Clara's Ticklish Cruise [Chapter 1] (Patreon)

'Heyyyyy, look, I'm really sorry, but I just came down with something and don't think I can make it. I really tried, but whatever this is has been kicking my ass since Sunday. I really wanted to make this thing, but I don't think I can. I'm really sorry! I hope you have a good time!'

Clara stared down at the message for the third time that day. It was several from the last she had received from Melony, who had since informed her further of a terrible flu she had come down with just under two days before their big cruise. Clara had messaged back that there were 'no worries' that she had to make the trip alone, but even upon the moment she received the message, there were worries aplenty. She seriously considered not going. Staying back seemed like the reasonable thing to do, but after much coaxing from Melody over the dilemma, the answer to go seemed largely made for her. Melody pulled her classic resort of guilting Clara, citing that she would only feel worse if Clara passed on such a unique experience.

A unique experience.

That was the big selling point when Melody first pitched the cruise idea. 'An exotic adult-themed playground of intimate exploration and boundless adventure!' To Clara, the transparency was almost satirical, a clever way of disguising the words 'horny swingers get sloppy drunk and fuck strangers'. The scene was as far from her usual vibe as if she had been invited to live aboard the ISS with little more than a fanny pack and a tube of Coppertone. It was supposed to be her friend's trip, courtesy of Melody herself, with Clara there as support. Clara knew there was no way that a college freshman, who specialized in adding cabinet spices to her Top Ramen and knowing just how to shake the vending machine on the second floor of the library to get free gummy bears, could afford any cruise, let alone one as reputable as Siren Song LLC. But Melody was willing to pay for both of them, so Clara battling against her own personal reservations seemed like an easier fight to overcome, though she knew she would feel inclined to pay her friend back somehow with her not being able to enjoy the experience with her.

Clara sat on the edge of the bed in her cabin. It was a cute, beach-themed room. Sea shells decorated the frame of the vanity mirror, the bed's headboard looked designed to be made from driftwood, and the furniture's ocean blue palette matched naturally with the sand tones of the carpet. With how much consideration Clara gave to a cruise with such a libertine addendum, she found herself surprised by the overall presentation. There was little aboard the ship to imply that the vessel was meant for anything more than passive pleasure, a place to relax and lay back. There were bars almost on every level, each with their own little themes that never distracted from the clear purpose of pouring alcohol into people's mouths. Fancy restaurants were around, as well as cute little cafes for coffee and snacks. Open sitting areas and the deck were also readily accessible and prime places to simply bring a book and forget about the worries of work and school. Such delights were the driving force for her being there; giving little thought to the more sordid activities that Melody had described. Clara was ready to start Fourth Wing finally and put the classes she was already dreading for after summer break far behind her. Drinking, reading, with maybe some swimming and dancing mixed in. These were the plans, no matter how hard Melody pleaded with her to try the other stuff. 

Steadily, Clara unpacked for the week while in her room. She was privy to avoid the busier sections of the ship during the boarding phase. Her room had a balcony that overlooked the port. She found herself getting lost in the sight of the water and how vast it seemed to travel. She steadied herself against the gentle wafting of the ship, wondering if she would actually get used to the slight rocking while she was there or if it would only be distracting the entire time. Clara stood in a light blue sundress and matching flip flops, her usual beach wear. A golden crown of blonde remained pulled back in a ponytail. She had forgotten her prescription sunglasses, a dreary plight that she had realized almost the moment she found her room. Her regular sunglasses failed to fit just right over her regular glasses, so she was prepared to deal with that setback to a considerable degree. She pushed her glasses up her nose, letting the sunlight embrace her freckled, alabaster skin. Sunscreen was something she knew she would never forget. She and sunscreen had been best friends since she was still in a stroller and her parents would slather her before going on walks together. Her nails complimented her tone, coated in candy shades of strawberry pink, something pretty enough to be cute but not brazen enough to draw attention, Clara's preferred balance.

Clara stood comfortably lost in her temporary abode that merely wore the skin of her college dorm. It was larger, sure, but it lacked the warmth of familiarity. As the captain made his announcements and the horn of the ship blew upon their slow retreat from the dock, Clara began to feel the movement of the ship much more potently. The girl had never been on a ship before. She had wondered if it was much like a plane, yet quickly learned it to be quite the opposite. She could feel the rocking beneath her feet moving her whole body. She steadied herself against the wall, still wondering if other people were having just as much trouble adjusting as she was. The crowds that filled the main hall when she entered were an odd assortment of people, in that they all seemed rather similar. The ship adhered to a 'no kids' policy, but it also seemed to exclude the older crowd as well, allegedly no one over the age of sixty-five. Clara remembered Melody explaining that, since the cruise was what it was, that it retained a strict screening policy as to who could be on board. It was an odd gesture for any company to make, but she knew it to be a private industry protecting the demand of the clientele, one that can apparently afford to ostracize potential growth. 

'Eighteen to sixty-five,' Clara remembered Melody saying. 'That's the age requirement. You also have to be attractive enough and be in decent shape, but we both got accepted!' Clara had immediately felt bad for those that would inevitably get turned down and their feelings hurt. She could not agree, or even abide, by such a standard, but figured that since Melody was paying, she would only be there to support her friend and not some shallow company rating people's looks. Having walked through the main hall at boarding, Clara could see the fruits of those restrictions in person. While she still felt bad for those that get turned away, she could also see that the screening works. Very well.

It was Melody's plan to come and hook up with strangers. Perhaps it was Melody's plan for them both to hook up with whoever and then discuss their nightly conquests over breakfast the next morning. Clara, however, came with the intention of relaxing and nothing more, to Melody's vocal dismay. Clara stared at her phone as she lost signal. She tried signing into the wifi included in her package, but the speed that she was allowed would not keep her attention for long. She groaned. As much as Clara would have rather been spending that summer week at home, reading or venturing out to the local comic shop for their upcoming Lorcana tournament, she was there, is the most estranged place on Earth, and venturing further out into the middle of the ocean. There would be one stop at Siren Song's private island, Oasis Escape. Looking at the itinerary for the cruise, Oasis Escape seemed to offer much the same activities that the ship did, only on a beach for whatever appeal that has. Clara almost bypassed the itinerary completely, but glanced over the sheet that had been left on her bed beside a chocolate and a scattering of rose petals. Most of the ship's events were pretty tame, considering. Some trivia, some bingo, but most of what she saw was for live music, dancing, and what the ship called 'exhibitions'. Clara remembered Melody speaking about the exhibitions. Melody had taken the same cruise a year before. The exhibitions, by her description, fit Clara's expectations almost fluidly.

'Well, it would be... um... live demonstrations... of sex stuff...' Clara remembered Melody, law student and middle school spelling bee champion, saying. 'I know that sounds bad, but it was all very tasteful and everyone there is super respectful and supportive! Trust me, the security on the ship is tops, but even so, the people that go are all super chill and nice!' Clara enjoyed the stories, yet struggled to see herself as the one living them. Melody would then go on to describe further.

'A lot of it was, like, fetish displays which I thought were gonna be super weird, but it was actually kinda cool. Hot, even. I met this one guy, Raoul, he was Brazilian I think, who was super into bondage, so I let him tie me up in his room. It was... something else, let me tell you.'

Clara took what her friend said to heart. She had never been one to experiment sexually. Limited exposure to sexual experiences left her largely disenchanted by the idea. Having only two partners in the past, neither of which doing anything more wild than pulling her hair a bit by accident, Clara gave little thought to the influence that romance and sex had over her life at all. She had leaned into being content with being a relatively plain looking girl, one who put all of her focus into her studies and career. Romance in college was always intended to be a consequential byproduct should it happen at all. It was pretty plainly a distraction, even more so during the cruise that she had found herself on to untether herself from the worries of her mind. That was the intention.

After having given the main floors a little more than an hour to even out, Clara pushed herself from the confines of the room, determined to see what all the ship had to offer, for better or for worse. She looked herself over in the mirror once more, pushing her glasses back up her nose, and sighed into a smile. It had all been paid for, even if she was already trying to plan how to pay Melody back, so she figured she would make the most of it. Clara threw her purse up and around her shoulder, brushed out her dress, and walked out of the room, ready for temperate adventure.

Clara's dress fluttered about her knees as she walked through the ship's mighty confines. The cleanliness of the inner workings was almost as welcome a surprise as the upstanding mindfulness of the other passengers. Sure, she had seen many flock to the nearest watering hole and could hear many speaking perhaps a little too loudly at times, but first impressions were much less belligerent and obnoxious than she expected. Those that she passed in the hallway shot her friendly smiles and short greetings, nothing more suggestive than basic friendliness save for the occasional lingering smirk. Still, Clara kept her head down, not wanting to imply any additional implied interest given the explicit context of the voyage, while shamelessly noting the almost fantastical degrees of beauty in her fellow travelers.

A Harry Potter Dooney tapped against her lap as she walked through the open realms of the ship. She held onto it with both hands, her wide eyes admiring the inner elegance and decor with curious reverence. The air of the ship wafted with the fresh linen scent of a dutiful cleaning staff. Out in open areas, bright lights and gaudy textures reached to grab Clara's attention from all directions. Small shops had salesmen out on the floor pitching bracelets and watches priced twice what they were likely worth and many more times more than Clara had the budget for such luxuries. Music played from all directions, many of which through live performances of small bands upon set stages. Several signs dictated a core rule of conduct for the guests, that explicit nudity was for reserved areas only and would not be tolerated in more open and public spaces. Quick-service restaurants offered easy access to desserts and snacks, all lumped into the virtually endless food and drink package that Melody had purchased for them both. Clara was a reserved drinker, especially when not in the company of trusted friends, yet could already hear the nagging voice of Melody in her head saying that it would be rude not to take full advantage of her generosity and parent's gracious wealth. Clara sighed as she sank into a scene that had never been written for her, as if being on board was akin to stepping out onto a stage for a show she never rehearsed for. Sure, she was privy to the club atmosphere via dancing and hanging with Melody and her girls out every other Friday night, so long as she stayed caught up on her school work, but being alone remained on the forefront of her mind as she navigated a vessel in which she was trapped for a week. 

Clara walked through the massive scale of the entry floor, making herself as small and unimpressionable as possible. She tucked a strand of hair back behind her ear, wondering when and how she would get her first glimpse of what the Siren was best known for. She walked through the main floor, dressed far more modest than the sea of short skirts and low-cut tops cackling around her, drinks clinking in freshly manicured talons. She questioned why she was even chosen to partake at all, figuring that it was only because of Melody's stunning beauty that she had been invited by proxy. She looked passively at the people as much as she did the extravagant decor and amenities of the cruise itself. Everyone was beautiful. The ages varied between those that were allowed. Clara witnessed some that she figured could be her grandparents, and yet they still looked pretty stunning for their ages, by conventional standards at least. She heard different accents, recognized different skin tones, body types, and fashion that ranged from prim and proper to comfortably relaxed. With how restrictive Siren Song had been with their selection, Clara found herself impressed with how diverse the guests were, despite despising the criteria of 'being attractive'. 

Having said nothing to anyone for the first few hours of her cruise, apart from thanking the hospitality staff and the occasional 'excuse me' when walking through the relatively cramped cabin halls, Clara felt right on her way to remaining invisible. She figured she would still observe what she could of the ship's reputation, if for no other reason than to appeal to Melody's begging for stories. Curiosity remained as she steadily settled into the strange safari of liberal expression. Clara knew it would be a loss in many degrees if she were to see nothing during her stay, though made no note of actively seeking anything out. As she continued to slowly walk the main deck, observing all that the ship had to offer her senses, Clara stopped at seeing a wide booth and a large corral of people. 

"Aww, they're so cute this year!" Clara heard one young man exclaim.

"I still have all of mine from the last cruise, but I always check to see if I need to update anything," said a woman mingling with friends in the crowd. Clara drew closer, rosy button nose raised to get a better view. Examining the crowd, she could see a lively bunch happily chatting and looking over the contents of the table. Clara noted one young man wearing only a tight pair of boy shorts, a black collar, and a colorful assortment of plastic bracelets around one wrist gleefully joking with those around him. His exposed skin bore little additional hair, but a prominent number stood out written across his lower back in black sharpie. Another girl stood on the other end of the table, chatting as casually as all the others. She wore a black bikini and smiled with budding red cheeks. Several tattoos laid colorfully etched into her bronzed skin, with a similar number written across her plunging chest and nearly identical bracelets hanging off of both wrists. A glass with little more than a sip and a jingle of ice cubes clinked in a glass held in one unstable hand. She spoke loudly and slurred a few words through playful giggles that resonated through her breasts. 

"Shut up, I do not!" the girl said with obnoxious volume. Clara rolled her eyes at the start of her imprisonment with the loud and drunk crowd. She began pulling away until a vibrant assortment caught her eye from the table through the crowd. She noticed that everyone around was wearing the little plastic bracelets. Clara focused in as the people around the table began to disperse, mostly in the same direction. She drew closer still, examining what it was that sat upon the wide, sheeted platform.

Clara witnessed a thorough collection of different colored bracelets, all stacked in small cubbies and organized by hue. On the top of the elaborate cubby container, the word 'Icebreakers' was written in noticeably bright letters. Behind the table, a man and a woman stood by. They bore approachable expressions and seemed to be just as measured by their looks as the guests were, if not purposefully exceeding the standards. The woman wore a red and white lace lingerie set while the young man wore only jeans, showing off a beautifully sculpted upper half. Both wore bracelets as well, though their personal collection ranged in shades and colors.

"Hello," the woman said, stepping forward as she noticed Clara approaching. "Here to pick your icebreakers?"

"Um, I... I wasn't really told about..." Clara began before her eyes fell more intently down upon the selection of wrist bands before her. Each color had its own slot and each slot was labeled with a small engraving across the outward facing side. Clara adjusted her glasses again and leaned in to read. The spot bearing a deeply onyx shade of black band was labeled 'Bondage'. Next to it, a gaudy hue of stunning cherry was labeled 'Spanking'. A lavish green next in line was called 'Roleplaying'. As Clara read further, she began to piece together what the bands were meant to represent, categorized seemingly by particular sexual acts.

"Is this your first time with us?" the young woman behind the table said. A gentle warmth had already come to Clara's cheeks. She noticed the assortment of bands on the girl's wrist were vast in number and shades, a rainbow of personal information worn proudly amongst others doing the same. Clara nearly forgot to answer.

"Uhh... oh, uhh yeah," Clara stammered. "I'm sorry, I..." She stopped herself as she read onward. The first row was seemingly conventional sexual appetites, at least by common standards, only to become exotically adventurous further down. Some basic qualifiers stood out across the higher rows. Bracelets themed to pride flags included 'Gay', 'Straight', 'Lesbian', 'Bi', 'Trans', 'Pan', and a few others that Clara needed more specific clarification on, sat highlighted on their own. The dark blue bracelet was themed to 'Choking' while the dark red was assigned to 'Pain'. A baby blue wrist band was to 'Age-Play' as a light orange was to 'Pet-Play', two apparent kinks that Clara could only speculate about. Hot pink had been linked to the term 'Femdom' while a glittery silver was placed in the slot above the words 'Free Use'. By that side, the words 'Exhibitionism', 'Humiliation', and 'Degradation' sat below a soft yellow, a lively orange, and a dim hue of cyan respectively. 'Belly' was a slot on its own, coordinated to a light brown shade of band and sitting next to the lavender colored bands labeled 'Feet'. Clara examined the selection, reading each carefully and playing a game with herself to see if she could guess, purely by context, what each term meant. She knew she would have to have someone explain them and dared not to suffer the shame of asking the people standing there, ready to take her questions. It was only then that she heard a deep voice speak softly by her side.

"Excuse me," the man said, breaking Clara from her confused trance. She turned to face him. She looked up to the figure that towered over a head taller than she. The man wore a gentle smile beneath a worried expression. The grip of enticing cologne hit her nearly at the moment when her eyes could focus. The man wore a dark complexion with a kindly demeanor that showed through casual dress, a comfortable and well-fitting tee shirt above a pair of cleanly pressed jeans. His hand, a strong branch of oak reaching toward her, held a bracelet in his hand, dangling like a small bird before a morning flight. "Hi, sorry, is this yours?"

"Hi," Clara said, swallowing briefly as she became painfully aware of the heat that had risen in her cheeks. She looked downward to see what he held out. On instinct, she reached out to grab it. The bracelet was a light pink, a cute color that made for a piece of 'cheap' jewelry that Clara would have otherwise worn with any nightlife ensemble. As cognition steadily began to return, she chuckled and shook her head. "Oh, uhh, that... it's not mine."

"Oh, it's not?" the man asked. Clara noted a strange look of disappointment across the man's face, if only for a moment. His smile returned as he too chuckled, almost nervously. "It was on the floor by your feet, so I figured, but... that's a shame. Sorry to--"

"Oh, no, it's perfectly fine," Clara said, still holding onto the band. Her body, along with her attention, had been fully turned to the man before her. He grinned and looked down at her hands.

"You haven’t picked anything out yet," he said. Clara pushed against the blush still coursing up to her face. She turned her eyes away from the man's genuine smile, hoping that would help.

"No, I... uhhh... haven't decided..." Clara said carefully, as if sculpting something resembling a lie out of marble. She took the invitation to look at the man's wrist. He had several bands, all clinging around the thickened muscle of his bulging forearm. A dark gray, a faded vermillion, and one that looked identical to the bracelet still in Clara's hand. 

"Alright, no worries," the man said. "Well, my name is #12046, by the way."

"Your name?" Clara asked, raising her eyebrows.

"Mhmm," the man said casually. Clara chuckled a bit, pushing up her glasses.

"That's... uhh... pretty," she said. "What is it, French?" The man laughed, looking away slightly. "My grandmother's maiden name was 204, but then she married into a 157 family just after the war, so naturally things got pretty messy." The man continued to laugh, harder than Clara figured anyone probably would at such a joke.

"That's... that's funny," #12046 said. "Is this your first time on the Siren, huh?" Clara looked down, fiddling with the bracelet in her hand. 

"Maybe," she said. "I guess I wasn't really hiding it all that well. Been sticking out since I got here."

"No, no, it's fine," #12046 said. "I mean, obviously you know about the bands." #12046 gestured to the table. Clara scoffed a bit and bit her lip, glancing off to the side.

"Heh, obviously," she said, reaching up to stroke a loose hair back behind her ear. 

"And well it's also kind of a thing where people introduce themselves to others on the ship by their room number instead of their name," #12046 said. "Keeps things easy and anonymous. You know, not too personal."

"Ah, I see," Clara said, a discomfort rising in her posture. "Well... I'm going to continue standing out and just say that I'm staying in the 'Clara' suite."

"The 'Clara' suite, huh?" said #12046, volleying her gaming tone.

"It's really pretty too," Clara continued. "One plain white sheeted queen-sized bed, a mini-fridge, a closet with about five hangers, only one of which is broken, a tv that gets approximately twelve channels and half of them are probably porn." #12046 let out another jovial chuckle following the joke of which Clara felt better deserved it. 

"You're really funny," he said. "That all sounds lovely. I'd love to see the Clara suite sometime, mystery woman." Clara looked down, stroking her hair again as she pinched the bracelet between her fingers.

"Y-yeah, umm... it's... it's nice," she said. "And for the record, mystery woman? Most awesome name ever, I'm keeping it." The man laughed once more.

"I love it," he said. "Well, I need to catch up with some friends of mine for lunch, but I really hope to see you around the ship, mystery woman." 

"Yeah, that sounds nice," Clara said, her demeanor retreating against the presence of uncomfortable small talk. 

"And... you know my name... if you need anything at all," he said. Clara nodded.

"That I do, #12046," Clara said. #12046 grinned and nodded. 

"See you," he said, pulling away before Clara could reply. She raised one hand to wave, smiling and watching him off through the corner of her eye. Her teeth sunk into her bottom lip. She looked down at the bracelet delicately dangling in her fingers, the only other relic of the man that he had left behind. As she turned to face the table again, searching for the color and the corresponding kink, a boisterous set of voices approached her from the other side.

"Oh my god, I thought I was going to die of cuteness just then," said a female voice on her right. Clara was shot back into the moment as she turned and faced the two women seemingly crowding around her.

"And he's fine too, even compared to the other men I've seen so far," said another. "You got his number, I heard. You better get on that tonight or I'm gonna be swooping in the next morning." 

"Sorry, I.. I don't really... uhh..." Clara began, keeping her attention on the selection on the table. 

"Gotta get the really cute ones quick," said the woman pulling over her right side. She wore a cocktail dress with a shimmering gold trim. Her hair and makeup had been meticulously perfected. A cloud of perfume enveloped Clara from all sides, easily overpowering the other clouds of perfume making up the air around her. The other woman was younger, about Clara's age. She wore dark accents around her face and her bare arms and legs highlighted heavy tattoos from a pair of short-shorts and a navy crop top. "Or else they get spent way too quickly."

"I think that's what he was trying to do," the other woman said, popping gum from behind cleanly painted ebony lips. Her hair was messy, her eyes seemed slightly streaked, yet her beauty, even up close, remained perfectly obvious. Both wore their own variations of bracelets up and down their wrists and forearms. 

"Heh, yeah right..." Clara muttered. She shifted uncomfortably in place, holding onto her bag tightly. She sighed and began to turn before another woman approached from behind, one coming in much closer than the others.

"Oh, I'm sure of it," she said. The woman's eyes found hers nearly right away upon approaching. They were rich and deep with experience and a lust for life. She presented as a few years older than Clara. A red cocktail dress fluttered at the thighs, her chestnut hair worn down in bouncing waves. Clara looked back. The woman smiled with lips that matched her dress, along with her nails. She looked as if she could have been the woman on the Siren Song logo, the beautiful maiden singing while holding the hands of a man and woman. "He picked well right away."

"No, he... he can do better..." Clara said, laughing off the woman's statement as if it were a joke. The woman shook her head, not yielding so much as a scoff. She turned toward her friends, clambering over a selection of charms made to attach to the bracelets sold off to the side.

"Hey, can you guys back up a bit, jeez..." the woman said. The other two shuffled to left and right, their attention having been pulled more to the contents of the table. 

"She hasn't picked any out yet though," said the first woman. "We just want to help." 

"Yeah, like, what are you into?" the second asked, still popping gum. Clara found herself frozen in place. Her heart pounded in her chest. Her feet shifted slightly, prepared to turn and scurry off should the pressure turn to anxiety. Her face darkened still, sweat beading around the nape of her neck. She stammered a bit, not knowing how to answer beyond embarrassed silence.

"No, wait, she does have one," said the girl in red. She reached down to see the light pink wrist band still in Clara's hand. Clara laughed and shook her head.

"Oh, no, that's not--"

"Tickling, huh?" the woman in red asked. It was only then that Clara noticed the cubby listed for the same shade of pink. 'Tickling'. It sat between a turquoise shaded wrist band labeled 'Praise' and a magenta band labeled 'Sissy'. Clara paused for a moment. The word 'tickling' resonated in a way that she had never fully considered. While the concept of tickling as a sexual exchange was not entirely foreign to her, she had never stopped to think about how naturally such a conclusion came. Holding the bracelet in her fingers and staring down into the reflective gleam in the flirty pink, Clara began thinking back to the last times that she had ever felt the mundane rush of a playful or prolonged tickle. A few boyfriends through high school, early teasing by friends and cousins, even an instance with a neighbor crush out by the pool the summer that she was to leave for college. Little moments began to surface in her memory, all of which presented through a deeper red lens of strange clarity. 

"I, uhh... I guess..." Clara said, still toying with the band in between her fingers. The woman by her side lifted her arm to show her own collection of bands. Yet another colorful assortment flashed before Clara's eyes. Knowing what they meant, she began to see how each arrangement was a sort of profile, a spectrum that told the most personal and private stories of the passengers that upheld a code of anonymity. The woman held out some of the colors that Clara had seen and others that continued to be a mystery. One of the former, however, was the same color band she held in her fingers. 

"Samsies," the woman said, her voice upbeat and musical. She came closer to Clara, still mulling over the selection in front of her. "You'll find a lot of those on the ship. Siren Song loves adhering to the tickling crowd. It's a safer fetish to cater to, I'd imagine, so it gets a lot of us. Are you a lee or a ler?"

"Am I... a what now?" Clara asked. Her confusion became almost painful, a grim enforcement to the idea that she was trapped in a place not meant for her. She stood, expecting the woman to speak down to her or to question her involvement, an inquiry that racked her own mind as well. Instead, the woman smiled kindly.

"Here, you might also want to consider these with that one," the woman said, guiding Clara's attention toward another corner of the cubby system. In one slot, dark grey bands were set above the word 'Dominant' while cream colored bands next to it read 'Submissive'. Likewise, rich purple bands were slotted above the word 'Top' and a shallow reserve of flowery yellow bands laid above the word 'Bottom'. Clara stared, feeling as if she understood the terms well enough while harboring more confusion still.

"Ah, okay," Clara said. "To be honest, I've never really... done enough to even know, like... aren't they the same things?" 

"Interestingly, no," the woman said. "You can be a dominant bottom, technically."

"Yeah, that's when I give my girl a little ass slap and tell her to put on the big red strap," the other girl said, smirking as she popped her gum. "Keep her busy for a while after a rough day at the shop." The woman by Clara's side gestured toward her.

"Case and point," she said, "but, you know, the terms here are so fluid and ultimately you're the one who decides what they mean for you. But if you're the kind of girl who likes being tickled, you might call yourself a lee, like tickle-lee, and maybe pair up that band with this one to let others know that you're more of a... receiver." The woman reached to grab one of the flowery yellow bands and held it out for Clara. Clara looked down at it, chuckled nervously a bit, and shook her head.

"Oh, I don't really know... what I am in all this," she said. "I wasn't really planning on doing anything here anyway. See, I was supposed to be here as support for a friend, but she got sick and had to bail, so now I'm kind of here alone and don't really know anyone or this... uh, culture, I guess. I don't know, it's all very new and strange to me. It might not even be for me at all, so..." Clara adjusted her glasses and brushed more of her hair back behind one burning ear. She eyed the direction she would bolt, hoping to find something on the ship that she could connect with for the week that she would be in its captivity. The woman smiled warmly and nodded.

"I get that," she said. "I've been doing these once a year for, like, five years now and I can say that the people you'll meet should be pretty respectful if you want to keep your space. Can't speak for everyone, but I do know that security is tight around here, particularly when it comes to unwanted shit, and no one on board wants to get blacklisted. People here are generally pretty friendly; I hope you don't think too lowly of us kinksters." 

"Oh no, it's not that at all!" Clara said defensively. "I'm just saying that it may now be--"

"I'm just fucking with you," the woman said, smirking and giggling a bit. "Sorry, but I couldn't resist. You really set me up for it." She laughed as Clara joined in for a few chuckles, nervously stroking the band held in her fingers. "Seriously though, I can tell it's your first time and we all really just want you to enjoy yourself. That's the whole point after all. Having fun and being safe. I really hope you find something that clicks with you." Clara smiled sweetly, staring down at the band she still held. Her mind whirred over all the new information. Her eyes drifted back to the woman's wrist, seeing the tickling band mingling with a family of the lesbian, bondage, feet, and top bands, among a few others that Clara would need to cross reference to understand. Holding onto her own tickling band felt right, even comfortable, as if her whole identity on the ship resided within that cheap and colorful plastic loop. 

"Thank you," Clara said softly. "It... it's just... all so new to me. I think I may need to come back to this later."

"It stays out all cruise," said the woman. "And there should be a handy color chart on a little index card somewhere in your room. Feel free to ask for anything, the staff here are all great."

"Thanks," Clara said. "I'll keep that in mind." She grinned before turning away slightly, starting to walk off with her mind full of silent questions and curiosities. She only got about a few steps away from the table before the woman called back out to her. 

"And hey!" she shouted, hurrying back up to Clara. "And you already have a friend on the ship. Well, a second friend, you know, after the other guy you were talking t-- me, is what I'm trying to say. My name is #11379. You do know about the names, right?"

"Yes, and thank you," Clara said. "I... I'm probably going to need a friend or two to get through this." 

"Cool," #11379 said. "Well, I'll be around and you know my name if you need anything at all."

"So long as there's no sock on the doorknob, right?" Clara asked, softly jokingly. 

"I usually use this little magnet that looks like a slice of Hawaiian pizza," #11379 said. "It's cute, it's kind of an inside joke with some friends. If it's pointed up, things are happening and come back later. Pointed down, things are happening and feel free to join in. You feel me?" 

"Hah, that's cute, I like that," said Clara. "Thanks again!" She smiled again at how kind and understanding that #11379 had been with her. The woman in red gave her another parting smile, coupled with a wave where her fingers, tipped with long, candy red nails, stroked teasingly at the air. A warm chill ran down Clara's spine. Her heart pulsed briefly as she found herself speaking up before the girl could walk away. "Oh, my name is... uhh..."

"You don't have to," #11379 said solemnly, shaking her head. "You should know that. Only give it out if you're comfortable with people knowing it."

"Okay, thanks but..." Clara said in a clumsy stammer. She looked back at the girl, kind and still so exhilarating in such an adventurous lifestyle. She wore her posture as one confident in her place in the world, someone in command of every room and every atmosphere. She held her head up high, her body strong as she stood tall in her delicately flowing dress. Clara swallowed a bit as #11379 gave her the time and space she needed. "My name is... #9154." #11379's smile widened. She nodded respectfully. 

"Well, it's been very nice to meet you, #9154," she said. "I'm looking forward to getting to know you better."

"M-me too," Clara said. Before she could reflect on her unbalanced retort, Clara hurried off, turning away from #11379 and feeling the full burn of the fire that blazed beneath her cheeks and down to her chest. She rushed to the elevators off at the front of the ship, convinced that she still had eyes on her every movement. As she made her way out of #11379's sight, joining a small cluster of a group in bathing suits all waiting for the doors to open, Clara looked back down at the bracelet in her hand. So much emphasis had been put on them that she struggled to simply accept the cute little plastic ring as something a part of her. She paused as she held it up to her fingers on her left hand. She wondered wistfully if it was right or not, if something as forgetful or mundane as tickling could be considered a fetish for her. She had never really thought of it like that before, yet thinking back to her past experiences and coupling them with invasive fantasies of what it would feel like to be beneath the scribbling hands of #11379 or #12046, Clara began to understand. Maybe not as a fetish, but a passive wish, something that she would not completely despise feeling again, even if it was by strangers on a boat. As the elevator approached, and people got off and more got on, Clara swallowed. In a moment that she was sure would not be as significant as she was making it, she pushed the band onto her wrist and hurried to catch the upward vessel.

Feeling the lonely band dangling on her wrist, Clara made her way back to her room feeling as if she had made a massive leap into the acclamation of the cruise's identity. She glanced at it, the pretty pink hue reflecting playfully off of the lights as she passed through the long hallway with door after door. It looked so natural, as if it was simply a part of her ensemble with no other context included. She wondered what kinds of exchanges she would have with people because of it, if any more at all. Clara felt as well as if she were slipping into the kind of character expected by the people on board. She wondered if this would be exclusively her on the ship, shed just as easily on the day of final dock, or it would be something that she would take with her after it was over. Many thoughts raced through her head, brushed away by the absurd notion that she was simply overthinking the whole thing.

The doors down the hallway seemed just as colorful as the bands adorning everyone's wrists. People had taken the time to decorate and settle into their little abodes for the week ahead. Some doors included magnets with funny and crude phrases and images. Some included personalized instructions for entry, many of which suggesting that if the door is propped open, it's an open invitation. Some boasted strips of colored tape, no doubt congruent with the bands of whoever was staying there, while others held messages of positivity and even whiteboards for interactivity with their fellow passengers. It all painted a lively scene of a vibrant cast of people Clara may meet during her stay. As appeased as she was by the idea of relaxing and staying largely out of the way of the more bombastic activities, Clara found herself adoring the exchanges she had already had and almost longing to meet others.

Back at her room, Clara looked out of the sliding glass door out onto her own personal balcony to see the ship moving. Nothing but a boundless ocean laid before her view atop the ship that coasted with moderate speed. Across her dresser, an itinerary with the ship's daily activities had been printed out. As #11379 had said, by its side, a small card with the various colors of bands sat bent and upright like a tent. It listed the names of each kink beneath the colors much the same way the cubby did down on the main floor. She took the moment to review the selection, a far more vast collection of fetishes and tastes than she could have ever listed on her own. Some she remembered reading down at the table while others remained wholly a mystery, noting that she would likely have to ask someone about the ones that were just letters like Cg/L and CNC. Still, the whole assortment told the story of a world far more interesting and colorful than the one she grew up with, a world ever so brighter than she ever imagined.

Clara's stomach growled a bit as she reviewed the itinerary for the day. Several easy-going events were listed in a couple of the vars and entertainment venues. Little things like themed trivias and 'Guess That Song's were scattered about to fill space. Some of the other days listed live shows and bands, but the opening day seemed functionally chill. She weighed her options carefully, figuring that she would get lunch soon and be ready for dinner in the main dining hall at her reserved time of six, a solid plan to fill with whatever she liked.

After having slipped on a bikini beneath her dress, Clara made her way to the Ocean Gaze, a handy little buffet at the top of the ship. She sat down with a plate of food that could have certainly been worse and enjoyed the towering windows casting the view of the lively blue ocean across the walls. She ate in peace, able to find a joyful serenity in being alone. Clara had never taken any trip alone. The idea never even crossed her mind. But without anyone else in her party, there were no other wants or needs to keep her from doing whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted. She had no plans and no one else to adhere to in making them. It was a kind of freedom that seemed more rare and priceless than what she would have otherwise considered it. Clara sat and ate a few plates, able to enjoy a hearty helping of dessert with no shame or embarrassed 'cheat day' explanation to those around her. She enjoyed the view and left for the upper deck as she pleased.

The pool deck was largely empty, save for a few parties around the pool itself and some others enjoying drinks in a hot-tub. The pool deck also had a bar in nearly every visual direction, with more guests sitting around it and chatting up the tanned and barely dressed bartenders. Clara opted to savor a drink later and simply resigned herself to a fairly secluded pool chair. There, she drank in the sun by stripping off her dress and laying out, letting the direct rays take hold of her pale and densely protected skin. She contemplated breaking into one of her books, but elected to simply be alone with her thoughts against the distant, roaring hush of the ship slicing through the ocean. The blues of the sky and sea made for a day most beautiful and an atmosphere that could bask even Clara's racing mind in a trance of tranquility.

After having dipped in and out of the pool for quick swims, passively listening to the often risqué discussions of those within earshot, Clara packed herself up once more. She made her way back to the room for a shower and a change of clothes. Clara weighed her dress options, wishing she had packed more that would have made her stand out just a little better since she would end up being alone. After tending to her hair, she put on a floral green top, a layered yellow skirt, and a pair of brand new black kitten pumps that Clara felt were as cute as they were practical for mobility. After dressing and finishing with her relatively reserved beauty procedures, Clara headed down to the dining room for dinner. Eating alone was also going to be a new and potentially awkward experience, but Clara prepared herself by bringing her book with her so as to keep from just staring around passively at strangers while she waited between courses. The dinner was a fun Caribbean theme with jerk chicken and roasted corn. A little adventurous for her taste, but she managed to enjoy it all the same. A quick conclusion of some cookies and ice cream left her feeling just the right amount of full.

"How was everything, miss?" Ronaldo, the waiter, inquired upon taking her final dishes. Clara dapped her lips with her napkin and pushed her glasses back up her nose with her thumb.

"It was... great, honestly a lot better than I thought it was going to be," Clara said. She fished through her purse and produced a ten dollar bill, handing it to the man. He took it with a smile and respective demeanor.

"Thank you very much, miss," Ronaldo said. "If there's anything else that I or any of the staff can do for you, please let us know."

"Thank you so much," Clara said. She put her book back into her Dooney and slung one strap over one shoulder. Clara tossed her hair back, giving a passive examination of the open dining room once more to see if she recognized anyone. The room stretched from one side of the ship to the other, bearing windows overlooking the water on both sides. It was leveled with two floors, all of which were reserved for different parties at various times in the evening. Many of these parties, from what Clara could tell, were largely clusters of guests in like age groups. Some tables were college friends while others were the late thirty to early forty groups of couples and swingers looking to get away from the kids for a week of loose mirth. Some tables held older groups of passengers, more friends and couples in their more conservative gatherings. The deco around the massive dining hall was built around gold and maroon schemes, with tastefully experimental art pieces sprinkled throughout as accents. To Clara's dismay, no one else seemed to be enjoying an evening without company. She sighed, having expected as such, and left to enjoy the rest of her evening as she wished.

Several small events and activities presented themselves as available options for a night outside the safe retreat of her room. She considered visiting the casino or heading to the jazz lounge or to one of the many bars that never seemed to be more than a stone's throw from wherever she was at any given time. Patrolling the inner halls of the vessel, she witnessed more incredibly attractive people mingling about, laughing and speaking loudly over booming live music and drinks clawed precariously between trembling fingertips. Clara had taken to looking more at the bands wrapped around people's wrists, ankles, or other creative methods of detailing their likes. Everyone seemed to have their little assortments, splashing color in great quantities. No one else had only one, but it was in that detail that Clara began to feel almost unique as she wondered if she too would be wearing more before the trip was over.

After some careful deliberation, Clara decided to check out Circle Two, the larger of the ship's several dance halls, for their embarking party. She could hear it from quite an impressive yet disconcerting distance. She too could have just as easily followed the streams of people funneling toward the venue, all dressed in their own versions of flirty club attire and, of course, colorful wristbands. Clara made a quick stop to her room to return her bag for safety before returning to the venue. She kept quiet as she followed the crowd, more familiar with the former than the latter. As careful as she was, she could see the character in her fellow passengers that #11379 had mentioned. Everyone she happened to bump into, share an elevator, or glance brief eye-contact with shot her friendly smiles, most seeming to be just innocent pleasantries at first impression. While she could hear some crude conversation carrying on perhaps a little too loudly for public spaces, she never found herself feeling overly uncomfortable with the estranged company of overtly attractive people going by numbers.

Clara placed herself in the line to check out the dance club, expecting to walk in, comment on how 'neat' it is, and retreat to her room and balcony for a quiet evening of reading. As she followed inside, bright lights and blasting music enveloped her person like a stone being pelted by a pressure washer. Thumping remixes of popular pop songs from over the last twenty years burst through speakers from all angles. Flashing lights of red, blue, and green swirled through the air with vicious strobing. The air was dense with heat and musk, yet retained an alluring fragrance, something distantly primal. Clara's body began to move rhythmically as she ventured into the dark and flashing chamber. People gravitated toward the center of the room, to a dance floor that bounced and thrashed with lively appreciation. Others sat across the edge of the room where several bartenders chatted and flirted and shot fancy drinks to and fro. As Clara stepped further inside. A sea of roused dancers corralled together, hopping and singing along to those mass appeal songs whose words echoed in Clara's own mind. She smiled as she too began to dance and draw herself further into the room's explosive energy.

A DJ stood up behind a table toward the front center, bobbing to the harsh, bassy thumping. Around Clara, young men and women danced and bounced in place at the same pace. They laughed and sweated together, some singing along to the words that were grossly masked by the emphasis of repetitive music. Clara's experience with clubs had been restricted to being invited by Melody, more often than not to be the designated driver. They were never the kind of venues that Clara would actively seek out or go to alone. Thick musk swirled around her. Pretty faces meshed into a blurry vignette of musical revelry. She molded into the energy of the room, slipping into the kind of girl that would be brazen enough to dance alone, to eat alone, and to take daring and elaborate trips alone. Several of the others around her sang with her and played off of her rather inexperienced moves. Slowly, she adopted their styles of nightlife joy as well. She became louder than she had ever allowed herself to be. She became more noticed than she had ever wanted to be. In the dark of the twirling lights and bumping music, Clara could be anyone she wanted to be; a girl who, if only for a night, could strip away all of her own restrictions and simply accept the pleasures of the world.

"Oh my god, I love this song!" Clara heard one girl say. Bands rattled and bounced against her wrists as a number, written in black Sharpie, streaked against beads of sweat on her upper arm.

"That skirt is so cute!" a foppish young man said to Clara loudly over the blasting music. He wore a skin-tight tank with bands across both wrists. Clara thanked him as the two danced through the beats, meshing into the crowd doing the same.

Having only stepped in to see the venue, Clara danced for hours through the night. Her hair had loosened, her glasses drooped down her nose, and the girl danced freely amongst other strangers, all dressed in thrilling and proactive attire and still wearing those vibrant bands. She caught the leering attention of girls and guys alike, none of which invaded her more than a looming and inviting stare. As wild as she had become, unable to drink, Clara was grateful to still have her wits about her. She enjoyed the evening and her fellow passengers asked nothing more of her than that.

As the club cleared out around one in the morning, solitude washed back over Clara. Groups of friends reconvened for drinks and trips up to the pool to freshen up. Several couples continued making out in the darker corners, hands ruffling freely beneath clothes. Clara sighed, still breathing heavily, and wiped a layer of sweat from her forehead. She coughed, looking around for any of the faces that had been so friendly with her on the dance floor, adjusted her glasses again, and started off for the exit.

The music continued to thump in her ear as she closed her cabin door behind her. In her own space, Clara let out a heavy sigh. Her shoulders dropped, the weight of this new character seemed to melt in the quiet truth of being alone. The bed, still freshly made, called out to her, a sanctuary at which she had often spent her nights alone. As appealing as it felt, Clara reflected on how it felt to do something different, to be someone different, if only for an evening.

Easing back into quiet, reclusive Clara, the young woman kicked off her shoes and let gravility carry her plopping down atop the bed. The comforter was cool and plush, like an icing rain cloud. She sank into the mattress, reaching for the pillow and caring little about whether she fell asleep right then, still in her dress, or not. Her mind churned over the strange memories of the day, memories of a life spent more exotically and interesting than she had ever lived hers. She thought to the people she had met and wondered how it was they were spending their first night on the ship. She wondered if she would actually see them again or if she would meet others on subsequent days as easily as she had met them. With her mind casting pleasant images of the day, Clara's eyes opened to see her one hand resting in front of her face. The single band still clung to her wrist.

Tickling.

She thought about tickling. She thought about the rush of being subjected to forced laughter by physical touch. She thought about the helpless feeling that came with it, the humiliation of being touched and made to react in such explosive ways. She thought about the scurrying feeling that shot through her body when someone had discovered how ticklish she had always been and dared to test it. She thought about the chase, the resistance, and the inevitable defeat to the feeling that sent rushing surges of warmth through her person. Fingers dashing inside her pits, her tickler laughing as they teased her bare feet caught beneath the crook of their arm, she thought of it all, all the memories that she had retained on the matter. Her hand gripped the sheet as she thought, thinking and aching in ways she never had before.

Three knocks at the door made Clara sit upright. She waited for a moment, not knowing if the knocks were for her door or perhaps one of the ones adjacent to her. After hearing nothing, Clara pushed herself to her feet and walked up to her bedroom door. She turned the handle and cracked it slowly. Before her stood #11379, smiling wearily back at her.

"Hey!" #11379 said excitedly, but softly enough as to not wake anyone trying to sleep. "Sorry, you weren't sleeping, were you?"

"Hey," Clara said, leaning against the cracked door. "And no, I actually just got back from the, uh, dance club, whatever it's called." She smirked back at the woman on the other side of the door. Her initial fear was that she knew her face but had forgotten her name, only to remember never having received it properly. #11379 wore a similarly fatigued expression. Her hair had also loosened and frayed in places, some even clinging to the sweat still caked around her face and neck. Still, she smiled just as confidently and assured as she had earlier that day.

"Circle Two," #11379 said. "I know. I saw you there, really getting into it. You got some moves on you."

"Oh god, I probably looked like an idiot out there," Clara said, laughing it off.

"No, no, it was cute," #11379 said. "Honestly, it was really good seeing you having a good time. I would have said something, but I didn't want to break up your groove. I hope you liked it as much as it seemed."

"I did, actually," Clara said. "It's not something I normally do or get to do, but it was a lot of fun."

"Great, that's so great," #11379 said. Clara smiled back, her eyes glancing up and down #11379 ensemble. She had changed into a top that resembled a black and purple corset with a pair of black leather pants and heels. Her bands, including the same one that Clara wore, still hung from her wrist. A haze fell in front of Clara's eyes, a dreamlike stupor that made her feel slightly as if she were walking on air or ready to drift off to sleep. Clara bit her lip and fiddled with one side of her glasses.

"Yeah," Clara said on an exhale. "Did you want to... come in for a bit?" A twinkle shone in #11379's eye just before she turned away.

"I mean... I don't want to keep you up if you want to go to bed," she said.

"No, it's fine," Clara said, still leaning against the door. "Really, I... don't mind. It's just nice having a friend around." Clara caught the smirk that #11379 shot her in reply. It was transparent, even to Clara, yet Clara retained little effort or want to push back against it.

"Okay," #11379 said. Clara opened the door more, letting #11379 inside her comfortably diminutive cabin. As #11379 stepped inside, she gave a brief glimpse around, grinning as Clara shut the door behind her.

"Cute," #11379 said. "Very cute."

"It's not much," Clara said. "And I haven't really done much decorating or unpacking yet. Still have a few things to go through."

"Neater than mine, that's for sure," #11379 said. She turned to face Clara. The pair locked eyes for a telling gesture. Clara could feel the words that lingered in the silence, yet kept herself from fully acknowledging them right away. #11379 sighed softly and sat on the edge of Clara's bed. Clara pulled the chair out from the vanity to save distance and took a seat. "So, how was your first day?"

"Not bad," Clara said. "Pretty good, actually. Not really what I was expecting. In a good way, I guess."

"What were you expecting?"

"I... don't really know," Clara said, shaking her head and blowing out a heavy sigh. "Never been on a cruise before. Not one for this kind of... atmosphere, either. So I guess just..."

"Drunk people fucking, like, pretty much all over the place?"

"Well..." Clara groaned a bit, smirking nervously as she looked away. "Kind of... maybe..." #11379 chuckled and brushed her hair out of her face.

"That's the big stigma with the kink community," #11379 said plainfully. "Like we're animals who only act on impulse."

"I didn't mean to--"

"No, it's okay," #11379 said. "Just a little disheartening sometimes that that's how some people look at us. I mean, of course there's going to be the outliers that uphold the stereotype, but you really should know that the community as a whole is actually very respectful and considerate."

"I'm sure," Clara said carefully. "I never assumed otherwise."

"Well, I'm glad," #11379 said. "It's just free expression and a permission to be the kind of person you're so often not allowed to be by conventional measures. We care for each other, look out for each other. The 'sex' in it all is just kind of an occasional byproduct, something that has no more meaning than what partners give it. Don't get me wrong, you might see some pretty odd shit while you're here, but the community and even the cruise line itself is really good at setting safe and respectful boundaries. Kind of hard to explain it; it's more of a 'you gotta see it for yourself' kind of thing, but I get why a lot of newcomers don't want to put themselves in those settings. It's a thin line."

"I get that, one hundred percent," Clara said, smiling and nodding to share a warm extension of understanding. She watched as #11379 sighed and leaned back further into the bed. Her head fell back, her body propped up by her arms hoisting behind her. "Sorry, I never meant to make it sound like I've been judging, it's just... this was meant to be an experimental thing for my friend. It's just never really been my kind of thing, you know?"

"That has to be rough, right?" #11379 asked. "I mean, even experienced cruisers with Siren usually bring at least one other person along. But I guess there could be something especially liberating about being alone here." She reached down to slip off her heels, setting them off to the side and wiggling her toes.

"What do you mean?" Clara asked with genuine curiosity. #11379 looked back at her and grinned sleepily. She paused before looking down and adjusting her posture.

"Still wearing the band, I see," she said. Clara looked down to her wrist.

"Yeah, well, I just figured it'd be weird without at least one," Clara said, stroking a fallen lock of gold back behind her ear. "Truth be told, I didn't even know about these before the ship. I mean, there's a lot I didn't know, and still don't I'm sure, but with how popular these are, I'm a little surprised that nothing really came up about these when I had first looked into the cruise."

"It's nice to have a little slice of honesty and vulnerability," #11379 said. "Talking about these kinds of things can be hard for some people, so the icebreakers do just that. You don't have to talk about it and you're in a space where no one will judge you because everyone makes themselves equally as vulnerable. I love this whole system. Plus they make for cute little souvenirs." Clara laughed.

"They are kind of cool like that," she said, jingling the band against her wrist. A pause fell over the room once more. #11379 looked away for a moment, swiping back twisted red curls.

"Cute that you chose tickling though," she said. "Like I said, pretty common around here. You may even be more alike the others than you think."

"Oh, I... it was just the one handed to me by... that guy, god, names are so much harder to remember when they're numbers," Clara said, shaking her head.

"Makes you work for it," #11379 said. "For what it's worth, most people just bring a pen and small book around with them."

"Oh," Clara said. "Did you?"

"Nope," #11379 said bluntly.

"So... you remembered?"

"You told me, which means something, so yeah," #11379 said. "Don't worry if you forgot my name though, I totally understand. No shame in asking again if you need it."

"I, uh, yeah I may, actually..." Clara said. "S-sorry." Her nervous chuckles got a bigger laugh out of #11379, drinking in the comfort of her company.

"No worries," #11379 said. "You could have just put the band back though. But you held onto it. So I'm thinking that, even if you didn't really have a 'tickling' thing before, maybe... you're considering it?" Clara paused, looking back down at the pink glean of the plastic around her wrist.

"Maybe," she said. "I don't know. There's been so much to think about so fast. I definitely see the appeal, though nothing too outlandish has happened yet, but I guess, in the back of my mind, I can't not wonder if I should even be here at all. Thinking about these rules and this... community that I've never been part of. You know, I'm glad I could enjoy myself today at least, but that's just what I've been thinking about since getting on board. Plus, part of the overthinking is wondering if I really am just overthinking and if I should just turn it all off somehow, but--"

"Don't think," #11379 said, leaning forward. "Just feel. You chose tickling, don't worry about anything else. Don't try to adapt to anything else. When you imagine being tickled, how does it make you feel?" A hush fell over Clara. #11379 spoke aloud the question that seemed to have been plucked from Clara's own mind, taken from recent internalized deliberation. She still found herself struggling to answer, especially out loud, but she trusted the company and the tone in which the inquiry was presented. A rush of heat rose to her cheeks. Her heart began to thump, echoing the thrashing club music that still echoed in her ears. Clara moistened her throat as her teeth met her bottom lip. She recalled it all once more in the moment. The rush of stimulation, the compulsive reactions, the heat and personal exchange. She imagined being on the receiving end of a cute and flirty prolonged tickling at the hands of crushes new and old. Brief fantasies flashed of Jake on the Jameson High varsity soccer team digging his fingers into her armpits, of her freshmen chem lab partner Sandra pinning her against the mural in the hallway while playfully pinching her sides, and of the young man on the main floor of the ship holding one of her ankles in one strong hand while his fingers flicked against her wriggling sole. Each new thought seemed to plunge Clara deeper into dark comprehension of her own hidden desires. The longer the thought, the clearer the conclusion became.

"E... umm...ex-excited?" Clara answered, somewhat unsure. She expected #11379 to respond with some degree of hype or thrill. Yet what she got instead was almost more welcoming.

"Have you ever been tickled?" #11379 asked. "You know, like... for a session? Or a longer time." The answer for her follow up question was a far easier one to come to.

"No," Clara said. "Like... I feel like I'm just learning about this now. Honestly, I don't even know if I do like it or not."

"But picturing it?" #11379 asked, leading Clara in. Clara's blush remained as she pushed her glasses upward once more.

"Picturing it, I... could see how I would... maybe... like it," Clara said, carefully navigating her vocabulary. #11379 paused thoughtfully. She nodded and smiled, looking confidently back at Clara.

"Okay," #11379 said.

"Okay, what?" Clara asked.

"Okay, I'm just gonna say it," #11379 said, holding her head up. "I would like to tickle you, if you’d let me.” Clara blinked. She swallowed and shifted in her seat.

“Wh-what?” Clara asked.

“You heard me,” #11379 said. “You say you might like it, I know for sure I do, so I’d love to help ease you into it. Even if you don’t end up liking it, at least you’ll know.” Clara’s face brightened as she looked away, fiddling with one side of her glasses. She raised the tips of her fingers to her lips, her face suppressing the contemplation into which the words submerged her mind. She looked back at the face of a stranger, the smile of a friend, and the expression of a caring lover. Just thinking about it, Clara found herself drawn to the prospect, to the point of faint tingles and familiar churning. She nibbled a bit at her nails as she rushed an answer.

“So, like… what would you do?” Clara asked.

“Well, I’d lay you down on this bed, maybe have you take off whatever you’d feel comfortable taking off, and just use my nails around your more ticklish spots,” #11379 said. “Just nails, nothing crazy. No pushing your limits; it’d be about just letting you know what it feels like to be tickled in this kind of context, assuming that you would like to be the one being tickled.”

“A… lee, right?”

“Ticklee, yes,” #11379 said. “I go either way, a switch, but definitely give off the kind of ‘lee’ energy that brings out the ‘ler’ in me.” 

“Don’t know if that’s faltering or not, but I’ll assume that it is.”

“Would you be interested in that?” #11379 asked. Clara knew the answer, as much as the phrase ‘I guess’ began to resurface in her mouth. She breathed in a deep sigh, trying to hold her head up as high as she could allow.

“I… I would,” she said, shifting nervously in place. #11379’s smile widened.

“Great!” she said. “Don’t worry, I won’t do anything you’re not comfortable with, including tickling you too badly. Not right away at least. You’ll probably see some pretty intense tickling on the ship. Believe me, I’ve dished it and taken it many times, but not tonight. I just want you to feel it.”

“Oh, tonight?” Clara asked, glancing at the clock.

“Of course,” #11379 said. “Only got a week together. What’s wrong, got somewhere to be tomorrow?”

“No, I guess not,” Clara said. “Never been much of a… night owl, though.”

“Not too tired, are you?” #11379 asked. Clara fought the impulse to sigh wearily. Her sensibilities had her looking forward to resting after a day of travel and a long night of dancing, yet she seemed to have retained just enough energy to seriously consider the proposition sitting atop of her very bed. 

“No,” Clara said, partially unsure. “Maybe not for a long time though.”

“I’m here to give you only what you want,” #11379 said. She stood up from the bed and walked up to Clara. She held out her hand. Clara took it, feeling #11379’s fingers in between hers, as she lifted herself to her feet. Clara smiled back at her, briefly glancing away. “And I’d say that a drink or two helps to loosen you up beforehand but…”

“Yeah, no,” Clara said. “Nineteen.”

“I figured,” #11379 said. “Didn’t want to assume, but it definitely shows. Twenty-four, myself, in the interest of being open.”

“Thanks,” Clara said. “I was… really scared about doing this thing alone. Was really just expecting to spend the week reading out by the pools, not really talking to anyone.”

“Hmm,” #11379 said. “Yeah, maybe on Carnival or something, if you can get away from the screaming kids. I mean, you’re still welcome to do that. You say the word and I’ll leave you as alone as you want me to. But I’d hate a pretty girl like you being on a Siren for a week and not at least have a little bit of Siren fun. And I’d say that you’re smart and perceptive enough to feel that way too.”

“I mean… there’d probably be a bit of FOMO, maybe, afterward…”

“Don’t worry,” #11379 said. “I’ll be gentle. And I won’t do a thing that you don’t agree to. I know that’s a lot to trust in someone you’ve only just met, but I want you to see what all this is really all about. Expressing yourself, connecting with others, being free in your own temple. Even if it’s just for a couple minutes one night.”

“Well, hard to say no to that,” Clara said.

“Then… would you be okay with maybe losing the top or keep it on for now and just… see what happens,” #11379 asked, daringly. Clara stared back at her new friend, the woman that had come close enough to grab her waist and pull her into a deep embrace. Clara could hear the rush of the water breaking against the ship as it carved through the ocean. She had almost forgotten about the gentle rocking. A sliver of moonlight shone through the mostly closed curtains of the glass door that led out onto her balcony. In the moment of relative stillness, even she too could feel the undeniable impulse to lean forward and give herself over to delights that she had not felt for quite some time.

“I don’t know,” Clara muttered. “I’ve never… done anything like this before. I mean, I have but it’s been a while and never with someone I had just met, you know?”

“I get that,” #11379 said. “Doesn’t have to be more than tickling though. I certainly wouldn’t turn a cutie like you down, but I get it.”

“Stop it, I’m a mess right now,” Clara said.

“A hot little mess,” #11379 said. Clara fought back a smirk as she rolled her eyes a bit. She held her arm, turning her gaze away from the lusting eyes of her new friend. “How long has it been?”

“It’s been a few months,” Clara said thoughtfully, “since my… last boyfriend broke up with me. That was hard. Haven’t really done much since.”

“What a loss,” #11379 commented. “I’m sorry to hear that.” A dreary silence fell over the room again. Clara continued to hold onto #11379’s hand, their fingers brushing and stroking tenderly together. #11379 turned to pull Clara toward the bed. She smirked as Clara’s eyes widened a bit. The room began to heat slightly. Her heart thumped harder and faster. Clara swallowed as she found herself following through with the stranger’s lead to her bed.

With each dainty step, she considered and wondered what would come of the night ahead, what all she would end up allowing. #11379’s company was hypnotic. It was warm and familiar while still being so exotic and thrilling. Clara walked up to the edge of her bed, #11379 by her side. She could smell the entrancing perfume bouncing off of #11379’s rich, alluring skin with every breath. #11379 held her as few ever had. The woman’s hands left Clara’s fingers and stroked down the sides of her body. It was slow, methodical, patient touching. It was reverent touching, the warmth from #11379’s fingertips steadily being infused where her hands ventured on Clara’s body. Clara allowed it with near sleep-like surrender to a rising sense of pleasure, heavy exhales becoming light moans where she stood. She turned her head to see #11379’s face cupped over her shoulder, #11379’s breath teasing the side of her neck. She paused in the moment, half expecting a deeply wanted kiss. #11379’s lips fell upon her neck, just below her ear, as her hands rose to gently plush Clara’s glasses off of her face. She broke from the trance to set them off atop the bedside table. 

“Alright, turn to me,” #11379 said. Clara was quick to obey. The word had become somewhat foggy and distorted, she could still see #11379 functionally well. #11379 came up to Clara’s face once more. She smiled, brushing Clara’s hair away from the side of her neck as she planned for where her fingers would go. “Remember, I’m here to give you only what you want…” With a cheeky grin, #11379 came closer. Her hands fell down the edges of Clara’s body, swiping downward toward her hips. She spread them out into a splayed clawing formation around the girl’s bare sides, like a bird of prey preparing itself to grab a fish. With a toothy smile, her nose lightly tapping against the nose of her newest tickle toy, her nails began to faintly scribble.

“Neeehhheehehehee… ohhhh gaahahhhhhahahddd….” Clara started to giggle. Her arms clenched up at her sides. Her knees began to buckle as she twisted in place. Her smile widened while her teeth sank into her lower lip. The faint scurry of nails against her skin began to ignite her senses in a way that had been dreadfully reduced to a distant relic of memory. The surge of playful stimulation seemed to help her recall the feeling in full. She giggled as she writhed in place. #11379 gave her sides the most delicate and feathery tickles her nails could manage, yet they were still enough to render Clara’s composure dwindled and trembling with chirping laughter. 

“Wow, you really are ticklish, aren’t you?” #11379 asked, leaning in closer. She too began to breathe heavily. She stared back at Clara’s expression, drinking in her laughter. She stayed intimately close, feeling the way Clara danced and twisted to the tickles spidering lightly across her delicate sides. She tickled with a teasing touch, testing the waters of what Clara could handle. Her nails grazed Clara’s skin with ease and explosive responses. The girl between her hands clenched and squealed. Clara backed away instinctively, her legs faltering as she bumped the edge of the bed. #11379 caught her, easing her downward as Clara laid back, her head resting atop the pillow, with #11379 hovering over her, still faintly scratching at her sides.

“Geeeehhhhhahhhhahheheheheeheee!!” Clara squeaked as she surrendered to the giggles rushing up from the impish tingling. The woman positioned themselves for comfort. Clara stared back when her eyes managed to open. She twisted against the sheets, giggling and laughing like she had not in years. The ticklish girl made no attempt to stop #11379. She imagined most tickling would come with an endlessly fighting effort of the recipient to get the other to stop, but made no conscious effort to do so. What replaced that impulsive ‘fight or flight’ was a pleasant relinquishing to the stimulation pulsing through her. It was neither irritating or torture, but a delightful expose into a pleasure faintly known. Clara gave herself over to it, putting full trust in #11379, who knelt down against the side of the bed, lightly teasing both of Clara’s exposed sides with a flurry of feathery scratches.

“Awww, you have such an adorable laugh…” #11379 said, smiling wide. She knelt upright, able to watch all of Clara’s upper half feebly squirm from between her hands. She reveled in the soft, warm, and ticklish flesh brushed by the flurries of her fingertips. Clara nestled back against the bed. She squinted as she looked back up at #11379, her lips pulled into a wide smirk with the fluttering of her laughter. Her hands grabbed at the sheets beneath her. Her legs bent, her toes sinking into the cool fabric. She twisted and writhed in place, never committing fully to avoiding the tickles that caressed her tender sides. Clara bit her lip against the giggles that trickled from her throat like a babbling creek.

“Ohhhh gaahahahahahahahahaaaassshhh!” Clara laughed. She rolled her head back against the pillow. Scurrying tickles teased through her senses in a way that she had never fully felt before. Clara recalled being briefly tickled by friends and family, maybe a few times by old boyfriends in passing jest, but never so deliberately. She felt the helplessness wash over her in the faintest of framing. Even in her ticklish, giggling fever, Clara trusted #11379 as someone she could be so helpless and vulnerable around. It was that trust, that relinquishing, that allowed her to surrender to the ache that gnawed more and more with the tickles that surged through her senses. Her heart pounded in her chest as she steadily continued to give herself over to the ticklish pleasure that she had only begun to realize. 

“I could do this all… night… long…” #11379 said, keeping her smile wide. She leaned down, her face still beaming with raptured enthusiasm, while her hands raised up over the ridges of Clara’s ribs and into her underarms. Clara shook her head softly before releasing a new bellow of laughter, one that accompanied #11379’s fingers plunging into the soft, delicate hollows. #11379 snickered as she leaned in closer. She could feel the gentle heat of Clara’s breath brushing against her cheeks. She grinned down at the girl wriggling and squealing to her touch. She pinned Clara down to the bed with her body, Clara’s arms instinctively trapping her hands against her ticklish pits with a defensive clench.

“Naaaahhhhhhahahahahahahahahaa!! Oooohhhhhgaahahahahahahahahaad!!” Clara shrieked. The sudden new wave of tickles overcame her nerves. #11379 was closer, her scent draped over Clara’s skin like a thin, clean sheet. The woman’s nails scribbled and scraped, lapping at the tender relief beneath Clara’s pits. Clara shifted side to side. She squealed in forgotten registers, lost to eras of her early teenage years and further. Her teeth sank into her lip, treading the boundary of pain and pleasure. The flurries of tickles continued far past the point where she remembered ever having been tickled before. The sensation breached from being a playful nuisance into something more, something emblematic and directly feeding into a new and forbidden ache.

“And I’m still barely doing anything,” #11379 said, thoroughly amused. “Not that I wouldn’t push you further if I thought you could handle it…” Experienced in the craft, #11379 remained mindful of Clara’s composure and the telltale signs of distress. She pressed Clara up to the edge of ‘too much’ and inched her closer and closer with each passing second of tickling. As enraptured as she was by Clara’s display of enchanting ticklishness, #11379 focused on keeping her wits about her, a trial that came just as challenging as Clara’s. Her nails slowly flicked inside Clara’s pits. They tasted the warm, supple flesh. They licked at the soft dips, slickened with sweat. #11379 breathed heavily as she gazed down onto Clara’s squeaking laughter and took in all of the adorable nuances of the girl’s near frantic expressions.

“Ohhhhmyyyygaaaahhahahahahahahaaaaaad!!! Clara repeated again. “It tickleeeesssahahahahahahahahaa!!” The young woman rocked against the sheets beneath her. Her squeaks filled the room in a musical cascade of her own vulnerability. Her head swam. Her heart beat rapidly in her chest. She gripped at the bedding to her sides, her hair splaying about the pillow beneath it. Under the tickling hands of #11379, she found her sensibilities treating the moment akin to intimacy with old partners, as few as there had been. Command had been taken, as much as it had been given, of her senses, her dignity handled like a puppet in suspension. A rush remained like a constant, a new parallel to the tame measures of familiar sex. 

“Coochie coochie coo…” #11379 whispered in Clara’s ear. Sparks glowed from beneath her skin. Tickles short through her nerves like surges glimmering over coils and bulbs. The teasing phrases only added to the experience of weakness and infantile helplessness. Both knew that Clara could fight against it. She could , at any moment, push #11379 away as easily as she had those mischievous ticklers in her past. But the fight would be highly reserved against her own composure, against the impulse to bring it to a premature halt. No, Clara laid with a beaming determination to allow the tickling to unfold as much as she could. She soaked in #11379’s presence and touch as much as #11379 did the softness of her ticklish skin, bellowing and singing with melodic giggles.

“Daaaahhahahahhahahahaaan’t!” Clara begged. Her face grew bright red. A musky warmth covered the room. Her body burned with a need that only grew with the seconds of churning endurance. The tickles shot in through her armpits like dozens of tiny bugs racing across her nerves. She continued to twist in place, her elbows pinned to her sides. Her back arched as her head fell back, the tickles growing more intense with nothing other than time and exposure. Yet it was that time and exposure that left her quaking and her body silently asking for more.

“You’re doing so well,” #11379 said, pulling away her hands after several minutes that seemed to bleed into an hour. Clara huffed as her giggles fell to a light chuckling. She remembered the list of fetishes that she had seen earlier. As she steadily discovered truth in her taking the tickling band, she wondered what else would ignite a spark, finding the praise in #11379’s statement quite encouraging. #11379 leaned back, watching Clara recuperate. Clara smiled wearily as she covered her eyes with the crook of her elbow. Her hair had become twisted upon the pillow. Her face shone like a stoplight. Her chest heaved as her heavy breaths became the only sound in the room. #11379 merely watched.

“I know… you’re… holding back…” Clara said.

“I told you I would,” #11379 said. “How are you liking it so far?” Clara failed to discern if it was the excitement that had loosened her lips or if it was the exhaustion, but in the moment of intoxication at the hands of both, she found herself more inclined to answer honestly.

“I am…” Clara said. “I like it…” 

“Good,” #11379 said, grinning. “Me too. But… I’m definitely not done. Haven’t gotten to my favorite part yet…” Clara continued to huff and heave, steadily catching her breath.

“What’s that?” she asked. #11379 paused for a moment as she tilted her head, looking down Clara’s body. 

“Turn over for me,” #11379 said. Clara paused only to savor one last relaxing moment of simply laying on her back and breathing. After, she grunted slightly as she pushed herself to her elbows and turned herself over. The young woman slipped her arms beneath the pillow that propped against her chin. She positioned herself comfortably, bracing for whatever else #11379 had planned for her. Only then, she knew she had a much more limited field of vision. “Good girl.”

“What… what’re you planning?” Clara asked sleepily. Had she not been engaged with such thrilling activity, Clara knew that she could easily drift off to sleep in seconds. Instead, #11379 climbed back onto the bed, facing away from Clara’s upper half and straddling against the backs of her thighs. #11379 tossed her hair back. She ran her fingers over the bare skin of Clara’s legs, just as soft as she had felt of the rest of her. Clara giggled a little, clutching the sheet beneath her pillow in her hands. #11379 smiled as her eyes locked on their alluring targets.

“You have such… amazing skin,” #11379 said. “Perfect for a ticklish little thing like yourself.” #11379 took time to run her fingers across the backs of Clara’s thighs, knees, and calves, all of which varying in ticklish degrees. Clara squeaked as she felt #11379’s touch with the potency of being unable to see how and where the tickle fiend propped on her back would attack next. Slowly, #11379’s hands worked their way down to Clara’s ankles. Clara shifted anxiously. She laughed with a peaking crash of heightened nerves as #11379’s hands neared her bare feet. Her toes curled preemptively. Her body clenched to protect all of itself, knowing well just how sensitive her feet had always been.

“Ohhheheheh gahahahd not my feet!” Clara said on impulse. #11379 paused. 

“Not your feet?” #11379 asked. “Too ticklish then?”

“Yes, th-they’ve always been… really, really ticklish…” Clara stammered.

“Then are you really telling me no?” #11379 asked. Her tone had shifted to one more serious, yet was not without an inflection of disappointment. Her hands, however, remained lightly stroking across the backs of Clara’s ankles. Clara took the moment to consider what it was she was saying. It was reactive and natural, yet she found herself questioning her very words against the wants that brewed in the forefront of her mind. Clara licked her lips. She steadied her breathing and reflected.

“N-no,” Clara said, small and almost apologetic.

“Then I need you to ask for it,” #11379 said. 

“What?” Clara asked.

“Ask… for your feet to be tickled,” #11379 said. Clara had no means of seeing the smug smile that tilted at the ends of #11379’s lips, but a strong intuition implied something functionally similar. A rush rose within her chest, something alike that she would feel while being teased with tickles, though without any sort of physical contact. Being made to admit something, being expected to ask for something, being patronized and talked down to like a child. It served as more humiliation, yet presented itself as reverence, as if #11379 was some sort of authority or superior. In that, something else sparked.

“Pl… please… c-can you… tickle my feet…” Clara formed the words. For a moment prior, she struggled to show such vulnerability, yet as it came out, syllable by syllable, it felt no different than the rest of the vulnerability submitted to the friendly stranger. She knew she would never ask something so blatant and shameful of a friend or anyone that she could think of in the moment, but with #11379, under the specific context, it felt right. Good, even. She punctuated the inquiry with her teeth resting against her bottom lip and a silent reprieve where she knew not what #11379 would do next.

“That’s my good girl,” #11379 said. Her voice was low and emphasized a dominance that fed into the sparks that trickled through Clara’s body. Her hands slipped forward and cupped a single foot. #11379 guided it upright as she leaned back, forcing Clara’s left to bend in a way that faced her bare sole upright in #11379 tender hands. #11379 grinned as she examined the foot up close. Clara’s toes were short, leaving soft bubbles of pink pinched up at the tops. Soft wrinkles laid across a bed of cream and rose pink. The heel was pearly and without blemish, like a plush little pillow. #11379 gazed back at it without a single touch. She studied the finer details, leaning forward to drag in a deep breath through her nose as her senses filled with the alluring fragrance of a delicate foot glossed with faint sweat. #11379 reveled in her own feverish indulgence before lifting her free fingers to the edge of the foot while her other hand held it firmly. A soft series of scratches plucked at her arch, leaving Clara squeaking and jerking beneath where #11379 sat.

“Eeeeeekkkkhhehehehhhahahahahahahahaaa!!!” Clara giggled into a rowdy bellow. Her body twitched and recoiled. Her muscles contracted as a fit of sharp giggles yelped from her mouth. #11379 watched the girl’s toes curl and a bed of soft, pale wrinkles flush across a frail, pink sole. She held the foot gently, yet firmly, in one hand. Her eyes fell upon the lush part as she shifted to the rocking of Clara’s own body thrashing beneath her. #11379 grinned. She soaked in the rise of more ticklish laughter as allured as she did the warm softness of the foot against her fingers and the familiar, inviting scent of the sole near her face. 

“Such an adorable little foot,” #11379 said with trace adoration. She moaned softly and below the rising laughter that flowed musically through the room. Her nails scribbled and scratched up and down the trapped foot. Lightly, she skittered her fingers around the delicate pad of Clara’s heel. She dashed more fingering plucks up and across the milky white arch. As the base of Clara’s toes, she let her nails drag lazily around the blushing surface of the foot’s supple skin. Around and around, her touch explored the petite captive, each touch eliciting tickles that exploded through Clara’s senses and out of her mouth in booming laughter.

“Faaaaahhhhhhhahahahahahaaaack!!” Clara cried. Her body convulsed in a restless state. She twitched and writhed, her hands gripping into the sheets. Her other leg kicked while she fought against the impulse to pull the tickled foot away from her sweet and patient handler. She pressed her hips down against the bed. Her thighs rubbed together beneath #11379’s seat. The laughter erupted through the room, breaking only when Clara would bury her burning face into the pillow, muffling her plentiful cries. The tickles coursed through her as a familiar foe brought out into a new light, one that presented them far more welcomed than she had ever imagined. 

“I could do this all night…” #11379 said, tenderly whispering to the foot in her hand. She brought it even closer to her face. She felt the gentle warmth caressing her lips and cheeks. Losing against her own efforts of restraint, #11379 laid a soft kiss against Clara’s big toe. It came with a faint, airy touch, yet the brush against her toe shocked through Clara’s senses as potent as any other tickle. Pushing Clara’s boundaries farther, #11379 proceeded to kiss on her toes. Her lips lathered the soft, innocent pads. Her breath caressed Clara’s ticklish digits in loving humidity. Her fingers continued to scribble around the girl’s arch while she planted ticklish kisses slowly, yet purposefully, down the row.

“Neeeaaaahhhhhhhahahahahahaaaa!! Ohhhhhgaahahahahahahahahaaaad!!” Clara screamed. Her face glowed with the heat that resonated throughout the rest of her body. The tickles tormented her senses as much as they awakened them to new and electric pleasures. She held onto the bed as tightly as she held onto the determination to not pull away from it. She bit into the pillow as the laughter flowed forth, broken only by the occasional moan as #11379’s mouth kissing at her toes in a sensation unlike anything she had ever felt in heated, bedroom throes. #11379 took her compliance as acceptance, yet knew she needed more than that for Clara to feel truly satisfied. Reluctantly, #11379 pulled away after draping soft kisses against each blushing toe pad. She sighed as the tickling stopped and the laughter faded into a soft series of whimpers and heavy breathing. She guided the foot back down to the bed.

“Still okay, cutie?” #11379 asked, sharing the warmth that burned through Clara’s figure. Clara huffed. She drooled a little and licked at it, her hair much more wild than before. Clara nodded from behind #11379’s back.

“Y… y-yeah…” Clara said. “W-why… why’d you… stop?” Her voice was weak, though her words were spoken with clear intention. #11379 smiled at the affirmation.

“Just wanted to make sure,” #11379 said. After a moment of collection, #11379 reached down toward Clara’s other foot. She held it like the first, bending Clara’s leg back with ease, feeling Clara almost move it herself in a silent plea for more. #11379 turned around, however. Wanting to see more of Clara’s motions from her upper half, she turned where she straddled, cupping Clara’s ankle beneath the crook of her arm in a hold much stronger than she had the other foot. Daring to inch the girl further into mutual understanding, #11379 positioned herself comfortably atop Clara’s bottom. She held the ticklish bare foot locked beneath her own armpit, watching the little toes squirm from up close. #11379 bit her lip once more, still breathing in the intimate fumes, as she raised her hand to resume the tantalizing caress of the girl’s delicate sole. Her fingers began tasting, once more, the silky morsel of divine texture. Her nails scraped across the tender skin with feathery abrasion, more than enough to ignite fluttering tickles throughout Clara’s nerves. 

“Neeeaaaaaahhhhhhheehehehehehahahahahahahaa!!! Ohhhhhmygaaahahahahahahahaaaad!!” Clara melted back into the laughter from which she had recently escaped. She embraced the stimulation as best as she could, regardless of how cumbersome it proved on her composition. She withstood it, embraced it, and through that, she submitted with deep, unspoken glee. Her body churned and wriggled against the bed. Her foot twisted in #11379’s grip, unable to get away even at genuine attempt. The more #11379 tickled, the more that Clara let herself give into the impulse to pull away. In that, she discovered just how helpless she was to #11379’s hold. It became a thrilling new evolution to the experience, a new flavor of helplessness that managed to thrive within the confines of her trust. All the while, tickles scurried up from her foot from five feasting fingernails.

“Tickle, tickle, tickle…” #11379 continued the playful teasing. “Coochie coochie coo… Who’s my ticklish girl?” She smirked, giving her voice a tinge of childlike mischief. The phrases slipped beneath the rousing laughter that squeaked from Clara’s throat. #11379’s own laughter, chuckling as she watched, fed Clara this alluring emphasis of amusement, that #11379 could, in fact, keep going all through the night. The session, as it played out, would then be far more themed to Clara’s ticklish sensibility becoming #11379’s personal plaything, that her body and ever string of nerves within it, be be subjected to tickling limited only by #11379’s will. The idea bore new sparks while the tickling of her foot continued to riddle her senses and churn the ache beneath her.

“Geeeaaaaahaaahhhhhahahahahahahahaaa!!! Naahahahahahahaaat my foot!!” Clara cried. #11379 snickered still. She glanced between the foot and Clara’s writhing body laid out before her. She felt the squirming wriggling beneath her arm and the increased warm slickness of her sole being raked over by her nails. Moment by moment, #11379 scribbled a flurry of scratches up and down Clara’s trapped foot, making music out of her laughter. #11379 moaned. Her bottom lip remained pinched in between her teeth while she breathed in deep, sucking breaths of the scent more intoxicating than any liquor. She kept her face close to where Clara’s toes bunched defensively, watching them squirm against the tickles storming across the silky bed of her arch.

“Your feet… your laugh… it’s all just so…” #11379 said, lost in her own mind. As she held the foot firmly, she bent her head farther downward. Her nails continued to scour across the squirming sole while her lips found the tips of Clara’s toes. #11379 smirked. She kissed across the delicate pads once more before parting her mouth to nibble. Down of the row of toes, #11379 playfully nibbled and bit around the pearly pink digits. Her teeth scraped against the fragile skin. She could taste the faint and igniting flavor of ticklish toes against her lips. Clara’s laughter peaked as her toes fell enveloped by the woman’s mouth. She let out a roaring groan, followed by a cascade of ticklish laughter.

“Oooooohhhhgaaahhahhahahahahahahaahahaaaaad!!” Clara squealed. She could feel every little scratch of the woman’s nails working their way up from her heel to her pasty instep. She could feel #11379’s lips and teeth begin teasing at her toes, sharing an enhanced new realization of intimacy with the woman. Having her toes so ticklishly nibbled at escalated the weary evening of carnal discovery. She gripped the bed harder as she laughed. Clara’s head swam, more at the whim of her own desire than the influence of the tickles themselves. Still, she laughed and twisted where she laid. The tickles, as challenging as they had become to endure, represented more than Clara had ever anticipated. 

“Mmmmm, look at these tasty little toes…” #11379 said, muttering in a soft, wayward voice that encouraged Clara’s diminutive disposition. “All mine to enjoy as much as I want…” Her mouth quickly resumed her embrace of her toes. Her lips wrapped around each of them as her fingers remained flurried with scratches up and down her trapped sole. She sucked longingly on each before letting her tongue slip out and in between them. The taste was musky and divine, the kind of rapture that could only come from knowing someone better than most. Clara let out a clenching moan as #11379’s tongue weaved through her toes before succumbing, once more, to ticklish hysteria. 

“Ohhhhhhh fuckkkkmmmmmmmhhehehehehahahahahahahaaa!!” Clara cried. Never had felt someone’s tongue on her feet before. The warm slickness tickled as much as it teased. It slithered across the most delicate reaches of her foot. It presented itself as a warm massage, a ticklish coil of tepid delight. Clara’s passions grew much more feverishly. The woman, a beauty beyond conventional scale, tickled her trapped foot while indulging her own senses by eagerly tasting and lapping at her toes. The heat within her pulsed to undeniable extremes, fanned further still by each passing second of ticklish ecstasy. 

“Mmmmm, so good,” #11379 said. Her words puffed ticklish bouts of air out onto Clara’s foot. #11379 resumed nibbling and licking at Clara’s toes until all five digits had been thoroughly explored. Her nails danced up and down the length of the sole. The tickling burned across the area, searing deeper into the churning pressure that stirred within them both. When #11379 finally pulled away again, she continued looking down at the foot in her care. Her hand fell away, leaving Clara panting and groaning where she laid. Exhaustion had long since set in, but the thirst for more prevailed. Clara’s laughter reduced to giggles, whimpers, and soft moans. #11379 guided her foot back down to the bed, carefully stepping back onto the floor. Wearily, Clara looked back. After a moment of catching her breath, she spoke.

“W… wow…” Clara said. #11379 grinned and pushed back her hair.

“Roll over,” #11379 said. Clara smiled as well, struggling in her fatigue but managing to roll over onto her back. #11379 approached again. She caught Clara’s tired stare. Her eyes glimmered, her parted lips ripened with color. In the throes of the moment, #11379 came back to the bed. She knelt down on the side, still hovering over Clara’s body, and came in close. “You like that?”

“Mhmm…” Clara said, nodding slightly. Her face was rich with color while her hair laid frayed and careless across her pillow. “Never… had anyone… lick my toes before…”

“Hm, that’s a shame,” #11379 said softly, almost whispered into Clara’s ear. “They’re so yummy…” Clara giggled. The pressure remained. The ache that pulsed between them continued to burn. #11379 positioned herself almost next to Clara on the bed. One hand rose to stroke her hair while the other drifted downward, her nails teasing across the delicate skin of Clara’s bare thigh. Clara gasped faintly at the touch, yet did nothing to stop it as she took stared back into #11379’s adoring eyes. 

“Felt… nice…” Clara said. She wiggled her toes a bit, still feeling the slickness in between them.

“And being tickled feels nice too, huh?” #11379 asked. Clara smiled sleepily, nervously, and nodded.

“Yes,” Clara admitted. 

“Mhmm…” #11379 said. Her breath brushed against Clara’s neck from the one side. She breathed in Clara’s musk, her personal scent. #11379 came closer still. She continued whispering into the girl’s ear as her fingers teased more up Clara’s tender, warm thigh.

“And this?” #11379 asked. “How does this feel?” Her touch caressed Clara’s inner thigh, leaving behind traces of burning tingles. The ache remained at a constant. Clara’s body found only attraction in what her mind rationalized as improper, letting herself be handled so loosely by someone she had just met. Exhaustion had rendered her inhibitions relinquished to nothing but the pleasure that coursed through her body. Clara moaned softly. Her legs parted on instinct, inviting the strange woman into her most private chamber. 

“Feels… so good…” Clara moaned. Her hands clenched at the sheets. Her body continued to tingle with a residual echo of the tickles that she had felt over the course of #11379’s visit. #11379 moaned softly into her ear. Her hand teased up and down Clara’s thigh, pushing that warm churning further and further. Clara opened her eyes to see the woman staring back at her again. She groaned, her lips parted, and pushed her head forth to greet #11379’s. #11379 grinned and leaned in to kiss her cheek instead. Her nails flicked off of the tender, humid thigh right at the edge of Clara’s panties. She pinched at them, pulling back while never taking her eyes off of Clara’s needy expression.

“Then just lay back, my ticklish princess,” #11379 said. “Let me help.” #11379 softly and carefully grabbed at Clara’s panties from beneath her skirt. The two looked at each other in silent communication. As #11379 began to pull, she waited for signs of objection. Clara answered by lowering her hands, brushing her fingers against #11379’s, and pushing her underwear down herself. #11379 finished by slipping them off of her legs, taking one more glance at Clara’s pretty little feet. She tossed the panties to the side and took her place between Clara’s legs. #11379 laid down in the temperate stretch. Her body laid framed by Clara’s legs down the length of the bed. Clara raised her skirt. Never would she had anticipated for the day that she would be showing such an area to anyone, but #11379 had hit all of the right marks. 

“Oh god…” Clara sighed. She laid her head back against the pillow as #11379 came in closer to her glistening slit. A soft patch of fur highlighted the tender and supple spot. #11379 admired the blushing pink patch. She came in close, like an old lover, a move that she had performed many times before. Clara bent her legs as #11379’s arms slipped beneath them, wrapping around her thighs. Her hands laid positioned near Clara’s sides and belly as her face came closer still. #11379 breathed in a new scent of Clara’s, one just as enticing and lustful as that of her feet. A moment of anticipation for one lasted as a moment of appreciation for the other. Before long, though, #11379 gave into her hunger and pressed her lips against Clara’s.

“Aaaahhhhhmmmmmmm!” Clara let out a sharp moan upon contact. The feeling was pleasure in its purest form. Direct stimulation. Clara’s back lifted from the bed. Her seat shifted as her hands clenched into tight fists. She bit her lip again, enough to expect the taste of blood. #11379’s tongue swelled against her parted slit. It drove forth with a damp, passionate embrace. #11379 tasted the most intimate part of her with total and complete enthusiasm. The direct stimulation surged as effective as the knowledge itself, all twirling about in a display of apex pleasure. Never before had she been brought so close seemingly so quickly. Yet #11379 took her time. She licked the part over, again and again, tasting and lapping at every soaking crevasse. As #11379 drank down Clara’s passionate dew, she opened her eyes to watch. Her hands crept up the edges of Clara’s sides. They fell upon Clara’s writhing belly, her nails starting to lightly pluck at the skin beaming with sensitivity.

“Mmmmmhhhhhheheheheheheheeee!! Ohhhheheheheheheeee!” Clara, reluctantly, began to laugh once more. She whimpered at the teasing that distracted her mind from achieving climax too suddenly. She wriggled more against the bed. Her head laid back as she giggled and moaned, struggling to comprehend the rousing stimulation happening in tandem. The tickling fed into the pleasure that lusted for the explosive conclusion she was unable to focus on achieving. A devious tactic, but one to which she found herself quickly surrendering. #11379 licked and lapped hungrily at Clara’s bare pussy while her nails scribbled faster and harder over the ticklish mound of Clara’s stomach. 

“Gaaaaahhhhhahahahahahaaad!! Ohhhhhhhhmmmhheheheheheheeeeeee!!” Clara whimpered. Her face glowed a beaming shade. She panted and twisted in place. Her toes buried themselves in the sheets beneath them, her hands balled into tight fists. All the while, #11379 continued her devilish tactic. The woman stroked Clara's pussy up and down, inside and out, with her warm, skilled tongue. She flicked and suckled at the bulging clit. She drove the loving tendril deep inside her chamber. She savored the taste and soft, warm feeling of Clara’s mound at her lips. Her nails treated Clara’s belly to a similar demonstration of appreciation, scribbling and splaying and exploring the ticklish reaches of the entire area. 

“Faaaaahhhehehhahahahahahahaaack!!! Mmmmmmmgggaaaahhhhh!!” Clara found herself conflicted with the contrasting sensations, yet enjoyed them no less than she would have separately. Once again, she was faced with a brand new extension of primal pleasures, only rarely ever having experienced either at all and never at the same time. Her mind swam with enlightenment while her conscious thoughts remained only in the moment. She felt herself getting closer and closer. While the tickles did much to further her ecstasy, they proved just as effective at postponing the release her body so craved. 

#11379 moaned as well to the taste and feel of Clara’s pussy on her tongue. She watched the girl squirm with ticklish delight beneath her fingers. She observed how it was she could puppet the girl with skittering tickles and a visit from her very friendly tongue. The session, like many before, proved to be a sensory playground, a candy store of the most ample delights imaginable. Her tongue guided Clara closer and closer. Clara could feel the pressure rising still, the burn raging into a fire that so desperately craved release. The tickles flurried across her stomach. She quaked and twitched and thrashed, her thighs pinching #11379’s head. The scurrying tickles dashed over every spot, every possibly ticklish nerve. #11379’s hands worked in circles and clustered. Her fingers alternated brushing quickly across the skin and digging into the muscle. It all left Clara unable to comprehend anything but the moment, a moment that slowly, yet surely, rose to meet an explosive climax.

“Ooooooaaaaahhhhhhhhh!!!!” Clara bellowed. Bearing an expression she had never worn before, she braced herself for a feeling she had never known before. The girl threw her head back against the pillow. Her back lifted off of the bed. Her thighs spasmed and pinched. Her limbs convulsed and contacted. All at once, a massive surge of carnal potency burst through her senses. The flood of sensation overpowered even the tickles that teased her quivering stomach. Her mind left her numb to all other feelings and matters. The orgasm shot through her body in tearing waves. It subsided after a lingering moment of blinding pleasure, yet the pleasure continued further.

“Mmmmmmhheheheheehehhahhahahaha! Ohhhhhggeeehhahahahahaa!” Clara continued to giggle and squirm. Draped in sweat and her own juices, Clara found the tickles perpetuating after the fall of her orgasm. #11379 licked on, still moaning and letting her nails riddle her ticklish stomach with a flurry of light scratches. Clara laid restless enduring tickles that played with a heightened state of sensitivity. She laughed harder through her moans. The pressure that had been released seemed to remain still, churning and begging for another chance to let Clara taste apex delight. #11379 sent tickles storming all over her supple belly while still lapping eagerly at her dripping slit. Within minutes, Clara found herself giving into another orgasmic burst.

“OHHHHHHHHMMMMMMM!!!!” Clara cried out. Another climax came almost swiftly. It hurried on the efforts of #11379’s tongue brushing the inner walls of her pussy and her hands tearing across her ticklish belly with feathery abrasion. The orgasm rose and fell much in the same, yet compounded within her quivering, highly sensitive form. The pleasure came as something unimaginable, a new breach of understanding what could be experienced in life. Within minutes of the second, a third came, followed by a fourth. Clara whimpered and moaned and laughed with each of them, her sensitivities leaving her more and more spent as #11379’s efforts sent her nerves careening into a bright void of enlightened possibility. 

After the fourth orgasm, #11379 dared not push the girl any further. She pulled back, pushing herself back to her feet and wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. She stared down at Clara, a shivering mass of nerves and fluids. The girl could only breathe. Clara panted heavily following the ordeal of unknown satisfaction.  Her eyes were closed, her hair matted and frayed in sweaty tangles. #11379 pushed her own back behind her. She swallowed some of Clara’s residual taste before yawning a bit. She said nothing. #11379 imagined that Clara simply succumbed to sleep following the resolution of the last climax. She stood by and watched for a bit, admiring the girl’s youthful beauty in the glow of sexual gratification.

#11379 pulled back the sheets of the bed. She draped them over Clara’s body, helping the girl find comfort in her slumber. Clara moved a bit, but remained functionally motionless, only able to breathe and rest. It was all #11379 wanted of her. She smiled as she tucked Clara into her bed, pulling the sheets up over her body and up to her shoulders. As she loomed over Clara’s face, she found Clara’s hand resting up and by her head, a pretty pink band still latched onto her wrist. #11379 smirked and reached into her back pocket. She pulled out a flowery yellow band and slipped it onto Clara’s wrist as she slept. Clara stirred slightly, her fingers tightening around #11379 for a moment where she too said nothing, merely lost in a dreamy rest. 

“Sleep tight, #9154,” #11379 whispered. She pulled away from the slumbering girl. She made her way to the door and turned the light out to the room, carefully shutting the cabin door behind her.