MsZahraTickler
Registered User
- Joined
- Jul 19, 2007
- Messages
- 7
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Isn't it truly charming, how delicate some people are, despite their appearance?
It had been a week since I had tickled someone beyond all endurance, a Polish student with bisexual curiosities. She had been nervous, trembling, and easily relaxed by my calming manner. 2 hours later she was a babbling wreck, but a happy one.
So when the opportunity arose to tickle a man in his mid thirties, I was unlikely to refuse. He was very tall,very well built, and extremely masculine. He loomed over me by a long way and made me feel distinctly tiny.
The balance was redressed once he was in tight bondage, his bare feet soles up, a pillow case helping to gag him. He had requested foot tickling for an hour, and had made it clear that no matter what happened within that hour, I was to keep tickling regardless, absoloutely no safewords. He seemed serious, and as a dedicated sadist, who was I to argue?
After only a few moments of "priming" his large bare feet with feathers, dusters and other such gentle items, it became clear that despite his size, the man was as ticklish as the student girl I had tortured last week, if not more so. He squealed when the feathers ran between his toes, cringed when his heels were brushed and twitched violently when I touched his soles. I felt almost cruel informing him that this was the beginning, the easy part, and he still had over 50 minutes to go. Luckily I am not affected by conscience, and I carried on.
The man had, in his emails to me previously, made it clear that fingernails or any form of severe tickling upon his bare soles was so dreadfully ticklish to him that it was as pain. Of course, once tied and proving himself to be a hundred times more sensitive than I had imagined, he was mine to torture as I wished.
I took my time securing his toes so that the bare soles were stretched tightly and that he was unable to curl them or defend himself. I made sure it was comfortable yet highly restrictive. This simple act alone had my victim whimpering, wriggling and demanding to know what I was planning to do. Of course, being an obliging sort, I informed him in full, explicit, drawn out detail. The poor man was giggling and begging my mercy from my words alone.
By the time I had smeared his twitching bare soles in lubricant, he was flat out hysterical. Had I retained any shred of sympathy for ticklish victims, I'm sure I would have stopped then and there. Luckily, I don't have this draw back.
I began raking my long, manicured fingernails from the heels of his feet to under the toes, firmly and slowly. the sounds he was making were by now inhuman, but I was simply doing my job, and he still had over 30 minutes left to endure.
I spent a good few moments scratching his heels until his voice sounded like that of a young girls, before using my nail tips to draw intricately cruel designs upon his arches.
Holding his toes apart, I explored the itchingly sensitive spaces between them with my fingernails until there was no sound from the bed, and only the shaking, twitching, sweating body assured me he was still appreciating my efforts.
I took delight in using a stiff hairbrush to drag in firm circles over the balls of his feet, watching his tied toes desperately try to curl inwards. I scrubbed every inch of his slick, pink soles with the brush whilst taunting him in a hushed whisper, aware of the beauty of the situation; a man of over 6'3 begging for death from a woman of less than 5'6, armed with fingernails and a hairbrush.
When my victim had only 10 minutes left and his screams were hoarse and growing more infrequent, I rearranged myself into a more comfortable position and fingernail tickled the cringing soles, tops and sides of his bare feet without any shred of mercy. Soft scratches, firm raking, nothing was left out as I focused on wrenching every last agonised shriek from him as possible.
As I prepared to leave, he paid tribute to me with tears streaking his tanned face, and hiding his crotch behind a pillow (whether due to wetting himself or enjoying himself, I'll never know.).
He only said one thing as I left, in a hoarse whisper that brought a smile to my lips to last until the next morning.
"Same again on the 30th?"
~~~~ MsZahraTickler~~~~
It had been a week since I had tickled someone beyond all endurance, a Polish student with bisexual curiosities. She had been nervous, trembling, and easily relaxed by my calming manner. 2 hours later she was a babbling wreck, but a happy one.
So when the opportunity arose to tickle a man in his mid thirties, I was unlikely to refuse. He was very tall,very well built, and extremely masculine. He loomed over me by a long way and made me feel distinctly tiny.
The balance was redressed once he was in tight bondage, his bare feet soles up, a pillow case helping to gag him. He had requested foot tickling for an hour, and had made it clear that no matter what happened within that hour, I was to keep tickling regardless, absoloutely no safewords. He seemed serious, and as a dedicated sadist, who was I to argue?
After only a few moments of "priming" his large bare feet with feathers, dusters and other such gentle items, it became clear that despite his size, the man was as ticklish as the student girl I had tortured last week, if not more so. He squealed when the feathers ran between his toes, cringed when his heels were brushed and twitched violently when I touched his soles. I felt almost cruel informing him that this was the beginning, the easy part, and he still had over 50 minutes to go. Luckily I am not affected by conscience, and I carried on.
The man had, in his emails to me previously, made it clear that fingernails or any form of severe tickling upon his bare soles was so dreadfully ticklish to him that it was as pain. Of course, once tied and proving himself to be a hundred times more sensitive than I had imagined, he was mine to torture as I wished.
I took my time securing his toes so that the bare soles were stretched tightly and that he was unable to curl them or defend himself. I made sure it was comfortable yet highly restrictive. This simple act alone had my victim whimpering, wriggling and demanding to know what I was planning to do. Of course, being an obliging sort, I informed him in full, explicit, drawn out detail. The poor man was giggling and begging my mercy from my words alone.
By the time I had smeared his twitching bare soles in lubricant, he was flat out hysterical. Had I retained any shred of sympathy for ticklish victims, I'm sure I would have stopped then and there. Luckily, I don't have this draw back.
I began raking my long, manicured fingernails from the heels of his feet to under the toes, firmly and slowly. the sounds he was making were by now inhuman, but I was simply doing my job, and he still had over 30 minutes left to endure.
I spent a good few moments scratching his heels until his voice sounded like that of a young girls, before using my nail tips to draw intricately cruel designs upon his arches.
Holding his toes apart, I explored the itchingly sensitive spaces between them with my fingernails until there was no sound from the bed, and only the shaking, twitching, sweating body assured me he was still appreciating my efforts.
I took delight in using a stiff hairbrush to drag in firm circles over the balls of his feet, watching his tied toes desperately try to curl inwards. I scrubbed every inch of his slick, pink soles with the brush whilst taunting him in a hushed whisper, aware of the beauty of the situation; a man of over 6'3 begging for death from a woman of less than 5'6, armed with fingernails and a hairbrush.
When my victim had only 10 minutes left and his screams were hoarse and growing more infrequent, I rearranged myself into a more comfortable position and fingernail tickled the cringing soles, tops and sides of his bare feet without any shred of mercy. Soft scratches, firm raking, nothing was left out as I focused on wrenching every last agonised shriek from him as possible.
As I prepared to leave, he paid tribute to me with tears streaking his tanned face, and hiding his crotch behind a pillow (whether due to wetting himself or enjoying himself, I'll never know.).
He only said one thing as I left, in a hoarse whisper that brought a smile to my lips to last until the next morning.
"Same again on the 30th?"
~~~~ MsZahraTickler~~~~
I love your sadistic attitude towards tickle torture. 
