Restraints
2nd Level Red Feather
- Joined
- May 1, 2005
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(PhilipRJ from the United Kingdom inspired me to finish my story. Oh, and by the way: I remember the dialogue so well because I tape-recorded this session! The tape is no more, but I remember it from the repetition . . . )
"Just a little more," she giggled.
It's as if she felt my fingers closing in on her ticklish sides. "Oh, no," she whimpered, "oh, no; oh, no; oh NOOO!" The "NOOO" was an explosion of laughter as I tickled her right side, but my left hand tickled her rib cage. "Oh, please oh please oh pl -- AH HA HA HA HA HA" (multiple "ha's" as needed).
The resilience of this girl was remarkable. I've tickled many women. Never has one been more ticklish than my ex-bride, and never has one enjoyed it more. For when I finished off her sides, she sprang to the side of the bed. Wow! The stamina! "Now I want to tickle YOU," she announced, primly. "I want to tickle your underarms, because that's my favorite. But I'm GOING to tickle your feet, because I know that will be the worst torture for you!"
Without waiting for an answer, she pinned my legs to the bed and stripped off my athletic socks. "Oh, boy," she said, like a fat man with steak, potatoes and a six-pack. She sounded greedy. And she could be, because she knew how to expertly pin my feet against her chest. My legs are strong, but she could immobilize me . . . and that day; well, let's say it's good that I used the bathroom just before her unexpected arrival. The space between my big and second toes is the most ticklish place on me. She poked her tongue in there and wiggled endlessly as she dug her sharp fingernails into my soles.
I have never laughed so hard or so helplessly in my life.
Finally, she relented. "Well, it's good we're finishing with a bang, anyway, huh?" she said. That was crushing, that "finishing" part. But then: "How do YOU want to finish?"
In our separation, I had learned about banjo-strumming soles. I already had a raging erection; she invited me to remove my trousers and placed one beautiful foot (toes painted a whimsical tangerine color) on my manhood. Then she allowed me to strum her other sole (I knew her left foot was more ticklish, although she always denied this and said her feet were "equal").
The strumming caused a cataclysm of laughter. I had tickled this woman's feet countless times, but never had she laughed so hysterically. "Where did you learn THAT?!" she screamed.
"Didn't you know I always wanted to play a banjo?" I asked (with an innocent tone). I strummed her left sole harder, she laughed even more maniacally, and the reflexive movement of her other, strategically-placed foot . . .
I don't know how to end this story except to say that the story ended well; and to say how grateful I am to have had her in my life, if only for a while. But there's other tickling to be described, and I'd be willing to write about it if you like.
"Just a little more," she giggled.
It's as if she felt my fingers closing in on her ticklish sides. "Oh, no," she whimpered, "oh, no; oh, no; oh NOOO!" The "NOOO" was an explosion of laughter as I tickled her right side, but my left hand tickled her rib cage. "Oh, please oh please oh pl -- AH HA HA HA HA HA" (multiple "ha's" as needed).
The resilience of this girl was remarkable. I've tickled many women. Never has one been more ticklish than my ex-bride, and never has one enjoyed it more. For when I finished off her sides, she sprang to the side of the bed. Wow! The stamina! "Now I want to tickle YOU," she announced, primly. "I want to tickle your underarms, because that's my favorite. But I'm GOING to tickle your feet, because I know that will be the worst torture for you!"
Without waiting for an answer, she pinned my legs to the bed and stripped off my athletic socks. "Oh, boy," she said, like a fat man with steak, potatoes and a six-pack. She sounded greedy. And she could be, because she knew how to expertly pin my feet against her chest. My legs are strong, but she could immobilize me . . . and that day; well, let's say it's good that I used the bathroom just before her unexpected arrival. The space between my big and second toes is the most ticklish place on me. She poked her tongue in there and wiggled endlessly as she dug her sharp fingernails into my soles.
I have never laughed so hard or so helplessly in my life.
Finally, she relented. "Well, it's good we're finishing with a bang, anyway, huh?" she said. That was crushing, that "finishing" part. But then: "How do YOU want to finish?"
In our separation, I had learned about banjo-strumming soles. I already had a raging erection; she invited me to remove my trousers and placed one beautiful foot (toes painted a whimsical tangerine color) on my manhood. Then she allowed me to strum her other sole (I knew her left foot was more ticklish, although she always denied this and said her feet were "equal").
The strumming caused a cataclysm of laughter. I had tickled this woman's feet countless times, but never had she laughed so hysterically. "Where did you learn THAT?!" she screamed.
"Didn't you know I always wanted to play a banjo?" I asked (with an innocent tone). I strummed her left sole harder, she laughed even more maniacally, and the reflexive movement of her other, strategically-placed foot . . .
I don't know how to end this story except to say that the story ended well; and to say how grateful I am to have had her in my life, if only for a while. But there's other tickling to be described, and I'd be willing to write about it if you like.
