Tickle Me Softly ?/F

[swtday901]

I read this story a long time ago, and have never been able to find it since. It was one of the first tickling stories I've ever read, and the only one that really stuck with me for so long. Since I can't find it anywhere, I decided that the best thing to do is try to rewrite it as best as I can. Please let me know if you have the original story!


Tickle Me Softly

“Ouch!” Holly protested as the soft nylon rope tightened around her crossed wrists. I decided to use nylon, because I knew she'd be tied up for a while, and I wanted her to be comfortable for what I had planned. I pushed her over, face-down on the white leather couch beside us. Before she could get back up, I grabbed her kicking legs and quickly tied them together with another piece of rope. I then took a black ball gag out of my pocket, and placed it into her mouth just as she began to scream. I fastened the straps of the gag behind her head, and went back to the hands and feet to reinforce her make-shift bonds. Now that she was securely tied up, I picked up her bound feet, and slowly pulled them up toward her wrists. With a one-foot piece of rope, I tied her struggling wrists and ankles together into a nice, neat hogtie. I put my hand on the small of her back to completely immobilize her, and admired my work. She was completely helpless, making small whimpering noises beneath her gag. As I looked at her hogtied body, I noticed how absolutely gorgeous she was. She had dark blond hair, and the white ropes looked beautiful against her soft, lightly-tanned skin. Her legs were smooth, emerging from her tight cut-off jeans, and leading up her to perfectly-shaped ankles. She was wearing cute slip-on leather shoes, and I could only imagine what her feet looked like inside of them.
It was summer, so she had decided against wearing socks that day. I grabbed one of her shoes, and slowly took it off, revealing a soft, beautiful foot. It was small and clean, with gentle curves gliding elegantly toward her round, plump toes. The sole was slightly paler than the rest of her skin, and was flushed pink over the ball and the heel. As she curled her toes up, I noticed she had a french manicure on her toe nails, causing a glossy shine as they caught the fluorescent light. I slowly removed her other shoe, and took in the sight of her bound feet. I had always loved the way a girl's feet looked when they were tied together, and I gently placed my hand on her soles. They were soft and tender to the touch, smooth and warm from being in those shoes for so long. She flinched and let out a muffled squeal as I stroked downward toward her heel, and back up to her toes. I continued to lightly stroke her feet, just barely brushing my fingers against the soles, until they finally cooled down. I could tell she was ticklish, because every time I would move my fingers near the toes, she would tense up and try to suppress a squeal. I noticed that she had stopped whimpering under her gag, so I moved back to her head and told her I was going to take the gag out, and asked if she was going to scream again. She responded by looking up with a cute, angry stare, but eventually calmed down and shook her head no.
I unfastened the back of the ball gag, and pulled it out of her mouth. As soon as her mouth was free, however, she started to let out a scream again. I quickly dragged my fingers across her sole, instantly turning her scream into a burst of laughter. I continued to tickle her bare feet for several minutes, sliding my fingers up and down in loose circles across her squirming soles, sometimes moving up to her toes and lightly scratching in between them. She was laughing uncontrollably the entire time, and I noticed that there were tears streaming from her eyes. I stopped and asked her if she was going to scream again. After she stopped laughing and caught her breath, she gave out a weak, “no.” To reward her, I untied the rope connecting her wrists to her ankles, letting her bound legs fall slowly back down to the couch. She let out a sigh of pleasure, as she stretched out across the couch as far as her bonds would allow.
I sat down at her feet, placing her bound ankles in my lap. She asked me why I was doing this, and I warned her that the more questions she asked, the more I would tickle her. I then started to rub her feet with my hands, massaging them, and asked her if that felt good. She hesitated a moment, and replied in a slightly annoyed voice, “I guess.”
I then started to rub a little more firmly, slowly crossing from massaging to tickling. Soon she jerked, almost pulling her legs away from me. She turned her head to look at me and yelled, “Hey, that tickles!”
“I'm sorry,” I said, giving her a moment to relax, and get back into her laying position. I placed my hand back on her foot and began to tickle it very lightly. “Would you rather I tickle one of your feet lightly like this?” I asked, “or both of your feet hard, like I was before?”
“I don't know,” she said, acting like she didn't care.
“Ok, I guess I'll pick,” I said, as I ran my fingers down both of her feet as hard as I could. She shrieked with laughter. Her entire body jerked inside her ropes, I had to hold on to her legs to keep them from kicking up. As soon as she could speak again, she yelled, “Lightly!”
“Oh, so you'd rather me tickle just one foot lightly?” I asked, as I started gently stroking her sole.
“Yes,” she said angrily, without looking back. So I began to lightly tickling her, just barely gliding the tips of my fingers across her soft foot. Neither of us spoke for several minutes, but I noticed that every so often, she would stretch her arms a little, testing the ropes on her wrists. After a while, I slowly started to tickle her harder and harder, until finally I got a reaction.
“Hey, you were supposed to be tickling softly, remember?” she said, trying to sound angry.
“Sorry,” I said, “you'll have to remind me every once in a while or I'll forget. Just say 'tickle my foot softly' if I start tickling too hard, ok?”
“Ok, whatever.” she said, and I continued to lightly graze the sole of her beautiful foot. As the minutes went by, however, I intentionally began tickling her just slightly harder, until finally she said in a cute angry voice, “Tickle my foot softly!” and I went back to tickling her softly. This went on for a while, and every ten minutes or so, I would hear from the other end of the couch, “Tickle my foot softly,” each time sounding more and more relaxed. Soon, she started saying it before I even got to the rough tickling.
“You know,” I suggested, “you don't have to say 'my foot' anymore, you could probably just say 'Tickle me softly' instead.”
She didn't respond. I continued to lightly stroke her feet, and before long, I heard her say in a relaxed,comfortable voice, “Tickle me softly.”
She started saying it more and more often, only waiting two or three minutes between each time, never letting me get to the hard tickling. I could hear her breathing heavily, and she hadn't moved at all for several minutes. I would have thought she had fallen asleep, if not for her saying, “Tickle me softly” every few minutes. Her voice was sounding much more relaxed now, almost sexual. I could tell she was starting to enjoy it.
“Tickle me softly...”
“Tickle me softly...”
I continued to gently stroke her foot, feeling it with the backs of my fingers as I would go down, and brushing with the tips as I would go up, almost massaging it at some points. She started to let out soft moans every once in a while, and squirmed a little in her bonds. She probably almost forgot that she was tied up. This must have went on for a few hours, and eventually I noticed that she had stopped saying, “Tickle me softly.” I got up, and saw that she had fallen asleep. I decided to let her sleep. I left a pair of scissors on the table across the room, leaving her tied up on the couch.

 

[tcklshboy1]

The Couch Trip

"OW!" Holly protests as I cinch the cotton rope around her
crossed wrists. She struggles fiercely, twisting this way and that to
bring her bound hands from behind her back while simultaneously
turning to face me. I topple her to the sofa with an unexpected push,
then set about capturing her wildly kicking legs. Her calves pinned
against my ribcage with one arm, I loop the rope quickly around her
narrow ankles, securing them together with an impromptu slipknot.
"Let me go now or I'll scream!" she threatens. Heedless, I lift
her bound legs onto the sofa and use them as a handle for flipping
her roughly onto her stomach. She makes good, letting out a
plaintive, desperate cry that no doubt reverberates around the
empty building impressively. I allow her to exhaust her breath
while I reinforce her hastily-tied bonds with additional rope, then
stuff my handkerchief into her open mouth to silence her.
Holly's predicament worsens quickly as I bend her knees
backward and stretch a one-foot length of the cotton rope between
her bound ankles and the bonds around her wrists. She renews her
struggles, but my superior leverage and the steadily-tightening grasp
of the hogtie soon combine to wrap her into a snug, neatly helpless
package. With one hand on the small of her back, I am easily able to
keep her virtually motionless.
Her soft leather shoes slide off without hindrance. In the
unseasonably warm weather she has decided against wearing socks,
and as I secure her big toes together with a short piece of twine from
my pocket I admire the pleasant, soft curves of her bare feet. They
are as slender as she, arched gently, with second toes not quite equal
in length to their larger inside neighbors. The nails are smooth, even
and unpainted, the soles a pale pink a shade deeper than the palms
of her hands.
I test their softness and sensitivity with a fingertip, tracing a
smooth curve along her right sole from toes along the arch and back
up the instep. Holly yelps through her gag and jerks once, hard,
against her bonds. I repeat the motion, this time with the back of
one fingernail, and am rewarded by a stronger convulsion and a
sharp, muffled squeal. Pleased, I firmly grip the ropes securing her
ankles with my left hand, and with my right apply the single
fingernail again, this time tracing a figure eight from the toes of her
right foot down the instep, across both arches, along the toes of the
left foot, down the left instep and back. She wails miserably behind
her makeshift gag and squirms fitfully, obviously deeply affected.
Preliminaries done, I set about tickling her in earnest. The heel
of my right hand against her left instep, I curl my fingers over her
foot and wiggle them gently against the arch and flat, the tips just
brushing her skin. More plaintive noises and fruitless struggles,
these more vigourous than the last, tell me that I've found a weak
spot, and I exploit it mercilessly. Applying just a hint more pressure,
my fingers move back and forth across both soles, lightly dusting
from instep to instep, but focusing on the inner arches. Ankles
flexing wildly, Holly bucks and writhes in time with my movements,
her voiceless pleas and threats giving way to deep, throaty giggles.
Her initial outrage and fear now overcome by a reflex forgotten
since childhood, my captive wriggles impotently in her bonds,
bleating with helpless laughter. I watch with amusement and delight
as her slender, clever fingers tear at the deceptive softness of the
cotton rope, desperately seeking a weak spot or an improperly-tied
knot. Her proud, haughy face, so often turned my way with a sneer
or a feigned grimace now twists and contorts with forced hilarity,
pert nostrils flaring, eyes streaming with involuntary tears.
The double effort of fighting for both freedom and breath
quickly tires her; her struggles grow so weak that I no longer need to
grip the ropes to keep her still. Flanks heaving with effort, Holly
seeks to muster enough wind to renew her struggles, but my bag of
tricks is deeper than she anticipates, and I steal each hard-won
breath with some new outrage performed against the soles of her
feet. I vary my technique every time she quiets even slightly: first
stroking, then gently scratching, then applying firm, deep pressures
at rapid intervals. I keep her at a fever pitch, torturing pitilessly, for
several long, satisfying minutes, her muffled screams and howls a
testament both to her hidden vulnerability and my skill.
Only when her face flushes the deep red of near-
hyperventilation and glistens with perspiration do I show mercy. I
remove my sodden handerchief from her mouth with the admonition
"Not a sound, or I'll start all over!" For nearly two minutes Holly is
unable to speak, her breath coming in hard, wheezing gasps, but
then, as expected, she shrieks lustily for help. I carry out my
warning, reapplying my fingertips to her soles for a ten-second
reminder of the state of her predicament. Holly squeals loudly in
protest, but her breath begins to fail again almost immediately.
When I remove my hands from her feet again, she remains quiet.
"You may speak quietly," I tell my captive. "Anything more,
and you get it again for another ten minutes."
"Let me GO!" Holly hisses from between clenched teeth, then
yelps apologetically as the fingers of my right hand kiss the
smoothness of her arches for a lingering thirty seconds. I replay
only the highlights of her earlier ordeal, but her cries make it clear
that the lesson is understood. When she speaks again, her voice is a
childlike whimper, contrite and yielding.
"Please let me go," she begs, head and shoulders twisting about
as she tries to make eye contact.
"Head down," I command, and tickle her again briefly for
emphasis. "Eyes closed." She complies immediately on both counts,
resting her right cheek against the sofa cushions and screwing her
eyes closed almost comically tightly. I rest my right hand gently
across the paired soles of her feet, drawing a wince, and then trace
my fingers lightly along the entire width of her right sole.
"Please stop," Holly pleads uncomfortably, squirming. I repeat
the motion, more slowly, flowing my fingertips with gentle ease from
toes to heel and back again, avoiding the inner arches with all but
the most gossamer of touches.
"Relax," I command. "Go limp."
"I can't" Holly whines, the merest ghost of a smile beginning to
tug at the corners of her mouth.
"Yes, you can," I encourage her. "Just relax and lie perfectly
still."
"You're tickling me" she protests, wriggling. The smile flickers
teasingly across her face; she strains to banish it.
"Yes, but the harder you resist, the harder I'm going to do it." I
apply just the faintest degree of additional pressure to her arches on
the next pass, and the first reluctant giggle fights its way past her
resolve. "Just relax and I won't do it any harder than this. Try to
relax. Just try, and I won't tickle you hard."
The smile steals its way across her flushed face in an
unguarded instant, and with it comes a trace of coquettish
resignation. Her resistance diminishes with every gentle stroke as
she honestly, earnestly begins to surrender herself to the sensations
coursing through her weary body. Holly succumbs to the giggles
willingly, buying insurance against a repeat of the evening's earlier
tortures by finding pleasure in a watered-down version. Her face is
impish, playful in its acceptance of an indignity which a mere hour
before she would have fought against with all her strength.
As a reward for her efforts, I untie the rope connecting her
wrists and ankles, and let her legs stretch out flat on the sofa. She
twists slightly, trying to get a look at what I'm doing, but returns to
her prone position in a moment with the familiar command "Head
down. Eyes closed." I seat myself on the sofa and gather her bound
ankles into my lap, covering them with my right leg as I do so. This
leaves the tops of her feet pressed firmly against my left thigh, soles
exposed, both ankles pinned under my right thigh. I resume
stroking her until I hear warm giggles again, and then prepare to
deepen her involvement in her own helplessness.
"Which foot do you want me to tickle?" I ask pleasantly while
spreading the fingers of both hands to stroke both her soles evenly.
Holly understands the default choice, "Both of them," well
enough, but whimpers "Neither" nevertheless. I make the choice
explicit by applying a bit more pressure to her arches and repeating
"Which?"
"Right," she yelps, and I oblige, resuming the gentler stroking
over only her right sole until she twitches and titters softly. I draw
elaborate swirls over her smooth skin, encroaching steadily over the
arch and enjoying her weak, involuntary struggles and the rich
warmth of her laughter as the intensity of the sensations I give her
increases. I tickle just short of her point of tolerance before I speak
again.
"Do you like having your right foot tickled like this?" I ask her,
adding just a whisper of additional pressure for emphasis.
"NO" she spits back, her giggles making the act of defiance
pathetically comic.
"Oh," I reply, my attentions already shifting to her left inner
arch, "you must like having your left foot tickled like this!" The
tickling is now quicker, firmer, and she resists in earnest for the first
time since our agreement. "Which way do you like being tickled,
Holly? Like this, or like before on your right foot?"
"Right," she squeaks, demanding the gentler touch, but I persist
in tickling her left foot with increasing gusto until I get the answer I
want.
"Where do you like to be tickled, Holly?" I ask innocently.
"Right! Right!"
"You want me to tickle your right foot, is that it?" I reduce the
pressure on her left foot only slightly.
"Yes!"
"Well, then, ask me to tickle your right foot."
Confused and desperate, Holly gives in. "Tickle my right foot!"
she shrieks. I shift my fingers back to her right sole, zeroing in at
once on the tender arch with the same force and frequency I have
been using on its mate.
"Like this," I demand, all playfulness gone from my voice for a
moment, "or gently, like before?"
"Gently!" Holly pleads, her voice tinged now with the same
contrite tone I wrung from her earlier with this treatment.
"Gently on both feet, or hard on one foot?"
"Gently! Gentle, please!"
"Gently on both feet?" I ask again, emphasizing the choice more
carefully, "or hard on one foot?"
"Gently!"
"Ask me to tickle both your feet gently, then." The trap is now
set; all that remains is for her own confusion to spring it.
"Tickle gen . . . . Tickle both gently!" she manages.
I cease tickling altogether for a minute, allowing Holly to catch
her flagging breath again. When I reapply my fingers, she squeals
loudly, and I am forced to stop again and repeat our earlier
negotiation, beseeching her to relax. It takes several minutes before
she can bear even a gentle heel-to-toe brushing, but I am pleased to
find her more sensitive (and more bubbly) than ever once she calms
herself.
"I'll keep tickling gently as long as you remind me to," I
whisper after a long, mirthful interlude of tickling tenderly behind
her toes. "I'll tickle hard if you don't remember to say 'Tickle my
feet gently' every minute or so."
"Tickle my feet gently," she replies at once, voice brimming
with giggles from somewhere deep in her chest. We make a game of
it over the next few minutes, Holly blurting out "Tickle my feet
gently!" each time I attempt to quicken the movements of my fingers
or change their now-familiar course across her sensitized soles. Her
giggles slowly lose the anxious tinge that has characterized them up
to now and, save for the occasional twitch when I stroke some
unsuspected sensitive spot, her struggles lessen and finally cease
outright. "Tickle my feet gently," comes more quietly and less
frequently, and Holly's voice takes on a dreamy, faraway quality as
relaxation slowly comes.
"You don't have to keep saying the 'gently' part" I whisper
after she has grown completely still. For several seconds no reply
comes, and I am just beginning to suspect she has fallen asleep when
she murmurs "Tickle my feet" softly. I allow her to fade gently
away, gradually reducing the frequency and the force of my touch,
resuming the more insistent tickling only when she fails to whisper
her litany every few minutes. Holly jerks almost completely back to
awareness the first time I have to remind her, but returns almost
immediately to her sleepy, relaxed daydream after the magic words
have been said.
When I am sure that the words have ceased to register
consciously in her mind, I begin stepping up the tickling again.
Initially, she doesn't respond, her mind still drifting somewhere far
away from her tired body. I build the intensity of the stimulation
quickly, returning to the earlier swirling, teasing motion over her
arches. Holly twitches, and mumbles "Tickle my feet" drowsily and
with more than a hint of annoyance. I take her at her word,
scrabbling my fingers from insteps to inner arches and back as I did
initially. "Tickle my feet," she repeats, her voice now colored with a
hint of anxiety. I continue, tickling faster and focusing on the
sensitive spots along her inner arches and behind her toes. She
shrieks, struggling furiously once again as I reapply the techniques
that proved so effective in wearing her down earlier. Disoriented
and inarticulate with sudden, forced laughter, she cries out "Tickle
my feet!" again and again, the words spilling from her mouth without
comprehension.
Her earlier ordeal is nothing compared to what I inflict on her
over the next several minutes. I make her literally scream with
laughter, her body heaving and jerking in its bonds as I stroke,
caress and scratch the soles of her feet. Firm pressures delivered
quickly with the thumbs just inside the insteps prove agonizing, and
I apply them without cease for nearly two minutes. The soft
undersides of her toes prove equally vulnerable to this treatment; I
press and squeeze vigorously to an accompaniment of hysterical,
inarticulate laughter. My fingers wring every breath from her lungs
and wrack her exhausted body with convulsions of irresistible
strength, and still I torment her. On and on, I continue without
mercy, teasing her with momentary respites before continuing with
greater intensity than before, until finally she can muster no more
breath and I am forced to stop lest she hyperventilate and fall
unconcious.

 

[swtday901]

Yes, thank you!