The following account is of a girl called Belinda that the writer once knew in South Africa - a barefoot hippie, whose feet happened at the same time to be really ticklish. Thumbing a ride, she stays in the car all the way to his home, where she begins to systematically work on overcoming his innocence and inhibitions, permitting his penchant for tickling as a prelude to sex to fully unfold.
During the sixties and seventies of last century, current sexual vocabulary was not in common use and such things as fetishes and fixations were relegated to the realm of pathology. One tended to keep to oneself the fact that some factor other than the straightforward bonking you perceived around you in the chicken runs, paddocks and pig pens, and which, reportedly, humans also indulged in, could cause an inexplicable passion to arise in your lower abdomen, leading shortly thereafter to an often embarrassing swelling of parts of the anatomy that one preferred to read about than to mention in open forum.
“Sodomy, Fellatio, Cunnilingus, Pederasty
Father, why do these words sound so nasty?
Masturbation can be fun
Join the holy orgy Kama Sutra
Everyone!”
Who doesn’t know that song? Today it doubles as an optional ringtone for cell phones. But these ground-breaking – or more aptly, taboo-breaking lines from the great musical “Hair” that appeared around that time, caused parents to stir uneasily in their seats when in the company of the teenagers whose music this represented.
Today’s parent would be inclined to explain the meaning of the concepts to their offspring. In those days most parents would themselves, first have had to look up the words in the dictionary. One spoke of a mare or bitch (at that time this still referred to the female of the species “Dog”) having been “served” or “covered” in preference to “fucked”.
That is by way of introduction to explain why I, having been exited by the phenomenon and practice of tickling from an early age, had real trouble integrating this with my own identity. The abovementioned kind of sex simply did not turn me on. But then, nor did sodomy, fellatio, cunnilingus or pederasty. I needed to find another way to enter the Kama Sutra!
It was tickling girls that brought out the Beast in me! Rather a tame beast, admittedly, but nevertheless one dominated by passion and lust rather than reason. And so I started looking for opportunities to tickle girls, fantasied about tickling whenever I thought sex, and looked for sexual relationships that included it. The Free Love philosophy of the youth of the time was made to order, and I embraced it willingly.
Upon leaving school I enrolled at the university in Johannesburg, went to live with my uncle and aunt and was often allowed to borrow one or other of their cars. At other times I hitch-hiked, so I was generally more than willing to take hitch-hikers along.
It was in this way that one of my fundamental fetish fixations attached itself to my psyche. It happened like this.
I was turning from the parking lot into Jan Smuts Avenue when this tall, dark-haired and slender hippie girl thumbed a ride from me. She was wearing what one called a “Maxi”, as opposed to a mini-skirt – a fashion that did not go down too well with me, unless the fabric was of such cloth as to allow some outline of the legs inside. This was certainly the case here! She was barefoot and carrying a bag with books.
I drove out of town and into the suburbs, then asked where she wanted to get off. She was rather non-committal until I reached the turn-off to my uncle’s house, which, for those few weeks, I was inhabiting alone, the family being on holiday. We had spoken about other things and I found her good company - obviously the rebellious daughter of some upper-crust English family.
“This is where I have to turn off.” I said.
“Fine with me” she replied.
Shortly afterwards, I drove up to the gate.
“You don’t have anything for lunch ready, do you?” she enquired.
“Of course! Please come on in.” I said, kicking myself for not having thought of asking myself.
The house was a spacious, Spanish-style building surrounded by two acres of garden, with a pool, separate little flat where I lived, and rooms to accommodate the family of five children.
“Oh, what heaven!” she exclaimed as she saw the pool. “Do you mind if I have a swim!”
“Not at all,” I answered. “I’ll just get some lunch together in the meantime.”
Guys, I was young! I know I should have asked if she had a bathing suit to wear, as she was clearly unprepared herself. Not nearly as unprepared, however, as I was to see her sitting stark naked on one of the deck chairs as I came out with our lunch!!
This was when I first noticed her feet, at which I had got no close look previously. Despite the swim, the ingrained dirt of having probably worn no shoes for several days or weeks was in clear evidence.
I set up for lunch, we ate and things were getting a little more intimate. I began to suspect a set-up, but was not complaining. But the time had come to test if at least she were ticklish before I ventured along the path of no return! However, pawing at naked strangers wasn’t something I knew how to do, so I tactfully suggested that she go inside to put on one of my aunt’s bikinis.
“Oh, sorry! Does this disturb you?” she giggled.
“No, not at all,” I lied. “I just thought you might be more comfortable.”
“Oh no, this is just groovie,” she said. “Let’s take this stuff back to the kitchen.”
There I began a quick wash-up while she carried in the remaining dishes. Then she came up behind where I was standing at the sink.
“You’re really very sweet,” she said, and gave me, first, a little peck on the cheek, and secondly, several quick jabs into my sides.
“Aren’t you ticklish?” she asked, astonished that I had not recoiled or laughed.
“Nope,” I replied, turning around and grabbing at her ribs. “What about you?”
“Incredibly ticklish,” she trilled from the corner of the kitchen into which she had projected herself. As I approached her with fingers at the ready, she collapsed onto the ground in a fit of laughter, holding her sides and looking up at me with a kind of delighted panic in her eyes. I squatted down in front of her and briefly tickled her feet that were sticking out towards me.
Her reaction was spasmodic, ripping her feet under her and covering them with her hands, squealing. “Oh no, please! My most fearfully ticklish area of all is on the soles of my feet! It makes me go quite hysterical.”
“Really,” I said, as if in surprise.
“Oh God, ever since I was a child even the grass on the lawn tickles when I walk on it. Not now, of course, because I have got used to it walking around barefoot all the time. That’s one of the reasons I do it – so that the soles of my feet get hard and a little less sensitive.”
She turned her foot up to look at the bottom. “I saw you looking at them earlier. They’re really dirty, hey? That’s one of the problems. I love going barefoot, but if I try to scrub the bottoms of my feet afterwards in the bath, I can’t make myself do it. It’s just too ticklish!”
By this time the tightness of my underpants was becoming agonising. But at the same time I blessed those close confines, for otherwise a mortifyingly embarrassing, bulging triangle would by now have grown between my legs.
“So what do you do in that case? Or don’t you ever wash them properly?”
“Well mostly my friend Deidre – we share a flat together – scrubs them for me about once a week. First I soak my feet in a basin of soapy water for a long time. Then we tie my one foot to the chair so I can’t kick her. Deidre holds tightly onto my other ankle and brushes my foot until it’s clean. I go crazy laughing, but I quite enjoy the feeling. Much better than trying to do it myself!”
“Only, she’s been away these past few weeks since the holidays,” she added.
I summoned up my courage to pursue this line of inquiry. “So do you mind if people tickle you?”
“Not at all,” she laughed. “I find it totally fun to be ticklish as long as it doesn’t get too uncomfortable. I actually quite like the feeling of someone tickling me on the soles of my feet – it’s just that I always want to run away. I can’t help it.”
She looked at me quizzically. “So, do you find it revolting to be around a girl with such filthy feet?”
I answered quite sincerely, “no, not at all. Actually, I think you’re so beautiful, I love how rebellious you are, and it’s really nice to just talk to you about everything.”
She moved over to sit opposite me. “I like you too, but I’m a bit wild, and I don’t want to hurt you. If you promise not to fall in love with me and get all soppy, we could have some fun together.”
“I promise not to go soppy,” I said. “I hate that; getting all sentimental and losing your self-respect. But I can help you out by replacing your flatmate, if you wish.”
“You mean you would scrub my feet for me, even if I kick and scream?”
“Sure,” I said casually, my heart pounding. “It’s fun tickling someone like you.”
“Cooool! I’d love you to do that! Can we do it here by the pool?”
I went inside and prepared everything. How had the heavens come to smile on me like this! I was in a frenzy of nervousness, but took care to have everything ready when I came back. I brought a chair together with a couple of my neckties, then went back for the basin of warm water and a bag with soap, brushes and even a pumice stone I’d found in the bathroom. This I was going to enjoy!
When I arrived back, she’d stretched out on the garden swing sofa and already tied one ankle to the rear bar, the other sticking out over the end. She was pulling against the tie.
“See, there’s no way I can pull my foot out. Now all you have to do is to keep the other one from escaping. Deidre always puts it between her legs and jams it in tight.”
“Well, if worst comes to worst, we can tie it to the other bar here,” I suggested. “But what about the soaking in soap water?”
“Forget that,” she scoffed. “I’ve never had a guy brush my feet for me before, so this should be good!”
I made sure the bars were well padded with cushions, put the basin in place, opened my little bag of tricks and spread them out. I had my back to her as I stepped over her leg, grabbed her ankle and clamped my thighs shut. I showed her the soap I had selected – a new bar of Sunlight soap, in which I placed quite some faith as tickle tool.
Belinda, for that was her name, eyed it in some surprise. “So you really want to torture me as much as you can?” she queried. “Look at all those sharp edges! Have you any idea what that will do to me? I’m going to be doing a full-on Nero!”
“It can’t be all that bad, “ I pacified her, hoping very much that it would be. I splashed water onto her foot, immersed the soap briefly in the water and began to apply it. The result was immensely gratifying! She began to giggle, to squirm, to throw back her head and let out peals of laughter with hardly an interruption, except to scream out every now and again.
“Oh shit, that’s ticklish,” or “fuck, man, that soap tickles,” and went right on laughing.
I could, naturally, have gone on a lot longer, but I wanted to stay professional.
“Do you know how unbearable that was, Gavin?” she said, savouring her break.
“Deidre never rubs the soap directly onto the soles of my feet, but always just soaps the brush itself!”
I’d meanwhile rinsed the soap off with the water and chortled, “ok, in that case, let’s just do it quickly once more,” and proceeded to start from the beginning. Belinda’s reactions were equally rewarding. “Gaviiiiiin! You beast! (that was her English background) I just told you how that tickles me!”
I stopped after rubbing up a good lather and picked up a nailbrush. I rubbed soap on it too, held it at the ready and then looked down at Belinda.
“Are you ok for me to begin?” I asked sympathetically.
She was already giggling, a little frantic, I thought.
“I mean, we can wait a bit, like a minute or so. Or if you like I can count to 100?”
She was getting slightly more frantic, laughing with a tone of hysteria.
“For fuck’s sake, just get on with it! The suspense is killing me!”
“Ok, fine, but at least let me count to 10 to make it a little easier. … one… two … shall I slow down a bit… three…” Man, this was some of the best fun I’d ever had!
“Just do it! Do it! Please, just go for it…”
“four… five.” When I reached nine, I began to earnestly apply the brush with quick, light strokes.”
Belinda freaked out, thrashing about, bellowing with laughter, throwing her head back and forth, pounding the seat with her fists and screamed, “harder, harder, please brush harder!! Aaaaaahhh! (a groan of agony) And slow doooooown! It’s too ticklish!! Not so fast, and much, much, MUCH harder! Oh shit, this tickles like fuck! Gaviiiinnnn, you’re tickling and tickling so I can’t bear it anymore!”
I decided to stop for a bit to find out how I was doing. I released her foot and she looked at it. She was completely out of breath.
“Christ, that nearly tickled me to death! You have no idea how totally ticklish the soles of my feet are! And look at the bottom of this foot! The dirt has hardly gone at all! It’s going to take forever if you keep doing it that lightly. Deidre presses really hard, and brushes slowly so that it doesn’t tickle as much. She’s ticklish on the soles of her feet herself, so she knows what I go through.”
“Ok, let’s go on. There’s a long way to go,” I said, bending to pick up her foot again.
“At least come over here and give me a kiss,” she pleaded. As I bent over her and kissed her, she took me by the ear, smiling naughtily into my face. “I do believe you’re enjoying torturing me like this, you sadist you! If this is getting you all worked up, it’ll be worth it. I’ll gladly endure an afternoon’s tickling if we can screw the living daylights out of each other afterwards.”
We kissed for a good long time. Then I pulled myself together.
“Right, back to work! The devil finds mischief for idle hands to do.” She was totally reluctant to put her foot back through the armrest.
“Ok,” I said, “let me just begin over here,” and began tickling the foot that was tied to the rear bar with my fingers.
“Okay, okay, I give up. Here’s my foot! But for pity’s sake, more slowly and with more pressure!”
“Didn’t you just say I was a sadist?” I asked, continuing lightly tickling her with my fingers. “Ask me really nicely to go on, and tell me you want it light and really fast!”
I increased the speed and pressure of my fingers and she flipped!
“Hehehe! Stop tickling my foot! Oh stop, stop, pleeeease! I’ll do anything!”
“So ask me nicely.” I insisted, not pausing for an instant.
“Ok, ok, I will! Only stop tickling that foot! Ah, that’s better. Right, here goes: Gavin, could you please brush the sole of my foot lightly and quickly for as long as it takes to get it spotless. … There!” And she threw herself back ready to go ballistic once again.
Once more I began, using slightly more pressure, but at the same speed, until it was all done. She hardly spoke any longer, except to scream out how it was all just too ticklish, and then sighed and lay flat, breathing hard, when it was all over.
“Here let me look at the bottom of that foot. It should be sparklingly clean by now. Oh wow! Good job! Only, do I really have to handle this once again on my right foot?” she asked plaintively.
“Why not?” I asked.
“Because it fucking tickles like there’s a thousand ants crawling inside the soles of my feet making them itch and scream and tickle, that’s why. My left foot is still laughing!”
“Wonderful!” I said. I was having a whale of a time. “So why don’t you turn around on this sofa and we can tie you to the other bar?”
This she did without protest, tying her own ankle once again.
As she tested the bond, she said, “There we are. Another grimy bare foot for you to scrub. All yours!”
As she said this she was laughing at me, enjoying my arousal. I held on tightly once again, this time watching her face as I worked. She tried to keep her eyes on me, often interrupted, however, by her flinging herself back and forth as I continued my job.
“Oh Gavin, that really tickles there! Oh please, not right there on the sensitive part! Not in the middle of my foot! Not THEHHHRE! Not in the MIDDLE! It’s not really dirty there… You’re only doing it because you know how ticklish it is…” and so on.
When I’d finally done, we dried off and went arm in arm to my room, kissing, hugging, not wanting to let one another go. Then we lay side by side, fondling each other, exploring our bodies and she said.
“Gav, that was the best, most enjoyable, most ticklish foot scrub I’ve ever had. Would you mind if I came again for more?”
And then we made love…
For me it was the second time. It was also the first time I truly enjoyed it - for on the first occasion I’d been nervous and stressed, diving into the unknown.
Since that time I have also met other women who had a ticklish problem in applying brushes to their own feet while washing them. It has remained fixed in my mind as the most erotic type of tickle imaginable!
Belinda and I were together for about three months. What I didn’t know was that, already then, she was regularly smoking weed – we called it “Dagga” (pronounced with the Dutch “g” or German “ch”). She began to experiment with Acid and, as fortune would have it, experienced one really bad trip. She landed in the psychiatric ward at Tara Hospital and soon after, her parents sent her to Europe for specialised treatment. I never saw her again, but heard she had gone off to the United States. I imagine, from our conversations, that she went there to take up contact with Native Americans, whose culture had always fascinated her. I truly hope her life brought her fulfilment, for she was a wonderful, empathetic girl who had so much to give!
During the sixties and seventies of last century, current sexual vocabulary was not in common use and such things as fetishes and fixations were relegated to the realm of pathology. One tended to keep to oneself the fact that some factor other than the straightforward bonking you perceived around you in the chicken runs, paddocks and pig pens, and which, reportedly, humans also indulged in, could cause an inexplicable passion to arise in your lower abdomen, leading shortly thereafter to an often embarrassing swelling of parts of the anatomy that one preferred to read about than to mention in open forum.
“Sodomy, Fellatio, Cunnilingus, Pederasty
Father, why do these words sound so nasty?
Masturbation can be fun
Join the holy orgy Kama Sutra
Everyone!”
Who doesn’t know that song? Today it doubles as an optional ringtone for cell phones. But these ground-breaking – or more aptly, taboo-breaking lines from the great musical “Hair” that appeared around that time, caused parents to stir uneasily in their seats when in the company of the teenagers whose music this represented.
Today’s parent would be inclined to explain the meaning of the concepts to their offspring. In those days most parents would themselves, first have had to look up the words in the dictionary. One spoke of a mare or bitch (at that time this still referred to the female of the species “Dog”) having been “served” or “covered” in preference to “fucked”.
That is by way of introduction to explain why I, having been exited by the phenomenon and practice of tickling from an early age, had real trouble integrating this with my own identity. The abovementioned kind of sex simply did not turn me on. But then, nor did sodomy, fellatio, cunnilingus or pederasty. I needed to find another way to enter the Kama Sutra!
It was tickling girls that brought out the Beast in me! Rather a tame beast, admittedly, but nevertheless one dominated by passion and lust rather than reason. And so I started looking for opportunities to tickle girls, fantasied about tickling whenever I thought sex, and looked for sexual relationships that included it. The Free Love philosophy of the youth of the time was made to order, and I embraced it willingly.
Upon leaving school I enrolled at the university in Johannesburg, went to live with my uncle and aunt and was often allowed to borrow one or other of their cars. At other times I hitch-hiked, so I was generally more than willing to take hitch-hikers along.
It was in this way that one of my fundamental fetish fixations attached itself to my psyche. It happened like this.
I was turning from the parking lot into Jan Smuts Avenue when this tall, dark-haired and slender hippie girl thumbed a ride from me. She was wearing what one called a “Maxi”, as opposed to a mini-skirt – a fashion that did not go down too well with me, unless the fabric was of such cloth as to allow some outline of the legs inside. This was certainly the case here! She was barefoot and carrying a bag with books.
I drove out of town and into the suburbs, then asked where she wanted to get off. She was rather non-committal until I reached the turn-off to my uncle’s house, which, for those few weeks, I was inhabiting alone, the family being on holiday. We had spoken about other things and I found her good company - obviously the rebellious daughter of some upper-crust English family.
“This is where I have to turn off.” I said.
“Fine with me” she replied.
Shortly afterwards, I drove up to the gate.
“You don’t have anything for lunch ready, do you?” she enquired.
“Of course! Please come on in.” I said, kicking myself for not having thought of asking myself.
The house was a spacious, Spanish-style building surrounded by two acres of garden, with a pool, separate little flat where I lived, and rooms to accommodate the family of five children.
“Oh, what heaven!” she exclaimed as she saw the pool. “Do you mind if I have a swim!”
“Not at all,” I answered. “I’ll just get some lunch together in the meantime.”
Guys, I was young! I know I should have asked if she had a bathing suit to wear, as she was clearly unprepared herself. Not nearly as unprepared, however, as I was to see her sitting stark naked on one of the deck chairs as I came out with our lunch!!
This was when I first noticed her feet, at which I had got no close look previously. Despite the swim, the ingrained dirt of having probably worn no shoes for several days or weeks was in clear evidence.
I set up for lunch, we ate and things were getting a little more intimate. I began to suspect a set-up, but was not complaining. But the time had come to test if at least she were ticklish before I ventured along the path of no return! However, pawing at naked strangers wasn’t something I knew how to do, so I tactfully suggested that she go inside to put on one of my aunt’s bikinis.
“Oh, sorry! Does this disturb you?” she giggled.
“No, not at all,” I lied. “I just thought you might be more comfortable.”
“Oh no, this is just groovie,” she said. “Let’s take this stuff back to the kitchen.”
There I began a quick wash-up while she carried in the remaining dishes. Then she came up behind where I was standing at the sink.
“You’re really very sweet,” she said, and gave me, first, a little peck on the cheek, and secondly, several quick jabs into my sides.
“Aren’t you ticklish?” she asked, astonished that I had not recoiled or laughed.
“Nope,” I replied, turning around and grabbing at her ribs. “What about you?”
“Incredibly ticklish,” she trilled from the corner of the kitchen into which she had projected herself. As I approached her with fingers at the ready, she collapsed onto the ground in a fit of laughter, holding her sides and looking up at me with a kind of delighted panic in her eyes. I squatted down in front of her and briefly tickled her feet that were sticking out towards me.
Her reaction was spasmodic, ripping her feet under her and covering them with her hands, squealing. “Oh no, please! My most fearfully ticklish area of all is on the soles of my feet! It makes me go quite hysterical.”
“Really,” I said, as if in surprise.
“Oh God, ever since I was a child even the grass on the lawn tickles when I walk on it. Not now, of course, because I have got used to it walking around barefoot all the time. That’s one of the reasons I do it – so that the soles of my feet get hard and a little less sensitive.”
She turned her foot up to look at the bottom. “I saw you looking at them earlier. They’re really dirty, hey? That’s one of the problems. I love going barefoot, but if I try to scrub the bottoms of my feet afterwards in the bath, I can’t make myself do it. It’s just too ticklish!”
By this time the tightness of my underpants was becoming agonising. But at the same time I blessed those close confines, for otherwise a mortifyingly embarrassing, bulging triangle would by now have grown between my legs.
“So what do you do in that case? Or don’t you ever wash them properly?”
“Well mostly my friend Deidre – we share a flat together – scrubs them for me about once a week. First I soak my feet in a basin of soapy water for a long time. Then we tie my one foot to the chair so I can’t kick her. Deidre holds tightly onto my other ankle and brushes my foot until it’s clean. I go crazy laughing, but I quite enjoy the feeling. Much better than trying to do it myself!”
“Only, she’s been away these past few weeks since the holidays,” she added.
I summoned up my courage to pursue this line of inquiry. “So do you mind if people tickle you?”
“Not at all,” she laughed. “I find it totally fun to be ticklish as long as it doesn’t get too uncomfortable. I actually quite like the feeling of someone tickling me on the soles of my feet – it’s just that I always want to run away. I can’t help it.”
She looked at me quizzically. “So, do you find it revolting to be around a girl with such filthy feet?”
I answered quite sincerely, “no, not at all. Actually, I think you’re so beautiful, I love how rebellious you are, and it’s really nice to just talk to you about everything.”
She moved over to sit opposite me. “I like you too, but I’m a bit wild, and I don’t want to hurt you. If you promise not to fall in love with me and get all soppy, we could have some fun together.”
“I promise not to go soppy,” I said. “I hate that; getting all sentimental and losing your self-respect. But I can help you out by replacing your flatmate, if you wish.”
“You mean you would scrub my feet for me, even if I kick and scream?”
“Sure,” I said casually, my heart pounding. “It’s fun tickling someone like you.”
“Cooool! I’d love you to do that! Can we do it here by the pool?”
I went inside and prepared everything. How had the heavens come to smile on me like this! I was in a frenzy of nervousness, but took care to have everything ready when I came back. I brought a chair together with a couple of my neckties, then went back for the basin of warm water and a bag with soap, brushes and even a pumice stone I’d found in the bathroom. This I was going to enjoy!
When I arrived back, she’d stretched out on the garden swing sofa and already tied one ankle to the rear bar, the other sticking out over the end. She was pulling against the tie.
“See, there’s no way I can pull my foot out. Now all you have to do is to keep the other one from escaping. Deidre always puts it between her legs and jams it in tight.”
“Well, if worst comes to worst, we can tie it to the other bar here,” I suggested. “But what about the soaking in soap water?”
“Forget that,” she scoffed. “I’ve never had a guy brush my feet for me before, so this should be good!”
I made sure the bars were well padded with cushions, put the basin in place, opened my little bag of tricks and spread them out. I had my back to her as I stepped over her leg, grabbed her ankle and clamped my thighs shut. I showed her the soap I had selected – a new bar of Sunlight soap, in which I placed quite some faith as tickle tool.
Belinda, for that was her name, eyed it in some surprise. “So you really want to torture me as much as you can?” she queried. “Look at all those sharp edges! Have you any idea what that will do to me? I’m going to be doing a full-on Nero!”
“It can’t be all that bad, “ I pacified her, hoping very much that it would be. I splashed water onto her foot, immersed the soap briefly in the water and began to apply it. The result was immensely gratifying! She began to giggle, to squirm, to throw back her head and let out peals of laughter with hardly an interruption, except to scream out every now and again.
“Oh shit, that’s ticklish,” or “fuck, man, that soap tickles,” and went right on laughing.
I could, naturally, have gone on a lot longer, but I wanted to stay professional.
“Do you know how unbearable that was, Gavin?” she said, savouring her break.
“Deidre never rubs the soap directly onto the soles of my feet, but always just soaps the brush itself!”
I’d meanwhile rinsed the soap off with the water and chortled, “ok, in that case, let’s just do it quickly once more,” and proceeded to start from the beginning. Belinda’s reactions were equally rewarding. “Gaviiiiiin! You beast! (that was her English background) I just told you how that tickles me!”
I stopped after rubbing up a good lather and picked up a nailbrush. I rubbed soap on it too, held it at the ready and then looked down at Belinda.
“Are you ok for me to begin?” I asked sympathetically.
She was already giggling, a little frantic, I thought.
“I mean, we can wait a bit, like a minute or so. Or if you like I can count to 100?”
She was getting slightly more frantic, laughing with a tone of hysteria.
“For fuck’s sake, just get on with it! The suspense is killing me!”
“Ok, fine, but at least let me count to 10 to make it a little easier. … one… two … shall I slow down a bit… three…” Man, this was some of the best fun I’d ever had!
“Just do it! Do it! Please, just go for it…”
“four… five.” When I reached nine, I began to earnestly apply the brush with quick, light strokes.”
Belinda freaked out, thrashing about, bellowing with laughter, throwing her head back and forth, pounding the seat with her fists and screamed, “harder, harder, please brush harder!! Aaaaaahhh! (a groan of agony) And slow doooooown! It’s too ticklish!! Not so fast, and much, much, MUCH harder! Oh shit, this tickles like fuck! Gaviiiinnnn, you’re tickling and tickling so I can’t bear it anymore!”
I decided to stop for a bit to find out how I was doing. I released her foot and she looked at it. She was completely out of breath.
“Christ, that nearly tickled me to death! You have no idea how totally ticklish the soles of my feet are! And look at the bottom of this foot! The dirt has hardly gone at all! It’s going to take forever if you keep doing it that lightly. Deidre presses really hard, and brushes slowly so that it doesn’t tickle as much. She’s ticklish on the soles of her feet herself, so she knows what I go through.”
“Ok, let’s go on. There’s a long way to go,” I said, bending to pick up her foot again.
“At least come over here and give me a kiss,” she pleaded. As I bent over her and kissed her, she took me by the ear, smiling naughtily into my face. “I do believe you’re enjoying torturing me like this, you sadist you! If this is getting you all worked up, it’ll be worth it. I’ll gladly endure an afternoon’s tickling if we can screw the living daylights out of each other afterwards.”
We kissed for a good long time. Then I pulled myself together.
“Right, back to work! The devil finds mischief for idle hands to do.” She was totally reluctant to put her foot back through the armrest.
“Ok,” I said, “let me just begin over here,” and began tickling the foot that was tied to the rear bar with my fingers.
“Okay, okay, I give up. Here’s my foot! But for pity’s sake, more slowly and with more pressure!”
“Didn’t you just say I was a sadist?” I asked, continuing lightly tickling her with my fingers. “Ask me really nicely to go on, and tell me you want it light and really fast!”
I increased the speed and pressure of my fingers and she flipped!
“Hehehe! Stop tickling my foot! Oh stop, stop, pleeeease! I’ll do anything!”
“So ask me nicely.” I insisted, not pausing for an instant.
“Ok, ok, I will! Only stop tickling that foot! Ah, that’s better. Right, here goes: Gavin, could you please brush the sole of my foot lightly and quickly for as long as it takes to get it spotless. … There!” And she threw herself back ready to go ballistic once again.
Once more I began, using slightly more pressure, but at the same speed, until it was all done. She hardly spoke any longer, except to scream out how it was all just too ticklish, and then sighed and lay flat, breathing hard, when it was all over.
“Here let me look at the bottom of that foot. It should be sparklingly clean by now. Oh wow! Good job! Only, do I really have to handle this once again on my right foot?” she asked plaintively.
“Why not?” I asked.
“Because it fucking tickles like there’s a thousand ants crawling inside the soles of my feet making them itch and scream and tickle, that’s why. My left foot is still laughing!”
“Wonderful!” I said. I was having a whale of a time. “So why don’t you turn around on this sofa and we can tie you to the other bar?”
This she did without protest, tying her own ankle once again.
As she tested the bond, she said, “There we are. Another grimy bare foot for you to scrub. All yours!”
As she said this she was laughing at me, enjoying my arousal. I held on tightly once again, this time watching her face as I worked. She tried to keep her eyes on me, often interrupted, however, by her flinging herself back and forth as I continued my job.
“Oh Gavin, that really tickles there! Oh please, not right there on the sensitive part! Not in the middle of my foot! Not THEHHHRE! Not in the MIDDLE! It’s not really dirty there… You’re only doing it because you know how ticklish it is…” and so on.
When I’d finally done, we dried off and went arm in arm to my room, kissing, hugging, not wanting to let one another go. Then we lay side by side, fondling each other, exploring our bodies and she said.
“Gav, that was the best, most enjoyable, most ticklish foot scrub I’ve ever had. Would you mind if I came again for more?”
And then we made love…
For me it was the second time. It was also the first time I truly enjoyed it - for on the first occasion I’d been nervous and stressed, diving into the unknown.
Since that time I have also met other women who had a ticklish problem in applying brushes to their own feet while washing them. It has remained fixed in my mind as the most erotic type of tickle imaginable!
Belinda and I were together for about three months. What I didn’t know was that, already then, she was regularly smoking weed – we called it “Dagga” (pronounced with the Dutch “g” or German “ch”). She began to experiment with Acid and, as fortune would have it, experienced one really bad trip. She landed in the psychiatric ward at Tara Hospital and soon after, her parents sent her to Europe for specialised treatment. I never saw her again, but heard she had gone off to the United States. I imagine, from our conversations, that she went there to take up contact with Native Americans, whose culture had always fascinated her. I truly hope her life brought her fulfilment, for she was a wonderful, empathetic girl who had so much to give!
Thanks for sharing your extraordinary experience here. 
