Milf's Tempting Tea-Time Tickle

The milf next door invites me to a Cup of tea, but wants top Play a creative tickle Roleplay scenario

The door swung open before I even knocked. Mrs. Carter stood there in a silk robe, barely tied at the waist, her cleavage on full display. "Right on time," she purred, stepping aside to let me in. The scent of jasmine tea mingled with her perfume—something expensive, musky. Her living room was dim, candles flickering on the coffee table beside two untouched cups. She trailed a finger down my arm. "I thought we could... *spice things up* before tea." Her smirk was dangerous. Before I could answer, she produced a feather from her robe pocket—long, sleek, the kind that made my stomach tighten. "Ever been tickled *properly*, sweetheart?" Her voice dropped, husky. I laughed, but she pushed me onto the couch, straddling me before I could protest. The feather traced my ribs, light as a whisper, and I squirmed. "Hold still," she murmured, dragging it lower, teasing the waistband of my jeans. "Or I’ll have to get *creative*." Her free hand slipped under my shirt, nails scraping just hard enough to make me gasp. The feather dipped below my belt. Fuck. Tea was definitely going to wait.

"Such a *sensitive* boy," she teased, her breath hot against my ear as the feather traced the outline of my cock through my jeans. I bucked against her, but she pinned me down with her weight, laughing low. "Uh-uh. No cheating." "You call this fair?" I groaned, arching as her nails dug into my hip. "Fair?" She nipped my earlobe. "Who said anything about fair?" Her fingers popped the button of my jeans, sliding the zipper down agonizingly slow. The feather followed, brushing the sensitive skin just below my navel. I hissed. "You’re *mean*," I gritted out, gripping the couch cushions. She hummed, dragging the feather lower. "Mean? Or just *thorough*?" Her other hand palmed me through my boxers, squeezing just enough to make me jerk. "Tell me—do you want me to stop?" I swallowed hard. "Fuck no." Her grin was wicked. "Good." The feather flicked over the head of my cock, and I nearly came undone. "Because we’re just getting started."

Mrs. Carter leaned in, her lips brushing my ear. "I’ve been thinking… how about a little *game*?" Her fingers tightened around me through the fabric, making my breath hitch. "What kind of game?" I managed, already half-gone from the teasing. She pulled back just enough to smirk. "You’re the naughty student who skipped detention… and I’m the *very* disappointed teacher." Her thumb circled the tip of my cock through my boxers, slow and deliberate. "Sound fun?" I groaned, hips lifting off the couch. "Fuck. Yes." "Good answer." She slid off me, standing with deliberate grace. "Then *strip*," she ordered, voice sharp. "And don’t you dare rush—I want to see every inch of you." Her robe slipped open as she crossed her arms, revealing bare skin beneath. My fingers fumbled with my belt, too eager to obey. She tutted. "Slowly, sweetheart. Or I’ll add extra *punishment*." The feather trailed down her own thigh, her eyes locked on mine. "And trust me… you’ll like that even less."

Mrs. Carter arched a brow, watching as I finally shucked my jeans off with deliberate slowness. “Better,” she purred. “Now stay right there.” She turned, hips swaying as she strode toward the bedroom. The robe slipped further open, revealing the curve of her ass before she disappeared through the door. I shifted on the couch, hard and aching, but didn’t dare move. When she returned, she’d changed—tight pencil skirt, crisp white blouse unbuttoned just enough to tease, her hair pinned up in a severe bun. The click of her heels on the hardwood sent a jolt straight to my cock. “Detention starts now,” she announced, tapping a ruler against her palm. Her gaze raked over me, lingering on my tented boxers. “First offense: *disrespect*.” She stepped closer, the ruler tracing my collarbone. “Second offense: *disobedience*.” Her heel pressed between my thighs, not hard enough to hurt—just enough to make me groan. “And third?” She leaned down, lips brushing my ear. “*Begging*.” The ruler snapped against my thigh. “Up. *Now*.”

I shot up from the couch, my cock straining against the thin fabric of my boxers. Mrs. Carter circled me slowly, the ruler tapping against her thigh. "Hands behind your back," she commanded. I obeyed instantly, wrists pressing together at the small of my back. Her fingers grazed my waistband, hooking into the elastic. "Such a *messy* student," she murmured, dragging my boxers down inch by torturous inch. Cool air hit my skin as my cock sprang free, already leaking. The ruler traced my length, pressing just hard enough to make me twitch. "Discipline is *essential*," she said, voice low. "Don’t you agree?" I swallowed hard. "Yes, ma’am." Her free hand gripped my chin, forcing my gaze up. "Good boy." The ruler cracked against my ass—sharp, sudden. I hissed, but didn’t pull away. "Now," she said, stepping back to admire her handiwork, "let’s see if you can *earn* your reward." Her skirt rustled as she perched on the edge of the desk, spreading her thighs just enough to reveal bare skin beneath. "Kneel."

I dropped to my knees instantly, the hardwood biting into my skin. Mrs. Carter’s thighs parted wider, the scent of her arousal thick in the air. She hooked a finger under my chin, tilting my face up. “Eyes on me,” she ordered, hiking her skirt higher. The smooth skin of her inner thighs glistened—no panties, just slick heat. My breath hitched. The ruler tapped against my cheek, then trailed down to trace her own folds. She dragged it slowly through her wetness, letting me watch. “Count every stroke,” she murmured, pressing the damp wood to my lips. “And *don’t* touch yourself.” I opened my mouth obediently, tasting her on the ruler. Her free hand fisted in my hair, holding me in place as she rocked her hips forward. “One,” I gasped as she dragged the ruler through her folds again, coating it. Her heel dug into my thigh. “Louder.” “*One*,” I groaned, watching her fingers dip between her legs. She smirked, rubbing the ruler against my tongue. “Good. Now *earn* it.” Her grip tightened, pulling me closer. “Show me how badly you want to please your teacher.”

Mrs. Carter’s smirk sharpened as she withdrew the ruler, her fingers still tangled in my hair. “Still not *quite* learning your lesson, are you?” Her free hand trailed down my chest, nails scraping lightly over my ribs. I tensed instinctively, breath hitching. “Ah.” Her voice dripped with amusement. “Someone’s *ticklish*.” Before I could react, her fingers danced over my sides—feather-light, relentless. A laugh burst out of me, sharp and involuntary, my body jerking under her touch. “*No—fuck—ma’am—!*” I gasped between breaths, squirming as her nails skated up my stomach. She tutted, pinning me harder between her thighs. “Language.” Her fingers spidered higher, tracing the sensitive hollows of my armpits. I bucked, laughter turning ragged. “Pathetic,” she murmured, but her pupils were blown wide, her thighs squeezing around my head as she watched me unravel. “Such a *sensitive* boy.” Her touch shifted lower, fingertips skating along my inner thighs—just shy of my cock, still throbbing untouched. I whimpered, torn between laughter and desperation. “Please—” “Please *what*?” Her nails dug in, raking up my sides again. I arched, choking on a laugh. “*Please—ah—let me—*” She leaned down, her breath hot against my ear. “Let you *what*, pet?” Her fingers closed around my cock at last, stroking once—slow, torturous—before her other hand resumed its merciless assault on my ribs. I came apart, shaking, laughter melting into a broken moan. Mrs. Carter hummed, licking her lips. “*Now* you’re paying attention.”

Mrs. Carter released my cock with a slow, deliberate stroke, her smirk widening as she reached for the silk scarf draped over the armchair. "Hands up," she ordered, looping the fabric around my wrists before I could catch my breath. She yanked them above my head, tying them tight to the chair's ornate leg. The restraint pulled my torso taut, ribs exposed, stomach quivering. "*Ma'am—*" "Hush." Her nails traced my collarbone, then dipped lower—skating over my nipples, down my sides, teasing every inch of hypersensitive skin. I writhed, laughter bubbling up helplessly as her fingers spidered across my belly. "*Fuck—ah!*" She tutted, dragging the ruler up my inner thigh—just enough pressure to make me jerk. "Such a *noisy* boy." Her free hand danced over my ribs again, relentless, while the ruler's edge teased the crease of my hip. I thrashed against the scarf, gasping. "*Please—I can't—*" "You *can*," she purred, leaning in to nip at my earlobe. Her fingers skimmed lower, tracing the trembling skin just above my cock. "And you *will*." The ruler flicked against my balls—light, stinging—as her nails raked up my sides again. I arched, howling laughter dissolving into a ragged moan. Mrs. Carter watched, thighs squeezing around my hips, her breath quickening. "*Good.*"

The doorbell rang—sharp, insistent—just as Mrs. Carter’s fingers dug into my ribs again. She froze, her smirk twisting into something darker. “*Stay.*” I gasped, still trembling from her touch, as she rose and smoothed her skirt. The silk scarf held me fast, my cock twitching against the cool air. Footsteps echoed down the hall. Murmured voices—two women, laughter bright and teasing. “*Darling,*” Mrs. Carter cooed, swinging the door wide. “What a *delightful* surprise.” Her neighbors—both older, both unmistakably *interested*—peered past her shoulder. Their eyes locked onto me, bound and flushed, my skin still tingling from her nails. One arched a brow. “*Busy?*” Mrs. Carter chuckled, stepping aside. “Not too busy for *you.*” The second woman bit her lip, gaze dragging over my exposed body. “*Naughty boy.*” Mrs. Carter’s fingers curled possessively around my hair. “Oh, he *is.*” The neighbors stepped inside, heels clicking against the hardwood. I whimpered. Mrs. Carter leaned down, her breath hot on my ear. “*Now,* pet… let’s see how *sensitive* you *really* are.” Six hands descended. I *screamed.*

The neighbors’ hands were everywhere—one tracing the same torturous path Mrs. Carter had taken along my ribs, another gripping my thigh hard enough to leave marks, the third circling the base of my cock with a slow, taunting pressure. "*Fuck—fuck—!*" I arched, the scarf biting into my wrists as laughter and moans tangled in my throat. Mrs. Carter tutted, her nails scraping down my chest. "Such a *mess* already." Her thumb swiped over my nipple, pinching just shy of pain. "And we've barely *started.*" One of the neighbors—the one with the sharpest nails—leaned in, her lips brushing my collarbone. "Does he *always* squirm this much?" "Oh, *yes,*" Mrs. Carter purred, her fingers threading through my hair and yanking my head back. "But he *learns.*" The third woman chuckled, her palm sliding up my inner thigh, stopping just short of where I ached most. "Let’s *teach* him, then." Their touches turned merciless—fingers pinching, nails dragging, mouths biting at every patch of exposed skin. I thrashed, laughter dissolving into ragged, broken moans as pleasure and torment blurred into one. Mrs. Carter’s grip tightened. "*Good* boy." I came undone.

The neighbors exchanged a glance, their lips curling into identical wicked grins. Mrs. Carter’s grip loosened just enough for me to gasp—before she shoved me back against the couch, her heel pressing into my bare thigh. “Oh, *darling*,” one neighbor murmured, kneeling beside me. “We’ve been *so* neglectful.” Her fingers wrapped around my ankle, nails digging into the arch of my foot. I jerked, a strangled noise tearing from my throat as her thumb pressed hard into the sensitive flesh. The second neighbor mirrored her, her tongue darting out to trace the curve of my other foot before her teeth scraped the tendon. Mrs. Carter laughed, low and dark, her own foot sliding higher, toes curling against my inner thigh. “*Sensitive* here too, aren’t you?” I writhed, the scarf cutting deeper as their touches turned deliberate—cruel. Every lick, every bite, every sharp pinch sent shocks of pleasure-pain up my spine. “*Please—*” Mrs. Carter’s heel ground down. “*Begging* already?” The neighbors’ mouths moved in tandem, tongues swirling over my soles, teeth nipping at my toes. I bucked, my cock twitching helplessly as they reduced me to shuddering, gasping wreck. “*More,*” one whispered against my skin. And they obeyed.

Mrs. Carter’s heel pressed harder, the sharp point digging into the soft flesh of my thigh. A groan ripped from my throat—half-pain, half-pleasure—as the neighbors’ mouths worked in tandem, their tongues hot and wet against my soles. One of them bit down on my little toe, sharp and sudden, and my hips jerked off the couch. The scarf around my wrists pulled taut, the silk burning against my skin. “Look at him,” the second neighbor murmured, her breath ghosting over my arch before she sucked hard, leaving a mark. “*Twitching* like a fucking puppet.” Mrs. Carter leaned down, her lips brushing my ear. “You *love* this, don’t you?” Her hand slid down my chest, nails raking over my ribs. “Being *used*.” I couldn’t answer—couldn’t think—not when their touches turned relentless. Teeth scraped my instep. A thumb pressed ruthlessly into the ball of my foot. Mrs. Carter’s heel shifted higher, grinding against the inside of my thigh, *so close* to where I needed her most. “*Fuck—!*” My back arched, muscles straining. The neighbors laughed, low and knowing, their mouths never stopping. Mrs. Carter’s fingers tangled in my hair again, yanking my head back. “*Come* for us,” she ordered, her voice rough. And I did—shaking, gasping, utterly wrecked.

Mrs. Carter’s fingers finally loosened the scarf, letting it slither off my wrists as I panted, still trembling from the aftershocks. The neighbors pulled back, their lips glistening, eyes dark with satisfaction. “Good boy,” one murmured, dragging a fingertip down my sweat-slicked chest. Mrs. Carter smirked, stepping away to retrieve a silk robe draped over the armchair. She shrugged it on, the fabric clinging to her curves. “We’re just getting started.” The second neighbor traced idle circles on my knee, her nails leaving faint red trails. “Next time, we’ll tie you to the bedposts.” “Or blindfold you,” the first added, nipping at my earlobe. “See how long you last when you can’t *watch*.” Mrs. Carter tilted my chin up with two fingers. “Or maybe we’ll let you *beg* properly.” Her thumb pressed against my lower lip. “On your knees.” A shiver ran through me—half-dread, half-desire. They exchanged glances, grinning like predators who’d just found fresh prey. “Rest up,” Mrs. Carter purred, trailing a hand down my spine as she walked away. “We’ll be back *soon*.” The door clicked shut behind them, leaving me sprawled on the couch—exhausted, aching, and already half-hard again.