Guest Blog By Tessa Wanton, the author of Tickled Pink

Tickling – Pleasure or Torture?
It doesn’t matter how many times I discuss it, or with how many different people, it never fails to surprise me the varying reactions which occur for the topic of tickling. I suppose it’s the ‘Marmite’ effect as we call it here in the UK, you either love it, or hate it. I have yet to find anyone who has stated ‘Tickling? Well, I can take it or leave it really’, and it is that lack of indifference which drew me to the practice like a moth to a flame. Just what is it about tickling that either sends shimmers of delight coursing through your veins, or has your skin crawling in terror? There are a number of themes to explore, two of which I will detail here, however it is a very complex fetish, and can be combined with many other quirks. Apologies for the brevity of my musings, but I am happy to discuss and expand more if I pique your curiosity!

To tickle lightly or not to tickle lightly?
Let’s start with the science bit. There are two technical names for tickling, knismesis and gargalesis. As old faithful Wikipedia states it:-
“Knismesis and gargalesis are the scientific terms, coined in 1897 by psychologists G. Stanley Hall and Arthur Allin,[1] used to describe the two types of tickling. Knismesis refers to the light, feather-like type of tickling. This type of tickling generally does not induce laughter and is often accompanied by an itching sensation.[2] Gargalesis refers to harder, laughter-inducing tickling, and involves the repeated application of high pressure to sensitive areas.[2] This “heavy tickle” is often associated with play and laughter.”
Essentially, light or heavy tickling. I rather have an appreciation of tickling myself as I enjoy a light drag across my soles from time to time, and there’s nothing more relaxing than a light tickly caress. I tend to find fetishists fall into one group or the other with regard to heavy or light tickling, it is very rare you will find a ticklee who enjoys both. The tickler however, may choose to practice both types of tickling, but I’ve not found a situation yet where they’re practiced on the same person. I think this has mostly to do with the fact that they’re both such wildly different sensations. With knismesis, it is a much more sensual, teasing caress, designed to make the skin goosebump, to sensitise the skin as much as possible, but with gargalesis, it can become painful from increased pressure in sensitive spots, and bruising can occur if you are not careful, or you’re unlucky enough to be prone to bruises.
In Tickled Pink, I explored sensual tickling, as although both practices are considered highly erotic, for me, it was easier to understand the sensual and light touches as being something tender and loving, and innately sexual. Something else to remember is that either style of tickling is a high endurance activity. Huge trust is required for the ticklee as they are often tied down, and when laughter begins, there are elements of breath control involved. I’m sure you can think of a time when you have laughed so hard that you found yourself short of breath? The same is also true here, however in an often more intense fashion. The tolerances of each ticklee must be carefully observed to save harm occurring, and of course if restraint is involved, with any bondage activity, a quick release must be provided at all time. Finally, it’s not just the ticklee who could find themselves in trouble as the gleeful tickler may find a thrashing limb come loose and make contact if a knot has worked itself free, so they must be vigilant for their own safety too.

What and who to tickle with?
The good thing about tickling is you don’t really need any specialised tools to partake, just some wriggling fingers is more than enough in most cases. However, if you decide you need a little something else, there are a number of favourites, some of which are obvious, others that are perhaps not so obvious. For example, feathers and brushes, large and small are all implements that are associated with tickling, even in the most innocent of circumstances. Then you have harder objects that you may not think could have such ticklish effects, like a comb, or a pencil, or even a vibrator used lightly across skin, pretty much anything you can think of can be used in a devilishly evil fashion!
So once you’ve selected your instruments of torture, just who can you tickle? I have found that it doesn’t appear gender specific. The male isn’t generally the tickler and the female isn’t always the ticklee. As with the gender equality, so is the power exchange balance, many ticklers consider themselves Switch, with desire both to tickle and be tickled. Yes, there are some that remain defined by Dominant and submissive roles, but I notice more than any other fetish I’ve explored that Switches appear plentiful. Sexual orientation doesn’t seem to be a huge bother either, with many Bisexual, Gay and Lesbian couples and groups enjoying the freedom it brings. Indeed groups can often be a large part of tickle play – what could be more pleasure or more torture than lots of hands wriggling across your body?
There is so much more to the genre that I can detail here, the ‘Nylon tickle’, ‘Sexual tickling’ etc but if you wish to delve further into the topic yourself, there is a wealth of information available to research. Tickling Media Forum, FetLife, and many more I probably haven’t even encountered yet! If you thought yourself indifferent about tickling before, perhaps you can close your eyes and think back to that last time someone ‘accidentally’ tickled you. Did you want to get away from them at any cost? Or did you feel a tingle flutter deep in your stomach at the thought of returning that tickle, or being helpless to their fingers?
So – if I’ve whetted your appetites, here’s the synopsis and an excerpt from my latest release! Enjoy – if you dare…

Synopsis – Tickled Pink!
Ellie Cassidy is a confident and efficient Executive PA with an extremely demanding boss, Mark. Ever capable, she knows that he would be lost without her, but what Ellie doesn’t realise, is quite how much he does need her. One day when she is locking up the office for the evening, she is abducted and subjected to an experience which changes her life forever. Mysteriously tortured in a most unexpected way, terrified beyond anything she had ever felt before, she discovers that some agony is sweet enough to stir her, even against her will.
Shocked by the turn of events, Ellie grows closer to her captor – her boss and a torrid love affair sizzles between them, showing just how deep Mark’s passion for her runs. Experimenting with new and exciting erotic situations, she is shown a world of delight, filled with laughter and tickling, and other kinky pleasures. Wrapped up completely in Mark, she falls deeply in love with him, until one fateful weekend when he reveals a deep, dark secret which threatens to destroy everything between them – and everything she had ever known about him.
Laughter, terror and high heeled shoes abound in this tale of discovery and love, never before has tickling been so appealing! But one final question stands in the way of their everlasting happiness. Will Ellie be able to overcome the shattering revelation that Mark has to declare?

Excerpt – Tickled Pink!
It had been a long and boring day at work, tedious meeting following yet more monotonous discussions. I flexed my right hand, rubbing it inattentively, my writing hand painfully cramped from taking reams of minutes. I hadn’t even been allowed the luxury of daydreaming, as when there was a break in the meeting, it was my duty to make the coffee, arrange lunches, etc. Such is the life of a Personal Assistant. Not only do you have to act like a Stepford Wife at work, but you have to appear perfect too in order to be considered a “good PA”. Sighing heavily I rose from my desk, heading towards the executive washroom. Running my hands under cold water usually helped to ease the dull ache caused by the day’s exertions.
As I ran the cold water over my hands, I glanced sideways at my reflection in the full-length mirror. Grabbing a handful of paper towels, I quickly dried my hands and stood back, smoothing the front of my figure-hugging, black pencil skirt, examining my curvy body. I was happy with my fullness, and it was clear that many of the visiting male clients also admired it, often making comments to my boss about “perks” of the job and the like. I just laughed graciously at their misogyny whilst cursing them quietly in the back of my mind, ever professional, smiling to the last. Swiveling on the balls of my feet, I looked over my shoulder to appraise my rear view whilst also admiring my black patent court stilettos. They were my favorite shoes, always my “go to” shoes when I needed cheering up. I simply loved the way they accentuated the contours of my legs – making them appear longer and leaner. Acknowledging my visage once more, I tucked an unruly red curl behind my right ear, raised my chin and stepped back into the office.
Only my Director – Mark, and two clients were left in the office now and I could hear them laughing their farewells to each other as the men were ushered out of the front door. However, I was not allowed to leave until my Director did. Impatiently checking my watch, I knocked on his office door, “Is there anything else you need for today?” Raising his eyes from his computer screen, Mark flashed his famously winning smile, catching the slight edge to my query. He had this unnerving way of disarming people when he fixed his gaze on them; you would think I would be immune to it by now after all these years of being his ever efficient assistant. Nevertheless, the permanent sparkle in his eyes when he regarded me did not pass by unnoticed; but I was never going to succumb to that ridiculous cliché, whether I desired to feel his strong arms around me or not.
Slipping the files from his desk into his briefcase, he stood and pulled his car keys from his pocket. “Well, I think I’m done for today,” smiling mischievously, he continued. “Do you want me to stay behind and help you lock up?”
I replied quickly, “No, no – I can manage perfectly well,” waving my hand to dismiss his offer. I wanted to get home, and if he stayed around I could guarantee that he would want to talk more work and the pile for tomorrow would stack up higher than it already was. Hurriedly shooing him out, I watched as he jumped into his car and wheel-spun out of the car park. It bemused me how this man could be so successful when he appeared to treat everything in life with such childish glee. But I suppose that was what made him so appealing – that perpetual excitement – that drive to achieve. Shaking my head I turned back and started my final check around, switching off several computers and office lights. One last sweep satisfied me that all was secure. Pulling my bag onto my shoulder, I made my way to the exit.
Locking the darkened office building, I turned and walked towards my car. It was a warm spring evening with a light breeze blowing in off the sea. As I pondered the frothy waves in the distance, the hairs on the back of my neck rose as unease crept across my skin – a feeling that I was being watched. Nervously checking around me, I quickened my pace to the car, pulling my coat tightly around my body and warily keeping to the safety of the open space in the center of the park. Making it to the car with a sigh of relief, I fumbled with the key, cursing quietly at how my shaking hands were refusing to comply with my wishes. As the keys tumbled through my trembling fingers I yelped with frustration, crouching quickly to retrieve them, but as I stood, I felt a hand clamp over my nose and mouth. Struggling and thrashing in pure instinct, I tried frantically to claw the hand away, scratching with my long fingernails, but an arm now secured tightly around my waist, squeezing me, putting an end to my desperate struggles. Trying to scream I breathed in deeply – realizing in horror and much too late, that it wasn’t just a hand; it was a cloth. A cloth soaked in a strong-smelling substance, which I’d just inhaled to the bottom of my lungs. As thoughts scrambled and swirled desperately, the strength drained from my limbs and panic rose in my throat as blackness consumed me, my eyes closing heavily as I collapsed, limp in my assailant’s arms.

Tickled Pink! Buy Links
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6 thoughts on “Guest Blog By Tessa Wanton, the author of Tickled Pink

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