Like everyone else here, I LOVE this topic! I've read all these wonderful stories and they're making me a little light-headed. Sadly, while I have had a lot of tickling experiences in my life, I have very few tales to tell on this subject.
There is one, though, that I've never shared in this or any other forum.
When I was too young to stay home by myself after school, my cousin, Emily used to babysit me. I was 11 or 12 and she was 16 or 17. This was the early 70s, and she looked like a child of the era. Long, straight dark hair, parted down the middle, wire-rimmed glasses, bell-bottoms, She was like a brunette Marcia Brady, I didn't really know it at the time, but I was a little in love with her. I looked up to her. She taught me about good music, from Elton John, to Led Zeppelin, to Yes. She also made it ok to experiment with drugs. I knew she smoked pot and dabbled with harder drugs like Psilocybin and LSD. When I was a few years older and my curiosity about drugs was picqued, I reasoned, "Well, Emily did it."
She was known for being very buxom, but being a confirmed little foot fetishist already, I was enamored with the fact that she went barefoot most of the time. To this day, I have a weakness for bare feet and blue jeans that I blame solely on her.
I don't know how I found out she was ticklish, but she was. We confided all kinds of secrets to each other, but I could never get her to tell me what her most ticklish spot was. Although, I'm almost certain I know.
The funny thing was, even at that age, I wasn't as interested in tickling her myself as I was in watching someone else, like one of her boyfriends whom she frequently had over while watching me, tickle her. She had a string of them, and a few of them would occassionally poke her sides or something similarly light-weight. I was always hoping for a big production, for one of them to pin her down and tickle her from head to toe. While that never happened, I did watch one of her boyfriends tickle the soles of her upturned feet for a few seconds. For some reason, the three of us were on the floor. Emily, on her knees, opened the bottom doors to one of my mom's cabinets to look for something. While she rooted through the compartment, he leaned over and started ticking her feet. She squealed and leapt up and yelled at him to stop. She then went back to searching the cabinet, which was a foolish thing to do, because, what do ticklers do when they gets a good reaction? They do it again. This time she made a heartfelt plea, "Please quit tickling my feet, I need to try to find this."
Sad to say, he complied with her wishes.
But that isn't the story I came here to tell.
One of her boyfriends, probably the most serious one of the bunch, was named Les. It would be putting it mildly to say that she and Les had a turbulent relationship. I distinctly remember hearing her fight with him on the phone. I remember once she was lying on my parent's bed. After screaming something at him, she slammed the phone down and screamed, "God, sometimes I hate him!"
One time as we laid on the bed together talking about this and that, she blurted out this little gem. I don't know how we got on the subject of tickling -- I probably saw an opportunity to steer the conversation in that direction and couldn't resist.
"One time Les tickled me really badly. He managed to pin me down. Then he pulled off my socks and started tickling my bare feet. I couldn't do anything about it. He was so strong and held me down so tightly, I couldn't move at all. The only ting I could do was just laugh and wait for it to be over."
This happened over 50 years ago and, to this day, I think about it. If I'm in an erotic reverie, all I have to do is call to mind that sentence, "The only ting I could do was just laugh and wait for it to be over." and it sends me to the moon. I've loved hearing stories from women about memorable times they were tickled ever since.