The opinions made in this work do not reflect those of the author. I am also not sorry for the longevity of this tale, so enjoy.
They say you should never fall in love with somebody in the workplace. It’s like some unwritten rule. In my opinion, only shallow people follow that rule. They probably work with ugly people anyway, or they were just bad in bed. What do I know? I work at a Gateway office in New Jersey. The job’s not bad work-wise. The boss really likes me because I’ve been in everyday of my time there, even when I’m sick. I’ll tell you why: Lana, Lara, and Sara—Lana in particular. Oh, and then there’s Mike (don’t play any multiplayer videogame with him because he will kick your ass, I’m not even kidding. Don’t even load the game up.), Gerald (knows a lot about alcoholic drinks but doesn’t drink…), Joanna (I think she’s way too hot to be a lesbian; she looks like Asia Argento without the tired eyes.), and Louie (a non-stereotypical gay guy who couldn’t care less for gay pride. That’s why we love him.). Let’s see, I’ve been with these people since 1998. That’s five years, and it took two for them to become very good friends of mine. It’s taken me about five to become really close to Lana, let me tell you. She’s 24 and she plays “hard-to-get.”
I feel pretty low on how I got close to Lana Ferris. She’s from Puerto Rico, but she looks white. I forgot where she worked, but people often confused her for Caucasian, so it was a shock to all morons out there when she spoke fluent Spanish to other Hispanic customers. Plus, where she worked was one of those places where you wouldn’t find women, really. She and I just chatted on our breaks one day, told me her life story, and the hockey game had begun. Anyway, I can sum her looks up in one word: Tiffany. Tiffan today, I mean. I think her hair is, like, burgundy or something. Lana liked the punk chick look and, as a result, has black hair with blood red highlights, streaks, whatever you want to call them.
She had a boyfriend at the time. That was like my unnecessary roughness penalty. She dumped him because he was arrested for possession of cocaine and she had had it. Did you think I wouldn’t make my move? I gave her a month. I said “Hey, Lana, wanna do something Friday?” One word of advice, people, just ask. Don’t pussy out with dumb questions like “Are you busy Friday?” or decide on whether you want those Cup Cakes or not with something like “Hey, I can’t wait for Rocky 10! How about you?” Change that to “Hey, wanna see Rocky 10 Wednesday and then see Rocky 12 that Friday?” If she says no: porn. Luckily for me, she said yes. We once went to a McDonald’s together; just her and me. I think I would call THIS a first date. I took her to an Italian restaurant called Bellucci’s. That place was casual enough; it should be called First Date Center. It was the perfect place for a first date, which was also the problem. A second date in a place like this gave off the impression that you eat there all too often, or your cheap ass can’t find something nicer. Anyway, like I said, it was a nice place. You didn’t have to dress like James Bond, but you couldn’t dress like Jay and Silent Bob either. Great meal, I paid, and all of that. We make out the minute I pull up in front of her apartment. It was as if she wanted me as much as I wanted her. She walks out of the car and Date #1 is over. I go home and look at my sites. I have a hosiery fetish, molded with foot and tickling fetishes into Super Alpha Fetish X Turbo.
By the time we had our fourth date (and the morning-after-sex cup of coffee), it hit me that my birthday was coming soon. I wanted my party to be a semi-formal affair for obvious yet secretive reasons. Lana helped me decorate and plan the party (because it wouldn’t be right for me to simply invite her when we’re so damned in love. Wouldn’t you agree?). I’ve seen Lana’s sexy feet with her black-painted toenails, but I wish I had a house large enough to host these things. Like, she’d be close enough to me where she’d feel comfortable being barefoot in my house planning this party. Then we we would go on breaks, I rub her feet and give them both subtle and not-so-subtle tickles, licks, and sucks as a reward of some sort. That, to me, was a turn-on. It was my version of porn where a man and a woman, members of some kind of anti-terrorist unit, decide to fuck before they defuse the bomb, IN ORDER TO DEFUSE the bomb, and after they’ve defused the bomb. It was a reward in its own right.
By the way, there was this one time in my kitchen when she dropped her favorite pen (because it was so expensive) on the floor, which rolled to a heater or something, while she was working on a crossword puzzle. She got on her knees, making her somewhat dusty soles, which I’ve been meaning to mop but maybe not after all, visible for tickling—for cleaning. My apartment was cozy enough that I can reach anything at the latest in four seconds. I went to my closet by the bathroom and grabbed the feather duster. She found the pen and sat on her bare heels to examine any scratches. I literally drooled. I went and started dusting her soft soles. Thank goodness her head was not under the table then, because she shrieked and got up at the speed of light. She giggled both from the tickling and in embarrassment. She got up and we kissed. Then she just stood there with her feet inverted. You know, that “I’m trying to hold my pee” stance where you place one foot on top of the other? It was so cute I took a picture.
The party. Excellent party. I anticipated the part where it would not be long before the girls started losing the heels for dancing. The ladies knew about Gerald’s fetish, but not mine. I gave him my digital camcorder. They thought it was kinky so they went along with it. I even offered to pay him, but he said, “As long as I get copies. That is all that matters.” Joanna had brought a friend; I believe her name was Zelda. Her dress was royal blue and she spent 99% of the night in her tan, nyloned feet. Thank God for the dim environment and the black pants, if you know what I mean. Lana was gorgeous, and wore a dark red dress with tan pantyhose on. The glory began as she set her champagne down on a table to unstrap her heels. “Oh, God, I knew I should have worn these earlier to break into them.” Goodness, her feet had been sore for fifteen minutes. “Didn’t you hear me ‘ooh’-ing and ‘ow’-ing out there?” she joked. She didn’t know this, yet, but I kept a feather in my pocket. How dedicated is that?
Thank goodness the place we got had a privacy policy. The place had a small lounge just for the guests at my party. I didn’t have to share my celebration with some intervention group confronting John about his weight problem. Despite her aching nyloned tootsies, Lana wanted to do some dancing. I didn’t even know she was a dancer of any kind. Well, she did pick most of the music after all. I had picked, like, a Queens of the Stone Age song and Love Song by The Cure. The cleaning people must have read my mind or something, because that floor was pretty damned dirty. I took Lana to the lounge afterwards to massage her feet. I loved feeling the nylon on her warm, soft, now-dirty-from-the-dancing soles. I thought her burgundy-painted toes were perfect. I felt the erection coming on as she spread her toes at the satisfaction of the massage.
Phase 2. My index and middle fingers came heavily into play. I tickle soft and slow. I tease the feet, and Lana’s feet were no exception. She crawled and sat on my lap, and started kissing my neck as I moved my fingers up and down the sole of her left nyloned foot. As she kissed, she giggled. Hearing that giggle, I think she was a little tipsy. Her feet were softer with the pantyhose on. I kisser her blood red lips as I continued tickling her feet. Her laughter grew, even though I was tickling at the same pace. The tickling was effective enough where she placed her right foot in front of the other one to protect it. Thank God nobody was in the lounge. I was even tempted to place a “PROHIBITED” sign outside the door. The soft, in-love, tipsy-sounding talk was coming about. “Oh, Eddie… you’re hee-hee-hee-hee-hee-hee-hee-hee… you’re tickling my feet.” Her bright, white teeth blinded me as my fingers started dancing on her toes, which were crunching and exposing little wrinkles from the pantyhose. “I know I am,” I replied, “remember back at the house when you tickled my back? There’s a word in the dictionary: ‘vengeance,’ my dear.” She grabbed her champagne glass and sipped. By then my hand was teasing the sides of her feet. She spit out the drink, laughing. “I can’t drink this with your fingers touching the soles of my feet!” she was trying to soothe the tickling by lightly rubbing the victimized soles. I gave her a moment to breathe and sip the champagne. I think I had done a little drinking myself. I fell to the floor. I sat up and saw her curl up on the hunter green loveseat. Looking at her feet, I came to an agreement. “I am paying for your pedicures from now on.” She smiled that beautiful smile. Seeing her teeth that second time, I had changed my name to Matt Murdock. I gently grabbed her right foot and started blowing tiny breezes through her toes, followed by gentle kisses of them. I grabbed the side of her foot and started kissing the sole, sucking it, licking it. “Stop it! Hee-hee-hee-hee-hee-hee-hee-hee-hee-hee-hee-hee-hee-hee-hee-hee-hee!” She smiled again and covered her face with one hand (the other holding the glass); it must have tickled a lot. “My ticklish are so feet! You have no idea! Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!” All I did was lick her sole. I gave it short, repeated, somewhat poking licks. Then I moved on to medium, stroking licks and eventually went from heel to toe. Another sexy pose from her was tucking her left leg under her right leg, followed by stretching her left foot so I could get a good look at her beautiful round arch.
“Oh, man, is there…” I looked around and found a reclining chair. “Let’s move here,” I said. She got up and sat at the chair. Holy crap. Simply seeing this woman walk in her nyloned feet on a carpeted floor was making me drool. Before sitting down, she got on her knees (bending her toes, even) and picked up a dime from the floor. Bad move! I tickled both soles simultaneously and she fell back giggling. “I have an idea. Stay here.” I went back into the party and poured a glass of white wine and got a cup of ice. “Hey, Barnes, where have you been? Kick-ass party!” Some random guy approached me. “Hey, thanks. Glad you could make it.” I didn’t want to come off as rude. “Me and Lana are, uh, talking.” I ran back into the lounge with the glass of wine. Lana sat there waiting for me. She had the recliner up. “Oh, Eddie,” she stretched my name. She had her legs up and feet crossed and she was massaging her toes. “My ticklish tootsies and I have been waiting for you.” Her foot tastes wonderful nyloned, and no doubt bare also. I wonder what white wine would do.
First thing I did was place her foot in the cup of ice to cool her toes. She wiggled them so slowly, it made the Second Coming look like a damn weekly supermarket sale. I looked at her, and she had her eyes closed, her bottom lip bit, and moaned. Hell, the moan was plenty. Next time, I’m using a large bowl of ice, I thought to myself. I looked at the glass of wine, and then at her, and then back at the wine. She was really, really into this; it was almost scary. Almost. “Lana, your feet…” She rested both feet together. She looked laid-back as I slowly poured white wine over her toes. I poured about a fourth of the glass just so I wouldn’t completely soak her feet. “Houston, this is Odyssey, it’s good to be home!” I started sucking on those toes, slowly. I tried to fit two or three in my mouth at a time. I could hear her giggling as my tongue moved at a medium speed up and down her sole. I swear it was like in The Karate Kid, “Up! Down! Up! Down! Wax on! Whack off!” “Oh-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo, my feet are being tortur-hur-hurred,” she joked and laughed some more.
We came back out to the public. The party was drawing to an end. “Where the hell were you two?” Joanna asked us with Zelda standing next to her. I glanced down and saw Joanna’s nyloned feet—black sheer pantyhose, and Zelda in her tan nyloned feet with royal blue-polished toenails. “He was massaging my feet.” Lana stretched out her left leg and wiggled her toes. “Eddie? Hi, I’m Har Don. I’ll be staying here for the rest of the night.” “Hey, Edward, maybe you can rub my feet,” Zelda jokingly remarked as she rubbed her left foot on her right leg. We all had a good chuckle, and I said “You seem to be doing fine on your own.” Zelda was mildly attractive, but Lana was miles ahead of her. The guests started waving me goodbye and thanks. All, and I mean all, of the females except for present company (who were already shoeless) left the hall in either bare feet or nyloned.
After the party of the party was great. It was kind of hot that evening, and unfortunately her car was parked rather far that evening. She mildly hotfooted it to her Galant. Seeing her soles blacken on the asphalt was a large turn-on, as was the thought of mild foot torture. She lifted one foot after another on the warm asphalt. I think she was exaggerating, though. Anyway, we did have more tickle nights. Then one night defined it all when Lana gave me a “late” present. It was in my basement. I swear I almost cried when I saw it. Stocks. Holes for the hands and ankles were there, of course, along with a leather-cushioned stool for Lana to kneel on. I got on my knees, kissed her feet followed by her vagina; she looked incredibly sexy in that hockey jersey and white panties. Of course we had sex that night and I even used my new toy. “It seems like your feet have a knack for getting dirty!” We started adding roleplaying, which made the experience ten times fun. “Oh, please don’t punish me, warden! They’ll be clean next time, I promise!” I took the long red feather she got me and I started feathering her bare and very slightly dusty soles; I like exaggeration, whaddaya want? She was kneeling on the stool, and thus her toes were pointing down towards the floor. Man, she even got leather binds and chains and crap. We’d listen to The Human League doing this, no less. I tickled her ribs and back one in a while, but I was certainly a dedicated foot man. Her toes had crunched up or wiggled. I eventually did the bowl of ice thing. As a result of our love and newfound hobby (we’re starting a mom-and-pop amateur tickling site, selling videos, VCDs, and DVDs once we get the equipment…), we are currently engaged and are set to wed in one year.
They say you should never fall in love with somebody in the workplace. It’s like some unwritten rule. In my opinion, only shallow people follow that rule. They probably work with ugly people anyway, or they were just bad in bed. What do I know? I work at a Gateway office in New Jersey. The job’s not bad work-wise. The boss really likes me because I’ve been in everyday of my time there, even when I’m sick. I’ll tell you why: Lana, Lara, and Sara—Lana in particular. Oh, and then there’s Mike (don’t play any multiplayer videogame with him because he will kick your ass, I’m not even kidding. Don’t even load the game up.), Gerald (knows a lot about alcoholic drinks but doesn’t drink…), Joanna (I think she’s way too hot to be a lesbian; she looks like Asia Argento without the tired eyes.), and Louie (a non-stereotypical gay guy who couldn’t care less for gay pride. That’s why we love him.). Let’s see, I’ve been with these people since 1998. That’s five years, and it took two for them to become very good friends of mine. It’s taken me about five to become really close to Lana, let me tell you. She’s 24 and she plays “hard-to-get.”
I feel pretty low on how I got close to Lana Ferris. She’s from Puerto Rico, but she looks white. I forgot where she worked, but people often confused her for Caucasian, so it was a shock to all morons out there when she spoke fluent Spanish to other Hispanic customers. Plus, where she worked was one of those places where you wouldn’t find women, really. She and I just chatted on our breaks one day, told me her life story, and the hockey game had begun. Anyway, I can sum her looks up in one word: Tiffany. Tiffan today, I mean. I think her hair is, like, burgundy or something. Lana liked the punk chick look and, as a result, has black hair with blood red highlights, streaks, whatever you want to call them.
She had a boyfriend at the time. That was like my unnecessary roughness penalty. She dumped him because he was arrested for possession of cocaine and she had had it. Did you think I wouldn’t make my move? I gave her a month. I said “Hey, Lana, wanna do something Friday?” One word of advice, people, just ask. Don’t pussy out with dumb questions like “Are you busy Friday?” or decide on whether you want those Cup Cakes or not with something like “Hey, I can’t wait for Rocky 10! How about you?” Change that to “Hey, wanna see Rocky 10 Wednesday and then see Rocky 12 that Friday?” If she says no: porn. Luckily for me, she said yes. We once went to a McDonald’s together; just her and me. I think I would call THIS a first date. I took her to an Italian restaurant called Bellucci’s. That place was casual enough; it should be called First Date Center. It was the perfect place for a first date, which was also the problem. A second date in a place like this gave off the impression that you eat there all too often, or your cheap ass can’t find something nicer. Anyway, like I said, it was a nice place. You didn’t have to dress like James Bond, but you couldn’t dress like Jay and Silent Bob either. Great meal, I paid, and all of that. We make out the minute I pull up in front of her apartment. It was as if she wanted me as much as I wanted her. She walks out of the car and Date #1 is over. I go home and look at my sites. I have a hosiery fetish, molded with foot and tickling fetishes into Super Alpha Fetish X Turbo.
By the time we had our fourth date (and the morning-after-sex cup of coffee), it hit me that my birthday was coming soon. I wanted my party to be a semi-formal affair for obvious yet secretive reasons. Lana helped me decorate and plan the party (because it wouldn’t be right for me to simply invite her when we’re so damned in love. Wouldn’t you agree?). I’ve seen Lana’s sexy feet with her black-painted toenails, but I wish I had a house large enough to host these things. Like, she’d be close enough to me where she’d feel comfortable being barefoot in my house planning this party. Then we we would go on breaks, I rub her feet and give them both subtle and not-so-subtle tickles, licks, and sucks as a reward of some sort. That, to me, was a turn-on. It was my version of porn where a man and a woman, members of some kind of anti-terrorist unit, decide to fuck before they defuse the bomb, IN ORDER TO DEFUSE the bomb, and after they’ve defused the bomb. It was a reward in its own right.
By the way, there was this one time in my kitchen when she dropped her favorite pen (because it was so expensive) on the floor, which rolled to a heater or something, while she was working on a crossword puzzle. She got on her knees, making her somewhat dusty soles, which I’ve been meaning to mop but maybe not after all, visible for tickling—for cleaning. My apartment was cozy enough that I can reach anything at the latest in four seconds. I went to my closet by the bathroom and grabbed the feather duster. She found the pen and sat on her bare heels to examine any scratches. I literally drooled. I went and started dusting her soft soles. Thank goodness her head was not under the table then, because she shrieked and got up at the speed of light. She giggled both from the tickling and in embarrassment. She got up and we kissed. Then she just stood there with her feet inverted. You know, that “I’m trying to hold my pee” stance where you place one foot on top of the other? It was so cute I took a picture.
The party. Excellent party. I anticipated the part where it would not be long before the girls started losing the heels for dancing. The ladies knew about Gerald’s fetish, but not mine. I gave him my digital camcorder. They thought it was kinky so they went along with it. I even offered to pay him, but he said, “As long as I get copies. That is all that matters.” Joanna had brought a friend; I believe her name was Zelda. Her dress was royal blue and she spent 99% of the night in her tan, nyloned feet. Thank God for the dim environment and the black pants, if you know what I mean. Lana was gorgeous, and wore a dark red dress with tan pantyhose on. The glory began as she set her champagne down on a table to unstrap her heels. “Oh, God, I knew I should have worn these earlier to break into them.” Goodness, her feet had been sore for fifteen minutes. “Didn’t you hear me ‘ooh’-ing and ‘ow’-ing out there?” she joked. She didn’t know this, yet, but I kept a feather in my pocket. How dedicated is that?
Thank goodness the place we got had a privacy policy. The place had a small lounge just for the guests at my party. I didn’t have to share my celebration with some intervention group confronting John about his weight problem. Despite her aching nyloned tootsies, Lana wanted to do some dancing. I didn’t even know she was a dancer of any kind. Well, she did pick most of the music after all. I had picked, like, a Queens of the Stone Age song and Love Song by The Cure. The cleaning people must have read my mind or something, because that floor was pretty damned dirty. I took Lana to the lounge afterwards to massage her feet. I loved feeling the nylon on her warm, soft, now-dirty-from-the-dancing soles. I thought her burgundy-painted toes were perfect. I felt the erection coming on as she spread her toes at the satisfaction of the massage.
Phase 2. My index and middle fingers came heavily into play. I tickle soft and slow. I tease the feet, and Lana’s feet were no exception. She crawled and sat on my lap, and started kissing my neck as I moved my fingers up and down the sole of her left nyloned foot. As she kissed, she giggled. Hearing that giggle, I think she was a little tipsy. Her feet were softer with the pantyhose on. I kisser her blood red lips as I continued tickling her feet. Her laughter grew, even though I was tickling at the same pace. The tickling was effective enough where she placed her right foot in front of the other one to protect it. Thank God nobody was in the lounge. I was even tempted to place a “PROHIBITED” sign outside the door. The soft, in-love, tipsy-sounding talk was coming about. “Oh, Eddie… you’re hee-hee-hee-hee-hee-hee-hee-hee… you’re tickling my feet.” Her bright, white teeth blinded me as my fingers started dancing on her toes, which were crunching and exposing little wrinkles from the pantyhose. “I know I am,” I replied, “remember back at the house when you tickled my back? There’s a word in the dictionary: ‘vengeance,’ my dear.” She grabbed her champagne glass and sipped. By then my hand was teasing the sides of her feet. She spit out the drink, laughing. “I can’t drink this with your fingers touching the soles of my feet!” she was trying to soothe the tickling by lightly rubbing the victimized soles. I gave her a moment to breathe and sip the champagne. I think I had done a little drinking myself. I fell to the floor. I sat up and saw her curl up on the hunter green loveseat. Looking at her feet, I came to an agreement. “I am paying for your pedicures from now on.” She smiled that beautiful smile. Seeing her teeth that second time, I had changed my name to Matt Murdock. I gently grabbed her right foot and started blowing tiny breezes through her toes, followed by gentle kisses of them. I grabbed the side of her foot and started kissing the sole, sucking it, licking it. “Stop it! Hee-hee-hee-hee-hee-hee-hee-hee-hee-hee-hee-hee-hee-hee-hee-hee-hee!” She smiled again and covered her face with one hand (the other holding the glass); it must have tickled a lot. “My ticklish are so feet! You have no idea! Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!” All I did was lick her sole. I gave it short, repeated, somewhat poking licks. Then I moved on to medium, stroking licks and eventually went from heel to toe. Another sexy pose from her was tucking her left leg under her right leg, followed by stretching her left foot so I could get a good look at her beautiful round arch.
“Oh, man, is there…” I looked around and found a reclining chair. “Let’s move here,” I said. She got up and sat at the chair. Holy crap. Simply seeing this woman walk in her nyloned feet on a carpeted floor was making me drool. Before sitting down, she got on her knees (bending her toes, even) and picked up a dime from the floor. Bad move! I tickled both soles simultaneously and she fell back giggling. “I have an idea. Stay here.” I went back into the party and poured a glass of white wine and got a cup of ice. “Hey, Barnes, where have you been? Kick-ass party!” Some random guy approached me. “Hey, thanks. Glad you could make it.” I didn’t want to come off as rude. “Me and Lana are, uh, talking.” I ran back into the lounge with the glass of wine. Lana sat there waiting for me. She had the recliner up. “Oh, Eddie,” she stretched my name. She had her legs up and feet crossed and she was massaging her toes. “My ticklish tootsies and I have been waiting for you.” Her foot tastes wonderful nyloned, and no doubt bare also. I wonder what white wine would do.
First thing I did was place her foot in the cup of ice to cool her toes. She wiggled them so slowly, it made the Second Coming look like a damn weekly supermarket sale. I looked at her, and she had her eyes closed, her bottom lip bit, and moaned. Hell, the moan was plenty. Next time, I’m using a large bowl of ice, I thought to myself. I looked at the glass of wine, and then at her, and then back at the wine. She was really, really into this; it was almost scary. Almost. “Lana, your feet…” She rested both feet together. She looked laid-back as I slowly poured white wine over her toes. I poured about a fourth of the glass just so I wouldn’t completely soak her feet. “Houston, this is Odyssey, it’s good to be home!” I started sucking on those toes, slowly. I tried to fit two or three in my mouth at a time. I could hear her giggling as my tongue moved at a medium speed up and down her sole. I swear it was like in The Karate Kid, “Up! Down! Up! Down! Wax on! Whack off!” “Oh-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo, my feet are being tortur-hur-hurred,” she joked and laughed some more.
We came back out to the public. The party was drawing to an end. “Where the hell were you two?” Joanna asked us with Zelda standing next to her. I glanced down and saw Joanna’s nyloned feet—black sheer pantyhose, and Zelda in her tan nyloned feet with royal blue-polished toenails. “He was massaging my feet.” Lana stretched out her left leg and wiggled her toes. “Eddie? Hi, I’m Har Don. I’ll be staying here for the rest of the night.” “Hey, Edward, maybe you can rub my feet,” Zelda jokingly remarked as she rubbed her left foot on her right leg. We all had a good chuckle, and I said “You seem to be doing fine on your own.” Zelda was mildly attractive, but Lana was miles ahead of her. The guests started waving me goodbye and thanks. All, and I mean all, of the females except for present company (who were already shoeless) left the hall in either bare feet or nyloned.
After the party of the party was great. It was kind of hot that evening, and unfortunately her car was parked rather far that evening. She mildly hotfooted it to her Galant. Seeing her soles blacken on the asphalt was a large turn-on, as was the thought of mild foot torture. She lifted one foot after another on the warm asphalt. I think she was exaggerating, though. Anyway, we did have more tickle nights. Then one night defined it all when Lana gave me a “late” present. It was in my basement. I swear I almost cried when I saw it. Stocks. Holes for the hands and ankles were there, of course, along with a leather-cushioned stool for Lana to kneel on. I got on my knees, kissed her feet followed by her vagina; she looked incredibly sexy in that hockey jersey and white panties. Of course we had sex that night and I even used my new toy. “It seems like your feet have a knack for getting dirty!” We started adding roleplaying, which made the experience ten times fun. “Oh, please don’t punish me, warden! They’ll be clean next time, I promise!” I took the long red feather she got me and I started feathering her bare and very slightly dusty soles; I like exaggeration, whaddaya want? She was kneeling on the stool, and thus her toes were pointing down towards the floor. Man, she even got leather binds and chains and crap. We’d listen to The Human League doing this, no less. I tickled her ribs and back one in a while, but I was certainly a dedicated foot man. Her toes had crunched up or wiggled. I eventually did the bowl of ice thing. As a result of our love and newfound hobby (we’re starting a mom-and-pop amateur tickling site, selling videos, VCDs, and DVDs once we get the equipment…), we are currently engaged and are set to wed in one year.
