Hi. This is the 2nd episode of tickling a character, Diane. I hope you enjoy.
Of course, the first thing one noticed about Diane was her appearance. She had a face a lot like a young Lynda Carter, but with long, wavy, “dirty” blond hair. Diane stood almost 6’ tall barefoot. Her measurements were 34-22-33. Her breasts were very large and round, however, and her thin frame made her all-natural double-E cup bosom stand out all the more. In fact, to see Diane meant you would notice her bosom. With every step, every breath and every laugh, Diane’s breasts danced and vibrated. Diane also had a tendency to wear very tight clothing that highlighted her curvaceous figure and athletic frame.
When Diane took her dance class in the gym, the world practically stopped. She danced with a sexy skill and energy essentially unmatched. Had Carmen Electra and Diane been dancing next to each other, nobody would have noticed Carmen. Diane’s extreme combination of beauty, athletic skill and well-formed, mobile breasts the size of basketballs could stop traffic, end workouts and drew an audience wherever she went and whenever she danced. Her clothing choice, in this case a white, sweat-soaked sports bra and Lycra shorts only increased the attention she drew. From men, it was a pure ogling. From Jenny, Tara and Rita, all married women, it drew jealousy and rage.
“EEEEE! NO! DON’T DO THAT!”
Jenny had just squeezed Diane’s sides. The four women stood together in the locker room. After that size squeeze, Diane jumped about 10 inches into the air. Jenny knew something few others did about Diane: Diane was unbearably ticklish.
“You’ve never really been tickled by another woman, have you?”
True enough. Diane had been tickled a lot over her 28 years, but only by men. Diane was a combination guaranteed to land her in trouble: drop-dead gorgeous, extremely busty and deathly, deathly ticklish. But men had always been the ones to tickle her. The thought of being tickled by another woman was very scary. Men usually just grabbed at her sensitive spots. A woman might know how best to tickle those spots.
“No! Jenny, don’t tickle me! It isn’t fair!”
“It isn’t fair that our husbands are mesmerized by you either! I think we’re all tired of your little shows” Jenny was quite serious.
“I can’t help how I look! EEEEE!” Jenny raked Diane’s belly, with just one finger.
“You can’t help how ticklish you are, either! Now, maybe you should start dressing a little more conservatively!”
“You can’t do this to me, it’s torture!”
Rita, a very attractive Latina, agreed. “Oh, I know, believe me. But it just happens that I’m not ticklish. Tara is not ticklish and Jenny is only a little ticklish in her sides. But you…” Rita put her finger in Diane’s bellybutton. Diane screamed like she’d been stabbed.
“I know you’ve been tickled, but sister, I’m am going to tickle you like you’ve never been tickled before. “Ooh, I know all your ticklish spots!” Jenny ran a finger across the side of Diane’s voluminous left breast. Diane shrieked. She knew what was coming and started to cry.
Diane hated tickling. It made her extremely angry, mainly because she was too sensitive. She was terribly embarrassed by how ticklish she was and hated having it exploited. Diane doubled over and extended her arms to prevent any tickling. “Please Jenny, no! You know what will happen…”
“Yes I do, and I know just how to tickle you. Nobody can tickle a woman like…another woman…and there are three of us…”
Diane thought she could actually be tickled to death. She had inherited her ticklishness from her father, and thought of all the times she’d seen him tickled into oblivion. She screamed with fear and rage. “NO JENNY! DON’T! NO!” Diane swatted at Jenny’s hands.
“Diane, do you remember how badly Carmen Electra got tickled on the Howard Stern show?”
Diane did. She’d happened to see that episode. “No, you wouldn’t! Not my feet!”
“Oh, we’ll get to your feet, after a little while. Cootchie coo!”
Diane had many good characteristics. Friendly, pretty, truly a nice person who didn’t really understand how her body affected others. If she had a bad characteristic, it was her lack of intelligence. Perhaps she could have talked her way out of this tickling, but language was not her strong suit.
“I don’t think Diane is ever going to wear a tight top after this, do you Tara?”
Tara and Rita held Diane’s arms while Jenny raked the beautiful woman’s belly. Diane’s laughter was extremely hard. Her basketball-sized breasts quaked with each burst of laughter. Every fingernail scraping Diane’s tanned, lean belly caused a tremendous muscular contraction. Diane tossed her head violently. Her stunning face immediately flushed. Diane’s laughter was as wild as she was beautiful.
“OH HEE HEE HEE HEE HEE! OH HEE HEE HEE HEE! OH HEE HEE HEE HEE!”
Jenny knew exactly what would happen to Diane if Diane got tickled enough. She’d seen it firsthand just last week. Diane would eventually wet her pants, and it could happen very quickly. If somebody could truly be described as being too ticklish, Diane was it.
Jenny pinched Diane’s sides. She did so very gently, using a feminine touch that devastated Diane. Diane jerked, screamed and kicked her legs, but could not get away from Tara or Rita. She’d only been tickled for a few seconds, and already her face was damp with tears and sweat. Diane wished she had not just finished 24 ounces of Gatorade…
“No, Jenny, and I’m pretty sure she won’t wear those tight pants anymore either. Right Diane?”
Jenny stopped tickling. Diane wheezed and gasped, and was very mad. Tickling was pure torture to Diane, but it made her very, very angry.
“NO! DAMN IT! STOP! EEEE!” Jenny poked Diane’s ribs. The strangest part was how quickly Diane could go from blinding rage to a screaming, laughing and jiggling mess. All it took was a finger.
“Why don’t you tell us about it, Diane? If you do, maybe we’ll quit”
“You’re going to make me pee…OH HEE HEE HEE! HEE HEE HEE HEE HEE!” Tara and Rita had each rubbed a finger into the spot just above Diane’s hips. Rita had lied earlier: she very ticklish, but only in that spot and figured it would kill Diane.
Diane was red-faced and in tears. “F* you…EEEEE!” Jenny poked the sides of Diane’s breasts. Jenny learned last week that Diane was frighteningly ticklish on the sides of her bosom. Still, Diane’s feet had not been touched. After the breast-tickle, Diane was livid.
“STOP IT! STOP IT! NOT THERE! DON’T DO THAT TO ME! I HATE YOU EEEEEEEE!”
Tara had just stroked Diane’s lower back. Jenny wiggled her fingers into Diane’s armpits. Diane looked like she wanted to die. The beautiful, busty woman shook with tormented energy. She writhed wildly, breasts bouncing everywhere.
“OH HEE HEE HEE HEE HEE! OH HEE HEE HEE HEE HEE! OH HEE HEE HEE!”
Diane’s legs were unusually long, with a 36” inseam. Diane also had very ticklish knees and thighs. If anybody with whom she worked knew she was this ticklish, she might never live it down. Jenny squeezed Diane’s knees and Diane fell to the floor. Tara and Rita easily let her go.
“Hold her ankles, ladies”. Jenny knew just how ticklish Diane’s feet were. Tara and Rita grabbed Diane’s ankles, but poked her breasts for good measure. Diane was a bit proud of her breasts. After all, how many women were shaped as she was. On the other hand, she was miserably embarrassed that the sides of her breasts were so ticklish. Tara and Rita had just run fingers across Diane’s bobbling bosom for a second or two. The tickle response was so severe that Diane’s face contorted. Her eyes shut, her mouth opened wide. Diane felt a little bit of urine pass. For just a second, the tickling stopped.
“Not my feet…” she begged.
At this point, Diane had what could best be called a panic attack. The skin on Diane’s soles was unusually thin. One could see the veins running through her arches. Diane knew, and Jenny had learned, that it only took a few seconds of foot-tickling before Diane would lose bladder control. She screamed in a very loud, high-pitched voice.
“NO! NO! NO! PLEASE DON’T DO IT! DON’T TICKLE MY FEET!”
Lots of people heard Diane’s shouting from the locker room. Most of the men wished they could watch.
“God, that woman is so hot”.
“You know she used to be a Chargers cheerleader?”
“Her husband sure is lucky”.
“I’d like to be the one tickling her”
Most of the women were glad she was getting it.
“Is that Diane? She must be extremely ticklish”.
“She’s dumb as a rock. All the men here go nuts over her, just because she’s pretty”.
“Those breasts can’t be real”
“A friend of mine is her doctor. He says they are, but she’s actually ticklish on her boobs!”.
“She sounds like she’s dying!”
“I would die if anybody tickled me like that”.
Diane was terrified of having her feet tickled. As a child, Diane’s brother would sit on her legs and tickle her feet for minutes on end, even after she lost bladder control. Various boyfriends had tormented her feet. Her husband knew Diane would melt if he just put a finger on her soles.
“Ok, if you two squeeze her knees, I’ll do both feet. That’s bound to finish her.”
Diane was crying, but the second she felt those fingernails brush her arches she screamed and laughed. Her body twisted and writhed. Her melon-like breasts jiggled wildly, barely contained by her sports bra. Sure, Diane was laughing, but her facial expression was a horrible grimace. How many times in her life had her feet been tickled? Her knees and thighs? It was sheer agony.
It did. Diane peed the second her arches were stroked. The women kept tickling her. It wasn’t until the gym attendant finally stopped the affair that Diane had a reprieve. As she left the gym, she was greeted with rounds of applause.
Of course, the first thing one noticed about Diane was her appearance. She had a face a lot like a young Lynda Carter, but with long, wavy, “dirty” blond hair. Diane stood almost 6’ tall barefoot. Her measurements were 34-22-33. Her breasts were very large and round, however, and her thin frame made her all-natural double-E cup bosom stand out all the more. In fact, to see Diane meant you would notice her bosom. With every step, every breath and every laugh, Diane’s breasts danced and vibrated. Diane also had a tendency to wear very tight clothing that highlighted her curvaceous figure and athletic frame.
When Diane took her dance class in the gym, the world practically stopped. She danced with a sexy skill and energy essentially unmatched. Had Carmen Electra and Diane been dancing next to each other, nobody would have noticed Carmen. Diane’s extreme combination of beauty, athletic skill and well-formed, mobile breasts the size of basketballs could stop traffic, end workouts and drew an audience wherever she went and whenever she danced. Her clothing choice, in this case a white, sweat-soaked sports bra and Lycra shorts only increased the attention she drew. From men, it was a pure ogling. From Jenny, Tara and Rita, all married women, it drew jealousy and rage.
“EEEEE! NO! DON’T DO THAT!”
Jenny had just squeezed Diane’s sides. The four women stood together in the locker room. After that size squeeze, Diane jumped about 10 inches into the air. Jenny knew something few others did about Diane: Diane was unbearably ticklish.
“You’ve never really been tickled by another woman, have you?”
True enough. Diane had been tickled a lot over her 28 years, but only by men. Diane was a combination guaranteed to land her in trouble: drop-dead gorgeous, extremely busty and deathly, deathly ticklish. But men had always been the ones to tickle her. The thought of being tickled by another woman was very scary. Men usually just grabbed at her sensitive spots. A woman might know how best to tickle those spots.
“No! Jenny, don’t tickle me! It isn’t fair!”
“It isn’t fair that our husbands are mesmerized by you either! I think we’re all tired of your little shows” Jenny was quite serious.
“I can’t help how I look! EEEEE!” Jenny raked Diane’s belly, with just one finger.
“You can’t help how ticklish you are, either! Now, maybe you should start dressing a little more conservatively!”
“You can’t do this to me, it’s torture!”
Rita, a very attractive Latina, agreed. “Oh, I know, believe me. But it just happens that I’m not ticklish. Tara is not ticklish and Jenny is only a little ticklish in her sides. But you…” Rita put her finger in Diane’s bellybutton. Diane screamed like she’d been stabbed.
“I know you’ve been tickled, but sister, I’m am going to tickle you like you’ve never been tickled before. “Ooh, I know all your ticklish spots!” Jenny ran a finger across the side of Diane’s voluminous left breast. Diane shrieked. She knew what was coming and started to cry.
Diane hated tickling. It made her extremely angry, mainly because she was too sensitive. She was terribly embarrassed by how ticklish she was and hated having it exploited. Diane doubled over and extended her arms to prevent any tickling. “Please Jenny, no! You know what will happen…”
“Yes I do, and I know just how to tickle you. Nobody can tickle a woman like…another woman…and there are three of us…”
Diane thought she could actually be tickled to death. She had inherited her ticklishness from her father, and thought of all the times she’d seen him tickled into oblivion. She screamed with fear and rage. “NO JENNY! DON’T! NO!” Diane swatted at Jenny’s hands.
“Diane, do you remember how badly Carmen Electra got tickled on the Howard Stern show?”
Diane did. She’d happened to see that episode. “No, you wouldn’t! Not my feet!”
“Oh, we’ll get to your feet, after a little while. Cootchie coo!”
Diane had many good characteristics. Friendly, pretty, truly a nice person who didn’t really understand how her body affected others. If she had a bad characteristic, it was her lack of intelligence. Perhaps she could have talked her way out of this tickling, but language was not her strong suit.
“I don’t think Diane is ever going to wear a tight top after this, do you Tara?”
Tara and Rita held Diane’s arms while Jenny raked the beautiful woman’s belly. Diane’s laughter was extremely hard. Her basketball-sized breasts quaked with each burst of laughter. Every fingernail scraping Diane’s tanned, lean belly caused a tremendous muscular contraction. Diane tossed her head violently. Her stunning face immediately flushed. Diane’s laughter was as wild as she was beautiful.
“OH HEE HEE HEE HEE HEE! OH HEE HEE HEE HEE! OH HEE HEE HEE HEE!”
Jenny knew exactly what would happen to Diane if Diane got tickled enough. She’d seen it firsthand just last week. Diane would eventually wet her pants, and it could happen very quickly. If somebody could truly be described as being too ticklish, Diane was it.
Jenny pinched Diane’s sides. She did so very gently, using a feminine touch that devastated Diane. Diane jerked, screamed and kicked her legs, but could not get away from Tara or Rita. She’d only been tickled for a few seconds, and already her face was damp with tears and sweat. Diane wished she had not just finished 24 ounces of Gatorade…
“No, Jenny, and I’m pretty sure she won’t wear those tight pants anymore either. Right Diane?”
Jenny stopped tickling. Diane wheezed and gasped, and was very mad. Tickling was pure torture to Diane, but it made her very, very angry.
“NO! DAMN IT! STOP! EEEE!” Jenny poked Diane’s ribs. The strangest part was how quickly Diane could go from blinding rage to a screaming, laughing and jiggling mess. All it took was a finger.
“Why don’t you tell us about it, Diane? If you do, maybe we’ll quit”
“You’re going to make me pee…OH HEE HEE HEE! HEE HEE HEE HEE HEE!” Tara and Rita had each rubbed a finger into the spot just above Diane’s hips. Rita had lied earlier: she very ticklish, but only in that spot and figured it would kill Diane.
Diane was red-faced and in tears. “F* you…EEEEE!” Jenny poked the sides of Diane’s breasts. Jenny learned last week that Diane was frighteningly ticklish on the sides of her bosom. Still, Diane’s feet had not been touched. After the breast-tickle, Diane was livid.
“STOP IT! STOP IT! NOT THERE! DON’T DO THAT TO ME! I HATE YOU EEEEEEEE!”
Tara had just stroked Diane’s lower back. Jenny wiggled her fingers into Diane’s armpits. Diane looked like she wanted to die. The beautiful, busty woman shook with tormented energy. She writhed wildly, breasts bouncing everywhere.
“OH HEE HEE HEE HEE HEE! OH HEE HEE HEE HEE HEE! OH HEE HEE HEE!”
Diane’s legs were unusually long, with a 36” inseam. Diane also had very ticklish knees and thighs. If anybody with whom she worked knew she was this ticklish, she might never live it down. Jenny squeezed Diane’s knees and Diane fell to the floor. Tara and Rita easily let her go.
“Hold her ankles, ladies”. Jenny knew just how ticklish Diane’s feet were. Tara and Rita grabbed Diane’s ankles, but poked her breasts for good measure. Diane was a bit proud of her breasts. After all, how many women were shaped as she was. On the other hand, she was miserably embarrassed that the sides of her breasts were so ticklish. Tara and Rita had just run fingers across Diane’s bobbling bosom for a second or two. The tickle response was so severe that Diane’s face contorted. Her eyes shut, her mouth opened wide. Diane felt a little bit of urine pass. For just a second, the tickling stopped.
“Not my feet…” she begged.
At this point, Diane had what could best be called a panic attack. The skin on Diane’s soles was unusually thin. One could see the veins running through her arches. Diane knew, and Jenny had learned, that it only took a few seconds of foot-tickling before Diane would lose bladder control. She screamed in a very loud, high-pitched voice.
“NO! NO! NO! PLEASE DON’T DO IT! DON’T TICKLE MY FEET!”
Lots of people heard Diane’s shouting from the locker room. Most of the men wished they could watch.
“God, that woman is so hot”.
“You know she used to be a Chargers cheerleader?”
“Her husband sure is lucky”.
“I’d like to be the one tickling her”
Most of the women were glad she was getting it.
“Is that Diane? She must be extremely ticklish”.
“She’s dumb as a rock. All the men here go nuts over her, just because she’s pretty”.
“Those breasts can’t be real”
“A friend of mine is her doctor. He says they are, but she’s actually ticklish on her boobs!”.
“She sounds like she’s dying!”
“I would die if anybody tickled me like that”.
Diane was terrified of having her feet tickled. As a child, Diane’s brother would sit on her legs and tickle her feet for minutes on end, even after she lost bladder control. Various boyfriends had tormented her feet. Her husband knew Diane would melt if he just put a finger on her soles.
“Ok, if you two squeeze her knees, I’ll do both feet. That’s bound to finish her.”
Diane was crying, but the second she felt those fingernails brush her arches she screamed and laughed. Her body twisted and writhed. Her melon-like breasts jiggled wildly, barely contained by her sports bra. Sure, Diane was laughing, but her facial expression was a horrible grimace. How many times in her life had her feet been tickled? Her knees and thighs? It was sheer agony.
It did. Diane peed the second her arches were stroked. The women kept tickling her. It wasn’t until the gym attendant finally stopped the affair that Diane had a reprieve. As she left the gym, she was greeted with rounds of applause.
