwear, laughing, not saying stop since he seems finding pleasure and his struggle on every choice they asked, they are wet. Their nipples turn hard. But they still pretend innocent and sweet to play the "jealousy" game for several rounds. Playfully tease Hiroki choosing the other one not herself and intensify the tickling and pleasure.
His body finally went slack on the velvet, trembling aftermath. Silence pressed in, thick and sudden, broken only by Hiroki’s harsh, wet gasps and the soft rustle of silk as Ingrid slowly withdrew her stockinged foot from his mouth. Saliva slicked his chin, his throat raw. Anya’s relentless fingers stilled on his sole, though her other stockinged foot remained a light, possessive pressure in his armpit. Ingrid’s teasing tongue vanished from his ear, her rib-tickling toes lifted away. Only the ghost of sensation remained, humming beneath his sweat-slicked skin.
He lay spent, utterly exposed under the flickering candlelight, the damp silk of his underwear clinging obscenely to his still-throbbing erection. The velvet restraints felt like the only things holding him together. Anya shifted, her dark hair whispering against his shin as she rose smoothly to her knees beside Ingrid at the head of the bed. They looked down at him, their expressions unreadable masks of composed beauty in the dimness. Their lingerie gleamed – black lace, crimson silk – sharp contrast to his vulnerable nakedness. The air crackled with unspent energy.
"Such a noisy boy," Ingrid murmured, her voice a low thrum that vibrated in his bones. She brushed a damp lock of hair from his forehead, the gesture almost tender. Her fingertip traced the shell of his abused ear. "So... desperate for attention. Couldn’t make up your mind, could you?" Her blue eyes held his, sharp and assessing.
Anya chuckled, a dark, liquid sound. Her hand rested possessively on his bare stomach, just below his navel, fingers splayed. Her thumb brushed the edge of his silk waistband. "First my stockings felt better," she purred, leaning close enough for him to feel her breath, smell the faint spice of her perfume mixed with his own sweat. "Then you screamed for Ingrid." Her thumb dipped lower, grazing the sensitive skin where his hip met his groin. Hiroki flinched, a weak groan escaping him. "Then you begged for me again." Her eyes flickered with amused malice. "Back and forth. Like a little leaf in the wind."
Ingrid sighed theatrically, shaking her head. A slow, dangerous smile spread across her lips. "So indecisive, Hiroki darling. Honestly." She tapped his nose playfully, the gesture belying the intensity in her gaze. "It’s almost like... you want us both." Her hand drifted down his chest, fingers lightly tracing the lines of his ribs, still hypersensitive from her earlier torture. He shivered violently. "Greedy little thing."
Anya’s fingers joined Ingrid’s, their hands meeting just above the tented silk. They didn’t touch his cock. Their fingertips danced lightly over the skin of his lower belly, just above the waistband, tracing maddening patterns. "A womanizer," Anya breathed, the word a velvet accusation. "Playing with our feelings. Leading us on." Her nail scraped lightly, deliberately, over a particularly ticklish spot low on his abdomen. Hiroki jerked, a strangled noise catching in his throat.
Ingrid leaned in until her lips were almost touching his. Her scent, lavender and power, filled his senses. "Teasing us," she whispered, her breath hot on his mouth. "Making us compete." Her hand slid lower, joining Anya’s, their fingers now a cage hovering mere millimeters above the straining outline of his cock, the silk damp and translucent with pre-come. The heat radiating from it was palpable. "Such a naughty, greedy little man."
They straightened together, pulling their hands away completely, leaving his burning need untouched and screaming. They shared a look, a silent communication passing between them – predatory, amused, utterly in control. Their smiles widened, turning sweet, almost innocent. Ingrid tilted her head, blonde hair glinting.
"Oh, Hiroki," she sighed, her voice dripping with saccharine disappointment. "You really are a terrible womanizer."
Anya nodded, her dark eyes gleaming with wicked delight. "Yes. Truly awful." She reached out and gave his bound, trembling thigh a condescending little pat. "And womanizers deserve punishment, don't they, Ingrid?"
Ingrid’s smile was pure, chilling promise. "They absolutely do, darling."