Well, Dear Diary, this was a weekend to remember. Possibly the most
perfect weekend I have had in quite some time. And, believe it or not,
thanks go, in part, to the office assistant-slash-slut, Gina. She
still has yet to spell my name correctly, but at least she was able to
keep Phillip's calender clean for the weekend. Granted, I had to make
up an entire conference and then get Phillip to agree to accompany me
to it.

Gina didn't like that part at all. She tried to quell it when Phillip
told her to block the weekend off. It was almost classic. She smiled
so wide, like any little girl about to get Christmas early. Then, the
next second, her face was crushed as Phillip told her that he was going
to accompany me to a conference in Las Vegas. I had to bite my lip not
to laugh. I got to spill all the laughter I've been saving this past
week over the weekend, but it's been difficult to walk past Gina, see
her glaring at me, and not laugh at the poor kid. Hopefully, one day,
she'll understand that adults go out with adults, and she should go
play with all the college boys she should be playing with.

But, enough of her. I asked Phillip, in my "sweet-innocent-please"
voice if he would be willing to drive the trip to Vegas, rather than
fly. I argued that the drive is nice this time of year, and that the
cost-savings from the flight versus gas would be worth it. He agreed,
but said there would be a secret condition, which I was more than happy
to comply with.

So Friday comes, and the office closed at noon. Gina tried to convince
Phillip to give her a ride home, but he said he wouldn't be able to,
and called her a taxicab. Earlier, I caught her trying to sabotage my
little black bag, but I quickly shoed her away, and placed my luggage
in Phillip's office. While Phillip and Gina waited for the taxi, I
took the time to go change into my traveling outfit: an atheltic
croptop that bares my midrift, which is furthermore quite low cut, and
a white, pleated tennis skirt. I would have worn a minidress, but that
was being saved for later, as I have discovered Phillip's prediliction
for ladies in bustiers and garterbelts.

As I come out of the back room, I hear Gina's laughter in the front
office. I know Phillip is tickling her, and I wait a few minutes
before coming into the room. I closed my eyes and imagined what he was
doing to Gina, and then imagined his fingers were running up and down
my exposed sides, and across my clothless tummy. I got a few
goosebumps as the thoughts crossed my mind.

I heard Gina's laughter stop abruptly, which signaled that the cab must
have arrived. I entered the lobby giving Gina an image to "horrify"
her little mind with all weekend as the door closed and the cabbie
escorted her away. The look of jealousy on her face was almost as good
as the look of desire on Phillip's face when he turned around to see
my outfit. He joked about playing tennis before leaving, but I said
there'd be time for that in Vegas. I'm sure he figured out awhile ago
there was no conference, regardless of whether Gina helped him, or he
figured it out on his own.

He escorted me to the garage, where he had decided to drive a little
roadster of some type. A BMW or a Porsche...no difference to me, as
either one would be something I'd expect based on Phillip's style. He
reminded me of the little condition for driving up to Vegas instead of
the flight, and as I sat in the passenger seat, allowing my skirt to
rise over my thighs, he started to tie my wrists to the sides of the
seat. Apparently, he had reworked the seats so there was a small
wristcuff on each side. Barely noticeable if you weren't in the cuffs
themselves. He then pulled the seatbelt across my abdomen and buckled
me it, making certain to stroke my tummy with his delicate fingers and
causing me to squeal and jump. I coyly reminded him how ticklish I
was. He said he had forgotten and needed a reminder. He straddled my
thighs and began tickling my bared tummy with all ten fingers. I
yelped and twisted, but in the bound position I was in, there was no
way of truly protecting myself. I knew as much, but I'm just too
sensitive. Besides, I'm sure Phillip appreciated my breasts jiggling
right beneath his nose...mainly because of the distortion in his
slacks.

He dropped the convertible's roof, and started out on the way. Within
an hour, we were north on I-15, passing a putrid-smelling dairy farm
headed towards The Land of Lost Wages. Phillip had taken plenty of
opportunities to tickle my exposed body. He delighted in letting his
fingers crawl along my thighs, as it cause my skirt to ride up each
time he tickled me. My tummy is fast becoming his favored target, as I
am certain he's figured out it's my weakest spot. He also made time to
take a few quick strokes along my exposed cleavage.

So when he started to reach towards my side of the car again, I figured
I'd get another two or three minute tickle. Instead, he opened the
glove compartment in the roadster, exposing a little green button that
read "N2O". I teased him about auditioning for "The Fast and The
Furious 3". He replied simply by telling me to take a close look at
the seatbelt.

Up to that point, I knew the belt felt a little odd across my breasts,
but as I was with Phillip, and getting tickled now and again, I really
didn't care. Now, at his command, I looked at the belt more closely,
and noticed, right where the belt crossed my cleavage, two tiny little
rubber hoses...pointed right at my mouth and nose. Phillip pressed the
button, and I saw the hoses expand a little with the escaping gas,
which I could barely hear above the sound of the speedster's engine. I
smiled widely (of my own accord at that moment) and started to inhale
deeply. I teased him by saying that I hope he wasn't going to do
anything naughty to me. He chuckled at that.

Right as he chuckled, I began to feel woozy, and giggled. I
immediately inhaled deeply again, then held my breath for a moment, so
the laughing gas could really get to me. The roadside seemed to throb
narrow then wide as we drove along it. All the cars alternately became
extremely thin, then extremely fat. Once I let go, I was giggling
steadily. When I looked at Phillip, he was smiling. His head was
doing the same thing as the road: really thin, then really fat. His
voice seemed to do the same as he asked me what was so funny. The
sound was really high-pitched, then really deep. I started laughing
at that point, the sound of Phillip's voice had never been so funny
before.

Phillip responded by slipping his hand under my skirt, and tickling my
inner thigh earnestly. His fingers were dancing across the tops of my
thighs as well, and he would occassionally, and purposefully, tickle
across my clit, through the silk panties I had worn for the roadtrip.
I kept trying to jerk away from his tickling fingers, but each jump I
made had me feeling especially dizzy, in a silly kind of sense...like
when I was a kid and would twirl myself in circles until I fell down
from it. Come to think about it, I laughed back then, too.

Soon, Phillip's finger was inside my pussy, prodding around, while the
fingers outside my labia continued to tickle me. The sensations were
overwhelming. I'm sure Phillip's finger was soaked upon entering me.
I was dizzy from the gas, cackling like a crazy woman, and absolutely
loving every second of it. I'm not sure when it started, but I can
vaguely remember the throes of orgasm several times.

I must have passed out from the gas, because I awoke in our hotel room
in Vegas. My bags were unpacked, and my red cocktail dress was laid
out beside of me on the king sized bed. I didn't hear Phillip anywhere
and took a quick examination of the room. I found some ropes attached
and hidden on the bed, and I quickly surmized that I wasn't through
laughing this weekend. Perfectly fine with me! I readied myself in
about an hour, and was walking out the bathroom perfectly dolled up
when Phillip returned. He commented on my being awake, and told me
to follow him. I'd follow him to the end of the earth if there were
such a thing.

* * *

We returned from an evening watching the "Blue Man Group" at the Luxor.
Those guys are cool. They can make music come from anything. The
ride home was spent taking ticklish little pokes along my ribs and
giggling from Phillip's fingers stroking up the insides of my thighs
for the ride home. I guess having a slit up the side of my dress is
just as good as a miniskirt for Phillip. Then again, he has yet to see
some of my more interesting miniskirts.

I think I was stripped out of my dress in about a minute, and luckily
didn't tear it anywhere. Beneath was one of the three bustiers I had
brought with me for the weekend, using nude-colored stockings. Phillip
pounced on me, kissing me passionately and tickling my midsection
as though he hadn't had sex in years. I was still a little weak from
the gas I had taken on the trip up here, and now the tickling and the
lateness of the hour had worn me down to nearly defenseless. I
struggled very little, only capable of laughing and putting up only
an infantile resistance as Phillip looped the "hidden" ropes around
my wrists, tickling me most of the while.

After being securely strapped in, he kissed me, left the room, and
returned with another canister of laughing gas for our amusement. He
secured the nose mask across my face, and shortly thereafter I was
again giggling from the gas leaking into my nostrils. It took only
a few seconds of giggling before Phillip was again tickling my sides,
and I was trying meekly to escape his fingers. Not that I really
wanted to, and I was so tired that I couldn't have escaped had I been
free. But watching Phillip get hard from my laughing and wiggling
just adds to the sexual energy of the situation.

It didn't take much incentive, either. I suspect I wasn't the only
one that was still a little charged from the drive here. Phillip's
cock was thrusting deep inside my pussy as I helplessly layed back and
laughed from the gas and the fingers invading body. I don't remember
too much from the haze I was placed under, but I do remember Phillip
taking the mask off my nose, and then laying his head on my breasts
when I went to sleep.

* * *

The next morning was a great as the night before. A little moreso,
since we had most of the day to play. Combined with the fact that it
was much nicer inside the air conditioned hotel than walking along
the late spring sidewalks of Las Vegas, and much of our day plans were
made for us by mother nature.

Apparently I spent the entire night in the ropes, because I was still
in the same position when I awoke the next morning. Phillip had
decided to order room service for breakfast, and was nice enough to
keep the delivery person outside. Who knows what he would have thought
after seeing me tied down in such a manner. First, Phillip fed me from
my bound position on the bed. I asked him if he intended on eating.
He replied he would, with a wicked little boys' grin. Usually that
means I'm going to get gassed and tickled again, which immediately
started my heart racing.

Once my plate had been finished, Phillip began spooning his food off
of his plate onto various parts of my body. I knew the sheets would
be a mess by time room service got to them. I wonder what their
faces reaction was to what they saw. I didn't get a lot of time to
think about it at the time, because after Phillip had most of his
breakfast on my body, he pulled out yet another canister from somewhere
and attached it to my nose again.

Before the laughing gas could get to me, however, I was laughing from
Phillip eating part of his breakfast off of my tummy. Obviously, the
ticklish nips from his teeth were purposeful, and he added ticklish
strokes to my underarms each time he leaned in to get another bite.
When he did pause for a moment, I had inhaled so much from the can that
my laughter didn't come close to a halt. I'm not altogether certain
how much of what Phillip ate actually made it into his stomach, but I
didn't much care after his tongue started licking at my clit again.
I moaned something in approval before degenerating back into uproarious
laughter again.

Definately a weekend to remember, Diary. Let's just hope there are
many more just like it.