Francie_Pants
TMF Poster
- Joined
- May 6, 2008
- Messages
- 148
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It was my day off of work, and I was taking it easy. I was stretched out in my rocking chair, with my feet up on the ottoman, drifting between sleep and trying to watch the ‘The Price is Right’. I was definitely dressed down from my usual work attire, wearing cut-off jean shorts, a black t-shirt with ‘The Rock’ pictured, from his glory days in WWE, and black, cotton calf socks scrunched down around my ankles. I was not what I would call ‘dressed for company’, so I was a tad put out when I heard the doorbell ring.
I flipped the TV off, wondering who it could be. I prayed it was not another Jehovah’s Witness or a vacuum salesman. I looked through the peephole and breathed a slight sigh of relief. It was my neighbor’s daughter. She was in college, and had asked a few weeks ago, if she could come over and use my encyclopedia collection for a research paper she had to turn in. I had consented, but was not at all expecting her, on this particular day.
Reluctantly, I let her in. I wanted to come up with an excuse to send her off, having craved my alone time, but I wasn’t dressed for going out, so I couldn’t say I was just leaving.
“Hey, Francie,” she seemed a bit too eager for someone doing a research paper, but then, I never was too keen on anything that felt like work.
“Hey, Jessie, come on in.” She leaped on the invitation and made her way inside, setting her backpack and purse down on the table in my foyer.
“I’m guessing,” I went on, “that you’re here to make use of my reference collection.”
She nodded, eagerly, and smiled, “Yes, I hope it’s not too much of a bother.”
There was my chance to insert an excuse, and send her on her way, but I just couldn’t come up with one. I could only smile and reply.
“Not a bother at all, you want something to drink?”
She shook her head, “No, thanks. I don’t have a lot of time; I’d prefer to get started, if you don’t mind.”
Well, that was good. She could get started on that, and I could go back to lounging and watching TV.
“Of course, right this way.” I led her to the study, and showed her the bookcase that housed my encyclopedia collection, as well as several other useful reference books that any aspiring young mind could make use of.
“Thank you so much, Francie, you have no idea how much this means to me.”
I’d never seen anyone so grateful for an opportunity to do homework. I just smiled and nodded.
“I’ll be in here watching TV, if you need me.”
“Ok,” she said. “I’ll let you know.”
I headed back into the living room and settled back into my rocker. It’s a wooden rocker, the kind with wooden tubular slats that go up the back, between the seat and the piece on the top that fits on them and stabilizes them. Typical of what you see when you go to one of those home style restaurants, with the rockers on the front porch. The ottoman was a match, but very simple, just a wooden stool like piece with four legs, the center part and a cushion, for comfort.
Needless to say, I was stretched out and comfortable, so it was a bit of a shocker, when I felt her hands come down from behind me, and start to massage my shoulders. At first, I tensed, and almost sat up, then a slumped back against the chair.
“I don’t know why you are doing that, but I won’t tell you that you have to stop.”
She giggled and replied.
“You just seem tense. I figured I could give you a quick relaxing massage, before I get started with my studies.”
I was definitely tense. It had been a long month, at work, and things were hectic. I won’t go into those details, though. Her hands were working magic on my shoulders. It felt so good, I could have melted.
“Give me your arms, and I’ll show you something that I just love.”
It seemed like a weird request, but I was enjoying the massage too much to question her. I raised my arms up past my head, so that my forearms extended over the back of the rocking chair, then I let my elbows hinge, so that my hands fell back behind the seat. She started dragging her fingernails, which were long and smooth, up and down my forearms. It felt funny, but good, at the same time.
She kept this up for a few seconds, then she stopped, and for a split second, there was nothing. Then I heard two quick clicks, and felt steel tightening around my wrists.
I jerked forward, my full attention now garnered, but it was too late. She had slid her cuffs through the back slat of the chair, while I was enjoying the massage, and then cuffed both of my wrists, so that I couldn’t pull my hands away from the back of the chair.
I let out a yelp of surprise, and started to ask her what she was doing, but as soon as I opened my mouth, she was shoving a cloth into it.
“Hey! Whagggmph!”
I tried to force it back out, but by the time I was able to start pushing on it, she was already using another cloth to force it deeper into my mouth, and hold my jaw open, while she tied the ends of it, behind my head.
I had no idea what she was trying to do, but I didn’t want any part of it. I was jerking against the cuffs, enough that they were making my wrists hurt, and making as much noise as I could, while trying to talk. The gag was effectively muffling and garbling all of my vocal efforts, however.
She came around in front of me, and sat in my lap. By the time I realized what she was doing, and started to try to kick, she already had her weight on my thighs. She sat with her back to me, and pulled her backpack around. I watched with shock, as she pulled a roll of thin rope out, and after pulling my ankles together, began to wind the rope in and around them, tying them together, before using the long remainder of the rope to wrap around the ottoman several times, securing them to it.
I can’t really say that I was all that scared, because after all she is my neighbor, but I was definitely concerned about what her intentions might be. She got up, and sat back down on the ottoman, spreading her legs across my ankles, still with her back to me, looking down at my bound feet.
I was making all kinds of noise, and struggling earnestly, but I stifled myself, when she started to speak, eager to hear what she had to say.
“Mama says you’ve been very busy lately. She said you must be working 80 hours a week, because she never sees your car here.”
I nodded. That was true. I had been spending most of the time at work, but I failed to see where she was going with this.
“Mama said I should try to cheer you up, and help you relax. I couldn’t think of anything better than this…”
This? What did she mean by ‘this’? I wanted to ask, but the cloth in my mouth made it all sound like senseless babble.
“So here we go.”
I squirmed, not knowing what to expect, but I didn’t have to wait long to find out. I felt her fingernails touch to my heels and pull up through my arches, past the balls of my feet, to the tips of my toes. Then she did it again. She kept doing it. She was tickling me!
My feet are very sensitive. Sometimes, I think the nerves were tampered with, in some sick experiment. Even with the socks on, each touch could was strongly felt. Someone who knew what they were doing could even make it tickle more, with socks on, than if they were off. Apparently, she knew what she was doing.
After a few moments of the soft fingernail raking, she added pressure to her strokes, so that her fingernails caught and snagged in the cotton, pulling the fabric against my skin. That doubled the attack, because now, not only were her nails tickling my feet, the fabric of the socks was following them and dragging along in the wake.
I didn’t want to laugh, because I know that’s what she wanted and expected. Well, she got what she wanted. It only took a moment for me to erupt into full forced laughter. I screamed in ticklish horror, as her fingernails worked were dragged up and down my helpless feet, pulling the socks little by little, as she went along.
I was laughing way too hard to even notice that with each upward pull, she was making sure to pull the socks a little more, and making sure that with the downward strokes, she didn’t cause any regression.
I knew what was going on, though, when I felt the last of the sock being pulled around the heel of my foot. I shook my head, wildly, screaming with laughter into the gag. The gag provided her desired effect, because I doubt anyone could have heard me, unless they were standing right outside the house.
She continued to monotonously pull her smooth tipped fingernails up and down my socked soles, each stroke getting shorter, as she gradually pulled the socks further up my feet. When it got to the point that my arches were bare, and the socks were scrunched up on the toes and balls of my feet, she changed her attack.
With spider wiggling fingernails, she dug into my arches, in a concentrated attempt to push me over the edge. If her goal was to drive me completely out of my mind, she was succeeding.
Within seconds, I was completely breathless, and red in the face, as noiseless cackles bellowed from my lungs, so forcefully, that when I managed to salvage a breath, it was accompanied by a deep heaving guffaw type sound, before it was thrust back out, in another wave of violent silent laughter.
After another minute or ten of this, the yanked my socks the rest of the way off, and got a thick rubber band out of her backpack. She wrapped it around my two big toes, several times, pulling them tightly together, and making it so that I couldn’t use one foot to protect the other. Then she grabbed the two big toes and pulled them back. I screeched and roared with high pitched giggles, as she began to drag her fingernails along the undersides of my toes, first hitting several at a time with her sprawled out fingernails, then focusing on one at a time, with near monotonous one fingernail rakes, up and down each stem.
When I thought for sure that I was going to pass out from lack of oxygen, she stopped and let me catch my breath. I tried to plead with my eyes, eager to get the gag out, and question her motives for this horrific assault. She could apparently read my mind and shook a finger at me, “No, no, no, Francie. No talking for you, until I’m done.”
Well, as little as it sounded like, there was hope in that statement. There was hope in the fact that she did intend to finish this at some point.
My eyes followed her, and I cringed with trepidation, as she circled around behind the chair. I tried to look up, but I couldn’t see her face. All I could see was the horrifying approach of her hands, as the reached down my shirt sleeves, and her fingers uncurled in my armpits. I was screaming before she even started, but it didn’t stop her.
She started to wiggle her fingernails against the smooth, sensitive skin of my armpits, and I started to go ballistic. I twisted and squirmed with every ounce of strength I could summon, but her hands were trapped inside my shirt, so they just moved with me.
Tears of laughter streamed down my face, and I was so red, that it probably paled my red hair color. All I could do, however, was laugh. I laughed loud and hard, high and low, noisily and silently. If she was trying to make me rest by exhausting me, first, she was going to be successful. I was just glad I’d stayed away from the coffee, or I’d be in need of a new cushion for the rocking chair.
Her fingers wandered up the backs of my arms, which didn’t tickle as much as when they were in the armpits, but I was so sensitized at this point, that I remained hysterical, even during the lighter teasing. After what seemed like an hour, she pulled her hands out of my shirt sleeves, and back out of sight. I kept looking up for them, so didn’t even see when she threaded them through the back slats of the rocking chair. I felt it when she shoved them up inside my shirt, though.
I roared with raspy, guttural guffaws, as she walked her fingers up and down my rib cage, and across my stomach. I sucked it in, tightening the muscles as much as I could, but I just couldn’t evade the probing fingers. In a surprise move, she reached up past my bra strap, pulling the shirt up with her, and slid her hands down through the bra strap, trapping her fingers against my ribs. I screamed holy terror, before she even started, but it didn’t stop her.
She dug into the spot, on my ribs, that the bra straps pinned her hands against, and she didn’t stop tickling that one spot for a long time. My mind was numb, by the time she stopped torturing that spot, and pulled her hands back away, again.
“Well,” she spoke again. “I think I’ve figured out where it’s the worst for you. So, to finish, I’m going to give you a good through tickling there.”
I watched with wide-eyed horror, still having spasms from an occasional giggle reflex, as she pranced back to the footrest, and sat back down on it. With my big toes held together, by the rubber band, my bare arches were a wide open target.
The laughter that followed can’t be described with words, as she used all ten fingernails to issue a five fingered attack on each arch, alternating between rapid up and down rakes, and slow walking spider scribbles. I though sure I was going to die, right there in that rocking chair. By the time she was done, I was so exhausted and so nerve wracked, that I couldn’t even lift my head to acknowledge her.
She untied my toes and ankles, then went around behind me and unlocked my wrists from the cuffs. She took the gag out, but I couldn’t have said anything if I wanted to. I would have stuttered so much, the words would never have come.
She helped me up, and walked me, on my jelly legs, into my bedroom, and laid me out on my bed.
“Now, you can relax, and get the sleep your body needs. I’ll be in here studying.”
I fell asleep and didn’t wake for eleven hours. She was long gone, when I woke, and I was glad.
I flipped the TV off, wondering who it could be. I prayed it was not another Jehovah’s Witness or a vacuum salesman. I looked through the peephole and breathed a slight sigh of relief. It was my neighbor’s daughter. She was in college, and had asked a few weeks ago, if she could come over and use my encyclopedia collection for a research paper she had to turn in. I had consented, but was not at all expecting her, on this particular day.
Reluctantly, I let her in. I wanted to come up with an excuse to send her off, having craved my alone time, but I wasn’t dressed for going out, so I couldn’t say I was just leaving.
“Hey, Francie,” she seemed a bit too eager for someone doing a research paper, but then, I never was too keen on anything that felt like work.
“Hey, Jessie, come on in.” She leaped on the invitation and made her way inside, setting her backpack and purse down on the table in my foyer.
“I’m guessing,” I went on, “that you’re here to make use of my reference collection.”
She nodded, eagerly, and smiled, “Yes, I hope it’s not too much of a bother.”
There was my chance to insert an excuse, and send her on her way, but I just couldn’t come up with one. I could only smile and reply.
“Not a bother at all, you want something to drink?”
She shook her head, “No, thanks. I don’t have a lot of time; I’d prefer to get started, if you don’t mind.”
Well, that was good. She could get started on that, and I could go back to lounging and watching TV.
“Of course, right this way.” I led her to the study, and showed her the bookcase that housed my encyclopedia collection, as well as several other useful reference books that any aspiring young mind could make use of.
“Thank you so much, Francie, you have no idea how much this means to me.”
I’d never seen anyone so grateful for an opportunity to do homework. I just smiled and nodded.
“I’ll be in here watching TV, if you need me.”
“Ok,” she said. “I’ll let you know.”
I headed back into the living room and settled back into my rocker. It’s a wooden rocker, the kind with wooden tubular slats that go up the back, between the seat and the piece on the top that fits on them and stabilizes them. Typical of what you see when you go to one of those home style restaurants, with the rockers on the front porch. The ottoman was a match, but very simple, just a wooden stool like piece with four legs, the center part and a cushion, for comfort.
Needless to say, I was stretched out and comfortable, so it was a bit of a shocker, when I felt her hands come down from behind me, and start to massage my shoulders. At first, I tensed, and almost sat up, then a slumped back against the chair.
“I don’t know why you are doing that, but I won’t tell you that you have to stop.”
She giggled and replied.
“You just seem tense. I figured I could give you a quick relaxing massage, before I get started with my studies.”
I was definitely tense. It had been a long month, at work, and things were hectic. I won’t go into those details, though. Her hands were working magic on my shoulders. It felt so good, I could have melted.
“Give me your arms, and I’ll show you something that I just love.”
It seemed like a weird request, but I was enjoying the massage too much to question her. I raised my arms up past my head, so that my forearms extended over the back of the rocking chair, then I let my elbows hinge, so that my hands fell back behind the seat. She started dragging her fingernails, which were long and smooth, up and down my forearms. It felt funny, but good, at the same time.
She kept this up for a few seconds, then she stopped, and for a split second, there was nothing. Then I heard two quick clicks, and felt steel tightening around my wrists.
I jerked forward, my full attention now garnered, but it was too late. She had slid her cuffs through the back slat of the chair, while I was enjoying the massage, and then cuffed both of my wrists, so that I couldn’t pull my hands away from the back of the chair.
I let out a yelp of surprise, and started to ask her what she was doing, but as soon as I opened my mouth, she was shoving a cloth into it.
“Hey! Whagggmph!”
I tried to force it back out, but by the time I was able to start pushing on it, she was already using another cloth to force it deeper into my mouth, and hold my jaw open, while she tied the ends of it, behind my head.
I had no idea what she was trying to do, but I didn’t want any part of it. I was jerking against the cuffs, enough that they were making my wrists hurt, and making as much noise as I could, while trying to talk. The gag was effectively muffling and garbling all of my vocal efforts, however.
She came around in front of me, and sat in my lap. By the time I realized what she was doing, and started to try to kick, she already had her weight on my thighs. She sat with her back to me, and pulled her backpack around. I watched with shock, as she pulled a roll of thin rope out, and after pulling my ankles together, began to wind the rope in and around them, tying them together, before using the long remainder of the rope to wrap around the ottoman several times, securing them to it.
I can’t really say that I was all that scared, because after all she is my neighbor, but I was definitely concerned about what her intentions might be. She got up, and sat back down on the ottoman, spreading her legs across my ankles, still with her back to me, looking down at my bound feet.
I was making all kinds of noise, and struggling earnestly, but I stifled myself, when she started to speak, eager to hear what she had to say.
“Mama says you’ve been very busy lately. She said you must be working 80 hours a week, because she never sees your car here.”
I nodded. That was true. I had been spending most of the time at work, but I failed to see where she was going with this.
“Mama said I should try to cheer you up, and help you relax. I couldn’t think of anything better than this…”
This? What did she mean by ‘this’? I wanted to ask, but the cloth in my mouth made it all sound like senseless babble.
“So here we go.”
I squirmed, not knowing what to expect, but I didn’t have to wait long to find out. I felt her fingernails touch to my heels and pull up through my arches, past the balls of my feet, to the tips of my toes. Then she did it again. She kept doing it. She was tickling me!
My feet are very sensitive. Sometimes, I think the nerves were tampered with, in some sick experiment. Even with the socks on, each touch could was strongly felt. Someone who knew what they were doing could even make it tickle more, with socks on, than if they were off. Apparently, she knew what she was doing.
After a few moments of the soft fingernail raking, she added pressure to her strokes, so that her fingernails caught and snagged in the cotton, pulling the fabric against my skin. That doubled the attack, because now, not only were her nails tickling my feet, the fabric of the socks was following them and dragging along in the wake.
I didn’t want to laugh, because I know that’s what she wanted and expected. Well, she got what she wanted. It only took a moment for me to erupt into full forced laughter. I screamed in ticklish horror, as her fingernails worked were dragged up and down my helpless feet, pulling the socks little by little, as she went along.
I was laughing way too hard to even notice that with each upward pull, she was making sure to pull the socks a little more, and making sure that with the downward strokes, she didn’t cause any regression.
I knew what was going on, though, when I felt the last of the sock being pulled around the heel of my foot. I shook my head, wildly, screaming with laughter into the gag. The gag provided her desired effect, because I doubt anyone could have heard me, unless they were standing right outside the house.
She continued to monotonously pull her smooth tipped fingernails up and down my socked soles, each stroke getting shorter, as she gradually pulled the socks further up my feet. When it got to the point that my arches were bare, and the socks were scrunched up on the toes and balls of my feet, she changed her attack.
With spider wiggling fingernails, she dug into my arches, in a concentrated attempt to push me over the edge. If her goal was to drive me completely out of my mind, she was succeeding.
Within seconds, I was completely breathless, and red in the face, as noiseless cackles bellowed from my lungs, so forcefully, that when I managed to salvage a breath, it was accompanied by a deep heaving guffaw type sound, before it was thrust back out, in another wave of violent silent laughter.
After another minute or ten of this, the yanked my socks the rest of the way off, and got a thick rubber band out of her backpack. She wrapped it around my two big toes, several times, pulling them tightly together, and making it so that I couldn’t use one foot to protect the other. Then she grabbed the two big toes and pulled them back. I screeched and roared with high pitched giggles, as she began to drag her fingernails along the undersides of my toes, first hitting several at a time with her sprawled out fingernails, then focusing on one at a time, with near monotonous one fingernail rakes, up and down each stem.
When I thought for sure that I was going to pass out from lack of oxygen, she stopped and let me catch my breath. I tried to plead with my eyes, eager to get the gag out, and question her motives for this horrific assault. She could apparently read my mind and shook a finger at me, “No, no, no, Francie. No talking for you, until I’m done.”
Well, as little as it sounded like, there was hope in that statement. There was hope in the fact that she did intend to finish this at some point.
My eyes followed her, and I cringed with trepidation, as she circled around behind the chair. I tried to look up, but I couldn’t see her face. All I could see was the horrifying approach of her hands, as the reached down my shirt sleeves, and her fingers uncurled in my armpits. I was screaming before she even started, but it didn’t stop her.
She started to wiggle her fingernails against the smooth, sensitive skin of my armpits, and I started to go ballistic. I twisted and squirmed with every ounce of strength I could summon, but her hands were trapped inside my shirt, so they just moved with me.
Tears of laughter streamed down my face, and I was so red, that it probably paled my red hair color. All I could do, however, was laugh. I laughed loud and hard, high and low, noisily and silently. If she was trying to make me rest by exhausting me, first, she was going to be successful. I was just glad I’d stayed away from the coffee, or I’d be in need of a new cushion for the rocking chair.
Her fingers wandered up the backs of my arms, which didn’t tickle as much as when they were in the armpits, but I was so sensitized at this point, that I remained hysterical, even during the lighter teasing. After what seemed like an hour, she pulled her hands out of my shirt sleeves, and back out of sight. I kept looking up for them, so didn’t even see when she threaded them through the back slats of the rocking chair. I felt it when she shoved them up inside my shirt, though.
I roared with raspy, guttural guffaws, as she walked her fingers up and down my rib cage, and across my stomach. I sucked it in, tightening the muscles as much as I could, but I just couldn’t evade the probing fingers. In a surprise move, she reached up past my bra strap, pulling the shirt up with her, and slid her hands down through the bra strap, trapping her fingers against my ribs. I screamed holy terror, before she even started, but it didn’t stop her.
She dug into the spot, on my ribs, that the bra straps pinned her hands against, and she didn’t stop tickling that one spot for a long time. My mind was numb, by the time she stopped torturing that spot, and pulled her hands back away, again.
“Well,” she spoke again. “I think I’ve figured out where it’s the worst for you. So, to finish, I’m going to give you a good through tickling there.”
I watched with wide-eyed horror, still having spasms from an occasional giggle reflex, as she pranced back to the footrest, and sat back down on it. With my big toes held together, by the rubber band, my bare arches were a wide open target.
The laughter that followed can’t be described with words, as she used all ten fingernails to issue a five fingered attack on each arch, alternating between rapid up and down rakes, and slow walking spider scribbles. I though sure I was going to die, right there in that rocking chair. By the time she was done, I was so exhausted and so nerve wracked, that I couldn’t even lift my head to acknowledge her.
She untied my toes and ankles, then went around behind me and unlocked my wrists from the cuffs. She took the gag out, but I couldn’t have said anything if I wanted to. I would have stuttered so much, the words would never have come.
She helped me up, and walked me, on my jelly legs, into my bedroom, and laid me out on my bed.
“Now, you can relax, and get the sleep your body needs. I’ll be in here studying.”
I fell asleep and didn’t wake for eleven hours. She was long gone, when I woke, and I was glad.
