I thought I was going to have a quiet evening... I had planned a l*ttle nighttime jog. Nothing crazy—just me, the cool night air, and a very light workout outfit. My tight bl*ck shorts, barely longer than a pair of panties, and a snug tank top that hugged my curves perfectly. Yes, I know... a bit too sexy maybe, but I like to feel good in my sneakers, even when I go for a run.

But apparently... he didn't quite see it the same way.

I had just finished lacing up my sneakers when he grabbed me. He gave me that serious l*ttle look from head to toe, then whispered in a teasing tone, “You've been pushing it a bit too much lately, haven't you? Time to restore some order.” Before I could answer, he picked me up and carried me to the bedroom, laying me down on my stomach on the bed—firmly but not roughly. I knew what was coming. And I knew I was going to laugh... a lot.

He had decided to punish me. With tickles. But not just any tickles.

I lay there, face down, legs stretched out, still wearing my sneakers. I felt him sit beside me. Slowly, almost savoring the moment, he began untying my laces one by one. He pulled off my shoes... revealing my thin bl*ck socks, still warm from my steps.

And then it began.

His fingers gently slid across my feet. Soft at first. He was stroking my soles, my heels, and my toes through the fabric. I burst into laughter right away. I couldn't help it. It was like every nerve in my feet was lit up. His movements were precise, methodical, almost expert. He knew exactly where to touch to drive me crazy.

Without a word, he slowly peeled off my socks. Very slowly. Now my bare feet were his main target.

His hands danced again, more directly this time. He tickled between my toes, under my arches, along the sides—with a devilish precision. I screamed, laughed, begged. But nothing worked. He was focused, almost silent. This wasn't just a punishment—it was a ritual. And I was c*mpletely trapped.

Then came the next stage. He grabbed a small string and tied my toes together, stopping me from moving or defending myself. That was it—I was totally at his mercy.

And he still wasn't done.

I saw him open a small bottle. Oil. Warm. Sensual. He poured a few drops into his hand and began rubbing it gently into my feet, making them extra slippery and incredibly sensitive. It felt so good... but also terrifying. I knew what was coming next...

His fingers resumed their glide across my now-oiled soles. But this time, he brought out a soft brush. Gentle, but relentless. It swirled between my toes, up my arches, across my heels. I laughed so hard I was crying. The bed shook beneath me. I couldn't hold back. I had c*mpletely lost control.

And him... he chuckled quietly. Proud. Satisfied. He was in charge—and loving it.

But what he forgot... is that I'm a player too.

When he finally stopped—probably exhausted from watching me squirm like crazy—I looked at him, still breathless, but with a sly grin. My eyes changed. In one second, I went from ticklish victim to confident predator.

I calmly moved toward him. And whispered: “You know... I know your weak spot too.”

He laughed, thinking I was bluffing. But he soon realized I wasn't.

I laid him down on his back... and focused on his most sensitive spot—the frenulum. No need for anything wild. Just my thumbs, my hands, and slow, focused movements. A perfectly controlled stimulation, aimed only at that delicate place he tries to hide... but that makes him lose all control.

It started gently... like a massage. Then gradually faster, more precise, more intense. He was panting. Trying to stay composed. But I could see it in his eyes—he was giving in. This time, he was the one falling apart.

And me? I didn't stop. It was my revenge. My power. My turn to punish.

Handjobs Tickling Tickling M*le Teased Before My Run - Ticklish Punishment & Sweet Payback - Part 1 with C4s.com