Tormenting Rebecca

By J P Philips

A female narrator recounts how she once suffered at the hands of her two step-brothers-to-be when they took it upon themselves to pin her down, to tickle her and then so much more.

Inspiration struck for this story some time ago when I got chatting to a female fan of my writing. She’d told me how, as a teenager, her older stepbrothers would pin her to the floor and tickle her, and how it gave her a secret thrill to the point where she’d find herself secretly fantasising that they’d go on to tickle her much more intimately. That got me thinking...

• Language: English
• Publisher: J P Philips
• Release date: May 14, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310913747

J P Philips

J P Philips describes himself as, "A perfectly ordinary, happily married, forty-something-year-old man who accidentally stumbled upon a talent for erotic writing." It began back in 2006 while, on a wine-fuelled whim, he decided to write a fictitious 'girlfriends' confession' in an attempt to be published by a certain mens' magazine. As a bi-product of that experience he discovered a strange thrill in writing erotica, and so he went on to create more stories, publishing them online in an amateur capacity, where he was awarded several prizes and quickly amassed a considerable fan-base. An early attempt at a personal website then followed, a professional publishing contract was duly signed, but in the end he decided that he really wanted to go it alone, and so he now publishes all of his short stories and novellas independently. Asked how best to describe his writing style, JP has come up with the snappy title, "Slightly-larger-than-life-story-led-hardcore".

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Tormenting Rebecca

by

J P Philips

Tormenting Rebecca

Copyright © 2015 MDD Publishing

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This story contains themes of a sexual nature and is to be read by persons aged eighteen years or over. In owning a copy of this story, readers must also make sure that they are adhering to the law of the country of their abode. MDD Publishing takes no responsibility for illegal behaviour resulting from the acquisition of this story.

This story is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and incidences are the work of the author’s imagination only. Any resemblance to people, living or dead, is coincidental only.

Published in the UK by MDD Publishing 2015

Tormenting Rebecca

I guess I was what you might call a late developer. One of those girls who’d turned into a perfectly good-looking, young woman without anyone seemingly noticing. I’d been a lanky, skinny kid throughout most of my teenage years, and as a consequence, I was all but ignored by the popular kids in school. I suppose I should have been grateful that I was never actually bullied, but at the time, like any girl that age, all I really wanted was to be noticed. In the end I just buried myself in my schoolwork, taking whatever comfort I could from my natural intelligence while hoping that one day things might be different.

Eventually and inevitably my body began to change. My features softened so that what once could fairly have be described as goofy now gave me a kind of doe-eyed, quirkiness that I’ve been told several times is attractive. Those long, gangling legs filled out in the calves and thighs; my tits finally swelled forwards; my hips widened, and my ass rounded in a way I’ve always been secretly proud of, but even then, it seemed as though I was invisible to the boys in school.

I’d study my naked reflection in the bathroom mirror once out of the shower and feel certain that what I was looking at was perfectly nice. I was slim in the right places and I had great skin, never having suffered the curse of teenage acne. Looking back, I suppose I’d yet to learn how to make the most of my looks. I was only just beginning to understand the subtleties of fashion and my hair, though long and healthy, would unfailingly be worn pulled back into a ponytail with a long fringe left at the front for me to hide behind whenever the frequent desire for anonymity arose. What I really blamed for my ‘plain-Jane’ status, however, were my glasses. I’d been forced to wear them since I was just twelve-years of age. There’s a stupid, old saying that goes, Men don’t make passes at girls who wear glasses, which I’ve long since learnt to be utter crap, but as a young woman, desperate to be acknowledged, it certainly seemed to be the case. On those rare occasions when I’d complain to my mum she’d just tell me that I looked cute or that glasses suited her little bookworm. But I didn’t want to look cute and I certainly didn’t want to be anybody’s bookworm.