Snuggy-Wuggy

Literotic asexstories – Snuggy-Wuggy by TheWritingGroup,TheWritingGroup
Snuggy-Wuggy

By Rocco of The Writing Group

I hate March. I’m done with cold, done with winter, and here it is freezing my tail off. I walk in from outside, shivering. I still don’t really feel warm inside, either. We can’t spend any more on heat. I’ll change out of these damp clothes and hide under a blanket until June!

I walk into the living room. Renee looks up from her sewing and smiles at me. I feel better already. She’s the picture of domesticity, sitting on the couch and sewing. I walk over and lean in for a kiss.

“Sweetie, are you shivering?” She looks very concerned. Exaggerating, in fact. We’ve been married a couple of years now. I recognize the, “I’m leading you down the garden path” expression.

I’ve never regretted following Renee’s lead. “Yeah, I hate March. I can’t stop shaking.”

“You’re in luck, Chris!” She has more to say, but I love a good straight line.

“Yes, I am. I have you.” I enjoy the look on her face when I surprise her with a lovebit. (That’s short for “love soundbite”. Yes, we have cute names for our cute habits. We’re sickeningly cute.)

“You had better remember that, Christina Marie Purvis! Also, stop interrupting me.” She isn’t mad. She’s doing her comedy routine. That’s a signal that she has a plan and I should be quiet. I’m only “Christina Marie” when she’s being intimidating.

“Sorry.”

“Forgiven. Provisionally.” Smile. “Anyway, you’re in luck. I was just finishing a gift for you.”

She holds up the thing she was working on. It’s a blanket? It’s not falling right, and there are two wide strips of different-color material sewn onto it. A hole in the middle? It kind of looks like a …

“You’ve seen those infomercials for a blanket-poncho thing that lets you be snug and warm with your head and your arms out? I thought something like that would be good for my wife who’s always chilly. You know me, I never make anything to the pattern.”

“Yeah. It’s like how I cook. You don’t catch me following the recipe precisely.”

“I made the sleeves form-fitting (and better looking), and made the fabric two layers.” The sleeves are made of a different material, red fabric on a reddish-brown blanket fabric. The contrast is actually really striking and attractive. Of course, Renee is a tailor. (She hates seamstress.) “It’s more body-shaped, not as loose as the commercial one. That makes it hang better and not catch on stuff. It’s also warmer.” She should have been an inventor. She’s always improving stuff. The double-thickness blanket sounds really good to me. I am very cold.

“Usually, I’d put this on a mannequin to see how it looks. This time, the person I made it for is right here. So. Ms. Mannequin–take it all off!” She’s very commanding when she’s tailoring. It’s charming. Really, it’s incredibly hot, but “charming” is what I say.

“Take what off?”

“Everything. Shoes, clothes, … OK, I’ll be nice and let you keep your piercings in.” That is definitely a leer. She gave me the nipple jewelry. “I love to look at your beautiful body. Strip!” After a moment, “I also want to test how warm the Snuggy-Wuggy is. Those outdoor clothes … no. Off!”

Jacket off, then I sit beside her and slide off my boots. “You’re really going to call it ‘Snuggy-Wuggy’?” Slip off the warm socks. The air is cold on my bare feet. I hate March. Unbutton the blouse.

“If I sell it? Maybe. I’d have to ask a lawyer about trademarks. Right now, I’m just talking to my gorgeous, wonderful, cooperative wife. Also chilly–I see goosebumps on your arms.” I get up to remove the blouse, then unhook and drop my bra. “Those big bumps on your knockers are way more fun, though. They’re really standing up.” Sliding my pants and panties down together.

“Sorry I couldn’t strip slower for you, lover, but I’m cold.” I’m really trembling now.

“I will never complain about a naked Chris. If you weren’t so cold, I’d make you wait while I took a better look.” She’s gathering the … I guess I have call it “Snuggy-Wuggy”, but I resent it. Anyway, she grabs it and walks behind me, climbing up on the ottoman and holding the garment in mid-air. “Put your hands down by your sides.”

She drops the thing over my head. I’m blind for a couple of seconds, then my head pops through the collar. I’m glad I cut off my 2-foot blonde braid last year. Pulling this thing over a braid might have caught and hurt. Buzzcut dyed green slips right through. There’s a padded, reinforced collar. It’s really comfortable, even though it’s as heavy as a winter coat. Of course, it’s comfy. My wife is a genius. It smells faintly of chlorine-free bleach, she must have washed it. Because she loves me. I am smiling.

She climbs back down. “OK, now you’ll probably have to put one arm at a time into the sleeves. I might have made this thing too tight for your chest. I will never complain about a big-boobed Chris, though. Raise your right hand straight up. The entry to the sleeve is right at your shoulder.” She pulls the cloth out at the top of the right sleeve, where the red fabric joins the brownish stuff. That gives me enough slack to awkwardly fold my arm up and put it into the sleeve. The thing isn’t nearly as tight after that. She silently tugs on the left shoulder, and I put my left arm into that sleeve. The thing is even more comfortable now. In fact, it feels really nice.

Whenever Renee puts a new garment on me, she does this thing where she runs her hands over my body. She’s seeing how it hangs, trying to find loose places and tight places. I don’t think she’s that intimate with paying customers. She’s doing it now. It’s wonderful. She’s so focused, so professional. She does give extra attention to my breasts and my butt and my crotch, though. The double layer of thick fabric should make the sensation less, but no. She’s pressing harder so I can feel her hands. The expert tailor knows exactly how to caress me through something she made. “How does it feel, Chris?” she asks.

“It feels great. The way your hands linger on all the best spots … you meant the Snuggy-Wuggy, didn’t you.” I grin. Another hit with a lovebit. “It’s super warm and hangs evenly. I know it must be heavy, but it doesn’t feel that way. One thing, though: the sleeves are quite a bit too long. My hands don’t reach the ends.” I hold my hands out straight in front of me. Weirdly, the blanket part follows them. I can see straps connecting the ends of the sleeves to the blanket on the opposite side. Wait a second ….

“Let me make a couple of adjustments,” says Renee, and she puts her hip against my butt and pulls hard at some kind of handle or something on the back of the thing, and my arms are pulled into a hugging-myself position. There’s a tight band running around my back, behind my shoulders. I can distinctly hear a click! as some kind of buckle is secured.

“Renee, what is–” That’s as far as I can get before I feel another yank as something tightens the Snuggy-Wuggy around my waist. Another click.

I’m not scared. It surprises me how not-scared I am. We’ve played enough bondage games, and I trust her so absolutely. My heart speeds up, but that’s excitement, not fear.

Renee walks around in front of me and carefully examines my face. She’s checking to see if I’m freaking out. She’s always careful about my emotional state. I smile. She’s showing how much she cares.

She smiles back. What’s going on? I’m in … “A strait jacket, Renee? I’m honored you went to so much trouble for me.”

“Comfiest strait jacket ever made, I think. You’re the one to judge. I’ve never worn it properly.” She takes me by the shoulders and walks me over to the couch where she was sitting. I feel a rush. Without arms, I can’t possibly resist. I feel even more helpless than I do in our handcuffs. I find myself trying to embrace her, kiss her. When my arms don’t work, I try to lean on her. She’s got my shoulders, though. I can only go where she puts me.

She turns me so the couch is behind my calves. A slight push is enough to force me to sit. She’s so careful. Renee holds onto me and makes sure I don’t fall too hard. I’m surprised when she kneels down and fumbles with the bottom of the cone of fabric. She pulls, hard, tightening the hem around my ankles. It’s a drawstring. I can see a cord pulled out of the hem. She’s tying it off now. Even while I’m getting more and more excited, I notice her beautiful, skilled hands tying the knot with perfect precision and confidence. It’s not unpleasantly tight, but I have no slack. I’m naked, in a sack, with my head and my bare feet sticking out. And my arms helplessly pinned.

Renee grabs my ankles and rotates me around on my butt. My head is at one end of the couch and my feet at the other. The couch is our best piece of furniture. It’s an antique longer than either of us is tall, with super-comfortable foam cushions. We’ve had to wash the cushion covers before, after passionate lovemaking on the very comfy sofa.

She draws me out of the happy past with a happier present. She kneels on the floor by my head and kisses me possessively, lovingly, firmly. With her hands on my head and the rest of me reduced to a wiggly sausage, she’s so totally in command. The warmth between my legs started when I first stripped for her. Now it’s going from “warm” to “melting wax”.

Renee starts planting quick kisses on me–my cheek, my forehead, back to the lips, other cheek, nibble an ear. I’m making a sound like “Mmmm.” No words.

Then she pulls back again. And asks, “So, why did you lie to me?”

My eyes fly open. (I don’t remember closing my eyes.) So does my mouth. “What?!”

“You told me you weren’t ticklish.” Now that I can see her, I know it’s OK. She’s got an impish smile. I so, so want to kiss that mouth, but I’m totally helpless. I’m rubbing my thighs together involuntarily. She’s so smart, so sure of herself. I cannot resist her when she’s like this, and I don’t mean because I’m bound.

“Um, I’m not? Wait, is that what this is about? You invented a new strait jacket to hold me still so you could tickle me?”

“I love you. Making stuff for you is fun. Don’t change the subject.” I could fall into that smile forever. I guess I should answer, not just stare at her adoringly. As I open my mouth, though, Renee overrides me.

“I figured it out. You claim to hate foot massages. I make all your clothes, but for Bea’s wedding you let me dress you, from panties to hat, but not put your socks on. Why are you so defensive about your feet, my darling?” Her left hand is stroking the very short hair on my head. It’s amazingly sensual.

I really can’t resist Renee-in-charge. “Habit, my beloved.” (We trade endearments. I think she memorized the thesaurus for “love”.) “The truth is, I’m very, very ticklish. And I’m not comfortable with it. One bare foot, four fingernails, and I’m out of control. Rhoda learned my weakness and, well, took advantage of it. It was a borderline abuse thing. I understand it now, but I didn’t then. Sometimes it was fun, sometimes it … wasn’t. To be honest, I hadn’t actually thought about why I pretended until just now. I just knew the subject made me uncomfortable.”

“Do you trust me, Chris?” She sounds way too serious about that question.

“I trust you. I trust you completely. Utterly. With my life, with my heart. I’m yours.” I don’t know if I sound serious. I sure hope I sound sincere. I must, because I get a kiss.

“Are you trying to seduce me, Little Miss Damsel-in-Distress?” Smirking. I’m not a miss or little, but I get it.

“Yes!” I know that sounded sincere. I think maybe I sounded a little desperate. She’s so hot and I’m so ready … but my brain is super-active now. That happens when I’m horny. “Waiiit a second. Did you lower the thermostat?”

“Clever girl. That’s why I had to do it. You’re too clever to fool easily. I had to make you desperate to put on the Snuggy-Wuggy, or you would have realized what it was too soon. Luckily, you get cold easier than I do.”

“Clever girl right back.” I’m being pretty sassy for someone completely helpless. I’m trying to provoke her. “So about that seduction?” My best come-hither look…

“You’re going to have to wait.” She’s still smiling. Bless her, she never lets me stampede her, in or out of bed. I’m rubbing my thighs together again, and so, so eager, but I really do trust her. This is going to come out great. She will make it great.

Her left hand is still stroking my hair. Now, the right very gently pats my breasts, covered by thick cloth. “I wish I had put in a panel I could open, so I could play with these.” Not quite so gentle now. She’s building me up slowly, and I can’t even caress her back. It’s making me crazy.

“My boobs, but not my groin?”

“Oh, I did put a panel there.” That is one amazingly intense smile. She has clearly planned this out. She’s always going to be one step ahead of me. Good!

Crap, she’s moving down to my feet. I have to warn her. “Dear one, before you tickle me, you might want to hogtie me. I thrash around hard sometimes. I don’t want to kick you in the face by accident.”

“That’s your only objection, apple of my eye?” (OK, now she’s switching to poetic endearments. I’m too distracted to compete well.)

“Yes, my treasure. Now that you made me think about it. I’m not afraid, not of you.”

“Well, then. I can’t hogtie you, because your hands are covered. You’re in a strait jacket.” Right, right, I knew that. “I’ll just sit on your legs.” That’ll work, though. She’s smaller than me, but not that small. Also, I’m already tied up. “Did the witch, I mean Rhoda, hogtie you for tickles?” Renee really doesn’t like Rhoda.

“Usually. Or tickle me under the arms or something, not the feet.” She’s up on the couch now, facing away from me, kneeling with one leg on either side of my Snuggy-Wuggy-bound body. I crane my neck for the view of her rump, before she scoots down and sits, carefully, on my knees. Her gorgeous cascade of brown curls holds my eyes. To think someone once told her it was “mousy”. It’s a crown, a halo, the perfect accessory and amplifier for her beautiful face.

I must really love her. She’s distracting me from herself now.

The warmth, firmness and softness of her thighs pressing into my knees brings me back into the moment. I can feel little crepitations in my feet, anticipating the tickles.

Out of the blue: “I’m going to tickle you until you start to black out. Then I’ll let you rest, while I kiss you and play with your bits. Then I’ll tickle you some more. It’ll be a while before I’m done edging you.”

“Why?!” I’m already so eager and so ready.

“I want to train you to like tickling, and I want to train you to be turned on by it. I like having another way to pleasure you.” That’s devious and sneaky and intended to be mutually joyous. Sounds like Renee. She won’t really be that extreme. I know her. She’ll back off the second she thinks I’m not enjoying things. She’s Renee. “Also, you’re my favorite toy, so I’m going to play with you.”

“… I can’t argue with that.”

“Damn straight.”

“Love, you’re a lesbian talking to her bisexual wife in the middle of a BDSM and tickling scene. Is ‘straight’ really the word?” I’m pretty proud of that one. Of course, she has to punish me for it. And of course, she punishes me with tickles.

She leans forward and supports herself on her left hand, holding my left ankle and pinning my bound legs. She traces one finger of her right hand, ever so gently, from the pad of my foot down to the heel. I spasm. She traces the finger back up. I start to giggle. The giggle is high-pitched. I sound weirdly like a child. I’m squirming and struggling now, but I’m thoroughly tied up and a whole, very strong person is holding me down.

Renee scoots forward some more. Her weight on my shins pins both legs. Now she can use both hands on my feet. I’m laughing loudly and gasping desperately for air between the laughs. Somehow through all the noise I’m making, I can hear Renee chuckling a little, too.

She pauses, giving me just enough time to catch my breath before starting again, this time with her fingernails, and I’m gone. I’m a squirming, gasping ball of laughter, and the terrible and wonderful feeling of the tickling.

I have no idea how long she does that. The thinking, time-counting part of me isn’t there, just the feeling part.

I am aware of myself again. Renee lies right next to me on the couch. Her head is on my shoulder. Her right hand creeps down my body, over my tits and down my belly. I’m breathing fast and deep, but not gasping any more. My heart is starting to slow down. I hear a zzz-zzz-zzzp noise and feel air on my mound. She unzipped a panel of the Snuggy-Wuggy to expose my bits. Oh, please, oh, please, I need this. The tickling I dreaded got me so excited I could boil water on my labia. Yes, that is a weird image.

“Renee, I’m begging you, I’m desperate. Please, please …” My voice is strained and high-pitched.

“Do you need me to stop this now?” She’s worried, but–

“No, no, please don’t stop!” That sounded really desperate. “I’m begging you! Go quick! I don’t know if I could stand it if you teased me much longer.” I start bouncing my ass up and down on the bed, trying to make contact with her hand.

I can see her teeth glint like a cartoon wolf. Or maybe I’m losing my mind.

“You can wait a little longer, my beautiful bundle of nerves. And you’re going to.” She slides further down my body. That lets her slide her hand up through the groin-hatch and tickle my belly, just above where I desperately want her touch. I can’t even complain. The tickling is gentle and slow and unstoppable and impossible to ignore, and I’m giggling, and then gasping, and then guffawing and gulping for air. She has me helpless and she’s taking full advantage. This time, I don’t disappear into the laughter. I’m right there witnessing it. She reduces me to nothing but a pulsating packet of pure pleasure. I feel it when she switches to fingernails. I’m aware of every heartbeat of rest she finally gives me. She starts again, not letting me recover enough to even think of trying to talk. I am grateful for every time her wrist accidentally, or on purpose, brushes my labia or my clit. It’s never long enough or hard enough to push me over the edge, but always enough to increase that heat even more.

Finally, she pulls her hand back out of that groin-hatch. She slides up again to put her head beside mine, an arm and a leg thrown over me. Possessively? Affectionately? To keep me from getting away? I think all three, not that I’m capable of even trying to go anywhere right now.

I can feel the cold air on my crotch where the panel is still open, but it isn’t even close to putting out that fire. Then Renee kisses me, on the cheek, turning my head with her hand to kiss my lips, then turns me back so she can attack my right ear. This is not exactly calming me down. I manage to whisper, “Renee, mercy.”

“I do love it when you beg. I love you, at all times.” She has to slide down a little to reach the desperately needy, sensitive skin at my center with her hand. She’s so much shorter than I am, and yet she can do absolutely anything to me, any time. Her hand strokes the hair on my mound–also a buzz cut, but my natural blonde–gently, but definitely. She’s still doing a slow buildup. We’ve been together a while. I know this will build all the way up. I’m so eager, so tremblingly thirsty.

“Breathe, love. You aren’t allowed to pass out until after I make you come.” Good advice, but my breath keeps catching. Her hand brushes my labia, and strokes down them, slowly, smoothly, slippery. Slippery? How did she put lube on her fingers without me noticing? She’s really something. I breathe the ghost of a laugh.

Slow ramp up. I’m actually regaining some strength now that she isn’t tickling me. It’s easier to enjoy it. After a few minutes, she’s using three fingers to stimulate the whole area. She extends the middle finger inside me. Renee is still moving slowly, but then faster and faster, the other two fingers are on my labia. I can feel the tingling and the pressure and she’s rubbing my g-spot and she slides down to lick my clit, first around it and then closing her lips on it and I’m moaning and grunting and then crying out, no words, just “OH, OH, Oh, Oh, oh, oh …” and the pulsations going through me and the muscles squeezing and releasing and squeezing and squeezing and squeezing. Then I’m done, and I can feel the wetness on my groin and the wet blanket and I’m gasping for air again, but I’m so happy and tired and helpless and cared for and loved.

And I’m limp, no desire except to breathe. Renee gives my mound one more kiss (and I tremble, as much from emotion as sensation). Then she slides back up one more time and embraces me, and we’re silent.

After a while. “I think we need to put the Snuggy-Wuggy in the washer. You did use washable fabrics?” My brain is back online. I can be witty again. Even after that amazing experience, it’s still joyously sensual when she laughs at my joke, lying half-on-top of me.

“I think at least it absorbed all the liquids, so if we’re careful freeing you, we won’t have to wash the cushion covers again.” She pauses. I think she’s going to ask if I liked it.

“Renee, I adore you, and I admire you, and I appreciate you, and I love you, and I will keep this list going long enough to embarrass you if you even dare to ask me whether I liked that. You put that much work into creating a whole new sex toy, just to have a chance to give me pleasure! You’re a genius, it was so, so good. You cured a phobia without trying! I can never deserve you, but–” She didn’t let me finish that, putting her hand (tasting of me, and our favorite cherry lube) over my mouth.

“You’re undervaluing yourself. I know you’d say that about me, of course. Your trust is so astonishing. Seeing your face when I ambushed you was almost like our wedding day. You were so happy! I made you beg, and you’re still giving me that sunny smile that I’ll treasure forever. Don’t you dare say mean things about my wife, Missy!” She’s grinning. She means every word. That just proves I don’t deserve her. I’m not dumb enough to say that.

“Speaking of freeing me, inamorata, I feel a deep desire to hold you. This thing is super comfy, and I’m not cold at all, but it might be time to unlatch it.” I really, really need to hug her. Words are great, but a hug is best sometimes.

“Let me put the towel down.” She has a beach towel ready. She is a genius, she thought of everything. “Don’t want to get your squirt all over the cushions. Again.” She chuckles.

Getting out of a strait jacket takes a little time. I’m loose a couple of minutes later, and immediately wrap her in my arms. After a long, wonderful hug, naked, still sweaty and panting, I say, “Tomorrow, after we wash it and my ribs stop being sore, I’m putting you in the Snuggy-Wuggy.”

“It’s a date.”

———-

(Rocco) Note from the author: This story was inspired by stories here that had people who don’t seem to enjoy each other’s company spending time doing intimate things that require total trust, at least in my head. I wanted to do a BDSM story between people who are utterly committed to each other, where there’s not even really a pretense of anything but mutual love. Also, I thought the Snuggy-Wuggy was a funny concept.

Of course, the device here has nothing to do with the “Snuggie” (a registered trademark of Allstar Marketing). Furthermore, it does not in any way imply that the products called “Snuggie” could have a bondage function, for instance by capturing someone with their arms and legs inside the blanket by tying it off with the victim’s feet inside, then tying the sleeves in a knot to trap someone’s arms. Certainly it doesn’t imply that this might have happened to the author at any time.