Socal Tickling
TMF Regular
- Joined
- May 4, 2012
- Messages
- 171
- Points
- 18
It all started as a bit of silly fun when my girlfriend suggested trying out some "trust exercises." We’d seen a show where couples did ridiculous things like blindfolding each other or guiding their partners through obstacle courses. Naturally, we had to one-up them. She proposed tying me to a chair to see how long I could last without trying to escape. At first, I thought, Why not? It seemed innocent enough.
She grabbed an old wooden dining chair from the corner. It was sturdy but simple, with metal legs and a wooden seat and backrest. I laughed as she rummaged through a drawer to find supplies: scarves, ties, and bits of rope. "Okay, Houdini," she teased. "Let’s see if you can escape this!"
She started with my arms, pulling them behind me and tying my wrists snugly to the vertical braces of the chair’s backrest. The ties weren’t uncomfortable, but they were firm enough to keep me from wriggling free. My legs were next—she pulled my feet back so that they rested on the chair’s bottom horizontal bar. Then, to my surprise, she took extra care with my toes. She separated my big toes from the rest and looped soft string around them, anchoring them securely to the metal bar. I glanced down and tried to wiggle my feet. Nothing. My toes were immobilized.
"This seems excessive," I joked nervously, testing the bonds.
She grinned, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "You’re the one who said you wanted a challenge."
Once I was securely tied, she stepped back and admired her handiwork. "Perfect," she said, grabbing a feather from the coffee table—a random leftover from one of her craft projects. My stomach flipped. I knew where this was going.
"You wouldn’t," I started, trying to sound confident.
"Oh, but I would," she said with a devilish smirk.
She knelt in front of me and began running the feather gently along the arch of my left foot. The sensation was immediate. I burst into giggles, trying to pull my feet away, but they didn’t budge. The combination of the soft feather and my completely helpless state was overwhelming. She kept at it, up and down, slowly and deliberately, watching my reaction with glee.
By the time she switched to my right foot, I was already breathless. Now, here’s the thing about my right foot—it’s ridiculously sensitive. I don’t know why, but it’s always been way more ticklish than the left. She barely grazed it with the feather, and I erupted into laughter so loud it startled her.
"Wow," she said, eyes wide. "This is going to be fun."
Fun for her, maybe. She abandoned the feather and started using just her fingertips, tracing light patterns across the soles of both feet. The tickling was unbearable. I twisted and rocked in the chair, laughing uncontrollably. "Please! Stop!" I begged between fits of laughter, but she was relentless.
"Oh, you love it," she teased, her nails dancing lightly along the balls of my feet. The sensation was maddening. She alternated between slow, methodical strokes and quick, chaotic scritches. I could feel her nails flicking across the sensitive skin just below my toes, and I completely lost it. My laughter turned into a mix of shrieks and incoherent gasps.
But then she found the spot. It’s a tiny area on each foot, right at the edge of the arch near the heel. I don’t know why, but when that spot is tickled, I lose all control. Of course, she zeroed in on it almost immediately. Her fingers barely brushed it, and I exploded into hysterical laughter, thrashing so hard that the chair wobbled precariously.
"Careful!" she said, laughing along with me. "We don’t want you tipping over."
I was too far gone to reply. She kept at that spot, light as a feather, until tears were streaming down my face. My body sagged forward, spent, as I gasped for air. But she wasn’t done. With a wicked grin, she started using both hands, tickling both spots at the same time.
"Okay, okay!" I screamed. "I give up! You win!"
She finally relented, standing up and brushing her hands together as if she’d just completed a masterpiece. "Told you I could outlast you," she said smugly.
I slumped in the chair, laughing weakly. "You’re dangerous," I muttered.
"Maybe," she said with a wink. "But admit it—you had fun."
I couldn’t deny it. Sure, it was a little torturous, but it was also one of the most playful, ridiculous moments we’d shared. As she untied me, I made a mental note: never underestimate her when she’s in a mischievous mood.
She grabbed an old wooden dining chair from the corner. It was sturdy but simple, with metal legs and a wooden seat and backrest. I laughed as she rummaged through a drawer to find supplies: scarves, ties, and bits of rope. "Okay, Houdini," she teased. "Let’s see if you can escape this!"
She started with my arms, pulling them behind me and tying my wrists snugly to the vertical braces of the chair’s backrest. The ties weren’t uncomfortable, but they were firm enough to keep me from wriggling free. My legs were next—she pulled my feet back so that they rested on the chair’s bottom horizontal bar. Then, to my surprise, she took extra care with my toes. She separated my big toes from the rest and looped soft string around them, anchoring them securely to the metal bar. I glanced down and tried to wiggle my feet. Nothing. My toes were immobilized.
"This seems excessive," I joked nervously, testing the bonds.
She grinned, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "You’re the one who said you wanted a challenge."
Once I was securely tied, she stepped back and admired her handiwork. "Perfect," she said, grabbing a feather from the coffee table—a random leftover from one of her craft projects. My stomach flipped. I knew where this was going.
"You wouldn’t," I started, trying to sound confident.
"Oh, but I would," she said with a devilish smirk.
She knelt in front of me and began running the feather gently along the arch of my left foot. The sensation was immediate. I burst into giggles, trying to pull my feet away, but they didn’t budge. The combination of the soft feather and my completely helpless state was overwhelming. She kept at it, up and down, slowly and deliberately, watching my reaction with glee.
By the time she switched to my right foot, I was already breathless. Now, here’s the thing about my right foot—it’s ridiculously sensitive. I don’t know why, but it’s always been way more ticklish than the left. She barely grazed it with the feather, and I erupted into laughter so loud it startled her.
"Wow," she said, eyes wide. "This is going to be fun."
Fun for her, maybe. She abandoned the feather and started using just her fingertips, tracing light patterns across the soles of both feet. The tickling was unbearable. I twisted and rocked in the chair, laughing uncontrollably. "Please! Stop!" I begged between fits of laughter, but she was relentless.
"Oh, you love it," she teased, her nails dancing lightly along the balls of my feet. The sensation was maddening. She alternated between slow, methodical strokes and quick, chaotic scritches. I could feel her nails flicking across the sensitive skin just below my toes, and I completely lost it. My laughter turned into a mix of shrieks and incoherent gasps.
But then she found the spot. It’s a tiny area on each foot, right at the edge of the arch near the heel. I don’t know why, but when that spot is tickled, I lose all control. Of course, she zeroed in on it almost immediately. Her fingers barely brushed it, and I exploded into hysterical laughter, thrashing so hard that the chair wobbled precariously.
"Careful!" she said, laughing along with me. "We don’t want you tipping over."
I was too far gone to reply. She kept at that spot, light as a feather, until tears were streaming down my face. My body sagged forward, spent, as I gasped for air. But she wasn’t done. With a wicked grin, she started using both hands, tickling both spots at the same time.
"Okay, okay!" I screamed. "I give up! You win!"
She finally relented, standing up and brushing her hands together as if she’d just completed a masterpiece. "Told you I could outlast you," she said smugly.
I slumped in the chair, laughing weakly. "You’re dangerous," I muttered.
"Maybe," she said with a wink. "But admit it—you had fun."
I couldn’t deny it. Sure, it was a little torturous, but it was also one of the most playful, ridiculous moments we’d shared. As she untied me, I made a mental note: never underestimate her when she’s in a mischievous mood.
