milagros317
Wielder of 500 Feathers
- Joined
- Jan 12, 2002
- Messages
- 608,515
- Points
- 113
This story contains adult material, F/m tickle torture, and F/m domination. If that might offend you, then don't read it. All of the characters in this story are over 21 years old.
Warning: This is quite a long story, and there is considerable plot development before the tickling action.
Billy's Bliss
by Milagros
Part One
----------
William had a lot of time on his hands, and was spending his evenings checking out restaurants in the greater LA area. He relied on Zagat's survey, and was making his way through restaurants rated high for food quality, and not so high for decor and ambience. He hated overly pretentious places.
It was not the high prices of pretentious restaurants that bothered him--at 43 years of age, he called himself a software consultant, but he was actually retired. By the end of 1999, while his younger colleagues thought that the internet boom would go on forever, Bill felt that the bubble would soon burst. He exercised all his stock options, and sold his holdings in MagicSoftware.com, the company that he and his friend Joseph had founded six years earlier. He netted $30 million after taxes, but was deeply resented in the company for his lack of confidence in their future. When the NASDAQ crashed, and the company went into bankruptcy by early 2001, his former colleagues resented him even more, for having been correct. He no longer kept in touch with any of them, now that he had moved 400 miles south, to his large house in Playa del Rey.
Tonight's restaurant, Il Violino, certainly did have excellent food, Bill thought. It was a shame that he had nobody to dine with. He had thought, away from the pressure of working over 80 hours a week, with his new liesure time, that he would have an active social life. He had tried three different dating services. Women were certainly impressed with his big house, right on the beach. But once it became obvious that he was extremely interested in getting them barefoot, they usually stopped returning his calls, or even told him to seek help from a psychiatrist. Three dating services, a dozen women, and he never even got to mention, much less indulge, his other interest, his desire to be tickled by a beautiful woman. He had given up on dating services, and wasn't the type to cruise the bars.
I don't need a shrink, thoght Bill, as he ordered dessert. What I need is a woman with pretty feet who doesn't mind them being admired, and who loves to be an aggressive tickler.
On his way out of the restaurant, Bill noticed the paintings on the wall. One in particular struck him--a pretty blonde woman, with fabulous legs and very lovely feet, running on a beach. She was wearing a modest one-piece bathing suit that didn't expose any skin on her breasts or bottom, but one sole was clearly shown, as she ran across the artist's view.
Bill was surprised to see it priced at only $100. The other oil paintings there, all of similar size, were in the range of $250 to $500. The artist's signature was 'K. Wallace,' and it was the only one on display from that artist, he noted.
When Bill inquired about buying the painting, and about how to contact the artist, the restaurant manager laughed.
"Artist? She does paint, but she's one of our waitresses. Monday and Tuesday are her days off, so she's not here today. Come back Wednesday if you want to ask her about more paintings. This is the first time that anybody has bought one here, if you're actually serious about buying this one. I just let her keep one painting at a time up on the wall here, as a favor. She's a good waitress."
Bill showed that he was serious by taking a $100 bill out of his wallet and handing it to the manager. As the painting was being wrapped for him, he spoke to the manager.
"I'll be back Wednesday, to eat here. The food is quite good, actually. Make a reservation for me at 7pm. Put me at one of Ms. Wallace's tables, please. I do want to see more of her work."
The manager refrained from shaking his head in disbelief until after Bill had gotten the painting into the back seat of his Lexus, and driven off.
--------------------------
Bill arrived promptly at 7pm on Wednesday, and was seated immediately. He had noticed, on the way in, that another painting signed 'K. Wallace' was hanging in place of the one now in his house. It showed the same woman, in the same bathing suit, swimming in the ocean. One leg was out of the water, with the sole showing. A minute later, he was very happy to see that both paintings were self-portraits. The waitress was obviously the woman in both paintings. She was very tall, clearly over six feet, but her long legs were covered in slacks, and her feet were concealed in those comfortable walking shoes favored by waitresses and nurses. No way to tell, thought Bill, if they're as lovely as she painted them. They were about size 12, he estimated.
Bill just ordered his meal, not mentioning that he was the buyer of her painting. His food was once again excellent. Later, when she asked if he wanted coffee or dessert, he revealed himself as the purchaser.
"No, no dessert, but I do want to buy another of your paintings, the one with you swimming."
She didn't look surprised, just nodded, and said, "Harry told me who you were, the one who bought my painting on Monday. I guess you still liked it when you got it home."
"Yes," said Bill, "and I'd like to see more of your work."
She looked at him carefully, very intently, and then seemed to make up her mind. She spoke to him softly, so that nobody at nearby tables could hear her.
"I don't like bullshit. Are you interested in my work, or in me?"
"Both, Ms. Wallace," said Bill, also speaking softly. "I'm buying the one hanging here tonight, whether you tell me to buzz off and never bother you again, or not. But let me be honest--I was interested in the woman in the painting before I knew it was a self-portrait. I was going to ask the artist who the model was. That may seem absurd, in that I'm 5'8" tall, and 43 years old. My name is William Lamb, by the way. I don't expect you to be interested in me as a date, but I would genuinely like to see more of your paintings, especially if you're in them, to be frank."
"Alright," she answered. "I appreciate that you're honest. My next day off isn't until Monday. I don't see why Harry should get half of the price of my paintings, just because he lets me hang them here. He doesn't even like them--he's afraid that I'll quit. I'm one of his most reliable people here, and he knows it. Give me your daytime phone number, and I'll call you Monday morning with directions to my house. My full name is Karen Elaine Wallace, but you can just go on calling me 'Ms. Wallce.' I liked that, that you showed me some respect."
"Of course, Ms. Wallace," said Bill.
Bill bought the painting with Karen swimming, paying Harry $250 cash for it. His low opinion of Karen's work hadn't stopped him from raising the price, now that he knew he had an interested customer.
-------------------------------
Bill was anxious for Monday to arrive, and it seemed like a month until the five days did pass. When the phone rang at 11:30am, he forced himself to wait unti the end of the second ring to answer. No need to let Karen know that he had been waiting by the phone for hours.
"Hello, William Lamb here," he said.
"Hi, it's Karen Wallace. Still interested in coming to see my paintings?"
"Certainly. When would you like me to arrive?"
"I don't hear office noises. Are you off today?"
"I'm a free-lance software consultant. I work at home, mostly, and make my own schedule."
"Alright, I just want to be careful. I'm a woman living alone, and I like to know who I'm dealing with. You can come right over, and I'd appreciate it if you brought me lunch from my favorite Chinese restaurant."
"I'd be happy to, Ms. Wallace."
She proceeded to give him the name and address of the resataurant, and her own address. She told him exactly what she wanted for lunch, and to add to the order whatever he would like himself. She concluded with a warning.
"I don't want there to be any misunderstanding. I'm inviting you to my home, but as a potential buyer of my paintings. If you're tempted to get fresh, you should know that I'm 6'2" tall, 180 pounds, and I've taught self-defense classes for women for several years. Is that all clear?"
"Very clear, Ms. Wallace, and I assure you that I have the utmost respect for you. I'm on my way."
------------------------------------------------
Bill pulled up to the house, a small one, perhaps six rooms, on a side street just off Sepulveda Boulevard in Culver City. It was within sight of some fast food outlets on Sepulveda. He rang the bell, and Karen let him in. She was wearing a T-shirt and blue jeans, and he was delighted to see that she was barefoot.
When they sat down at the kitchen table to eat the food he'd brought, she used two chairs, sitting in one and putting her bare feet up on the other.
Her feet were large, but seemed to be the perfect size in proportion to her height. Her arches were high, and the flesh of her soles was a creamy light pink, paler on her arches, and darker on her heels. Her toenails were perfectly trimmed, and painted with a clear polish, for a natural look. As she ate, Bill just stared at the most beautiful feet that he had ever seen.
Karen stopped eating and smiled at him.
"So you like women's feet, do you?"
"Yes, I always have," said Bill, blushing.
"Always?"
"Yes, as far back as I can remember, anyway. Among my earliest memories, from when I was four years old, are looking forward to visiting the little girl next door, who was five. So I could see her bare feet."
Karen laughed, and wiggled her toes at him.
"It's great that you're honest about it. I can't stand men who lie about their preferences. I take good care of my feet, as you can see, and lots of men are always staring at them, when I wear sandals. Most of them won't admit it. But eat your food, now, it will get cold."
When they had finished lunch, she took him into her studio. It wasn't a real studio, just the second bedroom of the house, in which a large picture window had been installed. About a dozen finished paintings were there, but none that he could see was another self-portrait.
"I doubt there's anything you'll want to buy," said Karen, "there's only one painting here with me in it, and I'm wearing shoes."
She moved aside a seascape, and he saw a medium sized oil painting behind it, showing Karen and another woman playing one-on-one basketball. Both wore basketball shoes and white socks. The other woman looked a lot like Karen, but had black hair, and was even taller.
"Is that your sister?"
"Yes, Susan is two years younger than me, but, as you see, I can't call her my little sister any more. She's 6'4". She spouted up between the ages of 14 and 15, and became bigger and stronger than I was. Too bad."
"Why 'too bad'?" asked Bill. "Surely you didn't beat her."
"No," said Karen, "I didn't beat her. But I was quite a cruel older sister. You see, unlike me, Susan is ticklish. Extremely ticklish."
Bill blushed again, and licked his lips, but he didn't have the courage to say anything. He didn't even notice that his arms went down, reflexively, to protect his sides.
"When we were little, I tickled her all the time. I'd never let her stop laughing, once I got going. It was so much fun!"
Bill gulped, found his courage, and spoke.
"I'll bet it was. And have you had fun like that lately?"
"No. I did drive away one boyfriend, two years ago, by tickling him too much. He really hated the fact that I _could_ pin him down any time I wanted."
Bill blushed again, and hoped that she hadn't noticed his erection. He turned away and pretended to look at the paintings.
After half a minute, Karen spoke again.
"Bill, there's no need to pretend that you want any of these. I have a proposition for you. I'll do a self portrait for you, barefoot, but otherwise fully dressed, in whatever size will best fit where you want to hang it. What pose would you like?"
Bill turned back towards her, having adjusted his pants so that his excitement wasn't so obvious.
"I'll show you," he said. "This is generally known as 'The Pose' in foot fetish magazines and websites."
He got down on the floor, lying on his stomach, head raised towards Karen, and bent his legs at the knees, so that the soles of his comfortable Rockport shoes were pointed straight at her.
"You see? The models face and soles are pointed at the viewer," he said, and then he got up off the floor.
"I see," said Karen, "and I'll do it. I'll paint myself dressed as I am now, in blue jeans and a T-shirt, and, of course, barefoot. In just that pose, on a bed, with a smirk on my face. To show that I just _know_ that you're staring at my soles. I do need to know how large a painting you want, before I quote you a price for this commission."
"As large a painting as will fit on my bedroom wall," said Bill. "I can measure the wall and call you."
"No, I'd better see the whole room, and where the wall is in relation to you, the viewer, in your bed. I can guess what you'll be up to."
Bill blushed bright red.
"Well?" said Karen.
"Oh, sorry," said Bill. "Of course, I'll drive you to my house right now to see the room, Ms. Wallace. It will be an honor to have you visit."
"If you don't mind, Bill, I prefer to do the driving. Although we'll use your car."
"Of course, Ms. Wallace," he said, handing over his car keys. Karen paused at the door to put on flip-flops.
[to be continued in this thread]
Warning: This is quite a long story, and there is considerable plot development before the tickling action.
Billy's Bliss
by Milagros
Part One
----------
William had a lot of time on his hands, and was spending his evenings checking out restaurants in the greater LA area. He relied on Zagat's survey, and was making his way through restaurants rated high for food quality, and not so high for decor and ambience. He hated overly pretentious places.
It was not the high prices of pretentious restaurants that bothered him--at 43 years of age, he called himself a software consultant, but he was actually retired. By the end of 1999, while his younger colleagues thought that the internet boom would go on forever, Bill felt that the bubble would soon burst. He exercised all his stock options, and sold his holdings in MagicSoftware.com, the company that he and his friend Joseph had founded six years earlier. He netted $30 million after taxes, but was deeply resented in the company for his lack of confidence in their future. When the NASDAQ crashed, and the company went into bankruptcy by early 2001, his former colleagues resented him even more, for having been correct. He no longer kept in touch with any of them, now that he had moved 400 miles south, to his large house in Playa del Rey.
Tonight's restaurant, Il Violino, certainly did have excellent food, Bill thought. It was a shame that he had nobody to dine with. He had thought, away from the pressure of working over 80 hours a week, with his new liesure time, that he would have an active social life. He had tried three different dating services. Women were certainly impressed with his big house, right on the beach. But once it became obvious that he was extremely interested in getting them barefoot, they usually stopped returning his calls, or even told him to seek help from a psychiatrist. Three dating services, a dozen women, and he never even got to mention, much less indulge, his other interest, his desire to be tickled by a beautiful woman. He had given up on dating services, and wasn't the type to cruise the bars.
I don't need a shrink, thoght Bill, as he ordered dessert. What I need is a woman with pretty feet who doesn't mind them being admired, and who loves to be an aggressive tickler.
On his way out of the restaurant, Bill noticed the paintings on the wall. One in particular struck him--a pretty blonde woman, with fabulous legs and very lovely feet, running on a beach. She was wearing a modest one-piece bathing suit that didn't expose any skin on her breasts or bottom, but one sole was clearly shown, as she ran across the artist's view.
Bill was surprised to see it priced at only $100. The other oil paintings there, all of similar size, were in the range of $250 to $500. The artist's signature was 'K. Wallace,' and it was the only one on display from that artist, he noted.
When Bill inquired about buying the painting, and about how to contact the artist, the restaurant manager laughed.
"Artist? She does paint, but she's one of our waitresses. Monday and Tuesday are her days off, so she's not here today. Come back Wednesday if you want to ask her about more paintings. This is the first time that anybody has bought one here, if you're actually serious about buying this one. I just let her keep one painting at a time up on the wall here, as a favor. She's a good waitress."
Bill showed that he was serious by taking a $100 bill out of his wallet and handing it to the manager. As the painting was being wrapped for him, he spoke to the manager.
"I'll be back Wednesday, to eat here. The food is quite good, actually. Make a reservation for me at 7pm. Put me at one of Ms. Wallace's tables, please. I do want to see more of her work."
The manager refrained from shaking his head in disbelief until after Bill had gotten the painting into the back seat of his Lexus, and driven off.
--------------------------
Bill arrived promptly at 7pm on Wednesday, and was seated immediately. He had noticed, on the way in, that another painting signed 'K. Wallace' was hanging in place of the one now in his house. It showed the same woman, in the same bathing suit, swimming in the ocean. One leg was out of the water, with the sole showing. A minute later, he was very happy to see that both paintings were self-portraits. The waitress was obviously the woman in both paintings. She was very tall, clearly over six feet, but her long legs were covered in slacks, and her feet were concealed in those comfortable walking shoes favored by waitresses and nurses. No way to tell, thought Bill, if they're as lovely as she painted them. They were about size 12, he estimated.
Bill just ordered his meal, not mentioning that he was the buyer of her painting. His food was once again excellent. Later, when she asked if he wanted coffee or dessert, he revealed himself as the purchaser.
"No, no dessert, but I do want to buy another of your paintings, the one with you swimming."
She didn't look surprised, just nodded, and said, "Harry told me who you were, the one who bought my painting on Monday. I guess you still liked it when you got it home."
"Yes," said Bill, "and I'd like to see more of your work."
She looked at him carefully, very intently, and then seemed to make up her mind. She spoke to him softly, so that nobody at nearby tables could hear her.
"I don't like bullshit. Are you interested in my work, or in me?"
"Both, Ms. Wallace," said Bill, also speaking softly. "I'm buying the one hanging here tonight, whether you tell me to buzz off and never bother you again, or not. But let me be honest--I was interested in the woman in the painting before I knew it was a self-portrait. I was going to ask the artist who the model was. That may seem absurd, in that I'm 5'8" tall, and 43 years old. My name is William Lamb, by the way. I don't expect you to be interested in me as a date, but I would genuinely like to see more of your paintings, especially if you're in them, to be frank."
"Alright," she answered. "I appreciate that you're honest. My next day off isn't until Monday. I don't see why Harry should get half of the price of my paintings, just because he lets me hang them here. He doesn't even like them--he's afraid that I'll quit. I'm one of his most reliable people here, and he knows it. Give me your daytime phone number, and I'll call you Monday morning with directions to my house. My full name is Karen Elaine Wallace, but you can just go on calling me 'Ms. Wallce.' I liked that, that you showed me some respect."
"Of course, Ms. Wallace," said Bill.
Bill bought the painting with Karen swimming, paying Harry $250 cash for it. His low opinion of Karen's work hadn't stopped him from raising the price, now that he knew he had an interested customer.
-------------------------------
Bill was anxious for Monday to arrive, and it seemed like a month until the five days did pass. When the phone rang at 11:30am, he forced himself to wait unti the end of the second ring to answer. No need to let Karen know that he had been waiting by the phone for hours.
"Hello, William Lamb here," he said.
"Hi, it's Karen Wallace. Still interested in coming to see my paintings?"
"Certainly. When would you like me to arrive?"
"I don't hear office noises. Are you off today?"
"I'm a free-lance software consultant. I work at home, mostly, and make my own schedule."
"Alright, I just want to be careful. I'm a woman living alone, and I like to know who I'm dealing with. You can come right over, and I'd appreciate it if you brought me lunch from my favorite Chinese restaurant."
"I'd be happy to, Ms. Wallace."
She proceeded to give him the name and address of the resataurant, and her own address. She told him exactly what she wanted for lunch, and to add to the order whatever he would like himself. She concluded with a warning.
"I don't want there to be any misunderstanding. I'm inviting you to my home, but as a potential buyer of my paintings. If you're tempted to get fresh, you should know that I'm 6'2" tall, 180 pounds, and I've taught self-defense classes for women for several years. Is that all clear?"
"Very clear, Ms. Wallace, and I assure you that I have the utmost respect for you. I'm on my way."
------------------------------------------------
Bill pulled up to the house, a small one, perhaps six rooms, on a side street just off Sepulveda Boulevard in Culver City. It was within sight of some fast food outlets on Sepulveda. He rang the bell, and Karen let him in. She was wearing a T-shirt and blue jeans, and he was delighted to see that she was barefoot.
When they sat down at the kitchen table to eat the food he'd brought, she used two chairs, sitting in one and putting her bare feet up on the other.
Her feet were large, but seemed to be the perfect size in proportion to her height. Her arches were high, and the flesh of her soles was a creamy light pink, paler on her arches, and darker on her heels. Her toenails were perfectly trimmed, and painted with a clear polish, for a natural look. As she ate, Bill just stared at the most beautiful feet that he had ever seen.
Karen stopped eating and smiled at him.
"So you like women's feet, do you?"
"Yes, I always have," said Bill, blushing.
"Always?"
"Yes, as far back as I can remember, anyway. Among my earliest memories, from when I was four years old, are looking forward to visiting the little girl next door, who was five. So I could see her bare feet."
Karen laughed, and wiggled her toes at him.
"It's great that you're honest about it. I can't stand men who lie about their preferences. I take good care of my feet, as you can see, and lots of men are always staring at them, when I wear sandals. Most of them won't admit it. But eat your food, now, it will get cold."
When they had finished lunch, she took him into her studio. It wasn't a real studio, just the second bedroom of the house, in which a large picture window had been installed. About a dozen finished paintings were there, but none that he could see was another self-portrait.
"I doubt there's anything you'll want to buy," said Karen, "there's only one painting here with me in it, and I'm wearing shoes."
She moved aside a seascape, and he saw a medium sized oil painting behind it, showing Karen and another woman playing one-on-one basketball. Both wore basketball shoes and white socks. The other woman looked a lot like Karen, but had black hair, and was even taller.
"Is that your sister?"
"Yes, Susan is two years younger than me, but, as you see, I can't call her my little sister any more. She's 6'4". She spouted up between the ages of 14 and 15, and became bigger and stronger than I was. Too bad."
"Why 'too bad'?" asked Bill. "Surely you didn't beat her."
"No," said Karen, "I didn't beat her. But I was quite a cruel older sister. You see, unlike me, Susan is ticklish. Extremely ticklish."
Bill blushed again, and licked his lips, but he didn't have the courage to say anything. He didn't even notice that his arms went down, reflexively, to protect his sides.
"When we were little, I tickled her all the time. I'd never let her stop laughing, once I got going. It was so much fun!"
Bill gulped, found his courage, and spoke.
"I'll bet it was. And have you had fun like that lately?"
"No. I did drive away one boyfriend, two years ago, by tickling him too much. He really hated the fact that I _could_ pin him down any time I wanted."
Bill blushed again, and hoped that she hadn't noticed his erection. He turned away and pretended to look at the paintings.
After half a minute, Karen spoke again.
"Bill, there's no need to pretend that you want any of these. I have a proposition for you. I'll do a self portrait for you, barefoot, but otherwise fully dressed, in whatever size will best fit where you want to hang it. What pose would you like?"
Bill turned back towards her, having adjusted his pants so that his excitement wasn't so obvious.
"I'll show you," he said. "This is generally known as 'The Pose' in foot fetish magazines and websites."
He got down on the floor, lying on his stomach, head raised towards Karen, and bent his legs at the knees, so that the soles of his comfortable Rockport shoes were pointed straight at her.
"You see? The models face and soles are pointed at the viewer," he said, and then he got up off the floor.
"I see," said Karen, "and I'll do it. I'll paint myself dressed as I am now, in blue jeans and a T-shirt, and, of course, barefoot. In just that pose, on a bed, with a smirk on my face. To show that I just _know_ that you're staring at my soles. I do need to know how large a painting you want, before I quote you a price for this commission."
"As large a painting as will fit on my bedroom wall," said Bill. "I can measure the wall and call you."
"No, I'd better see the whole room, and where the wall is in relation to you, the viewer, in your bed. I can guess what you'll be up to."
Bill blushed bright red.
"Well?" said Karen.
"Oh, sorry," said Bill. "Of course, I'll drive you to my house right now to see the room, Ms. Wallace. It will be an honor to have you visit."
"If you don't mind, Bill, I prefer to do the driving. Although we'll use your car."
"Of course, Ms. Wallace," he said, handing over his car keys. Karen paused at the door to put on flip-flops.
[to be continued in this thread]
Last edited: