Michelle’s Tickling Game, Part One

  • Posted on May 1, 2015 at 7:28 am

By Cheryl Taggert

Michelle came by after school today. She came in and asked if I wanted to play ‘The Tickle Game’ because she liked it so much. “When you tickle me, it feels like my whole body turns into jelly from laughing,” is what she said.

The tickle game is something I had begun with her about a month before when babysitting her for her mom on Friday nights. Her mom had a second job that required her to work then, and I was happy to help out and earn some extra money on the side. The fact that this little Lolita was making my own pussy wet with desire didn’t hurt.

At first my biggest fear had to do with whether anyone saw her come in. Then it occurred to me: nobody would think a thing. I am a nineteen-year-old female college student. Michelle is an eleven-year-old girl. Nobody would suspect anything if they did see her. It was just my sense of guilt kicking in, I suspect. It is nothing for her to come to see me since we know each other so well. She is such a sweet little thing, and she has an enormous crush on me. It reminded me so much of my own past.

Anyway, I told her I would have time for some fun if she would help me get dinner started. She did. We talked and I asked her about what boys she liked. “I don’t like any boys,” she answered. Maybe it was me, but her sexual precociousness made me wonder if she knew exactly what she was doing. She had even placed emphasis on the word ‘boys’. Is it possible that, like me, she had already identified herself as preferring girls at such a tender age?

Anyway, we finished getting dinner started and in the oven (meatloaf), and cleaned up. I asked her if she still wanted to play the tickle game.

“That’s why I came over,” she grinned.

I held out my hands in a claw-like fashion. She squealed and ran — straight for the bedroom. We jumped on the bed and she giggled with delight as I began to tickle her. She would tickle me, but of course it was not as effective as far as actually tickling went. At first I kept things ‘clean’, choosing to concentrate on her underarms, feet (she had removed her shoes and socks), and legs. She did the same. Then, just as we had each time before, we stopped for a timeout and lay there panting.

“Can I ask you something?” she said.

“Sure,” I said, wondering what she might want to ask and hoping it would be about a sexual topic. It was.

“Do you ever feel kinda funny in your tummy when we tickle?”

I decided to play dumb. “In my tummy? You mean like I am sick and may throw up?”

She was hesitant. “No, not in that part of your tummy.” She hesitated. “Lower.” Her eyes said everything. She was indeed asking me if I got horny when we played our little tickle game. She was just asking in a way she knew how to ask.

“Oh, there,” I said, feigning sudden understanding. “Do you mean in my vagina area?” She nodded, still unsure if she should be discussing this with me, but determined to press on. I had once told her she could ask me anything, and she was trying out my offer. “Well, yes, I guess I do. Why do you ask?”

“I was just wondering.”

“Do you feel funny in your vagina area right now, hon?”

She looked at a distant spot on the wall with intense seriousness. “Sorta. Yeah.” She looked back at me then away again. “Is that bad? Mom says I shouldn’t touch myself there unless I am washing it. But whenever I wash it or like now when we tickle, it makes me want to . . .” She hesitated again, searching for the word she wanted, but not sure what word was best. “Scratch it.” Again her eyes darted in my direction, quickly, then they zipped back to focus elsewhere, this time on the pattern of my comforter.

I could see she was nervous, embarrassed, a bit frightened, and excited, all at the same time. How well I remembered that stew of emotions. She knew she was on the verge of discovering things about herself, but she just was not sure what those things would be, only that she would be changed forever once they were discovered. I assumed that, at eleven, she had “scratched” herself a number of times, probably without much success, given the amount of guilt her mother attached to this normal behavior of growing up. She needed to have her mind put at ease.

“Well, I don’t think it’s bad, no. Sometimes I sorta scratch mine when it feels like that.” This was getting dangerous. I began to realize that if I was going to put the brakes on this thing, I would need to do it soon. But my mind was exploding with the idea that this tender young girl wanted me to do this. If I had been a man, it would have been different, just as it had been for me. I would never have encouraged a man when I was a young girl. But Michelle was like me. I remembered my own youthful desire. Not really knowing what it was, but plunging ahead to see whatever was happening to its end. I could see this in Michelle. I remember wanting something that I couldn’t identify. Michelle was feeling those same things.

“Let’s tickle some more!” she said, and lunged at me. Her hands sought my ribcage near my breasts. Her hands came in contact with my breasts beneath my bra. She hesitated for a mere fraction of a second, then plunged ahead with her tickling, which was beginning to feel more like caresses.

I began to laugh, as did she. I knew what she wanted me to do was to get more intimate with my tickling. So I did.

I began to tickle higher on her legs, nearer that smooth little pussy. And I also began to very gently pinch her little nipples, which only recently began to get puffy on her chest. I knew they would be sore and I didn’t want to hurt her. She squealed in delight at the sudden contact with her tiny, newly-forming breasts. So of course, she had to attack my own breasts. She pinched my nipples with each hand and suddenly withdrew, only to come back for more when I pinched her little buds again. Then, I began to tickle her legs, high again, near the crotch of her pants. I, on the other hand, had changed into shorts when I got home, so she was able to attack bare leg.

“Well, that isn’t fair!” I laughed. “I’m wearing shorts and you can tickle my legs better than I can tickle yours. You’re wearing pants!”


“Well, you need to take your pants off so I can get to your legs. It’s only fair, you know.”

“But then you’ll be wearing shorts and I’ll be wearing panties. That’s not fair either.”

I pretended to think for a moment. “New rule for ‘The Tickle Game’: Everyone must be dressed in the same amount of clothing.”

“Okay!” she exclaimed, and we hurriedly removed our respective pants. Now we were both in panties and shirts. I, however, had on something she didn’t: a bra. She noticed right away. “You have a bra on and I don’t!”

“You want to borrow one of mine? I don’t think it will fit you!” I teased.

“No. You have to take yours off! It’s the rule!”

“Well, okay.” I could have easily removed the bra with my shirt still on, but what fun would that have been? So I removed my shirt and reached behind me to unhook my bra. I noticed she was watching me intently. She literally gasped when my mounds fell into view. Of course, I didn’t bother to put my shirt back on. Instead I began to tickle her. After only a few seconds, however, she demanded I stop.

“Either you need to put your shirt back on, or I need to take mine off!”

“Well all this tickling makes me too warm.” (Truer words were never spoken.) “So you take yours off.” She quickly, even happily, removed the small garment.

Now we were in nothing but panties. Mine were beginning to get wet from the juices flowing from me. We continued to tickle, with me concentrating on her legs near her beautiful pussy and her tweaking my nipples until they were quite erect.

Finally, we called another timeout. “I need to take off my panties because they are getting stuff on them,” I said, breathing hard from the excitement and exertion of our game. Of course I knew what her response would be, and she did not disappoint me.

“What stuff?” she asked, truly not understanding, but obviously happy with this turn of events. I could see that in her anxious eyes.

“Well, when an older girl gets all tingly in her privates, her vagina sends out this wet stuff for lubrication.”

“Why would it do that?”

“Well, the tingly feeling is called being turned on or horny. It is the way a girl feels when a man is going to put his penis inside her vagina.”

She wrinkled her nose. “You mean to make the babies?”

“Yes, that is one reason a man does that. Another is just because it feels good to both the man and the woman. You know, like when you feel like you want to scratch it.”

Her precious look told me she understood exactly what I was saying about it feeling good.

“So are you turned on right now? Is that why your privates are wet?”

“Well, yes, hon. The tickling does turn me on.”

She looked at me as if she was sharing something wonderful, which of course, she was. She lowered her voice as if someone else might hear her. “It turns me on, too,” she grinned.

“So then, off with the panties,” I said, and pulled mine down and off with a swoosh.

She watched me closely as I did this. Her eyes were staring at my neatly trimmed bush as she absently slipped her own panties off and onto the floor. I figured it was time to put the charade aside.

“Do you know what some people call the vagina area?”

“Of course. Some girls at school call it a pussy and others call it a cunt.”

“Have you ever seen a pussy up close?”

“No.” I think both our mouths were bone-dry.

“Would you like to see mine?” I asked, taking the plunge.

“You wouldn’t mind?” her eyes were wide. I could tell she was thinking how great this idea was.

“Of course not. I wouldn’t ask if I did.”

Tentatively, she got down between my legs and I reached down to part my lips for her inspection. I could see that she was breathing heavily.

“WOW!” was all she could say for a moment. I decided to give her a guided tour.

I pulled my lips farther apart and showed her the entrance to my vagina. She was fascinated. I then showed her my labia, my urethra (my peehole, to her), and finally my clitoris. I explained that this was the place that wanted the most attention when I masturbated. She had heard the word at school and knew what it was, but she was not ready yet to admit she had tried it. I happily demonstrated by dipping my middle finger into my sopping vagina and beginning to rub my demanding clit.

Her eyes were like saucers as I concentrated on her every move. She glanced down at her own bald little pussy. Then, watching me, she reached between her own legs and began to massage her own small clit. “I don’t have as much stuff as you to lubricate me.”

“Well, I have a solution for that, but you will have to trust me that you will like it without asking me what I am going to do before I do it.” Naturally, she agreed. I reluctantly left my achingly hot pussy and told her to lie back.

“Are you going to look at my pussy?”

“I said no questions.”

She was silent. Waiting anxiously, but silent. I had her close her eyes, lie on her back, and spread her legs. I positioned myself in front of her hairless pussy, leaned over, and gave it a long, slow, wet lick.

Her response was immediate. I heard a sharp intake of breath and her eyes flew open. “What did you do?” I was looking at her, my head near her hairless pussy.

“Did you like it?”

“Yes! What was it?”

“I licked your pussy.”

She looked at me in disbelief. “You didn’t!” she gasped, incredulous.

“Yes, I did. Watch.” I leaned forward and clamped my mouth onto her little cunny. It was heavenly. Her taste wasn’t strong at all, and I could taste a hint of pee as well. I felt transported!

I felt her watching me; then she lay back on the bed and simply experienced the sensations that were introducing themselves to her youthful body. I knew I could give her what I assumed would be her first orgasm, but I waited. I needed to make sure she was willing to try to eat me as well.

When she was at the height of her young ecstasy, I pulled back. “What happened? Where’d you go?” She looked at me, blurry-eyed with new lust.

“I want you to try doing that to me.”

I think I could have told her to go crawl in the oven with the meatloaf and she would have done it. In a flash, she was between my legs, peering once again into my pussy. She had only one question. “Does it taste good?”

“You’ll love it,” I assured her, and taking a bit of fresh honey from my steaming gash onto my index finger, I held it up for her to taste. Her tongue snaked out and tentatively licked the moisture that coated my finger.

“It’s kinda salty-tangy,” she said. I told her it tasted better from the source. With that, she dived in, licking me as I instructed her on what to do and where to go. Finally, I could take it no more and had her turn to me in the classic 69 position. My hands played over her little ass as my mouth devoured her succulent pussy. Finally, I told her to carefully put two or three fingers into my vagina and pump them in and out. She quickly obliged and had me literally lifting her off the bed with the pumping of my hips. I came in a torrent of heat, fluids, and spasms. She wanted to know what had just happened to me, but I told her I would show her, and that that would be better than anything I could tell her. I then concentrated on her little clitty. The tiny organ peeked out from the folds of her scrumptious little pussy.

When she said, “Oh, gosh, Cheryl, I think I’m going to pee!” I knew she was about to come. I flicked my tongue across her little clit a few more times and she began to come. It was small by my standards, but it was one powerful orgasm for her.

We lay there afterwards. I asked her if she liked what I did to her and what she did to me. She said yes, of course. I then asked if she came over hoping something like this would happen. All of my guilt would center on her answer.

“Well, I didn’t know what we would do, but I know I did want to do some sex stuff with you. I didn’t know it would happen today, but I have had dreams and stuff and I think of you all the time. I love you, Cheryl.”

My baby. I called her mom to let her know where she was, and Michelle had dinner with me. Her mom didn’t suspect a thing. I made sure she got cleaned up before sending her home. It wouldn’t do to send her home smelling of pussy.

We are planning to have more fun on Friday night. At least this time we won’t have to worry about how much time it would take me to seduce her and if we would have enough time after that. On Friday we are going to have a wonderful time. Simply wonderful.

Continue on to Part Two


10 Comments on Michelle’s Tickling Game, Part One

  1. MrStrut says:

    So erotic Cheryl, I have wondered how a young pussy would taste and our lady got to find out.

  2. You have the same name as a girl I know, and like and would like to fuck* and it makes your story closer to me……thanks! Going to read the next part where the lil Michelle’s mom gets involved……Mmmm
    ps really liked the pic you included…..
    Well, ok I have to admit you being a lady turns me on as well….. 🙂

  3. Alison says:

    Hmm, wow… 😉 Nice build-up, neither too fast nor too slow, for me… And such a wonderful way to explore each other. I’m jealous!

  4. Evan says:

    wow.. love this one. How did I miss it? on to ch. 2 🙂

  5. Sorry, Becky Thompson, but we cannot approve any comment that is essentially a full-length story. Please see #8 in our Terms of Use. If you would like to submit a story to the site, you may do that, following these guidelines.

  6. Tim says:

    And I thought tickling was such innocent fun!!!

    Until, of course, like here it leads on to something so much more enjoyable……

    Lovely as always Cheryl thanks

  7. Purple Les says:

    This is one of my favorites. It makes me miss Cheryl, but am glad we have her classics to look back on.

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