TickleKay
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- Aug 8, 2007
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This is a poem written by my friend Tracy. She's a longtime lover of everything ticklish, bondage, feet, and "erotically cruel-but-fun". She's a part of the close circle I play within and this clearly displays the attitude, passion, and approaches within it. Her tastes run side by side with my own, only she has twice the experience to draw from.
In her words this poem was inspired by a certain great tickler/tormentor following one of many adventures, who taught her and brought her to deeper levels than she ever knew. It's no secret that most males differ greatly from females in their way of thinking. However- some do not.
For all of you who often wonder what goes through a female's mind, what's in her heart (compared to a guys), and for those who want an insight as to what feminine headspace is about? I suggest the following reading:
"A Woman's Bare Soles"
The soles of a woman's bare feet
are a wonderful place to explore.
Many ways you can treat them-
you can tickle or beat'em-
or soothe them when tired and sore.
A woman's bare feet are quite precious.
A private place few get to see.
Hidden away
for most of the day-
Vulnerable only to she.
Only a female can know this.
Her feet connect to her core.
Hide and protect,
let no one detect,
her secretly longing for more.
Oh how she aches to be captured!
Teased, tormented, and taken.
A pirate, a rogue-
take her down that dream road...
and her inner most soul will awaken.
To fasten her tightly in wood
then coil her, in countless ropes!
Exposing feet now to others-
be they strangers or lovers-
and she's forced to reveal secret hopes.
At first she'll put up quite a struggle.
But that wall of protection will wane.
What can she do
as she loses a shoe?
Curling her long toes in vain.
That first rush of cool air determines
the thrill, the panic... the fun.
No safeword to use-
she's now lost both shoes-
Her feet knowing there's no where to run.
Her world is thus narrowing down.
Her soles are the focus to beat.
How much can she take?
Will they itch her, or rake-
the bottoms of her private feet?
The spoon wields it's power on soles.
From the ball of the foot to the heels.
The spoon, as it's said,
leaves them puffy and red-
and delivers us feminine squeals.
The big toes stretched upward so tautly.
Immobile, they smile at the sky.
As they rub in that powder
she'll squirm and screech louder-
She'll beg for her toes, and she'll cry.
No mercy will ever be shown.
Secretly, these tears are not sad.
On the inside she's beaming,
"I'm taken"- she's screaming!
As her poor private toes itch so bad.
She first hears the roar of the torches.
Soon sees the bright yellow flame.
One for each foot,
his hands covered in soot,
soles awaiting his cruel roasting game.
Hot feet on cement in the summer,
or new pavement, just doesn't compare.
When those flames lick taut soles,
it's as hot as red coals,
She'll scream for her soles as they stare!
Tight between toes are wood matches!
Long pieces betwixt every member.
To add to her throes,
just the bottoms of toes,
will be cooking from each burning ember.
The wooden sticks burst into life.
Chanting "burn them" and cheering, and then-
in panic she'll squeal,
each toe burning she'll feel!
Then over, and over, again.
The heating, the beating, and itching,
are soon whisked away in her howls.
Happy faces all gloating,
as her mind is still floating,
her soles are now cleansed with soft towels.
Lost in a sea of bright faces
determined to torture her soles,
the feather she sees,
"Oh my God! No-no! Please!"
and tries to pull through those wood holes.
Her inner walls now in shambles.
Just the crowd- and her ticklish fears.
She's free as a child
as her laughter is wild,
As they smile and enjoy laughing tears.
A Woman's bare feet are ticklish doorways
through which one's soul often passes.
Every one can relate
to this one common trait-
whether tickled in private or by masses.
Soft, warm, and sensitive to touching.
Most often a funnel to passions.
Pull a feather twixt toes
and watch how she glows,
giggling in uncontrolled fashions.
When the sun finally sets, treat her gently.
With a kiss, wipe the tears from her face.
Loosen a bind-
and she'll thank you, most kind,
for her trip to that most special place.
A woman's bare soles are a pathway
to my mind, soul, hither, and yon.
You've touched all those plays
with your beautiful ways-
Please lay me next to you, tied, until dawn.
In her words this poem was inspired by a certain great tickler/tormentor following one of many adventures, who taught her and brought her to deeper levels than she ever knew. It's no secret that most males differ greatly from females in their way of thinking. However- some do not.
For all of you who often wonder what goes through a female's mind, what's in her heart (compared to a guys), and for those who want an insight as to what feminine headspace is about? I suggest the following reading:
"A Woman's Bare Soles"
The soles of a woman's bare feet
are a wonderful place to explore.
Many ways you can treat them-
you can tickle or beat'em-
or soothe them when tired and sore.
A woman's bare feet are quite precious.
A private place few get to see.
Hidden away
for most of the day-
Vulnerable only to she.
Only a female can know this.
Her feet connect to her core.
Hide and protect,
let no one detect,
her secretly longing for more.
Oh how she aches to be captured!
Teased, tormented, and taken.
A pirate, a rogue-
take her down that dream road...
and her inner most soul will awaken.
To fasten her tightly in wood
then coil her, in countless ropes!
Exposing feet now to others-
be they strangers or lovers-
and she's forced to reveal secret hopes.
At first she'll put up quite a struggle.
But that wall of protection will wane.
What can she do
as she loses a shoe?
Curling her long toes in vain.
That first rush of cool air determines
the thrill, the panic... the fun.
No safeword to use-
she's now lost both shoes-
Her feet knowing there's no where to run.
Her world is thus narrowing down.
Her soles are the focus to beat.
How much can she take?
Will they itch her, or rake-
the bottoms of her private feet?
The spoon wields it's power on soles.
From the ball of the foot to the heels.
The spoon, as it's said,
leaves them puffy and red-
and delivers us feminine squeals.
The big toes stretched upward so tautly.
Immobile, they smile at the sky.
As they rub in that powder
she'll squirm and screech louder-
She'll beg for her toes, and she'll cry.
No mercy will ever be shown.
Secretly, these tears are not sad.
On the inside she's beaming,
"I'm taken"- she's screaming!
As her poor private toes itch so bad.
She first hears the roar of the torches.
Soon sees the bright yellow flame.
One for each foot,
his hands covered in soot,
soles awaiting his cruel roasting game.
Hot feet on cement in the summer,
or new pavement, just doesn't compare.
When those flames lick taut soles,
it's as hot as red coals,
She'll scream for her soles as they stare!
Tight between toes are wood matches!
Long pieces betwixt every member.
To add to her throes,
just the bottoms of toes,
will be cooking from each burning ember.
The wooden sticks burst into life.
Chanting "burn them" and cheering, and then-
in panic she'll squeal,
each toe burning she'll feel!
Then over, and over, again.
The heating, the beating, and itching,
are soon whisked away in her howls.
Happy faces all gloating,
as her mind is still floating,
her soles are now cleansed with soft towels.
Lost in a sea of bright faces
determined to torture her soles,
the feather she sees,
"Oh my God! No-no! Please!"
and tries to pull through those wood holes.
Her inner walls now in shambles.
Just the crowd- and her ticklish fears.
She's free as a child
as her laughter is wild,
As they smile and enjoy laughing tears.
A Woman's bare feet are ticklish doorways
through which one's soul often passes.
Every one can relate
to this one common trait-
whether tickled in private or by masses.
Soft, warm, and sensitive to touching.
Most often a funnel to passions.
Pull a feather twixt toes
and watch how she glows,
giggling in uncontrolled fashions.
When the sun finally sets, treat her gently.
With a kiss, wipe the tears from her face.
Loosen a bind-
and she'll thank you, most kind,
for her trip to that most special place.
A woman's bare soles are a pathway
to my mind, soul, hither, and yon.
You've touched all those plays
with your beautiful ways-
Please lay me next to you, tied, until dawn.
![P[a]pi](/data/avatars/m/45/45669.jpg?1704922715){kind=avatar}
