Tickling 101

Tickling 101:

In the face of a beautiful girl, with exceptional soles, there's only one thing that came to mind - tickling.

Taking a comfortable position on her bed, she laid on her back, wrists bound to the headboard just above her. In addition to this, a non-familiar weight rested upon her calves further down the bed. There was no pain, only pressure, as she sought to identify the mysterious sensation. However, it took merely a glance to discover that this was the weight of a man - her admirer - who had found again a reason to exist.

Firmly restraining her ankles using his own, natural weight, the admirer had found a beautiful sight and decided to pursue it. This girl, while no more than earthly being, possessed heavenly feet. This attraction led straight down a path that was bound to occur. His legs, and the careful space he had left for her feet between his thighs, firmly fastened her ankles to the foot of her own bed.

The admirer's hands rested gently on the girl's feet, cradling her heels as a gentle introduction of the enjoyable night he planned for her. Raising one hand, with words unspoken, he drew two fingers. Slowly, as if a playful breeze, he swept these fingers along the length of her left sole. Her toes splayed in surprise. She welcomed the touch almost as much as she sought to escape it. However, there was no escaping this situation. While free from the ankle downward - allowed to wriggle her feet between the confines of his inner thighs - this 'freedom' was no more than an illusion. Her bare soles were trapped and exposed, and there was no fleeing the two hands that wanted nothing more than to draw out some ticklish laughter from the girl.

This time, bringing both hands to bear, he collapsed his fingers around the contours of her naked heels. It had yet to start, but she could feel the anticipation, the anxiety of waiting for the sensations to arrive. And then, without a moment's hesitation, his fingers crawled along her soles, carefully scrolling upward until he has struck a chord - the girl's sudden, excited laughter provided proof for exactly the discovery he was awaiting, that of a weakspot. Digging inside the pit of her soles, carefully dissecting her sensitive arches, his fingers repeated their playful ministrations. He was inciting giggles and sustained laughter from the cute girl he sought to tease, who was surely enjoying the laughter as much as he was. Such an excited and boisterous laugh, he thought, was very addicting. He wanted to lay this girl completely flat upon her bed and make her laugh - to stroke her soles until there was nothing but involuntary tears to remind her of their encounter.

Soon, the laughter stopped. The fingers ceased, and there was nothing but a few cached giggles that carried the once ticklish atmosphere.

The girl looked up, arms still drawn above her head. "Is that it? Are we done?"

Her admirer peeked over his shoulder, his mouth opening to that of a small grin. He leaned down, off the edge of the bed, dodging her feet, but surely not missing a chance to kiss her toes. What he brought up with him, the girl thought, changed everything.

A small platter of utensils. While their actual uses varied and seemed fairly irrelevant, there was no doubt that each one could be used to bring her back to the point of hysterical laughter. A feather for slipping between her toes; a soft-bristled paintbrush for gentle teasing; a toothbrush for those long, gritty strokes; a half-empty pen for the recounting of various tales across her naked soles; a plastic comb for that hard, vibratory sensation; a travel-size hairbrush for overloading her poor, sensitive feet; a metallic fork for dragging across her arches, forcing indiscriminate laughter; a small bottle of coconut massage oil, to ensure that every single tool present gets a fair laugh; and, assuredly, his long tongue, which would wreak havoc as it slithered in-between the girl's toes.

Her eyes widened, both terrified and excited of the possibilities. Each tool held its purpose, with individual strengths and weaknesses. It was becoming clearer and clearer what he intended to do with these instruments of tickle torture...

"Sorry, sweetheart." He insisted, "That was only the first fifteen minutes."

Soon, she discovered, that this was only the first of many breaks that her admirer had designed for the evening, and it was going to be a much longer, much more intense night than she had anticipated.

Wiping the latent, budding tears from her eyes using her shoulder, she smiled and leaned back, happy to partake in the rest of the ticklish night that had been planned so carefully for her.

Soon, the laughter stopped. The fingers ceased, and there was nothing but a few cached giggles that carried the once ticklish atmosphere.

The girl looked up, arms still drawn above her head. "Is that it? Are we done?"

Her admirer peeked over his shoulder, his mouth opening to that of a small grin. He leaned down, off the edge of the bed, dodging her feet, but surely not missing a chance to kiss her toes. What he brought up with him, the girl thought, changed everything, as her eyes widened.

A small platter of utensils. While their actual uses varied and seemed fairly irrelevant, there was no doubt that each one could be used to bring her back to the point of hysterical laughter. A feather for slipping between her toes; a soft-bristled paintbrush for gentle teasing; a toothbrush for those long, gritty strokes; a half-empty pen for the recounting of various tales across her naked soles; a plastic comb for that hard, vibratory sensation; a travel-size hairbrush for overloading her poor, sensitive feet; a metallic fork for dragging across her arches, forcing indiscriminate laughter; a small bottle of coconut massage oil, to ensure that every single tool present gets a fair laugh; and, assuredly, his long tongue, which would wreak havoc as it slithered in-between the girl's toes.

Her eyes widened, both terrified and excited of the possibilities. Each tool held its purpose, with individual strengths and weaknesses. It was becoming clearer and clearer what he intended to do with these instruments of tickle torture...

"Sorry, sweetheart." He insisted, "That was only the first fifteen minutes."

Soon, she discovered, that this was only the first of many breaks that her admirer had designed for the evening, and it was going to be a much longer, much more intense night than she had anticipated.

Wiping the latent, budding tears from her eyes using her shoulder, she smiled and leaned back, happy to partake in the rest of the ticklish night that had been planned so carefully for her.