It's been a long fuckin time since I posted here. I miss it. So here goes...this is a story I wrote. It's based on my relationship with this girl I've been seeing who is not a foot fetishist herself, but who is really beginning to understand the joys of tickling. It could be anyone tickling me, though, because her gender isn't really specified. Mine is, because my wee-wee comes into play at the end of it. Anyway, without further ado:
I was exhausted. I was sleeping face-down when you came in, and you noticed that you could see my sock-covered toes peeking out from under the blanket. You paused a minute to make sure I was really asleep; once you heard my deep breathing, you knew it was safe for you to have a little fun at my expense.
I'd been asleep for three hours. I was nearly snoring as you moved to my side and reached under the bed. You'd been in my room enough times to know exactly where I keep my restraints, and you'd been tied up by me enough times to know which ones worked the best. You'd also been at my mercy enough to know that when it comes to tickling, I feel none, and you fully intended to pay me back for my recent attacks. Knowing my love for "spontaneous" situations, you were aware that I had lengths of nylon already attached to each leg of my bedframe. At the other end of these nylon strips were small circles. The nylon was strechable enough to fit over hands and feet, but just barely--not so much so that it allowed for escape.
You pulled back the comforter slowly, hoping not to awaken me with any sudden bursts of cold air. Once my socked feet were revealed, soles up, toes together, heels apart, you slid one hand underneath my ankles and lifted them a couple inches off the ground. One at a time, you placed the restraints around my ankles, then gently set my feet back on the bed. I was sleeping soundly still, so you ran one finger ever-so-lightly up my left sole. It wiggled, but I didn't wake. You could tell I'd be ticklish; socked feet under a blanket for three hours = toasty, warm & sensitive. Your plan was working and I still had no idea. You walked to the head of the bed and pulled my arms, one at a time, over my head and placed my wrists in the restraints. The show was about to begin. You took a moment to go through my drawer (quietly, of course) and pull out each of my favorite tickling implements: a thin-pronged fork, a Sonicare electric toothbrush, and a stiff white feather. You walked to my stereo, turned the volume way up, and put in a CD you'd made of loud rock music. (It was the best for concealing screams and gales of laughter.) You picked up the remote control and stepped back, grinning widely, and then began a countdown:
"ONE!!" In an instant, I awoke to the sound of you shouting "ONE!" aloud as my speakers burst into sound. In the same instant, I felt the comforter being ripped off my body, and when I tried to roll over and see what was going on, I discovered I was tied up. I barely had time to mutter a confused, "huh?" before you pounced.
When I say pounced, I mean literally, you pounced. Sensing what was coming, I tried to squirm away, but you landed squarely on my lower back, straddling my stomach and facing my back and head. "NOOO!" I shouted, but my scream was soon interrupted with uncontrollable giggling. You were using a super-light feathery touch to run your fingers up from my hips to my armpits, then back down. I started squirming and you increased your pressure and speed. Your fingers danced all over the hollows of my armpits and I was hysterical. This continued for about five minutes before you started teasing and taunting me.
"What's wrong, wittle baby?" You chided. "Is something bothering you? Does something...TICKLE?"
"YES!" I shouted..."YES!"
"Does it tickle when I reach under you to tickle your stomach like....THIS?!"
"YES!" I screamed..."YES! PLEASE do something else!"
"Okay," you said calmly, "what about if I tickle your neck and your shoulders like...THIS?!"
"OH GOD! OH GAHAHAHAHAHOD! NOOO!"
"What about if I run my fingers down your shoulderblades and get into these helpless little armpits right HERE?!"
"FUCK!! YES!! FUCK, YES IT TICKLES!! FUCK! Stahahaha...STOP IT!"
To my utter amazement, you did stop. You climbed off me and walked to foot of the bed.
"Oh shit...okay, now let's not do anything crazy here..." I pleaded. "Please...come on, man, you know I can't take it on my feet. Let's just go back to the armpits and call it a day, huh?"
"No." You shot back. "I'm not done. When you tickle me, you go as long as you like, regardless of how hard I scream or beg or cry. Don't you remember just last week in the kitchen? You pinned me down and spent a full HOUR tickling my feet with different cooking utensils! Nuh-uh. This has been a long time coming, mister. You're not going anywhere until I say you can, so you might as well just get comfortable."
With that, you did something that had appeared in my fantasies but I never imagined would happen to me in my real life: You got a pair of scissors and cut my socks off. You started on the right side by snipping a tiny hole right below the toes. You slid the scissor blade into that hole and down the sole of my foot. I gasped at the feeling of the cold steel against my bare skin. My feet had been in socks all day, and I'd been asleep under a blanket for a couple hours, so it had been quite a while since they experienced anything other than warmth. Seeing me squirm under the blade only increased your fervor. You slit the sock from the toes all the way down to the heel, then peeled the sock back to the sides the way you'd do if you were pulling peas out of a pod, or corn from a husk. The cold air hit my foot like a ton of bricks and I tried one last time: "Look. Please don't do this. If you let me up, I'll do all your laundry for a month. I'll clean your apartment! I'll....I'll be your personal servant!" All you said was, "You already ARE my personal servant." And then you began. You ran your fingers down my freshly-exposed sole and I was already laughing. You began spidering your fingers all around my sole and arch. I already thought it was torture, but I knew that the worst (best?) was yet to come.
My weakest spot is my toes and you knew it. For some reason, they're just huge bundles of nerves. Every side of them is terribly sensitive and I am guaranteed to lose any "don't squirm" tests at the slightest touch to any part of any toe. You stopped spidering, and dragged two fingers lazily, slowly, down my sole, starting at the heel (which was at the top, because I'm still face-down at this point) and trailing down to my toes. You got right to the top of my sole and then you leaned in and kissed my foot, right there at the top of my ball, directly under the bases of my toes. You lingered there for a minute, allowing your warm breath to hit my toes a few times....and then you attacked. Using one hand to hold my big toe down to the bed, you dug the other into the bottoms of my toes. I couldn't even feel any other part of my body but the undersides of those five toes on my right foot. You alternated between frantic, high-pressure spidering, and light, torturous, teasing strokes. Finally, I pulled my toes free and scrunched them down. Never one to hesitate, you simply switched to the tops of my toes. At this point, you walked back around to the side of the bed. You picked up the scissors and the blindfold, and proceeded to place the blindfold over my eyes. (Not that I could see anything, anyway, being tied face-down and all.) You returned to my feet and began snipping away my left sock. As I felt the cold air hit that one, you dug in with both hands. This time, your attack was much less measured. You were just ruthlessly tickling me in as many spots and in as many ways as possible. There was no reason to it, either. I squirmed and screamed as you scribbled your fingers over my soles, down to the heel, around the outside, tops of the toes, back to the heel, under the toes, back down the sole, tops of the toes, in-between each toe, and ultimately, to the point where you were doing this type of meta-tickling to both feet, your face just inches away and your eyes wide with glee that you were finally watching me squirm.
After not speaking to me for nearly half an hour, you began to taunt me as you implemented various tools. "How's this fork for ya? It works wonders when you use it on me...Oh! You seem to respond well to this!" And then you'd go crazy with the fork for a few minutes. Each tool had a different spot on my feet that it seemed designed for. The fork worked wonders on my soles and the balls of my feet. Something about the firm scratchiness made it great for tormenting the balls of my feet while holding down both big toes so I was helpless. I was screaming. The electric toothbrush seemed to exist not for cleaning plaque from teeth, but for buffing sock lint away from the topsides of my toes. I was writhing. The comb was good for hard-tickling my soles and heels, you found, while the light touch of the feather worked great when dragged between my toes. I was begging.
Finally having had enough of the standard tickling, you told me you'd untie me on one condition: That I do everything you say. I naturally complied (what else was I gonna do?) and the bonds were removed from my wrists and ankles. You flipped me over, and pulled off the only article of clothing I was still wearing: my boxers. Seeing that the foot-tickling had gotten me hard, you decided to tease me some more. Picking up both feet, you pressed your face into my soles and began licking. You also pulled back, and sucked each toe into your mouth, one at a time. Meanwhile, your spare hand had found its way into your pants and you were touching yourself. That sight got me more turned on so I began to stroke myself, watching you. We both were starting to give each other that "come here now and finish me off!" look, so you gave me one last quick tickle before jumping onto the bed with me.
I was rock-hard when you climbed atop my body and ran your hands along my torso. You came up and kissed me hard on the mouth, and during this time I let my hands tickle, rub, and scratch your back (varying depending on the intensity of the kiss). We rolled for a while and I wound up on top of you. I was straddling your waist and tickling your nipples when you told me that you wanted me to fuck your face. It was a simple manoeuver to get to where I was straddling your neck and resting my cock on your lips. You kissed it and took me into your mouth. After all of the tickling leading up to this, I was extremely turned on already, so I took my time, making sure I wouldn't finish too soon. After a while, though, I began getting carried away, watching my cock slip in and out of your lips, and I began fucking faster. You were gagging and moaning and I kept wondering if you were okay, but when I'd look down at your face, you would just give me a sultry wink and a smile. You could tell I was about to cum so you got ready. My knees were above your shoulders, with my feet in about the same area as your elbows. You lifted your arms up higher and bent your elbows and set your hands gently on my soles, which were pointing up (I was basically on my knees with my feet sticking out behind my ass). Just that added sensation was enough to put me over the edge, and with a few more thrusts I was shooting gobs of cum into your throat. As soon as I began to cum, you furiously began skittering your fingers all over my soles. The tickling was a million times more intense while I was orgasming, but I couldnt' go anywhere. You had me trapped, writhing, cumming, gasping, and moaning and there was nothing I could do to stop it. I was helpless and it felt incredible.